Rafayel canât see again. Itâd be helpful if you could stay with him for a few nights until he gets his vision back.
Thomasâs text glows at you as you pack your bag, not bothering to check twice what youâre bringing. Thankfully this time Rafayelâs self inflicted blindness falls in line with a week long break youâve been given at work, allowing you to devote all your time to him as you see fit.
When you arrive, you find Rafayel happily working in his studio as though thereâs nothing wrong. The only way you know he canât see is when he turns in the direction of you when you open the door, brows furrowing as he tries to figure out who it is. His eyes are unfocused, looking in your direction but not at you in that intense way that he typically does.
âOh, you made it. Didnât Thomas just text you? That was fast,â he says as he walks over to you, pulling you and your overnight bag into a hug.
âI was worried youâd trip and break your ankle to add on to the list of things I need to take care of you for. Knowing you youâd try to milk this to keep me here as long as possible,â you scold, still hugging him back as much as you can.
âDonât worry â I told you already this is pretty common. Iâll be fine. If you donât want to babysit me you really donât have to. I can take care of myself.â
You stare at him open mouthed, glad that he canât see the expression on your face.
You know that this happens to him a lot. You know itâs a result of him overworking himself. You know that he can take care of himself, and you know that technically speaking, he doesnât need you to watch over him. Rafayel, for all your grievances, is actually incredibly self sustainable. Heâs more than capable of taking care of himself, a certain independence about him that you donât think youâd ever be able to get rid of.
That doesnât mean that you donât worry about him though.
You drop your bag, Rafayel turning back to discern if he can figure out whatâs happening. He can make out general forms and colours, brain connecting the two to get a general idea of what heâs looking at. Heâs upset by the fact that he canât see your face but having you near him will just have to sate him for now.
âDo you need help with that?â he asks, reaching down just to brush his fingers against your hand.
âNo, itâs fine. Iâll just go set up in your room. Your phone is near you right? Call me if you need anything while I put my stuff away,â you say quickly, turning out of his studio to head to his bedroom.
Youâre glad that he couldnât see you. Youâre glad your voice didnât waver. Youâre glad that you can cry in peace in his bedroom because is its own building. He wouldnât be able to hear you unless he was in there with you, arms wrapped around your waist as he tries to coax you into telling him whatâs wrong. The worst part is you know itâll work, that all your anger and anxiety towards him will dissipate the second his voice hits your ears and this is the only chance youâll have to try and stay strong against him.
You unpack your things, opening his closet and smiling at the fact that the clothes you forgot last time are still there. Theyâre freshly laundered as well, hanging amongst his things as though theyâve always been there. It just makes your heart hurt even more, so distracted by your own thoughts that you donât hear him walk into his room.
Just as you thought, he wraps his arms around your waist, chin sitting your shoulder as he nuzzles against you.
âIâm gonna go take a shower. Do you wanna join me?â he asks, peppering your cheek in kisses.
On a normal day youâd jump at the opportunity, regardless of whether or not things are going to escalate but right now you donât think you can manage it. You shake your head, Rafayel feeling the movement against his nose.
âDo you need me in there? If you do I will.â
Your eyes stay focused straight ahead, tidying up his surprisingly neat closet just to keep your hands focused. His brow furrows as he realises thereâs something simmering just beneath the surface, He decides not to ask right now, hoping youâd talk to him once youâre ready.
âIf I do, Iâll call for you. Promise.â
You nod and he reluctantly lets you go, a little distracted by the way you felt as he showers. He tries to figure out what could have happened â you didnât say that there was anything strange happening at work and the last time the two of you were together you were perfectly fine. All he knows is that he thinks you need him right now, wanting to get out of the water for once to come back to your side.
Shortly after Rafayel heads into the washroom you hear the doorbell ring. You make your way over to his studio entrance, watching a delivery person drop off a giant bundle of food before driving off. You wait for them to leave before grabbing whatever it is he seems to have ordered for dinner, bringing it back to the bedroom to unpack.
You smile at the selection of food once you recognise the logo. Itâs all your favourites. Of course, he was going to be sweet enough to order things you want to eat, even if he couldnât read the menu on his phone. He hates talking to people on a good day but you know in order to get this spread he had to call the restaurant himself to place the order, probably doing it all for you. Maybe he knows youâre upset and heâs trying to butter you up and, just like every other time, you know youâre falling for it.
âFoods here?â he asks, sniffing a little as he comes beside you. You set everything up on a desk in his room, pulling a seat over and guiding him to sit down.
âI made you a plate of your favourites,â you say in response, handing him some cutlery as you take his hand to show him where everything is. He pouts a little, looking at you as he puts his free hand on yours.
âFeed me? I canât see. I need you to pity me a little,â he teases, making you roll your eyes.
âFine. Here.â
You bring a spoon to his mouth, gently guiding him to make sure he actually does manage to eat. You resist the urge to tease him, taking a bite yourself once heâs got his in his mouth.
âIâve been staying up for a while to work on my next series,â he starts in way of an explanation.
âIâve just been so excited to finish it that I havenât really been sleeping or eating. Itâs been a while since the last time Iâve been this motivated to work on something. Did you see some of them when you came in? How did you think they looked?â he asks excitedly, clearly anticipating your answer.
You think back to what you do remember, trying to see if you can conjure up anything before shaking your head in defeat.
âI didnât notice them. I was more focused on you.â
Rafayel smirks, bringing your hand up to press a kiss against your knuckles.
âYouâre quite the flatterer. Stuck in a room of beautiful art and all you can look at is the artist slaving away.â
âCourse I am. You overworked yourself again.â
A sprinkle of frustration sinks into your words, Rafayel catching the tone but not wanting to push his luck by playing it off. His grip tightens on your hand, nuzzling his cheek against it.
âIâm fine. The doctor said that it looked better this time than other times. Thatâs a good thing.â
You donât feel as reassured by his words as he wanted you to.
Night falls around the two of you, Rafayelâs arms around your shoulders keeping you securely against his chest. You canât really fall asleep, mind racing with thoughts as you trace aimless shapes on the blanket. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, steady in his slumber.
Without warning, you feel tears staring to slide down your cheeks. You bring a hand up to wipe at your tears, muffling the sobs that come unprovoked. Here in silence being held by the man who means more than life to you you canât help but cry for him. At him.
You wish he took better care of himself. You wish he paid more attention to his body. You wish that he didnât do things that made you worry and worry, stomach tying itself in knots as your brain continuously goes to the worst-case scenario. He really could hurt himself like this but his flippant attitude towards himself just makes it worse. Itâs probably going to be impossible for you to convince him to take better care of himself, an absolute slave to his own whims.
Rafayel wakes up shortly thereafter, you unaware until he somehow manages to turn you to face him. He shushes you gently, hands reaching to brush away the tears on your face. He didnât need to see you to know you having long memorised each and every part of your body. You want to push him away, yell some sense into him but you know that itâs not really his fault.
âWhatâs wrong? Did you have a nightmare?â
âNo. Nothing like that. I justâŚRafayelâŚyou canât keep doing this.â
âDoing what?â
âLast time this happened you said maybe itâd stick. Then today you said the doctor said that your eyes are better this time than other times but why does there need to be other times?â
âYouâre worried about me,â Rafayel exhales.
âYes!â you say a little louder than intended, sniffling as you try not to cry as much.
âI worry about you. And before, I just had to worry about smaller things. Then, I find out you love using rare and almost dangerous materials but thankfully, you can fight and thankfully, you have other ways to source your pigments. I can protect you from those things. I can fight too. But when you do things like this to yourself I canât do anything about it. How â how can I help you if you wonât even help yourself?â you babble, hands knotting in his shirt as you cry.
âI just want you to be healthy and well. I donât want to worry about you going blind forever. I wouldnât love you any less, I promise, but I donât want you to lose something so important to you.
âYou always talk about the world so vividly. How things smell, how they look, how it feels against your skin. I want you to be able to tell me about how you experience the world unabashedly. I want you to be healthy and well. I donât want to keep getting texts about how youâre feeling lightheaded from fasting for three days unintentionally or your doctor asking me to pick you up because youâve strained another muscle from painting in the same position for hours on end.â
He listens attentively as you cry to him, brushing back your bangs and cupping your face in his hands. He nods empathetically, softly agreeing with you whenever you need a break before continuing to rant at him.
âIâm sorry my love,â he says, kissing your forehead.
