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lady-djarin · 9 months ago

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independent contractor

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

fully inspired by this post

warnings/tags: no outbreak au, no sarah mentioned, but we can always pretend she’s at collage or something, infidelity by reader(reader’s hubby is an asshole), contractor!joel, age gap (late 20s/mid 50s) , masterbation (m), smelling of panties(?), sexting, oral (receiving), p in v (unprotected- don’t do that!!) general smut so children leave!! mdni 18+

word count: 6.1k

a/n: i understand not everyone is going to dig the infidelity thing so i get that, if you are not into that please just scroll on, thank you :)

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was a beautiful dress but damn if it wasn’t complicated, the back had all these complicated buttons and clasps to hold it closed. You had managed to get yourself into the thin fabric but just as you needed your husband to close the dress, he had conveniently disappeared. He had been dressed for the party for a while and had been running around the house trying to organize the vendors. It was all for some charity thing he was throwing through his company. He was the CEO of some big company that even after 5 years of marriage you still didn’t understand. Something to do with finance? Maybe.

“Hon? Are you up here?” You huffed as you realized he was not in ear shot. Your husband had a habit of doing this, leaving right when you needed him in favor of something he needed.

You can now admit to yourself that the marriage you were in was a little rushed. Ok, maybe more than rushed. You were engaged within three months of meeting and married in less than a year. The first year of marriage was amazing, he would shower you with gifts and trips and practically worshiped the ground you walk on. It now felt like he only did this to rope you in. He began to take multiple long ‘work trips’ every month and you soon found evidence of an affair (or multiple). Once, there was long hair all over his clothes that was definitely not his or yours along with red lipstick smudged on a white shirt. Was he not even trying to hide it or did he just not care?

You had always told yourself that ‘you’d never be with a cheater’ and you wouldn’t fall prey to men who used women. Well, after a quick marriage, that you begged your parents to go along with, you felt like you had nowhere else to go. Your parents would not be happy and would surely find a way to blame you, and all your friends were also his. So, you kept your head high as your husband did as he pleased. You were now a forgotten trophy on the shelf he felt didn’t need polishing anymore. So you did as you pleased, with his money. One of the things you liked spending his money on was renovations to the house that you were usually alone in.

Currently, you were renovating the other side of the house to become a library/craft area for yourself. The contractor was actually at the house doing a walk through before the party got started. He happened to hear you calling for your husband from down the hall and came to your rescue.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, I think he went downstairs,” he was looking down when he first walked in, probably to make sure you were decent. What a gentleman.

“Of course he did, uhg,” you fumbled with the clasps behind your back and failed to make a difference.

“I can go get ‘em for ya?”

“No that’s ok Joel, thank you,” Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction. He had been so great from the beginning, knowing exactly what you wanted for the library, seeing your vision immediately. He was very much the southern Texan gentleman, ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am’, no matter how many times you told him you hated it. “and please, Joel. I’m not a ma’am.” Your smile drew his eyes up.

”My mama would kill me if she heard me call ya’ anythin’ but, ma’am,” he stepped into the room, already coming to help even with your refusal. “I’m more delicate than ya think, im sure i can handle some buttons,” he came up behind you in the mirror and his soft touch on your shoulder blade made you inhale. You held the dress against your chest making sure he had room to fasten the small clasps. You caught his gaze in the mirror that was fixated on the dip in the front of the dress.

He matched your smile.

His surprisingly nimble fingers secure every last fastening and it feels like you can hear your own heart beating out of your chest. It had been a long time since you were looked at the way Joel was looking at you. He was a handsome man, big and rugged but soft in his features. He had these deep brown eyes that you could get lost in and lips that would make a nun blush. He was affecting you in ways your husband hadn’t done in years, he was turning you on. A complete stranger was turning you on and you didn’t really feel guilty.

Did that make you a terrible person?

You know what, fuck it. Your husband cheated and left you alone in life, you were entitled to some flirting every now and then.

“There ya are darlin’,” dear lord, his voice. The deep southern drawl made your panties wet.

“Thank you… Joel.”

”Enjoy the party,” watching him walk away was the hardest thing all night, aside from having to laugh at all your husband’s bad jokes all night. All night your mind was occupied by the sexy contractor.

It had been about a week since the party and the library reno was well underway. Joel and his team, including the other half of Miller Construction, his brother Tommy, were working tirelessly. In that last week your husband had been in and out of the house at weird times. On this particular day he left early in the morning without saying so much as a word to you. You used the day to mope around on your phone or read but what kept stealing your attention was the attractive contractor.

His team wasn’t around so the house was truly empty, the quiet was starting to drive you mad. As you wandered up the winding staircase, you found a sweatshirt draped over the railing. That damn husband, he leaves shit everywhere. Without thinking much of it, you threw the hoodie on as you found the library under construction.

The sweatshirt smells like sawdust and something distinctly man. That's different from what your husband normally smells like. The thought of him buying new cologne for some mistress almost made your blood boil, if you truly loved him anymore it would.

The library was really starting to come together, the plans on the table laid out the new shelves and built in table being put in and you dreamed of the days you would spend in there. The rest of your day was spent inside, no husband in sight so you did what you wanted, camped out on the couch with snacks galore and bad tv. Your husband eventually came home, after midnight, to find you passed out on the couch. You were roused by him, he woke you to send you off to bed. He used to carry you.

“Hey, get to bed, it's late… New hoodie?” Your eyebrows narrowed and you looked at him confused.

“What? It’s yours?”

”No it's not, I don't work at ‘Miller Construction’…” his tone felt like sandpaper against your skin. Also, have you been wearing Joel’s sweatshirt this whole time?

You wore it almost every day. Refusing to even wash it, it would get rid of the smell. The smell of him. It was like a drug, anytime your husband left you alone in that big house you wrapped yourself in Joel.

The rumble of the engine told you someone was at the house, but the deep southern drawl was what told you it was Joel. You felt giddy, like a girl with her first crush. You were already wearing the sweatshirt because you were expecting him today. He was leading his team of guys up to the library, telling them what to get started on. You made your way up there, under the guise of greeting Joel and asking if they need anything. In reality you wanted to see his reaction to you wearing his clothes.

“Morning Joel, you guys need anything?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He noticed right away, scanning the hoodie and his gaze set your skin on fire. You felt your cheeks heat up as he stepped closer, the air was thick with tension and you immediately felt the mood change. His lips curved up in the corner slightly as he lowered his voice.

He looked handsome as always, the salt and pepper in his beard and hair was somehow very attractive to you. He was older for sure but you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t part of the attraction.

“Nice sweatshirt you got there…,” you could practically feel his heart beating just inches from you. “Miller.”

You had to strangle down a breath hearing his voice drop an octave like that, teasing you. This was real… Joel Miller, your contractor, was flirting with you. And you liked it, a lot. Not only the blatantly wrong flirting but the fact that your husband could come home at any time. It was making your skin flush with arousal and it felt like he could sense it somehow.

“I can wash it and get it back to you,” you wanted to gauge how into this he was. He did not disappoint.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jesus christ.

“Keep it sugar, looks better on ya anyway,” he left you there, finally with enough room to breathe without inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Holy shit, holy shit!

Your mind never strayed far from the older man, you seemed to fixate on the memory of him crowding you in your own home. The rest of the day went smoothly, you went about your business as the Miller Construction crew worked on your new library. You could hear the men working upstairs and every time you heard that one specific rumbling southern drawl your heart stopped for just a beat.

You were screwed.

Joel’s day could not have been longer, though he was the only one that noticed. The rest of the crew worked through the day, trying to get their tasks done sooner rather than later to be able to go home on time. Meanwhile, he was thinking about the pretty wife of the man who is paying him. He knew it was wrong but damn if it didn’t feel good. He saw the way your husband acted around you the last few weeks, he was engaged in every conversation except ones with you. Joel could even tell that the man was cheating, he clearly wasn’t trying to hide it. That’s really the only reason he was letting himself indulge with you, that and you seemed to be on the same page as him.

He knew he was in trouble, he had already memorized your features, your lips haunting him most of all. Every time you spoke he was entranced, unable to look away from your mouth. This was so wrong, he was working for you and your husband. He couldn’t help it, you were perfect, everything he could ever want. He dreamed about feeling you under him and that thought kept him half hard in his jeans all day.

By the time he was set to leave he felt like if he didn’t get himself taken care of he was going to explode. All he could think about was you in that damn hoodie, and how he would bend you over with it on. He knew it would smell like you now, it would smell like both of you. As he hopped into his truck he was so distracted that he didn’t see you coming down the driveway towards his car.

“Hey Joel…” Fuck. “I just wanted to get this back to you before I forget.” The gray fabric already smelled like you from where you held it by his car window. Why were you giving it back? He told you to keep it.

”Oh thanks darlin’,” it wasn’t lost on him how your eyes sparkled at this nickname. You were in the most delicious little shorts, showing just enough of the tops of your thighs as you walked back into the house. Fuck, he felt like such a dirty old man. You were so much younger and bright and kind. He felt like he could never deserve you.

He threw the hoodie on the passenger seat as he felt another surge of guilt and arousal settle into this stomach. Just as he was about to pull onto the street, he noticed something much darker than the hoodie sticking out of the pocket. He pulled it to reveal a pair of lacy black panties.

His heart nearly stopped. He would have never expected this, a sweet girl like you leaving her panties in her contractors sweatshirt. His jeans became even tighter than before as he pulled the panties up to his face.

He really was a dirty old man.

They had clearly been worn and it made his head spin, they smelled like heaven and you, he worried he might cum at the smell alone. He needed to get home.

As he raced home with your underwear gripped in his hand, he battled his thoughts. He knew it was wrong to mess around with a married woman but he felt different with you already. You were like the light at the end of his very lonely tunnel, no one ever looked at him the way you did. He practically tore his front door off the hinges as he rushed up to his bedroom. He felt like a teenager with an uncontrollable boner trying to find release.

The black lace was tight in his grip as he shucked his jeans off, the constricting fabric making his blood boil. He pulled himself free and the first touch to his hard length caused a gravely moan to slip from his lips. Tension and heat gathered in his stomach as he stroked himself. His fingers were rough as they circled his weeping tip but he needed to feel relief. He couldn’t even get himself into the shower, he just dropped onto the edge of his bed and never stopped moving his hand.

Those dark panties were teasing him, you were teasing him. You had to be, maybe you were making fun of his obvious crush. No, there was no way you would have grinned like you did if you didn’t feel the same way. It was an offering, a way for you to make a move without being apparent.

Holy shit. You wanted him.

That made his lower muscles spasm suddenly and his orgasm started to barrel down his spine. He pictured you in your small shorts earlier that day and he lost it. A deep groan escaped his throat as he spilled all over his knuckles. He pumped until he was oversensitive, his whole body reacting until he fell back into the bed.

All night his brain juggled wanting nothing but you and telling himself it was wrong. And it was wrong, at least on paper, of course he shouldn’t be messing with a client's wife. Even if she wanted him back.

Last time you saw Joel outside his car was almost a week ago. It was driving you crazy. You worried that he took it the wrong way or didn’t even see them. You couldn’t decide if you should be mortified, nervous, turned on or all the above. Then your phone went off.

Usually the texts between you and Joel were regarding what materials or paint you wanted. Now it was something totally different.

5:04PM >Joel: Sorry I have not been to check on the progress of the library personally. There was an emergency at another job.

>Joel: Also, thank you for my gift.

Only someone like Joel would thank you for sneaking him a pair of your panties.

5:09PM <You: im glad you liked them

<You: i was a little worried…

Your heart was thundering in your chest. Your husband was right across the couch, engrossed in his baseball game more than you, per usual. Was it wrong to like this so much, the fact that he had no idea you were texting another man right now, in front of him.

5:12PM >Joel: Why would you be worried? It's the best gift anyone’s ever given me.

>Joel: Any man should be so lucky.

Your pulse kicked up again somehow. He was making it all sound so meaningful. Maybe it was to him. Maybe he never took it the wrong way. Maybe he took it exactly the right way.

5:14PM <You: did you use them?

There was a pause for a few minutes.

5:20PM >Joel: Jesus…

>Joel: I’m at work, darlin.

5:22PM <You: so?

5:25PM >Joel: You got a mouth on you, huh?

5:26PM <You: and i know how to use it

5:28PM >Joel: We might just have to have you prove yourself then.

5:30PM <You: just tell me when

5:31PM >Joel: You are dangerous, angel.

>Joel: I have them in my pocket right now.

>Joel: I couldn’t help myself.

Jesus, this man was going to be the death of you. He was carrying your panties around in his pocket, while he was at work. Your thighs instantly squeezed together and it was at that moment you decided.

Fuck it, he made you feel good and your husband clearly didn’t care about your needs. You needed a divorce, and not just because of Joel. It was about you finally doing what’s good for you.

Suddenly an idea came to you, admititly a very bad idea but again, fuck it.

5:36PM <You: hey, do you have any plans tonight?

5:37PM >Joel: You know darlin, I don’t.

Thank god.

5:38PM <You: what’s your address?

5:38PM >Joel: 7 Oak Village Rd. I get home at 7.

5:38PM <You: see you then

You needed a plan. Your husband wouldn’t really care if you made last minute plans, you just needed a reason. Since he barely takes the time to pay attention to you, he definitely doesn’t know your friends very well.

“Hey, I know this is super random, but my friend Ashley”(totally a fake friend) “just got dumped, Isn’t that awful? She wants me to come over so she’s not alone. Would you care if I spent the night with her?”

It wasn’t really an odd thing, you spent the night with friends before. You should feel bad for lying so easily like this but the thrill of it all was keeping you going. You knew he wouldn’t object but he barely even looked at you. A quick glance back before he focused on the tv again as he waved you off.

”Yea, I don’t care… Johnny’s coming over anyway. Have fun.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, you knew you should be upset but you were too used to it at this point. You went upstairs to pack a bag and get ready. It had been a long time since a booty call and you forgot how giddy it made you feel. Knowing you were going to a man's house who actually wanted you there and actually wanted you.

Once you showered and finished packing, you went down to head out the garage. Apparently while you were upstairs Johnny and many more came over and had taken over the couch as they all debated over some play in the game. You tried to get your husband's attention, calling his name and waving at him. Anger boiled over in your gut. Just another reason not to feel guilty about tonight.

You loaded up into the car and pulled out of the massive driveway without a regret in your heart. This was the beginning of a new chapter and it felt right in so many ways. Your skin was buzzing with arousal, you had been thinking of Joel’s thick hands that would soon be on you, throughout your whole shower.

Before you left the neighborhood you sent Joel a quick text.

7:13PM <You: on my way

7:14PM >Joel: Can’t wait.