âIâm not used to having someone worry about me this much. Iâve been by myself for so long. You understand, donât you?â he asks, thumb rubbing against your cheek.
âI forget sometimes that I have someone who cares about me. That if Iâm hurt, youâre hurt. I forget that as much as I love you, you love me just as much because I donât feel worthy of your affections.â
âYou are,â you say stubbornly, burying your face in his neck.
âI love you so much. Thatâs why I worry so much.â
âI know, I know. I promise Iâll get better for you.â
He continues to repeat his promise as many times as you need to hear it, mad at himself for upsetting you so much. You manage to exhaust yourself from crying soon enough, snoring lightly in his arms when you finally fall asleep. He buries his nose in your hair, taking in a deep breath of you as he holds you tightly.
The tension finally slips off of your shoulders as he swears that this time will be the last time. He just wants to give you everything you want, knowing that if itâd make you happy heâd do anything.
Warnings: Yandere Zayne, body horror
Summary: He will protect her. No matter what.
[AO3]
âYou donât have to worry about anything anymore. Leave all the difficult things to me. Iâll take care of you.â
His words were spoken in his usual calm, soothing voice, like a frozen winter lake - still, serene, and lifeless. His words faded from her ears, carrying their chilling lull into the darkness with her as he placed the mask over her nose and mouth and the gas forced her to sleep.
âYouâll be safe with me. I wonât let anything hurt youâŚâ
The last thing she remembered before everything changed was the cold steel table beneath her arms and legs, and the sound of a metal tool being picked up from a metal tray.
ââŚâ
When she finally opened her eyes and the buzzing fluorescent ceiling lights came into focus, he was by her side, as he always was. He swore to always protect her and he stood by her like a wraithlike sentinel.
âHow do you feel?â
Her head was pounding, as if her own brain was trying to escape the confines of her skull. Her stomach felt like molten lava, melting her from the inside. Her limbs felt heavy, felt frozen, immobilized.
But that was when she realized.
âAh ah, donât try to move yet,â he cautioned, holding a hand just above her chest to command her to lie back down.
But she could see everything from where her head lay.
From her shoulders, there was nothing.
From her knees, there was nothing.
No arms, no hands, no legs, no feet.
Her eyes grew wide and her heart began to race. The machines monitoring her vital signs began to beep frantically, causing her to thrash even more in the bed. Even her breath seemed to have been stolen away from her, a tube down her throat taking away her ability to speak or scream or cry.
âCalm down,â came the steady voice above her as firm hands pushed her back down onto the bed.
He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and held her until what was left of her finally obeyed.
âI told you, Iâll take care of everything. You wonât have to fight anymore. You wonât have to get hurt anymore. You'll never feel pain again. Iâm right here. Iâll always be... right here.â
â..âŚ.â
His scent was all she could smell.
His face was all she could see.
His touch was all she could feel.
He stroked her hair softly, cooing into her ear like a gentle snowstorm whose delicate flakes floated onto her, engulfed her, buried her until she was completely swallowed up by him.
Summary:Â If it all fell apartâif you forgot who you wereâwould you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.
Warnings: Angst, PINING, injury, references to nonconsensual situations
a/n: This series is in progress :) Thank you all for reading!!! âĄ
âTell my half-brother. That i will have my throne, or i will have his head.ââ Queen Rhaenyra of house Targaryen âthe dragon queenâ, first of her name, queen of the andals, and the rhoynar, and the first men, lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm; rider of Syrax âthe spoiledâ.
azriel x reader
reader is azriel's mate but she hasn't accepted the bond yet due to her fear of azriel himself.
tw: slightly nsfw, brief mentions of illyrian misogyny, suggestions of edging and arousal
part two
Bells rang as the door to the bar opened, signaling the arrival of the dayâs first customers â or so Y/N thought. She walked to the bar counter, leaving behind the half opened crates of newly shipped wines and spirits. Sheâd deal with those later.Â
âY/N! Howâs my favorite bartender?â Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court walked in with his arms raised and a friendly, welcoming smile on his face.Â
She fought the urge to smile at the sight of her friend, âIâm only your favorite because I give you discounts and secrets,â she whispered the last part as he approached.
Y/N ran one of the most popular bars in Velaris, being a favored spot for many because of its proximity to the Sidra River and the spectacular view it offered (and of course, the variety of top-shelf liquor favored by Rhysand himself). Y/N knew everyone and anyone that frequented her bar. She often provided a shoulder to cry on and a few shots of tequila to mend broken hearts. Because of this, she gathered vast amounts of information from the citizens of the beautiful city and when needed, she reported back to Rhys.Â
Rhys smiled, leaning his elbows on the counter. She swatted at him with a towel, âI just cleaned that.â Rhys chuckled but didnât remove himself from the dark wood counter.
She opened her mouth to ask Rhys why he was here when something pricked at the back of her neck. Her eyes darted to the man trailing behind Rhys like a shadow, and then back to the High Lord. She stood a little taller, back straightening as she steeled herself.Â
âHere on business, I guess?â She asked him. His smile faded as he nodded. She poured herself and the High Lord a drink to avoid any more eye contact with the man whoâd just entered. They clinked their glasses and downed their drinks. With a sigh, Rhys pulled something out of his back pocket.
âHave you seen these men?â He placed a few pictures on the counter and waited for Y/N to recognize them.Â
âI may have seen them, they look familiar. I can ask the girls, maybe theyâd have more luck identifying them,â she replied.Â
Rhys nodded, âAlright, be on the lookout for these guys. Theyâve been stirring up some trouble and Iâm gonna need to put an end to that before it gets worse.â
âAre they Illyrian?â
âUnfortunately,â Rhys replied with a sigh.
âIâll keep an eye out for them,â she gave him a curt nod.Â
âTake care, Y/N,â and with that, Rhys turned to leave. Azriel on the other hand, stayed behind. Y/N quickly busied herself with wiping down the counter and tidying up in hopes heâd get the signal and leave.
âYou canât avoid this forever, Y/N,â he finally broke the silence, his voice deep and flat â it rumbled through her, causing the hairs on her arms to raise.Â
She threw the towel onto the counter, âWatch me,â she spat back. Big mistake. His hazel eyes darkened, shadows coming to life around him; twisting and flaring with an emotion she couldnât decipher. He exhaled, silently making his way out the same door he arrived in.Â
âYou could at least try being less hostile towards him, the poor man is in a constant state of sulking these days,â Feyre said as she swirled the glass of ruby-colored wine in her hands.
Y/N rolled her eyes at her friendâs attempt at getting her to talk to Azriel. Feyre frequently visited the bar since it was closeby to her art studio. The two had hit it off quickly, becoming close friends and bonding over art, music, and men. Feyre had found out about Y/Nâs mating bond issue and because she was biased (being friends with Azriel), she constantly pestered Y/N about it.Â
âFeyre, I already told you. I donât want anything to do with Illyrians â theyâre possessive, violent, and they view women as breeding machines,â she looked at the High Lady, âand I mean this with all due respect to Rhys, I donât want to be mated to an Illyrian.âÂ
âHeâs really a big softie, I promise. Just get to know him, he has the same complaints about Illyrians as you do!â Of course she would defend him, theyâd been close friends ever since Feyre first arrived at the Night Court. But she overlooked the innate instincts of the warrior species.Â
Y/N sighed. She tried to repress the memories of her parents â her mother, like Y/N, was mated to an Illyrian. She knew the culture they were raised in, the way they looked down on women, the violence they were accustomed to. To top it all off, Azriel was the Spymaster of the Night Court â the rumors about his cruelty and power were enough to keep Y/N away from him in fear. Luckily, she knew heâd stay away until she accepted the bond.
âI somehow doubt a man who tortures people for a living could be a 'big softie',â she replied with a scoff.Â
Feyre sighed, âHe doesnât hurt the innocent â in fact, I donât think Iâve ever seen him hurt a fly even,â she took Y/N hands in hers, âHeâs a good man, Y/N. Give him a chance.âÂ
Y/N huffed, âIâll think about it.âÂ
Feyre squealed, an uncharacteristic sound for a High Lady to make, and pulled Y/N in for a hug.Â
As the sun began to set, the bar came alive with people ready to unwind after a long day of work. The air hummed with laughter and conversation, glasses clinking in the air while soft melodies floated about. Y/N looked around the bar for the men Rhys was looking for, taking in the lively atmosphere â a jolt of pride running through her as she surveyed the place she built up from the bottom.