You felt the heat creep up into your cheeks and down your neck. Your nerves did start to wear on you though, all the usual stuff; Will he like me? Do I look nice? Did I miss a spot shaving my legs? You decided to wear a thin silk slip dress/nightgown under a baggy zip up hoodie. You figured it was a good way to look ‘sloppy’ enough that your husband wouldn’t care, if he even looked your way. You made the short drive over to Joel’s neighborhood and your nerves seemed to melt away as you got closer. It was odd, normally this kind of thing would send your pulse skyrocketing but the thought of seeing Joel made you calm, almost serene. He definitely made your head swim with giddy arousal though.

You found the beautiful house marked ‘No. 7’ and knocked on the perfectly painted door. Of course his house was gorgeous, he was a contractor. Only moments went by until the door was pulled open by that very sexy looking contractor. His brown curls were slightly messy on his head and he wore some kind of faded shirt and loose sweatpants that hung way too low. You couldn’t look away.

“Hi darlin’,” he rubbed his neck and his cheeks went red. He was nervous.

“Hi,” you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face.

“Come in, here let me.” He gently took your bag from your shoulder and guided you to the couch where he had a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. The inside of his home was just as beautiful as the outside; the couch was large and comfortable, there was quiet music playing in the corner from an old school record player and books and plants littering the shelves. He came back and poured you both a glass and clinked the two together before you each took a long drink. He finally sat down and you turned so your feet were up against his leg, quickly feeling comfortable with him.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be ok… with me coming over.”

“Why?” God his southern accent was like honey.

“I don’t know, maybe it was…I was too forward.” You were sure why you felt the need to bring this up, maybe clear the air somehow. “I’m divorcing him, I can't do it anymore.” Saying it out loud made your heart lurch.

“I get it sweetheart, it ain’t fair that he treats ya’ that way.” You were leaning into each other at this point, unable to stop the magnetic pull between you. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his hand near your shoulder. He started to entwine his finger in your hair, his big brown eyes danced over your face and it made you almost want to shy away from his gaze.

“You don’t think I'm a terrible person?” You looked into his eyes finally, wanting to know how he felt about you, how he felt about this.

His fingers left your hair as his thumb brushed over your lips. “Y’not a terrible anythin’ darlin’,” then he moved.

He was on you before you could take another breath. He slotted his lips over yours, his tongue sliding between them. He devoured you, stole the breath from your lungs. It was all consuming the way he kissed you, it felt like he was starved and you were all he wanted to consume. He sat back and pulled you with him, your legs wrapping around his hips leaving your core right in his lap. His hand cupped both cheeks as you pressed yourself fully to him, your hips grinding down into his. Your baggy sweatshirt was obstructing your skin from touching his, you needed more and the fabric was too warm.

You leaned back and you finally got a good look at his face as you pulled the zipper down. His lips were swollen and red and his eyes were almost all pupils. After ripping the bulky fabric off he finally moved his hands to the rest of you. He traced your arms down to where your hands laid on your thighs, he then lightly ran his fingers up your back over the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“You are so… fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He sounded like he couldn’t catch his breath and yours caught in your throat. He pulled you into him again but it still wasn’t enough skin. As his soft lips worked over your pulse and his rough beard scratched at your neck you knew you needed more of him. You groaned as you pulled away again and tried to pull his shirt off yourself but he was just large enough to make it difficult. He smirked at you as he leaned forward to remove the shirt and your skin finally made contact with his.

You both groaned as you came together once again, finally able to feel his warm solid chest against yours. He explored your body again as your mouths did the same, he kissed down your neck, over your shoulders and between your breasts. The thin straps holding up the nightgown were quickly pulled down, revealing your chest to him. He lavished you and you felt the vibration of his groans as he licked the crevice between your breasts before closing his mouth around a peak and sucking. Your whole body arched into his, your fingers carding through his hair which made him groan deeper.

“Fuck— Joel,” your skin was on fire and you were lightheaded. You knew somewhere deep down you should feel bad or guilty but it was the furthest thing from your mind. He made you feel like you were floating, your soul somehow detached from your body.

He pulled back from you, just enough to catch his breath and look into your eyes. His hands however never stopped roaming your skin. His pupils were blown wide, almost none of the deep brown in his eyes were left now. He dipped his head and dove back into your skin, his lips attaching to your neck and it made you groan and your core clench.

He groaned into you and you felt it rumble through his chest. You felt like you were losing grip on reality, you couldn’t tell someone your own name if they asked. It was all worth it because you were lost in the pleasure of feeling him under you, but you needed more of him.

You dropped to the floor, the carpet soft under your knees. You tried to pull Joel’s pants down his hips, almost frantically as if you didn’t see all of him now you would die.

“Hol’on darlin’,” he kind of giggled as he slipped the fabric off his hips and he fell back onto the couch and looked down at you with his mouth hanging open in awe. You met his gaze before looking down at his hard length.

Fuck, he was big.

You lowered your mouth to him, teasing your lips over his silky skin. His breath caught in his chest. You ran your tongue up and his hand came up to hold the back of your head, not to force but support. Eventually his fingers grabbed into your hair when you wrapped your lips around him and pulled him in. You felt his rough moan reverberate into your body every time you dropped your head. It was difficult to take him all at once but you had to feel him, everywhere.

“Fuck, oh my—gooood…” he dropped his head back onto the couch but you knew he was watching you, his eyes never left you. You felt your arousal spread between your thighs knowing you were driving him mad. Before you even got a chance to really do much Joel pulled you up on your feet. He stayed seated and looked up at you through his lashes and your heart stopped for a second seeing him below you like this made your stomach dip and your panties wet.

His eyes were blazing a path over your body, nightgown bunched around your waist with your entire chest exposed. You should be cold but you felt like you were on fire. He ran his palms up the backside of your legs until he reached the lacy fabric of your underwear. His eyes never left yours as he slowly pulled the fabric off your hips and over your ass, his hands touching skin the whole way down and helped you step out of it. That swooping feeling settled into your stomach again as he slid his fingers back up the inside of your leg until he reached your hot center, eyes never leaving yours. You both moaned as he dipped into the slick that coated your skin.

“Mhmmm, this all f’me?” He looked at you with a mix of arrogance and pure desire as he moved his fingers in a slow circular motion. It was made easy by just how wet you were, you didn’t know if you had ever been this wet before. That’s the effect he had on you, or maybe this is just a primal kind of desire that you never had with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

Either way you were spiraling fast. You knew once you two came together you wouldn’t last long. You needed to feel him, it was driving you mad.

Joel seemed to be taking it slow, which you can admire as this is very new and he probably wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. While you admired him taking the time to make you comfortable you couldn’t wait anymore. As he kissed your chest and his fingers kept moving in agonizing circles across your sensitive bundle while you straddled his lap. His hard length rubbed against your center and both of your bodies shook with desire.

He groaned as he wasn’t expecting you to be on him so fast. His hands ran along every inch, taking you into him and never wanting to let go. You rocked your hips and slowly dragged your core across his length causing you both to stutter and moan. You were sick of waiting for the thing you had been thinking about non stop for weeks.

“Will you… make me feel good?” Your voice was squeaky and horse from all the moans and his eyes fluttered at your request.

“Oh darlin’… that bastard ain’t taking care of you huh? When’s the last time you were properly touched?”

You turned your eyes away from him, slightly embarrassed that he was able to tell that so easily. “Uhm… a while.” He gave you a pointed look, clearly not liking your non-answer. “A… a year,” his eyes widened at your admission. “Over a year…” You cringed at your final answer. You weren’t proud of the fact that it had been so long but you haven't been attracted to your husband in a long time.