Despite the bustling noise of the bar, she felt that damned prickle on the back of her neck, her eyes catching on the shadows in the corner. He did this every so often â lurked in the corners, watching her. She rolled her eyes, returning to the customers at the counter asking for drinks.Â
âHey sweetie, give us a smile!â One of her unfortunately regular customers called out. He leaned forward, trying to get in Y/Nâs way.
âFind someone else to bother tonight, Devon,â she replied, topping his glass with more liquor avoiding eye contact with the sleazy man who constantly vyed for her attention.Â
âOh, but I wanna bother you,â his hand grabbed hers.Â
âDevon, Iâm really not in the mood for your bullshit tonight, let go,â She said as she tried wriggling her wrist out of his grip. The nuisance of a customer pulled her closer but stopped in his tracks, abruptly letting her hand go and backing away from the bar. He all but scurried away and Y/N sighed. She knew there was only one man who could make people shit their pants in fear like that.Â
âYou couldâve at least let him pay before he left,â She said without even bothering to turn around as she picked up the abandoned glass of whiskey.
The man behind her dramatically placed a few coins on the counter. She braced herself for the brooding face and shadows as she turned around. She glared up at him, the height difference between them all the more prominent as he stood not even a foot away.
âStop sending Feyre to do the dirty work of convincing me to accept the bond,â she tried to sound intimidating â or at least serious but she found it difficult when faced with his presence, it consumed all of her confidence and left her feeling small, defenseless against the Spymaster.
âI didnât send her,â he replied rather monotonous but she could see the tinge of amusement on his face at the sight of her trying to put up a confident front.
âWell if youâre done playing savior, can I get back to work?âÂ
âWould it kill you to say 'thank you?'â He blocked her from passing by with his aggravatingly large obsidian wings.Â
She put her hands on her hips and mustered up all the vitriol she could, âYes, actually, it would. Now get out of my way before I kick you out.âÂ
He let out a breathy laugh, a laugh. Y/N, now fuming at the man before her, shoved him in the chest, knowing it wouldnât amount to much but it helped relieve her annoyance.
This time, he chuckled, a sound that resonated through her, only serving to fuel the fire that was Y/Nâs anger. She grabbed one of the soda guns under the counter and aimed it at the nuisance before her. His brows lifted in surprise and he lifted his hands in a mock surrender. Her eyes fell to his scarred hands and her stomach dropped as her hands gripped the soda gun tighter.
âAlright, alright,â he conceded, âIâll be around.â With that, he returned to the shadows and Y/N let out a breath she didnât know sheâd been holding.
At the end of the night, the final few customers stumbled their way out of the bar and Y/N took a seat at one of the tables, exhausted from the dayâs work. She poured herself a drink, relishing in the quiet â though her relief was short lived when she sensed the shadows in the corners. She squinted, grabbing a towel from her apron and threw it at the corner. He caught it, revealing himself from the shadows.Â
âIf you wanna lurk here after hours, the least you could do is help me clean up.â
Amusement once again danced over his dark features. No doubt thinking about all the ways heâd make her pay for her rude behavior. He didnât say anything as he started wiping down the tables, eyes occasionally finding their way back to Y/N, shadows brushing her skin when she walked past him.
They cleaned in silence, Y/N taking a mop to the floors while Azriel put up the chairs and collected stray items off the tables. Something clicked in her then, she felt almost at ease with his presence. Almost.Â
âDo you know what happens when accepting the mating bond is delayed?â He said, breaking the silence.
She looked at him from across the room as he put up the last few chairs.
âWhat happens?â
His eyes darkened, narrowing at her, âThere are reports of males being unable to stop themselves from taking their mate, over and over," he paused, giving her a moment to process, "I like to think I have more restraint than my dimwitted brothers but even I cannot control nature,â his voice was dangerously low as he spoke. It made Y/N stomach flutter in ways she couldnât contain. Her skin prickled as she took in his words. Her chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm, suddenly realizing she was at a crossroads.Â
Sheâd been putting off accepting the bond for years now. They had first met at the grand opening of the bar. Rhys had come to congratulate her and survey the bar and of course, he had brought the inner circle. They became her first customers. A feeling of dread welled in her stomach when she first laid eyes on Azriel and somehow she knew it was him, her mate. She cursed the Cauldron for pairing her with the deadliest Illyrian in Prythian.Â
âYou wonât be able to delay it forever, Y/N,â he stalked closer to her, massive wings dragging behind him, a predator approaching its prey.
She took a step back, stumbling into the table behind her and she flinched. He smirked at her clumsiness.Â
âEventually, youâll feel it. The primal, unavoidable need. The raw desire,â he drawled.Â
She swallowed, looking up at the man who now stood too close to her for comfort. She leaned back, her weight shifted to her hands gripping the table behind her to put as much distance between them as she could. He only looked down at her, his intense gaze raking over her body, sensing her fear. He leaned down, she could feel his breath tickle her ear as he said, âThatâs not fear, Y/N. Itâs arousal.â
Her breath got caught in her throat at the show of his abilities. He straightened and stepped back, giving her room to breathe.Â
âGood night, mate.âÂ
He disappeared into the night, leaving her dazed and flustered.
Y/N entered the bar, grumbling at Daisy, one of the bartenders, as she passed by the bubbly girl.
âWoah, whatâs got you all crabby this morning?â
She glared at Daisy, prompting her to find some task to tend to as Y/N slouched on the counter. She couldnât get a wink of sleep the last few nights. Azrielâs words echoed in her mind, keeping her up.
Itâs not fear, itâs arousal.Â
After he left the bar that night, she found herself almost constantly in an aggravating state of arousal. Despite this, she couldnât find any relief no matter what she did. She tried pleasing herself but when all she could think about was Azriel and his dominating presence, she decided to erase the memory of him through a string of one night stands. To her utter dismay, none of it worked. It nearly drove her mad. She hadnât seen Azriel in the past few weeks since that night and she realized he was giving her space on purpose, to heighten her need to see him again. Asshole, she thought.
She poured herself a drink, hoping itâd dull the throbbing in her head (and in other places she deigned to acknowledge).Â
âDay drinking? Is there something bothering you, Y/N?âÂ
Great. As if the day couldnât get any better.
The velvety, deep voice rang through her, causing damned butterflies in her stomach. He stood before her, dressed in his fighting leathers, blue siphons pulsing with power. He gave her a knowing smirk.
âI canât deal with this today,â she said as she walked off.
âYou could give in, you know. It would provide you with the much needed relief youâre so desperately trying to seek,â he taunted.
âNo thanks, thereâs bound to be some half witted man that can satisfy me plenty,â she shot back.
The shadows around him flared, reaching out towards her but not quite touching her. Azrielâs eyes were dark. Maybe it was stupid of Y/N to taunt him, dangerous even, but she'd spent the last few days in sleepless agony because of him. He could suck it.
âAw, is the big bad Spymaster jealous?â She teased.
âDonât play games with me, Y/N.â
She walked back over to him, lifting her chin in defiance.Â
âOr what? We both know you wonât touch me until I accept the bond.âÂ
He smirked, âYou will accept the bond. And when you do, you are going to be at my mercy. Begging for relief,â he gripped her chin with a hand, sending a chill down her spine, âAnd Iâll take that as an opportunity to remind you of your obstinance.âÂ
âI bet youâre just as pent up as I am. It gives me peace knowing you can only find relief with me. Maybe itâll give me the strength I need to continue denying you.âÂ
He let out a breathy laugh, âI have centuries of experience on you, little girl.âÂ
Her stomach dropped at the degrading title. The reminder of his age dawned on her. He fought in the first war against Hybern, Y/N hadnât even been born then. She was a mere century and half to his five centuries.Â
âCatâs got your tongue?â He taunted with a smile.
She shoved him off in a sudden movement. Grateful to be away from him.Â
âFine, Iâll give you some room to breathe. Cauldron knows youâll be needing it.âÂ
He left as fast as he had appeared, once again leaving Y/N off-centered for the rest of the day. What have I gotten myself into?
Synopsis. Youâve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?
Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fĂngering, unprotected, crĂŠampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, knĂves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)
A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if yâall catch that hehe.
You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that youâve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now.Â
And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing brideâs was supposed to be.Â
We hereby formally invite you to the marriage ofâŚ
What?Â
No return address. No date. No groomâs name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.
You remember perfectly the way youâd flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few âApril Foolâs has already passed, yâknow.â
Hell, youâd even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasnât particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird.Â
Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because whoâd worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street thatâd gotten their grubby lilâ hands on a printer.Â
You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place thatâd popped up right across the street.Â
Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.
You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.
Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-
âOh? Still open?â
âAh- Uh, yes, welcome!â Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasnât one of the regulars - no, you think youâd remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing.Â
And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?
âRoses.â the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldnât have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, âCould tell ya were checkinâ me out, sweetheart.â
âF-forgive my rudeness, sir.â you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, âPlease take a seat and Iâll be there with you shortly.â
Youâd expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, âSâalright, mâjust waitinâ for someone.â
Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, âA lover?â
Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. âMy fiancĂŠe.â
âCongratulations, MrâŚâ
âGojo Satoru.â he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. âPlease, call me Satoru.âÂ
You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. âRight, Mr-â at his disappointed whine, âSatoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.â
âOh Iâm having fun with the wedding planning.â He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. âHowâs it going for you?â
What?
You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. âIâm sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-â
âNo no no.â he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually youâd have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you werenât so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, âMâasking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~â
Thereâs a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, âIâm gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. Weâre very busy and donât have time to entertain your pick-up lines.â
Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. âI can see that.â you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. âBut youâre really gonna ask your husband to leave?â
Huffing in frustration, âI donât have a husband.â
â...you do.â
âI donât.â
âYou do.â
âI donât. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?â
âWhat?!â Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. âWhat do you mean you donât have a- Iâm gonna kill those fuckinâ- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?â
And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation.Â
âYou.â you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, âYouâre the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.â
That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and youâre glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, âHey! You didnât like the roses?âÂ
And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than heâd been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almostâŚfrightening. âDidnât you ask him?âÂ
You whirl around to see your father, whoâd apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. âYou.â
---
And, well, itâs not everyday that youâre having late night tea with your parents and one of your fatherâsâŚbusiness associates. Even rarer when said business associate isâŚyou gulp, praying to whoeverâs above that this is all some sick dream youâll wake up any second from.Â
âSo, let me get this straightâŚâ you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. Itâs been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. âMy father was conned by one of your-â you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, â-men to take a loan from your um-â
âFamily, yakuza. Anything goes.â he supplies helpfully.
You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the âyakuzaâ bit that makes your stomach lurch. âAnd now he owes you a favor ofâŚwhat exactly?â
Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, âLook, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-â backtracking at your withering glare, â...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage nâ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and Iâm too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.âÂ
âNo.â
âPlease?â
âNo.â
You bet Satoruâs disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of âcarrying the family nameâ it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasnât acting like it right now.Â
âAlright. Plan B, then.âÂ
Oh? You couldnât help but think that maybe he wasnât that much of a manchild as sits up from where heâd been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, âBut I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, nâ dresses for a six foot man arenât cheap.â
Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, âB-but weâve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, canât we pay any other-â
At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, âNow? Arenât you some yakuza nepo baby, canât you just ask your parents for money?â
âNo.â Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, âNot unless I want a finger cut off for dealinâ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?â
âTake me instead.â you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoruâs half-joking mutters of âUgh, Iâm not into olâ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.â
It was all too much. You couldnât take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoruâs warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you?Â
âFine.â
The moment that word leaves your lips, itâs like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. âIâll do it.â you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoruâs eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your fatherâs protests, âBut for a month, until we leave this place. After that mâgoing with my family and youâre never to contact us ever again. Deal?â
And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than youâd imagined. âSwear on mâlife, wifey. You can kill me if not.â
He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.
Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your familyâs little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner.Â
And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head.Â
You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of âIâll be back before you know it. One month. Thatâs all.âÂ
âAnd donât worry about a thing,â Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. âIf thereâs anyone sheâs safe with, itâs me.â
âYou better keep your mitts off of my baby.â your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly.Â
âI wonât lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about itâŚâ he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. âIâll kill.â
Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. âLadies first.â
With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house.Â
âLike the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.â Satoru grins.Â
Oh, right. You werenât in here alone - you were here with your newâŚhusband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, âSo how do we act m-married?â
You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app.Â
âWell, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.â flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, âHereâs my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-â
That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. âSo we can be foolproof.â heâd whined. And youâd been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.
âWeâre here, young master and madam Gojo.â
It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo.Â
âHome sweet home.â Satoru grunts. âSuch a beautiful hell, huh?â
Your home, for the next month. At least.Â
And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in.Â
â-and this is going to be our room.â he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner.Â
âOurs.â you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in.Â
âOurs.â Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesnât show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. âNow, I had these made jusâ for you last week. You can give me a lilâ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.â
Itâs only when he says the word ârestâ that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual.Â
âUmâŚâ you start, risking a glance at the bed.Â
Satoru jolts, âAh- donât worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.â beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. âGot some work, so Iâll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~â
And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.
âIchiji.â
âYes, young master.â
âSee to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?â
âOf course, young master.â
---
Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it wouldâve been if your husband didnât burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside.Â
Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife heâd do anything for.
Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationshipâŚ
âI think that stupid plan is really working, yâknow.â you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. âThose old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.â
Satoru huffs out a laugh, âThat so? Sâprobably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?â he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you.Â
Furrowing your brows mockingly, âSâfunny for you to say, they donât even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.â
âDo they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?â
HeâŚdidnât sound like he was joking.Â
Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word âhusband.â Still so jumpy at the idea. âSpeaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?â
At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. âStill nagging, but theyâre finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.â he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation theyâd had before. âAnd they want to have some family âdinnerâ, but itâs going to be awful and you donât-â
âLetâs go.â you interrupt, nodding determinedly. âThe realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?â
He blinks at you slowly, âThatâsâŚtrue. For the divorce, then?â
âFor the divorce.â
And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.
You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojoâs heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner.Â
âFor you.â heâd murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings youâve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. âCanât be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.â
And with that heâs swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and youâre left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit.Â
You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, thatâs probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they wereâŚscared of you.Â
But there wasnât much time to think of that - not when youâre being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. âMore like a fuckinâ meeting room for those hardasses.â heâd snarked.
The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoruâs, who immediately stands with a smile. âAh, wifey! Well, arenât you a sight for sore eyes.â pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, âYa look fuckinâ gorgeous in my colors, yâknow.â
Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, âPlaying up the doting husband bit, huh?â
âOnly for you.â
Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.
Stammering out, âCorny.â
âOnly for-â
âNow that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?â A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders.Â
Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now.Â
Gathered here - for you.Â
Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them.Â
âSo.â his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesnât waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. âCongratulations on theâŚwedding, my son.â
My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. âWhat~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?â
Itâs a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You donât realize that youâre clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.
He wins.
âCongratulations. Let us begin now.âÂ
You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.
Itâs only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really donât hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.
Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoruâs jaw clenching tighter each second.Â
Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. âSo, dear,â voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. âIs it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?â
You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, âWell, ambushed wouldnât be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my familyâs diner.â
âA waitress, she said?â
âNow we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.â
âThe scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.â
The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you donât. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, âMarrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.â
âMother, be quiet or-â
âWhat?â she throws her hands in exasperation. âCanât I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, Iâm just trying to make conversation with your new wife.â
Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. âYou understand that weâre just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.â The emphasis on âprestigiousâ is not lost on you.â And it drives you insane.Â
Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. âI understand.â
Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, âAnd you understand that this position is dangerous? Youâll be targeted.â
âI understand.â
âDo you? Donât be swept up in our Satoruâs charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.â tone dripping with disdain, Satoruâs grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. âThe Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone callâ
âMy wife and I are leav-â
âI said I fuckinâ understand.â Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and youâd be dancing on their graves already. âNeither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.â Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoruâs. âSo shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I donât give a flying shit.âÂ
Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you couldâve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.
His father adjusts his glasses. âPerhaps that is so.â
Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily.Â
âNot only is she a slut sheâs a-â
Thud!
It all happens so fast youâre not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up.Â
âYouâre lucky Iâm matching with my wife nâ didnât want to dirty this new yukata.â a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you donât realize for a second that itâs Satoru - your Satoru.Â
He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold.Â
âNow,â he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, âMy lovely wife and I will be retiring. Wonât you all say goodnight to your future madam?â
You donât know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little âGoodnight, maâam.â, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, âBe right back, sweetheart.â
What the fuck happened?
He couldâve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to.Â
Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you werenâtâŚscared? In fact, you donât think youâve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.