”Oh… you poor thing,” he bracketed your cheeks with his large hands. “Don’t worry darlin’.”

Joel was losing composure quickly, he was ready to give you everything you deserved. His nimble fingers reached between your bodies and slid along your center, drawing a wanton moan from your chest. You ground your hips into his hand trying to create the friction he wasn’t giving you. He slowly spread your lips and ran his fingers gingerly over your clit causing your body to shake in his grasp.

“Hmm… y’all wet f’me?” His southern drawl was making his lust-drunk words slur together deliciously. The scruff of his mustache scratched at your neck but his lips and tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

“Mmhmm… Joel— oh god please,” you sounded just as lost. Your voice cracked and your hips never stopped moving over his hand, desperate for attention.

“Don’t worry darlin’, I gotcha,” he quickly flipped you and your back hit the plush couch. A soft ‘oomf’ escaped your lips and Joel was mesmerized as you lay beneath him. “Oh look at’cha, you’re so pretty baby.”

His words were like hot honey, warm and sweet. You shifted under him and wrapped your fingers around his hard shaft and the groan that reverberated through his chest made your breath catch in your throat. You kept stroking him as his fingers found your wet center again, spreading your release over your puffy folds. As you wrapped your legs around his hips, you guided his crown to your core and felt the sweet stretch of him entering you slowly.

He paused for a few moments and looked like he was trying to center himself again before pushing his hips fully into yours and held himself there. A deep rumbling groan broke through his lips as he began to move, the stretch was making you nervous at first but you felt more and more comfortable as he kept moving. When he started to rub your neglected clit, a bolt of pleasure shot down your spine causing your back to arch and nails to dig into his arms.

“Such a good girl, baby… ngh— you-you feel so good,” his syrupy words made your head feel fuzzy and limbs heavy. His hips started to snap into yours at a harsher pace and his fingers spent up between you in tandem. Your orgasm was quickly approaching with his movements, faster than you expected. Was this the norm for people with healthy relationships and sex lives, real attraction? You couldn’t even finish the thought before Joel sped up his fingers and started to hammer into you. He was surrounding you, hovering over with those dark eyes and large shoulders. The smell of him alone was about to send you over the edge, he smelled like soap and a little like sawdust, all over man. His voice broke you out of your hazy state.

“You’re gonna— cum for me darlin’, I—I can’t hold on…much longer baby.” His voice was rough and demanding and almost like your body listened, you fell over the edge. The lewd moans and shouts of Joel’s name coming out of our mouth surprised you both. At feeling you cum around him, Joel lost all of his remaining control. He stilled inside you and you felt his muscles contract in his release.

“Oh fu—fuck! oh my… god,” he slumped against you and you welcomed his weight. You both settled into the couch as you rubbed your arms up and down his back. “I’m— I’m sorry darlin’, it's been a while. Normally I'd have… taken my time.”

He sounded almost nervous, it made you smile.

“Joel, stop. You have nothing to apologize for.”

”I’ll redeem myself next time.”

Next time? He wants there to be a next time!

You smiled to yourself and hummed at the content feeling of being under him while he still filled you.

You drifted to a place of half consciousness and woke up in, what you were pretty sure was the morning to the smell of bacon. You turned over in a bed, Joel's bed, to find it empty. You looked around the room and found it to be just like Joel, cozy and masculine. You located a shirt of his and threw it on before heading down the stairs to find a very sexy shirtless Joel standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” his voice was thick with sleep and you walked up to him at the stove. With one large arm he pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head. A slow smile spread on your lips at the familiarity of it all, the warmness of having someone to take care of you like this, emotionally. Something you almost never had with your husband, soon to be ex.

“Joel… thank you, for this.”

“What��cha mean darlin?”

“Taking care of me. Letting me come over last night.”

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”

You tried to blink away the tears gathering on your lashes but one managed to slip, Joel’s thumb catching it before it reached your cheek. Time felt like it stopped as you leaned in to each other, lips pressing together as you moaned at the feeling.

The day was spent lazing in bed and talking about all the things you two would do when your divorce was finalized. The idea of divorce was the scariest thing in the world when you first thought about it, but now, knowing Joel would be with you every step of the way… you couldn’t wait.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal #fanfic #lady djarin

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coolemmasulivan2 · 4 months ago

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A Beautiful Mess | 2

Pairing: Lando Norris

Summary: Two neighbors who can’t stand each other, until an accidental kiss changes everything.

Word count: 3125

You can read part 1 here, part 3 here and part 4 here.

Do we need somebody Just to feel like we're alright? Is the only reason You're holding me tonight 'Cause we're scared to be lonely?

It had been a week since you last saw Lando. After his visit to the school, it was like he had vanished. You knew he was home because, as always, he made sure you knew that, but beyond that, there was no sign of him.

The touch of your lips has haunted you ever since. You cursed yourself, telling yourself that you should have pushed yourself away the moment your lips met, you shouldn't have frozen.

"You're not getting it! Our lips touched." You practically yelled at your sister over FaceTime. She burst out laughing. "It's not funny. I hate him."

"If you hate him so much, why are you this worked up?" She teased you.

You frowned. "Are you implying I felt something?"

She shrugged. "Did you?"

"NO!"

At the same time, Lando was telling Max, who was stuffing clothes into his suitcase, since he was going back to Lonon, what had happened.

"It was an accident, dude!" Max said, watching his friend with amusement. "Just forget about it."

"I can't forget it!" Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Our lips touched, Max. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it."

Max snorted. "Sounds like you liked it."

Lando spun around. "Are you insane? I meant goosebumps in a bad way. Like… I feel sick."

"Yeah, sure." Max smirked, barely holding back laughter.

You downed the last sip of your coffee, grabbed your bag, and stepped out of your apartment. Today was going to be a good day. You could feel it.

You had woken up early, gone for a run, had breakfast, and still had time to stop by your favorite bakery at the end of the street. Everything felt perfectly in place.

For once, Lando Norris was the last thing on your mind. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor, as you shifted your bag onto your shoulder, but then, just as the doors were sliding shut, a hand shot between them, forcing them open.

Your stomach dropped.

Lando locked eyes with you, before stepping inside. He didn't said anything and neither did you. The doors closed, sealing you both inside the small space. The building had a few years, so the elevator was not that spaceous.

He looked at his watch and run a hand through his curls. He looked like he was in a hurry.

Just five more floors.

Four.

Three.

Then... A jolt.

The elevator shuddered violently before coming to a stop. The lights flickered once, then settled into an unsettling dim glow.

You both froze. Then Lando sighed, pressing the emergency button. Nothing happened.

"You've got to be kidding me." Lando muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Just my luck." He let out a long sigh, pacing in the cramped space. If the elevator had felt small before, it felt suffocating now.

You, far too calm for his liking, pressed the emergency button a few times. "Can you stop moving?" You snapped, growing irritated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

You shot him a look. "Yes, actually. You've been bothering me for a while now. Thanks for finally noticing."

Lando scoffed. "Excuse me if I'm not as relaxed as you!"

You could see he was nervous. "If you keep panicking like that, you're going to run us out of oxygen."

His head snapped toward you, eyes wide. "What--?! Aren't you supposed to be a teacher? That's not how you tell someone to calm down!"

"You're not a kid, are you?"

Lando let out a fake chuckle. "Fuck. Why did I have to get stuck with you?"

You crossed your arms. "Trust me, I'm wondering the same thing."