âDinnerâs better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.â he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner heâd brought for you. And, well, you didnât doubt that they really were on his kill list.Â
âHey, wifey.â Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. âMâsorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.â
You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. âEat, Satoru.â
Thatâs all which is said, because maybe thatâs all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.
---
âHey, uh- mister. You alright?â you call out, voice barely audible over the rain.Â
The sullen figure didnât react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands.Â
You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. âHere.â you hold out your umbrella. âSâour dinerâs, but you look like you could use this more than I do.â
He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the manâs snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.
âItâll be alright.â you nod.Â
And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - heâd just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.
---
Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight.Â
The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but nowâŚhonestly, it was a bit disconcerting.Â
But other than that, it was almostâŚpeaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife heâd be âtaking her to bed every nightâ. Somehow, you didnât doubt it.Â
âFunny how itâs getting close to a month of being married, but you havenât even kissed me yet.â you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.
Something else also happened - something different.
Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. âOh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?â
âYou wish.â
âMaybe I do.â
Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoruâs, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-
âYoung master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-â
Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. âHow many fuckinâ times have I not told you to never bother me when Iâm with my wife?â
The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoruâs dramatic pout, âI have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.âÂ
âNoo~ my sweetheart donât leave me~âÂ
You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was soâŚ.dizzying. âYouâll be okay, Satoru.â Glancing up nervously to meet the servantâs intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. âIâll be at the library now.â
And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you donât hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, âNow, tell me who youâre spying for. Names, first and last.âÂ
Satoru doesnât join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. Itâs dark out by the time youâre raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger.Â
Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.Â
Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoruâs meticulous tours.Â
âHey,â you smile softly at a servant making your bed, âWhere are-â
Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, itâs only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table.Â
Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something youâd never gotten before.Â
âThe marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.â
Oh, reading that hurt more than it shouldâve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didnât want to leave him. You didnât want to leave him.You didnât want to leave him.
 Were you going insane?
Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, âMaybe Satoru knowsâŚâ
âThinking of me?â
Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today.Â
âSatoru?â
His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then youâre engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and thatâs when you realize, heâs changed his robes since this morning. âAre you okay?â you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic.Â
Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.
Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. âThose nosy elders wonât be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. Youâre free to go.â
A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didnât want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, âYouâre free to go.â
Run away. Run away. Run away-
There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. âMy 30 days arenât over yet.âÂ
âLeave. Please.â he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. âMânot a good man.âÂ
You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. âI think Iâll be the judge of that.â
âIâm yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.â he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than youâve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldnât stop, rambling into your skin, âI hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-â
âSo go with me instead.â
âWhat if-â
âToru.â you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face heâs been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave.Â
Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. âItâll be alright, Toru.â
And then heâs kissing you - and youâre kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. âYâcan kill me if you donâ want his.â he mutters into your open mouth. Â
Itâs so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-
And then heâs pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoruâs mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hairâs breadth from your lips.Â
âMâsorry.â Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. âF-fuck, sweetheart. Yâdonât know how crazy you drive me.â he pants.
âWhy did you pick me?â you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. âWas it just the debt?â
Heâs kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. âNo.â heâs licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach.Â
âThen why?â your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it.Â
âBecause.â he breathes, âYou treated me like a human.â
Heâs capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were.Â
But Satoru wasnât done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, âRemember that night? You probably donât, was raininâ so hard I thought Iâd drown out there.â Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. âThat night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said Iâd either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.âÂ
And youâre reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. âThought I was gonna take âem all out that night.â
âTake them all out?â your breath hitches.
âEvery. Single. One.â Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. âWouldnât have felt bad about it either.âÂ
Satoruâs licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. âBut thenâŚâ he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. âBut then along came you. So pretty and all worried fâme. The daughter of that diner owner Iâd loaned money too.â
You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoruâs holding them apart.
âAnd then I knewâŚâ heâs sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and youâve never seen him look so blissful. âI just had to have you.â
Rip!Â
The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoruâs hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically.Â
Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. âHah- please.â
âPlease what?â he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. âThe wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.â
âYouâre awful.â
âAnd yet you married me.â
With such a cute lilâ whine that makes Satoruâs cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. âWanâ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.â
He lets out a shuddering breath, âThereâs my girl.â
You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub.Â
Drunk off your pussy with the way heâs so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And itâs driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You havenât been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you.Â
âShhh, donât worry, wifey.â words muffled into your cunt, âYour husbandâs gonna take care of you.â Heâs throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.
âReal good care of you.â Then heâs plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard. Â âFound it. Gonna have you screaminâ my name tilâ the entire estate hears.â
You tug on his hair, urging Satoruâs mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now.Â
And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?
Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-
âSh-shit. Toru-â
âMmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.â he groans. And oh heâs looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. âFeels good? Ya like when mâruining your pretty pussy?â
âYes!â you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. âWanted it sâbad.âÂ
Heâs becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasnât enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-
âMove your hips, yeah- jusâ like that.â Satoruâs grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please.Â
âGonna be the best fuckinâ husband youâll ever have. Nâ anyone that says otherwise, mâgonna fuckinâ kill.â The vibrations have your body jerking violently. âMake you cum harder than yâever have. Câmon, say yes.â
And with that, heâs alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. âNgh- fuck, yes yes yes-â
âBeg for it, beg for your husband.â
âWanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.â
One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure itâd leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him.Â
âHngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-â Youâre shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husbandâs name. So violent, and hard that you donât even realize at first. Just that youâre rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.
And he doesnât stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind youâd wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didnât show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want.Â
Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when youâre blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. âS-Satoru.â you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue.Â
âJusâ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.â
You werenât going to make it out alive.
Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. âAll done. Now, keep that pretty lilâ cunt on display fâme, my girl.â
And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear.Â
âTouch me.â he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time.Â
âToruâŚâ you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else youâd had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether youâd hurt yourself.Â
And he sees right through you.
âNow now, none of that.â he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as theyâd go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. âDonât worry, wifey, mâgonna make it feel good for ya.â
You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lilâ pussy right now.Â
Then you feel like youâre being split apart - as if Satoruâs cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.
âAh! Ngh- Toru, sâtoo big!â you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all.Â
And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.
âBreathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.â Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. âSo fuckinâ tight. Jusâ relax fâme. Oh yeah, jusâ like that. You can take it you can-â
You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back.Â
Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, âAww, my good lilâ wife. Taking me so well, huh?â Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, âAlways knew yâwould.âÂ
âCan yâfeel me, right-.â Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. â-here?â Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard.Â
You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you shouldâve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.
And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything.Â
âCâmon~ Donât run away from me,â he grunts, strained like heâs struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. âJusâ fuckinâ got you, so donât you dare run away.â
You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. âWonât run away ToruâŚâ you babble, âWanâ you to make me yours.â
âMine? Gonna be all mine?â
âAll yours, Toru.â
And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoruâs pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.
With the new angle, your husbandâs hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot.Â
âYa like this, huh?â he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. âAlways knew this cute pussy could take me sâwell. Just didnât know it would feel this fucking heavenly.â
Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.
And exactly where you wanted to be.Â
You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much.Â
âToru-â you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way youâre clenching around him hard enough that itâs almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy.Â
âClose?âÂ
âMhmâŚâ
âWell then.â thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. âCum fâme like a good lilâ wife, then.â
And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoruâs name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.
Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether youâd make it out alive.
And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper.Â
You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really werenât in the right mind to decipher right now.Â
And then Satoruâs lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. Heâs looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him.Â
Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. âWe better not divorce after this.â
âOf course not.â He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. âI havenât even given you my wedding gift yet.â
Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoruâs toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, âMhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and Iâm leaving if not.â
âWell then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,â he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. âBecause I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.â
Fractured Friends - Cassian and you have been best friends for a while. Lately, heâs been pushing you away, brushing you off, to spend more time with his mate Nesta. During a fight your hidden feelings for Azriel get revealed.
Butt Of The Joke - Reader has been secretly smitten by Azriel for a while. She met him after becoming friends with Nesta and joining the Valkyries for training. After struggling with the thought of coming clean about her feelings for the spymaster, she overhears a conversation that breaks her heart.
Blood Tether - After the mating bond snapped you made the decision to keep it from Azriel, thinking he was in the process of pursuing Elain. When a horrible attack leaves the shadowsinger badly injured, your secret gets revealed.
series
Glass Shards - part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5* part 6 final part*
Reader is a handmaiden working for The High Lord of the Night Court and The High Lady. When she gets accidentally injured, Azriel, the High Lords spymaster, feels the mating bond snap into place.
SUMMARY Lucien shows up to the Autumn Court and secrets are soon revealed.
CONTENT WARNINGS angst, arguing, leaving, grief (over someone who is still alive), minor injuries, and Eris being angry.
AUTHORS NOTE annnnnd we are back into the swing of things! I would like to thank you all again for your patience these last few weeks, I am so incredibly grateful to all of you. Anyways, enough of the sappy, enjoy getting your hearts ripped out! :) -Dee
SERIES MASTERLIST
As the weeks passed after that fateful kiss, the atmosphere in the forest house transformed entirely. You had moved into Eris's room, and the space quickly became a haven of warmth and love. Each morning, you would wake in his arms, feeling the solid comfort of his embrace, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting a gentle glow over the room. The dawn would break with whispered conversations and soft laughter, the sound of your shared happiness filling the air like a sweet melody.
Eris had taken to placing his hand on your growing belly every morning, feeling the baby's movements with a look of awe and wonder in his eyes. The bond between the two of you deepened with each passing day, and the baby seemed to sense the harmony, responding with gentle kicks and rolls whenever Eris was near. The connection between the three of you was palpable, a testament to the love that had blossomed in the most unexpected of places.
You found yourself in a nesting frenzy, driven by an instinctive need to prepare for the baby's arrival. Eris's room, once a bachelorâs retreat with minimalistic decor, transformed under your careful touch. You spent hours arranging and rearranging furniture, making space for a crib beside the bed. The room was soon filled with soft blankets, tiny clothes, and stuffed animals, all ready to welcome the new addition to your family.
Eris supported your efforts wholeheartedly, often surprising you with thoughtful gestures. He would return from his duties with little giftsâa handcrafted mobile, a beautifully woven blanket, a carved wooden toyâeach item chosen with care and love. Your evenings were spent together, organizing the baby's things and talking about the future, your shared dreams of the family you were about to become.
Despite the physical challenges of being 38 weeks pregnant, you found joy in the small moments. You would waddle around the room, humming lullabies as you folded and refolded baby clothes, your heart swelling with love every time the baby kicked in response to your voice. Eris would often catch you in these moments, his eyes softening with adoration as he watched you, a smile playing on his lips.
One particularly memorable evening, you decided to decorate the nursery corner you had set up. Eris had brought home a set of delicate, hand-painted stars to hang above the crib, and you both spent hours arranging them just right, laughing and teasing each other as you worked. By the time you finished, the room had a magical feel, the stars twinkling in the soft light, creating a peaceful haven for your baby.
Life was good, better than you had ever imagined it could be. The love between you and Eris grew stronger with each passing day, a bond forged in trust and mutual respect. The baby thrived within you, their movements a constant reminder of the new life you were about to welcome. The forest house, once a place of secrecy and fear, had become a home filled with love and hope.
But even in the midst of this happiness, a shadow lingered, a secret that weighed heavily on your heart.
Each morning began with the soft glow of dawn filtering through the windows of Eris's room, the warmth of his embrace a welcome start to the day. You would rise with the sun, your movements slow and deliberate as you navigated the space, your growing belly a constant reminder of the new life growing within you.
Breakfast was a leisurely affair, spent in the cozy kitchen of the forest house. The cook, a kindly woman with a penchant for indulging your cravings, would greet you with a warm smile as you entered, her apron stained with flour from her morning preparations. You would exchange pleasantries as you made your way to the table, the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread filling the air.
On this particular morning, however, you found yourself with an insatiable craving for something sweet. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you made your way to the kitchens, your footsteps light as you tiptoed down the hallways. The cook greeted you with a knowing smile as you entered, her eyes twinkling with amusement at your predictable craving.
"Good morning, dear," she said, her voice filled with warmth as she bustled about the kitchen, preparing the day's meals. "What can I do for you today?"
You grinned sheepishly, the anticipation of indulging in your favorite treat making your mouth water. "I was hoping you might have some of those honey cakes you made last week," you said, your voice hopeful as you eyed the display of pastries on the counter.
The cook chuckled softly, her laughter like music to your ears. "Ah, I see someone has a sweet tooth this morning," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm afraid we're all out of honey cakes, but I could whip up a batch of cinnamon rolls if you'd like?"
Your face lit up with delight at the suggestion, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. "That sounds perfect, thank you," you said, your voice filled with gratitude as you watched the cook set to work.
As you waited for your treat to bake, you found yourself lost in thought, the warmth of the kitchen and the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon filling you with a sense of contentment. But just as you were about to indulge in your freshly baked cinnamon roll, a voice broke through the tranquility of the moment, sending a shiver down your spine.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" came a familiar voice from behind you, the sound sending a jolt of panic coursing through your veins. Turning slowly, you came face to face with Lucien, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement as he took in the scene before him.
You froze in place, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. Lucien's presence was unexpected, his sudden appearance sending your carefully constructed facade crumbling to the ground. As he stepped closer, a smirk playing on his lips, you felt a surge of fear wash over you, the weight of your secret threatening to crush you under its weight.
Despite the initial shock of seeing Lucien standing before you, you forced a polite smile onto your lips, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface. His presence was unexpected, but you knew that you had to maintain your composure, at least until you could find a way to extricate yourself from the situation.
"Lucien," you greeted him, your voice carefully neutral as you returned his friendly smile. "What a surprise to see you here."
He returned your greeting with a warm smile of his own, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Likewise," he said, his tone light and friendly. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack."
You chuckled nervously at his observation, the sound ringing hollow in your ears. "Oh, you know me," you replied, forcing a casual shrug. "I have a bit of a sweet tooth, and I couldn't resist the temptation of the cook's cinnamon rolls."
Lucien laughed softly at your explanation, the sound sending a pang of guilt through your chest. "I can't say I blame you," he said, his expression fond as he looked around the kitchen. "The cook here is quite talented."
As he chatted amiably with you, you found yourself falling into the easy rhythm of conversation, your nerves gradually easing as you exchanged pleasantries. He asked you about your journey to the Autumn Court, his curiosity genuine as he listened intently to your explanations.
You swallowed hard, the weight of your lies heavy on your conscience as you spun a tale of seeking adventure and new experiences, carefully omitting any mention of the true reason for your presence in the palace. You told him about your desire to explore the world beyond the borders of the Spring Court, your words carefully crafted to deflect suspicion and keep your secret hidden.
Throughout the conversation, Lucien treated you with the easy familiarity of an old friend, his warmth and charm putting you at ease despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. He seemed genuinely interested in your story, his questions probing but never invasive as he sought to understand the woman you had become since leaving the Spring Court.
But as you glanced down at the oversized shirt you had borrowed from Eris, the bulge of your growing belly hidden from view, you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at your conscience. You knew that you were lying to Lucien, betraying his trust with every false word that passed your lips. But in that moment, with his friendly smile and easy laughter, it was all too easy to push aside your doubts and bury yourself in the comforting embrace of deception.
"So, what brings you back to the Autumn Court, Lucien? Is everything going well with Elain?"
Lucien's expression faltered slightly at the mention of his mate, his gaze flickering with a hint of sadness before he composed himself with a small sigh. "I wish I could say that things were going smoothly," he admitted, his tone tinged with regret. "But truth be told, Elain and I are facing some⌠challenges."
He went on to explain the difficulties he was encountering in his relationship with Elain, describing her struggles to adjust to life in the Night Court and the walls she had erected to keep him at arm's length. His words were tinged with frustration and sadness, his love for Elain evident in every syllable as he spoke of his desire to break through her defenses and build a life together.
"But it's not just her walls that I'm contending with," he continued, his voice heavy with concern. "There's another complication, another male who has caught her eye." He spoke of the spymaster of the Night Court, a man whose charm and wit had seemingly captivated Elain, drawing her attention away from Lucien and their fledgling relationship.
As he spoke, you could sense the pain and uncertainty that weighed heavily on Lucien's heart, his struggles with Elain's affections a constant source of anguish. Despite his efforts to win her over, it seemed that she was slipping further away with each passing day, her attention diverted by the allure of another man.
You listened sympathetically to his words, your heart aching for the pain he was experiencing. You could see the depth of his love for Elain, the longing in his eyes as he spoke of her, and it struck a chord deep within you. In that moment, you felt a kinship with Lucien, a shared understanding of the complexities of love and the challenges it presented.