He let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Please! This is probably going to be the highlight of your day."

"You really think you’re that special? You're just an idiot, Norris." You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Lando smirked, taking a deliberate step closer. "Well, then it seems we're not that different, princess."

"Don't you have anything better to do? Grow up, please. That pretty face of yours isn't going to get you out of everything forever."

"Oh..." He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "So you think I'm handsome?"

You exhaled sharply. "That's the only thing you got from what I said? You're impossible."

Somehow, the space between you had vanished. You weren't sure who had moved first, but suddenly, he was close. Closer than necessary.

Lando's gaze flickered down to your lips, as he licked his own. The air grew thick. The bickering stopped and he elevator fell into silence.

Your breath caught in your throat. Every logical thought screamed at you to move, push him away, to say something, but you didn't. Neither of you did.

Lando's hand twitched at his side like he was debating whether to reach for you. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, but you could see it. He was just as caught in this moment as you were.

Then, just as his face leaned closer and your lips were about to touch, the elevator jerked back to life.

You stumbled slightly, as you immediately took a step back away from each other. He run a hand through his hair and you looked away from him. The air was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it.

The doors slid open and without hesitation, you stepped out, ignoring the concerned doorman who asked if you were okay. You didn't spare him, or Lando, a single glance as you strode out of the building.

Lando watched you go, jaw clenched, hands on his hips. He let out a breath and muttered under his breath: "What the fuck just happened?"

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Even surrounded by a classroom full of energetic kids, you couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in your head.

Why hadn't you pushed him away? Why hadn't you moved? Had you actually… wanted to kiss him? The questions run in your mind, each one making you more frustrated than the last.

By the time you got home, you felt exhausted, not physically, but mentally. You barely made it to the couch before grabbing your phone, dialing your friend number without hesitation.

"Let's go out tonight!" You blurted before she could even say hello.

A beat of silence. Then, suspicion. "Go out as in... clubbing?"

It had been a while. You weren't exactly the party animal type, so your sudden enthusiasm was unexpected.

"Yes!" You confirmed, already sitting up. "I need a distraction. Let's get dinner and then let's go out. Call the others."

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my responsible and sensible friend?"

"Just be ready."

Determined to wipe the morning from your mind, you took a long shower, letting the heat ease the tension from your shoulders. Then, you dug through your closet, finding a dress you barely remembered owning: it was a red dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Paired with black heels that made your legs look like they belonged on a runway and a swipe of bold red lipstick. You felt powerful and it was just what you needed.

Lando leaned against the DJ booth, his drink on his hand as his friend, Martin Garrix, animatedly talked about his upcoming tour dates.

The club was packed, people moving to the heavy bass, neon lights flickering across the dance floor. It was the perfect place to blow off steam, to forget about the week.

Or at least, it was.

But the moment you walked in with your friends, all thoughts of relaxation evaporated.

Lando stiffened, nearly choking on his drink. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"WHAT?" Martin shouted over the music.

Lando gestured toward the entrance. "Do you see that group that just walked in?"

Martin followed his gaze, spotting a group of friends laughing as they stepped into the club. "What about it?"

"The girl in the red dress. It's my neighbour!"

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait... The neighbor? The one you kissed?"

Lando rolled his eyes. "We didn't kiss."

"Yet!" Martin smirked, clearly enjoying himself seeing Lando's annoyed face. He turned back to glance at you again. "She's beautiful."

Lando made a face, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. "She's a nightmare, that's what she is." Martin chuckled, seeing right through him. "And she's a kindergarten teacher, bet it's gonna be real awkward for some parents to see their kid's sweet little teacher dressed like that."

Martin laughed, draping an arm over Lando's shoulder. "Dude, you're so jealous already."

"Shut up. What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's obvious!" Martin smirked. "You like her. And you hate that every guy in this club is about to spend their night looking at her. I can practically see smoke coming out of your ears, mate."

"Fuck off."

Your feet ached, but you didn't care. You were having the time of your life. Hours had passed in a blur of music, laughter, and drinks, and you and your friends hadn't left the dance floor for more than a few minutes at a time.

The alcohol had done its job: Lando hadn't crossed your mind all night. (Well, except maybe now. But that doesn't count.)

Leaning against the bar, you waited for your drink when a man approached you. Tall, broad shoulders, very handsome. And exactly your type.

He flashed you a smile. "Do you come here often?"

You blinked at him before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god. That pick-up line does not match your face."

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that was terrible. I panicked."

You smirked. "I can tell."

"Not much of a flirt, I guess." He admitted, laughing along with you.

"Clearly."

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Eric, by the way."

You shook it, still grinning. "Y/n."

Lando leaned against the railing, beer in hand, eyes fixed on the bar. He told himself he was just people-watching, just casually scanning the room, but his gaze kept landing on you.

And the guy standing way too close to you.

The guy who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Tall, charming, and irritatingly good-looking. The kind of guy who knew exactly how to play his cards.

Lando took a sip of his beer, jaw tightening as he watched you laugh at something the guy said. You were drunk and from the way the guy leaned in, so was he. Too close. Way too close.

"You look like a creep." Martin shouted over the music, snapping Lando out of his glare. "Stop looking at her."

"I'm not looking at her."

Martin snorted. "Right. You're just analyzing the guy she's with." He nudged Lando's shoulder. "Worried she might take him home?"

Lando scoffed, tearing his eyes away. "I don't fucking care."

"Sure." Martin smirked, taking a sip of his drink. He didn't press further, letting his friend drown in jealousy.

You stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin like a slap. Eric followed closely behind, his hand steady on your back as he helped you sit down on a nearby bench as you waited for the cab.

"You're really nice, you know that?" You mumbled, tilting your head to look at him as he sat down beside you.

Eric smiled. "Thank God. I was worried I screwed up my chances with that terrible pickup line."

You laughed softly, resting your head against the cool metal of the bench. "You saved yourself."

"I'm glad!" He admitted, his voice warm. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too." You sighed, your stomach swirling uncomfortably. You cleared your throat, barely above a whisper as the words slipped out. "I wish you were him."

Eric frowned. "Who?"

Before you could answer, a voice interrupted you. His voice.

"Y/n?" You and Eric both turned, and there he was. Lando. Hands in his pockets, his gaze locked onto you.

Eric's eyes widened in recognition. "Wow. Lando Norris?" He sounded excited, most likely a fan.

But you barely registered his reaction. Your stomach twisted again, and before you could stop it, you shot up from the bench, turned away from them both, and emptied your stomach onto the pavement.

Lando instinctively moved toward you, but Eric was faster. He was by your side, gathering your hair in his hands and rubbing slow circles on your back.

Lando clenched his jaw, watching the way Eric took care of you. It shouldn't bother him, but it did. The guy was too perfect. A walking green flag.

"Are you okay?" Eric asked gently. "Think you can stand?"

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you nodded. Eric helped you to your feet, keeping you steady against his side. "Where's that damn cab?" Eric muttered under his breath, glancing around.

"I'll take her home," Lando said suddenly.

Eric turned to him, brows raised. "What?"

"We're neighbors. She's most likely going to pass out on the way back."

"Yeah, we drank quite a lot." He looked between you and Lando. "Y/n? You okay with that?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay with going with Lando? Is he your neighbour?" He asked you, and Lando could almost hear himself rolling his eyes. The guy was seriously too nice.

"Yes!" You confirmed. Lando took a step forward and stretched his hands. You blinked up at him, your head heavy. "You're so annoying. Why are you always everywhere?" Despite your grumble, your hands slowly found his.