"I'm sorry to hear that things are so difficult with Elain," you said softly, your voice filled with genuine concern. "But know that you're not alone, Lucien. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."
âI appreciate that,â Lucien smiled warmly, reaching over to steal a cinnamon roll from your plate before steering the conversation toward lighter subjects.
You found yourself drawn into the easy camaraderie between you and Lucien, the warmth of his presence a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own thoughts.
But just as you began to relax into the conversation, a shadow fell over the kitchen doorway, and you turned to see Eris standing there, his expression dark and stormy. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, the tension in the air palpable as he took in the scene before him.
Lucien, ever the picture of charm and grace, greeted his brother with a casual smile, his tone light and teasing as he joked about your supposed dalliance on Calanmai. You felt the color drain from your face at his words, the implication of his jest hanging heavy in the air.
Eris's eyes narrowed at his brother's words, his jaw clenched with barely contained anger. He shot you a long, hard look, his gaze piercing through you like a knife, before turning his attention back to Lucien.
"What are you doing here, Lucien?" Eris asked, his voice cold and clipped as he crossed his arms over his chest. There was a steely edge to his tone, a warning that brooked no argument.
Lucien raised an eyebrow at his brother's question, his expression one of mild confusion. "Just catching up with an old friend," he replied casually, his gaze flickering briefly to you before returning to Eris. "And what about you? What brings you to the kitchens?"
Eris's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he turned his attention back to Lucien. "I was looking for her," he said curtly, his voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. "We have matters to discuss."
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You glanced at Lucien, a silent plea for understanding in your eyes, before rising to follow after Eris, your heart pounding in your chest.
But as you moved to leave, Lucien's voice stopped you in your tracks. "Wait," he said softly, his tone filled with genuine concern. "Is everything alright?"
You turned to face him, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of guilt and apprehension. And it was then, in that moment of quiet vulnerability, that Lucien's eyes fell upon the telltale swell of your belly, hidden beneath Eris's oversized shirt.
His expression softened, a look of dawning realization crossing his features as he took in the sight before him. "You're pregnant," he breathed, his voice filled with wonder and joy. "Congratulations."
You opened your mouth to speak, to correct his assumption and reveal the truth of your situation, but the words caught in your throat. In that moment, with the weight of his gaze upon you and the weight of your secret pressing down on your shoulders, you found yourself unable to speak. And so, with a heavy heart, you simply nodded, a silent confirmation of the lie that now hung between you.
As Eris stormed out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing angrily down the corridor, you felt a surge of panic rising within you. Ignoring the discomfort of your heavily pregnant form, you hurried after him as quickly as you could, leaving Lucien to his own divices the oversized shirt you wore billowing around you as you waddled awkwardly down the hallway.
"Eris, wait!" you called out, your voice strained with desperation as you struggled to keep pace with him. "Please, let me explain!"
But he didn't slow down, his strides long and purposeful as he continued to march ahead, his shoulders tense with pent-up frustration. You quickened your pace, your heart pounding in your chest as you pushed yourself to catch up to him.
"Eris, please," you pleaded, reaching out to grasp his arm in a futile attempt to stop him. "You have to listen to me."
He jerked away from your touch, his expression hardened with anger as he rounded on you, his eyes blazing with fury. "I don't want to hear it," he snapped, his voice sharp and cutting. "I've heard enough lies for one day."
Tears welled in your eyes at his harsh words, the sting of his rejection piercing through you like a knife. But you refused to give up, refused to let him walk away without hearing the truth.
"I'm not lying to you, Eris," you insisted, your voice trembling with emotion. "Please, just give me a chance to explain."
For a moment, he wavered, his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he looked into your tear-filled eyes. But then, with a frustrated sigh, he turned away from you once more, his resolve hardening with each passing second.
"I can't do this right now," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I need time to think."
But you couldn't let him leave, not like this. "Please, Eris," you implored, your voice breaking with the weight of your desperation. "I'm so sorry for hiding the truth about Lucien from you, but I was scared. I was scared of losing you, scared of what it would mean for us."
His expression twisted with anger and betrayal as he whirled around to face you. "Scared?" he spat, his voice rising with each word. "Scared of what? That I wouldn't accept you? That I wouldn't love you if I knew the truth?"
You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you tried to make him understand. "No, it's not that," you sobbed, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't want to burden you with my past. I didn't want to ruin what we have."
"What we have?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what exactly do we have if it's built on lies?"
"Eris, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love you. I love you so much, and I never wanted to hurt you."
For a moment, he stood there, his chest heaving with the force of his emotions. Then, with a voice trembling with barely contained rage, he asked the question that had haunted him since the day you first met.
"Who is the baby's father?" he demanded, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Tell me the truth, now."
You felt the walls closing in around you, the weight of the truth pressing down on you like a vice. With a shuddering breath, you finally gave in, the words tumbling from your lips in a torrent of pain and regret.
"It's Lucien," you sobbed, your voice breaking as you spoke the name. "Lucien is the father."
Eris's face contorted with a mixture of shock and fury, his eyes blazing with a fire you had never seen before. "Lucien?" he repeated, his voice trembling with the force of his anger. "You mean to tell me that my brother is the father of your child?"
"I'm so sorry," you cried, your heart breaking as you saw the pain in his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you, Eris. Please, you have to believe me. I love you, and I need you. We need you."
He shook his head, his face a mask of anguish as he took a step back, as if trying to distance himself from the reality of your words. "I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don't know if I can be with you, knowing that your child belongs to Lucien."
"No," you pleaded, reaching out to him with trembling hands. "Please, don't leave me. Don't leave us. I love you, Eris. More than anything in this world."
For a moment, he stood there, torn between the love he felt for you and the betrayal that now threatened to tear you apart. Then, with a voice heavy with resignation, he spoke the words that you had feared most.
"I need time," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I need time to figure out what this means for us."
As Eris walked away, each step echoing like a death knell, you felt a profound sense of loss and despair wash over you. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed to the floor, the hard stone pressing painfully into your knees. Sobs of agony tore from your throat, each one more heart-wrenching than the last, the sound reverberating through the empty corridor. Your cries were raw, primal, a manifestation of the unbearable pain and heartache consuming you.
"Eris," you choked out between sobs, the name a desperate plea that went unanswered. The world around you blurred as tears streamed down your face, the reality of his departure sinking in like a lead weight in your chest. You felt utterly alone, the emptiness around you a stark contrast to the love and warmth you had shared with him.
Lost in your grief, you didn't hear the footsteps approaching until it was too late. A warm hand touched your shoulder gently, and you looked up through tear-filled eyes to see Lucien kneeling beside you, his expression one of deep concern.
"What happened?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine worry. "Are you hurt?"
You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, replaced by another wave of sobs. Lucien's eyes flickered with understanding and sympathy as he helped you to your feet, his grip strong and reassuring.
"Come on," he said gently, guiding you with a firm but gentle hand. "Let's get you to the medical wing. We need to make sure you and the baby are okay."
You nodded weakly, allowing him to lead you down the corridor. Your mind was a whirlwind of pain and confusion, each step feeling like an eternity. The journey to the medical wing passed in a blur, the world around you a hazy amalgamation of sounds and shapes.
The healers quickly took you in, their hands skilled and efficient as they checked your knees and examined the baby. Through it all, Lucien stayed by your side, his presence a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil. His eyes were filled with concern, his hand never leaving yours as the healers worked.
"She's okay," one of the healers finally said, her voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. "Just a bit of bruising on the knees. The baby is perfectly healthy."
Relief washed over you, though it was quickly overshadowed by the gnawing pain in your heart. Lucien helped you back to your feet, his touch gentle as he guided you out of the medical wing.
"Let's get you back to your rooms," he said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "You need to rest."
You hesitated, the thought of returning to the room you had left weeks ago filling you with dread. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Eris's room. Across from mine."
Lucien nodded, understanding in his eyes as he led you to Eris's chambers. As you approached the door, a sense of foreboding washed over you. With a trembling hand, you pushed the door open, your heart sinking at the sight that greeted you.
The room was empty. Eris's belongings were gone, the space devoid of any trace of him. It was as if he had never been there at all. You felt a fresh wave of despair crash over you, the reality of his departure hitting you like a physical blow.
"No," you whispered, your voice breaking. "He can't be gone."