Eric's lips twitching into a sad smile. He gently let you go as Lando pulled you closer, steadying you against him.

"Thanks for taking care of her." Lando said.

"It was my pleasure." Eric replied, his gaze soft as he looked at you. "She's something special. And I just met her, so…"

You chuckled. "I like you, Eric."

He smiled. "I know, Y/n." Then his expression flickered, just for a second. "But I'm not him, right?"

Lando frowned, watching as you only groaned in response.

Eric let out a small breath before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Lando's grip on you tightened.

"It was nice meeting you." Eric said. "Call me sometime, yeah?" He turned to Lando, extending a hand. "Big fan, man. Nice to meet you."

Lando shook it briefly. "Yeah. You too."

Eric gave you one last glance before walking off.

Lando glanced down at you, your body leaning heavily into his side. "Come on, let's get you home."

You hummed, already half-asleep. "Still annoying."

"Yeah, yeah."

Lando pulled into his parking spot, turning off the engine with a quiet sigh leaving his mouth. When he glanced to his right, he wasn't surprised to see you fast asleep, just like he'd predicted.

Your head rested against the window of his McLaren, your mouth slightly open, breaths slow and steady. One of his Quadrant hoodies was draped over you.

Lando exhaled, leaning back against the seat as he stared at you. He'd never really taken the time to look at you before, not like this. You looked… peaceful. And you were indeed a very beautiful woman.

His fingers moved on their own, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

"What the hell am I doing?" Lando muttered to himself, running a hand down his face, he groaned under his breath. "I must be crazy."

Shaking off whatever the hell that was, he reached over and carefully pulled your head away from the window. Then, he stepped out of the car, circling around to your side and pulling the door open.

"Y/n?" He called, his voice quiet but firm as he nudged your arm. "Wake up. We're home."

"Hm?" You groaned, keeping your eyes firmly shut.

"Wake up. Come on."

He turned your face into the seat, snuggling deeper into the warmth. "Let me sleep!"

Lando huffed, crossing his arms as he glanced around the dimly lit garage. "If you don't wake up, I'm leaving you here." Nothing. "I cannot believe her." With a sigh, he leaned down, sliding one arm beneath your legs and the other behind your back. He hesitated for a second before carefully lifting you into his arms.

You instinctively curled into his chest, your face pressing against the crook of his neck, a small sigh leaving your lips. Lando froze for a split second, his heart racing in his chest.

Lando stepped into the elevator, shifting you slightly in his arms to press the button for his floor. You were still dead weight against him, your warm breath fanning against the side of his neck. He clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the way you seemed to fit perfectly against him.

When the doors opened, he carried you down the hall, stopping in front of your apartment.

"Alright, time to go home." He muttered, adjusting his grip. "Where's your key?" You mumbled something against his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. Then, before he could even react, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Y/n." He tried again, shaking you gently. "Where's your key?"

Another muffled murmur. He sighed, dropping his head back against the door in frustration. Since you refused to answer him, and since he couldn't exactly rummage through your purse while holding you, he had no choice.

"Alright, you're coming with me." He muttered, carrying you across the hall to his own apartment.

He walked straight to his bedroom, gently lowering you onto his bed. As soon as your back hit the mattress, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. But just as he moved, you reached out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his white shirt, right where it gaped open.

"Stay." You murmured, eyes still closed.

Lando froze. "You're drunk!" He reminded you, gently prying your fingers off him. You groaned but refused to let go, gripping his shirt again, this time tighter. His breath hitched as your fingertips brushed against his bare chest. "Y/n!"

"Lando!" You snuggled against the pillow, your grip unrelenting. "Stay." You whispered.

Lando clenched his jaw. He should go. He needed to go. But the way you held onto him, the way you looked so small and vulnerable in his bed… it made something twist inside his chest.

With a heavy sigh, he gave in. "Fine! But just until you fall asleep." He told himself that.

And yet, as he laid down beside you, feeling the warmth of your body so close to his, he had a sinking feeling that this was only going to make things a lot more complicated.

Tags:

@lilorose25 @downsideup1989 @anayaverse @ln4-cl16-world @chlmtfilms @444-leqz @joannaln4 @notarshia

#lando norris #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 #ln4 x reader

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delulusionwl · 5 months ago

Text

♡ I See You

Pairing ── Neteyam x Fem!Omaticaya!Reader Word ── 3k Synopsis ─�� In which Neteyam gets jealous about the reader having a lot of suitors, as he wants her for himself. Warnings ── A jealous!Neteyam, a little bit of angry!Neteyam, Neteyam wanting to confess to Y/N but having an internal block, Possessive!Neteyam? Yandere!Neteyam?! o.O (I wasn't expecting this as I wrote it, fr) Fluffy moments ahead! Let me know if I should warn something :) A/n ── This is my first fic/imagine of Neteyam (hearts in my eyes). I saw the film a long time ago, but I never wrote an imagine for this lovely boy. But now, here I am! Let me know if you liked it <3 Images are not mine, so credit goes to the respective owners. English is not my first language!

Neteyam was irritated. Anyone who looked at him could tell he was practically steaming, his narrowed eyes glued to the ground, his firm steps carrying him somewhere far away from the clan before he did something he might regret—or something that would earn him a stern lecture (and punishment) from Jake later on.

Once again, the eldest Sully had seen Y/n being politely courted by one of the other boys in the clan. He chuckled bitterly to himself, almost scoffing. Of course, Y/n was being courted by every young Omaticaya in the hopes of making her their mate.

If this had been a few years ago, back when Neteyam wasn’t even aware of Y/n’s existence—too busy with training and missions assigned by his father—he wouldn’t have cared about her constantly being approached. But from the moment he truly noticed her, something inside him had shifted. And that something drove him to the brink of madness every time another boy approached her.

Of course, he couldn’t expect that not to happen. Y/n was, by far, the most beautiful young woman in the clan. But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t only her perfectly amber eyes, designed so flawlessly by Eywa, or her long, dark hair that seemed to reflect all of Pandora’s natural light, or even her radiant smile that adorned her small, round face so perfectly. No, it was more than just her looks, though the entire clan—especially the young Omaticaya men—had to notice those things about her, too.

Still, Neteyam was utterly jealous. And furious. He couldn’t just hide Y/n away from everyone, keep her somewhere safe where only he could see her, appreciate her, talk to her. Maybe even touch her—if he didn’t combust from the thought alone.

Every time he interacted with Y/n, Neteyam’s heart would pound harder and faster, his face would flush, and his palms would sweat. When he first started feeling this way, the Omaticaya thought he was ill and grew concerned, which drew Jake’s attention. Eventually, Neteyam couldn’t keep it to himself and told his father what was bothering him.

Jake Sully had to fight back a laugh when his eldest said he was in love—though not in those exact words. Still, Jake kept a serious face to maintain his authority. Jake liked Y/n; she was a good girl. He had practically watched her grow up, just as he’d watched Neteyam grow up. But he didn’t like how much she was distracting his son. As a final piece of advice, the patriarch told his son to focus harder on his training until he felt ready to confess his feelings.

And so, until that day came, Neteyam settled for forming a friendship with the young woman. He poured himself into his training, trying harder every day to push those feelings away.

Neytiri, on the other hand, had noticed what was happening without needing a word from Neteyam. She saw how he acted whenever Y/n was nearby during any clan gathering. She saw his reactions as he struggled to hide his emotions, forget them, and behave naturally around the girl. Neytiri liked Y/n, too. She thought the young woman was beautiful, talented, and caring. If it was Eywa’s will, she would gladly welcome Y/n as a daughter when Neteyam finally woke up and claimed her as his mate.

But Neytiri thought that day might take a while—and she hoped it wouldn’t be too late by the time Neteyam finally confessed.

“Neteyam?” Y/n’s sweet, melodic voice called from behind him, breaking through his thoughts. He kept walking, his long, purposeful strides carrying him anywhere far from the girl who occupied his mind—and who was now standing right behind him.

Neteyam didn’t stop walking, but his ears, along with the stiffness in his tail and shoulders, betrayed that he had heard Y/n and was fully aware of her presence.

Y/n was confused but decided to follow him in silence. She trailed after the boy through paths filled with lush vegetation and small animals, eventually arriving at a breathtaking view of Pandora from the heights of one of the great trees. The girl smiled at the sight but quickly turned her attention to Neteyam, noticing how he stood quietly, avoiding her gaze, seemingly trying to calm himself.

“Did something happen?” Y/n asked softly, taking a careful step closer but keeping some distance between them.

Neteyam swallowed down the words that were forming like a lump in his throat—words like: You shouldn’t be accepting courtships when I’m around. But he couldn’t hold back the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips. “It’s nothing,” he replied simply and calmly. He would never burden her with his confusion or irritation. After all, it wasn’t her fault she was so beautiful and skilled.

“Nete, it doesn’t seem like nothing,” Y/n said with a small laugh. The moment the nickname left her lips, Neteyam’s heart jumped wildly in his chest.

Still, he remained silent, his face beginning to flush as he stood there, choosing to focus on the view of Pandora. The sun was already starting to set, making way for the night.

“Well... I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have meddled…” Y/n said softly after receiving no response, her tone a little embarrassed. She had known Neteyam for years and had never wanted to be a burden to him—quite the opposite.

The Omaticaya girl had always had her eyes on the eldest Sully, the first son of Toruk Mak'to, even before they had built their friendship. Of course, her feelings weren’t tied to his status as the son of a leader but rather to Neteyam’s gentle yet strong demeanor.

His sharp, observant eyes. His posture—one that had been largely shaped by Jake Sully’s expectations, yet which Neteyam carried with a natural grace. His careful, steady way of speaking, free of judgment. And, most of all, the way he would laugh wholeheartedly whenever he had to save Lo’ak from his own troubles.

"I... I didn’t mean to bother you, Neteyam. Sorry," Y/n said, clasping her hands together. Her ears lowered softly, and her tail stopped swaying slowly from side to side.

Before she could leave, though, the Omaticaya stopped her.

"No," Neteyam said quickly, finally meeting her eyes. He straightened himself, feeling the warmth on his face intensify, spreading to his ears, neck, and soon, he was sure, his chest. Taking an almost imperceptible deep breath, he added, "You're not a bother. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to." His voice was soft, and he moved closer to the edge of the tree, sitting down and letting his long legs dangle in the air. The last thing he wanted was for Y/n to think she was a nuisance.

The girl smiled slightly at his words, a bit of her earlier energy returning. Being near Neteyam was gratifying, and she loved it. She loved talking to him, feeling close to him in any way. With gentle steps, she moved to sit beside him, admiring the view.

"This is beautiful," Y/n said, her gaze fixed on the scenery—the setting sun casting its warm hues over Pandora.

Neteyam turned his eyes to her again, mesmerized by the golden light illuminating her face, enhancing her already stunning features.

"It really is," Neteyam replied calmly, though his gaze wasn’t on the scenery but on Y/n.

As soon as she looked at him, he quickly averted his eyes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Is Jake being hard on you with training, Nete?" Y/n tried to start a conversation. "Is that why you were so upset?"

"A little..." Neteyam replied, avoiding her gaze. He wasn’t telling the full truth, but it wasn’t entirely a lie either. Jake always seemed to expect more and more from him. "I’m just a bit tired, that’s all."

"No days off, huh?" Y/n chuckled softly through her nose. "Jake just wants you to be perfect, Nete. You’re the leader’s son, Toruk Mak’to’s son. There are a lot of expectations for you to meet."

"And that doesn’t help me at all," the boy replied, eliciting laughter from the Omaticaya beside him. Neteyam allowed himself a small smile as he listened to her laugh, watching her face light up.

"The hunting ritual is coming up..." the girl pointed out, softly swinging her legs where they hung over the edge. "Maybe Jake will let you rest after that."

"I’m not so sure about that."

A comfortable silence settled between them. Y/n turned her gaze back to the breathtaking scenery, but Neteyam’s eyes stayed fixed on her, admiring her quietly. He loved moments like this—talking to Y/n, sitting in silence with Y/n. Everything about it felt natural. Like it was meant to be.

"You... you’ll have to make a big choice," Y/n began softly, her voice tinged with hesitation. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

Neteyam didn’t entirely understand her words but chose to remain quiet. Deep down, he knew he could listen to Y/n talk for hours—even if, perhaps, he didn’t fully grasp everything she said.

"Have you already chosen?" Y/n asked timidly, her eyes finally meeting his. Neteyam hadn’t taken his gaze off her.

"Chosen?" Neteyam echoed, a little confused, snapping out of the dreamy state her presence always seemed to put him in.

"I mean... your mate, of course," Y/n clarified, her voice quieter now, tinged with embarrassment.

The truth was, Y/n was scared of his answer. If Neteyam said yes, if he already had someone in mind to share his life with, it would crush any hope she had. But even so, she needed to know.

"Mate?" Neteyam repeated, slightly stunned. Her gaze bore into him, making him straighten his posture. He swallowed hard under her careful observation of his sharp, strong features. "No... I-I haven’t," he stammered, finally looking away. His ears twitched anxiously.

The truth was that Neteyam’s heart had already answered the question for him—loudly and undeniably. The moment Y/n mentioned "mate," his thoughts returned to the hunting ritual and the decision he would have to make afterward. And his mind landed firmly on Y/n.

Because it was her. It had always been her. Y/n was the one he wanted as his mate, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, to share every moment with.

Neteyam grew nervous as he imagined Y/n waiting for him in their shared home, arms open, ready to embrace him, kiss him, and care for him just as he would care for her. And he would do it well—he was certain of that.

A small but happy smile flickered across Y/n’s lips upon hearing Neteyam’s response that he hadn’t chosen a mate yet.

“Have you… noticed any, um, approaches?” Y/n asked softly, her voice almost a purr, knowing this was her chance and determined not to let it slip away. Not when Neteyam stirred her heart in ways no one else could. Not when she longed to hear his voice or feel close to him.

Of course, just like Y/n, Neteyam was a target of attention. The difference, however, was that Omaticaya girls weren’t as aggressive in their advances toward him. Getting close to him without at least being friends with his siblings was no easy task. And even then, finding a moment to be near him during his rare free time was nearly impossible. Yet Y/n managed it every time.

If anyone hoped to be courted by Neteyam, they had to make their feelings and intentions clear due to his limited availability and the fact that he wasn’t exactly the most expressive Na’vi. Y/n had tried to make her interest obvious around him, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.

Eywa knows how many courting gifts Y/n had carefully declined, all the while hoping to receive one from a particular Na’vi—the eldest Sully. With the hunting ritual so close, perhaps it was finally time for her to be a bit more forward in showing her interest, though still delicately. She didn’t want Neteyam to think poorly of her—not that he could, even if he tried.