Lucien's expression turned grim as he looked around the room, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, his hand squeezing yours in a gesture of support. "I'm so, so sorry."
You sank to your knees once more, the weight of your grief too much to bear. Lucien knelt beside you, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. "We'll get through this," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your shattered heart. "Youâre not alone. We'll get through this together."
But even as his words offered a small measure of comfort, you couldn't shake the feeling of profound loss. Eris was gone, and the world felt a little colder, a little darker, without him by your side.
Y/N reaches her breaking point, overwhelmed by bottled-up emotions and unspoken love. As she cries in her room, Azriel stands outside, torn by a decision that could change everything. Cassian's advice hangs in the air, but Azriel's fear drives him away, leaving hearts broken and futures uncertain.
Word Count: 1693
Warnings: Heartbreak x 1000%
Y/N:
Y/N stood alone in her room at the House of Wind, the walls closing in around her as the weight of her emotions became too much to bear. She sank to the floor, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. For decades, she had kept her feelings hidden, locked away in the deepest recesses of her heart. She had watched Azriel from afar, loving him in silence, hoping against hope that one day he might see her.
But that day never came. Instead, she watched as Azrielâs gaze lingered on Elain, his shadows curling around her protectively. She saw the way he looked at her, with a softness and warmth that Y/N had always yearned for. The realization that he was falling for Elain had been like a dagger to her heart, twisting deeper with every stolen glance, every gentle touch.
The pain had been bearable at first, a dull ache that she could manage. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the ache had grown into a searing agony. She had tried to push it down, to keep it hidden beneath a veneer of strength and indifference. But now, alone in the sanctuary of her room, she could no longer keep the facade intact.
She thought back to the moments they had sharedâmoments that she had cherished and replayed in her mind a thousand times. The training sessions, the quiet conversations late at night, the way his eyes would soften ever so slightly when he looked at her. She had convinced herself that those moments meant something, that they were signs of a deeper connection. But now, she saw them for what they were: fragments of a shattered dream.
Her sobs grew louder, echoing off the walls. She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth as the tears continued to flow. Each sob was a release, a cathartic expulsion of the pain that had been suffocating her.
Guilt washed over her, guilt for not being strong enough to move on, for not being able to let go of a love that had never been hers to hold. Regret followed close behind, regret for all the years she had wasted pining after someone who could never return her feelings.
Fear gripped her heart, fear that she would never find happiness, that she would always be alone, watching from the shadows as the people she loved found joy and fulfillment without her.
And then came the anger. Anger at herself for being so foolish, for allowing herself to fall so deeply in love with someone who saw her as nothing more than a friend. Anger at Azriel for being so blind to her feelings, for not seeing the pain he was causing her.
She cried until she had no more tears left to shed, her body exhausted and her heart shattered. The room was silent now, save for the soft sound of her ragged breathing. She felt hollow, emptied of all the emotions that had consumed her for so long.
In the quiet aftermath, a sense of resignation settled over her. She knew she couldnât continue like this, trapped in a cycle of unrequited love and heartache. She needed to find a way to move on, to heal the wounds that had been torn open.
But for now, all she could do was sit in the darkness, letting the remnants of her shattered heart fall around her like ashes.
She would pick up the pieces tomorrow. But tonight, she would allow herself to grieve for the love she had lost, the dreams that would never come true, and the future that had slipped through her fingers like sand.
And as she sat there, wrapped in the cocoon of her pain, she made a silent vow to herself: she would find a way to heal, to rebuild her heart piece by piece. It would be a long and difficult journey, but she would face it with the strength and resilience that had carried her through so many trials before.
She would survive this heartbreak, and she would emerge stronger on the other side. But for now, she would allow herself to feel everything, to mourn the love that had never been hers, and to find solace in the knowledge that even in the depths of her sorrow, she was still standing.
She would find her way back to the light, one step at a time.
Azriel:Â
Azriel stood in the hallway outside Y/Nâs room, his heart breaking at the sound of her sobs. Each cry, each ragged breath was a dagger to his soul. He knew he should turn away, give her privacy, but he couldnât force himself to leave. The shadows around him whispered of her pain, amplifying his own guilt and sorrow.
For years, he had watched Y/N from a distance, admiring her strength, her resilience, and the quiet kindness she showed to everyone. He had trained with her, fought alongside her, and in every moment, he had felt his heart tighten with unspoken feelings. He loved herâloved her more than he had ever allowed himself to admit.
But he stayed away. He stayed away because he believed that she deserved better. She deserved someone who wasnât haunted by a past filled with pain and darkness, someone who could give her the happiness and light she brought to everyone around her. He couldnât be that person for her, no matter how much he wished he could.
Elain had been a distraction, a way to convince himself that he could feel something for someone else. But his feelings for Elain had always been platonic, a gentle warmth compared to the burning fire he felt for Y/N. Yet, he saw the way Y/N looked at him when he was with Elain, the pain she tried so hard to hide. It tore him apart, but he couldnât bring himself to change his course.
The door to Y/Nâs room remained closed, but the sounds of her crying seeped through, wrapping around him like chains. He leaned against the wall, his head bowed, his shadows restless.
âYouâre torturing yourself, you know.â
Azriel looked up to see Cassian approaching, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. Cassian had always been perceptive, and Azriel knew he couldnât hide anything from him.
âCassian,â Azriel said quietly, straightening. âWhat are you doing here?â
Cassian crossed his arms, leaning against the opposite wall. âI could ask you the same thing. But I think we both know the answer.â
Azriel sighed, his gaze drifting back to Y/Nâs door. âI canât help it. Hearing her like this... itâs killing me.â
Cassianâs eyes softened. âThen do something about it, Az. Youâre both suffering, and for what? Some misguided belief that youâre not good enough for her?â
Azrielâs jaw tightened, his shadows flickering with agitation. âShe deserves better, Cassian. She deserves someone who isnât... broken.â
Cassian stepped closer, his voice firm but gentle. âYouâre not broken, Azriel. Youâve been through hell, but youâre one of the strongest people I know. And Y/N? She loves you. Anyone can see that.â
Azriel shook his head, his heart aching. âShe deserves happiness. Iâm not sure I can give that to her.â
Cassian placed a hand on Azrielâs shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. âYou donât have to be perfect to love someone, Az. And Y/N doesnât need perfect. She needs you. Just as you are.â
Azrielâs eyes glistened with unshed tears, his throat tight with emotion. âIâm afraid, Cass. Afraid of hurting her, of not being enough.â
Cassianâs grip tightened. âLove is a risk, Az. But itâs a risk worth taking. Donât let fear keep you from the one person who can make you truly happy.â
Azriel looked back at Y/Nâs door, the sound of her crying still echoing in his ears. He knew Cassian was right, but the fear and self-doubt were overwhelming.
âI donât know if I can,â Azriel whispered, his voice breaking.
Cassian pulled him into a brief, fierce hug. âYou can. And you will. Because you love her, and she loves you. Donât let anything else matter.â
As Cassian stepped back, Azriel nodded slowly, his resolve hardening. But as he turned back to Y/Nâs door, his courage faltered. The weight of his past, the fear of not being enough, pressed down on him like a physical force.
He took a step forward, then another, his hand reaching out toward the door. But as he heard another heartbreaking sob from within, his hand dropped to his side. The shadows around him seemed to tighten, mirroring his inner turmoil.
âI canât,â he murmured, more to himself than to Cassian. âI canât do this to her.â
Before Cassian could respond, Azriel turned and walked away, his heart shattering with each step. He forced himself to keep moving, even as every instinct screamed at him to go back, to hold Y/N and tell her everything.
Cassian watched him go, a look of profound sadness in his eyes. âAz,â he called softly, but Azriel didnât stop.
As Azriel walked away, the sound of Y/Nâs sobs grew fainter, replaced by the deafening silence of his own despair. He had made his choice, and it was one he would have to live with. But the thought of Y/N, alone and hurting, was a pain unlike any other.
And in her room, Y/N cried herself to sleep, the ache in her heart a mirror of the one Azriel carried with him. They were both left in a state of despair, separated by walls and the unspoken words that hung between them like a barrier they couldnât cross.
Azrielâs shadows whispered around him, their murmurs filled with sorrow. He knew he had made a mistake, but for now, he couldnât see a way to fix it. All he could do was keep moving forward, even as his heart begged him to turn back.
Because sometimes, the greatest battles werenât fought on the battlefield, but within the heart. And this was a battle Azriel wasnât sure he could win.