“No, I haven’t noticed,” Neteyam replied truthfully to her question. The fact was, he rarely paid attention to anything outside of his parents’ demands, Lo’ak’s troubles, his siblings’ safety, and, of course, every move Y/n made.

“Well… plenty of girls would love to be courted by you,” Y/n said sweetly, letting out a soft laugh as she leaned ever so slightly toward him, her tail moving lightly along the ground. Neteyam’s ears twitched at her words, his gaze drawn to her once more. His own tail began to shift, unconsciously seeking hers.

But then, the scene from earlier crept into his mind—a boy standing close to Y/n, talking to her, laughing as if there were no tomorrow, clearly thrilled to be near her. The memory made Neteyam’s brows knit slightly together, and he found himself looking away from her.

“Yeah. From what I’ve noticed, many are courting you,” Neteyam said, trying to manage the irritation bubbling up inside him. He’d almost forgotten it, but now it had resurfaced. A new thought struck him, making him feel both nervous and uneasy. “You… have you already chosen a mate?” he asked carefully, bringing his eyes back to her.

“No,” she answered simply.

“No? Why not? You…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly. “You’re an incredible girl. I’ve seen what you do for everyone in the clan. You tend to the injured, help prepare for rituals, assist mothers with their children… you’ve even helped my mother.” Neteyam’s voice grew a little shaky, his ears flicking nervously, his tail moving restlessly behind him. He vividly remembered the day Lo’ak got himself into serious trouble, forcing him, Neytiri, and Jake to go and drag his brother back. In their absence, Y/n had kept Kiri and Tuk company, distracting them with her kindness and warmth.

Y/n smiled, realizing that Neteyam had noticed something about her. The boy steadied himself before speaking again.

“Why haven’t you chosen anyone?” Neteyam asked simply, his voice low, though his eyes stayed fixed on the girl beside him.

“I’m waiting…” Y/n began in the same tone, looking deeply at him. “…for someone to make me an offer.”

Neteyam averted his gaze, assuming Y/n was talking about a specific Omaticaya in the clan. His thoughts spiraled, imagining anyone but himself in her mind—something Y/n was trying to make obvious with her intent gaze and the subtle movements of her tail inching closer to his.

“Well…” Neteyam said, trying to swallow the frustration brewing inside him over whichever lucky Na’vi had managed to catch Y/n’s eyes and heart. Maybe he’d challenge him to a duel if he found out. “It shouldn’t take long,” he said simply, still not looking at her, his earlier sour mood returning.

“It could happen now,” Y/n suggested, tilting her head slightly, attempting to catch Neteyam’s gaze.

“Now?” Neteyam asked, looking around and confirming they were still alone. There wasn’t another Omaticaya in sight that he could aim his fists at.

“Yes, now,” Y/n replied, his attention now fully on her. She fluttered her eyelashes gracefully, hoping he would understand her meaning.

“How ‘now’? It’s just us here,” he muttered, confused, though his heart skipped a beat as he caught her beautiful lashes in motion, momentarily forgetting his impulse to pummel some imaginary rival.

Y/n sighed, realizing she needed to be more direct if she wanted him to understand what she meant.

“Nete…” She swallowed hard, steeling herself for what felt like an immense challenge. She placed her hand gently over his, watching his eyes slowly widen as his ears perked up in surprise. “…I see you,” Y/n confessed intensely, her breath quickening as her heart raced uncontrollably.

Neteyam, on the other hand, was frozen in place. His wide eyes and dilated pupils were locked on the girl in front of him, his body entirely still as he processed her words.

“It’s true that I was waiting for something from you,” the girl began, embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. “But... you don’t have to feel pressured by me. I know you’ll have other great options for a mate.” She let out a small, almost bitter laugh.

The Omaticaya boy snapped out of his stupor, blinking several times in quick succession, his pupils dilating greatly, his heart racing faster than ever before. As soon as Y/n pulled her hand from his, Neteyam quickly but gently grasped it, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/n,” the boy called softly, still surprised by her words. She wanted to be courted by him.

Even though Neteyam was consumed with happiness, staring at her intensely, the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to say “I see you” like he had imagined so many times, but with his heart pounding and his shock overwhelming him, he could only open his lips several times, struggling to find the right words.

Y/n looked at him shyly, waiting for him to say something, while the boy still held her hand gently, preventing her from going anywhere. He traced her soft skin with his thumb, his gaze still locked on her, hoping she would understand him without words, because he certainly would stutter if he started to confess.

The girl looked down at their hands joined softly, gripping Neteyam’s hand firmly, but soon she lifted her gaze back to him, watching him swallow hard.

“Do you feel the same?” Y/n asked quietly, leaning in slightly, and the only thing Neteyam could do was nod—quickly, almost too fast, which made her smile even wider.

Even with his heart practically on fire, the boy swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the young woman beside him.

“Y/n, I see you,” Neteyam said as if making a promise, though it was whispered, it was intense. It was clear that his chest was rising and falling quickly, with a brief flush of purple creeping up his face, his ears, slowly descending to his neck.

Y/n smiled wider, the same color beginning to tint her cheeks. With her beautiful smile, Neteyam returned a smaller one, still immersed in emotions. His skin was showing his anxiety and mild embarrassment, and his palm was starting to grow warmer than usual.

The boy pulled back slightly from the girl, still looking at her, her eyes locked on him with curiosity. Neteyam began to undo one of his bracelets, tightly fastened to his forearm, and once the accessory was removed, he looked at Y/n with expectation.

The girl let out a happy sound, lifting her left forearm to Neteyam, who, with slightly trembling fingers, began to fasten the bracelet onto her. Now, anyone who saw Y/n wearing the accessory would immediately know that she was promised to Neteyam, as the Omaticaya wore the matching pair on his right forearm.

"In the hunting ritual..." Neteyam began softly as he adjusted the bracelet on Y/n. "I will bring the largest animal I find for the clan. And after that, I will come to you and ask if you would choose me as your mate in front of everyone." He continued, his voice still quiet, a little embarrassed but happy, watching the bracelet settle perfectly on the girl. "This is my first courting gift. But please, don't worry, I will give you more gifts so you can adorn yourself with them until the ritual. And also, after it." The boy smiled at her, making the girl laugh too, filled with happiness.

"And I will make your adornments," Y/n replied, thinking of the accessories she had already made for Neteyam, but never had the courage to gift him. However, from now on, she saw no problem in doing so.

The Omaticaya boy smiled at her, gently bringing their foreheads together, and she responded without hesitation, closing her eyes in delight and happiness. Neteyam turned his gaze back to the landscape in front of them, feeling Y/n settle close to his body, resting her head between his neck and shoulder. He accepted her presence gladly, holding her close as they both silently admired the beautiful, dusk-lit landscape of Pandora, content in their mutual affection.

With Neteyam holding the girl firmly and gently beside him, his tail swayed slightly, finding hers, and they wasted no time in intertwining them, causing both to share small, happy laughs. And behind the couple, Atokirinas—the seeds of the Tree of Life—floated softly, undisturbed, as the young pair embraced in front of Pandora's giant moon.

#delulusionwl #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #x reader #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you

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pastryfication · 1 year ago

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fan interactions | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x shy!reader

summary: you tend to shy away from all interactions and oscar has never had a problem with that. he can’t deny that seeing you interact with his fans isn’t a sight he enjoys, though.

warnings: none!!

every race weekend you are able to attend follows a familiar pattern for you: you arrive at the track with oscar, your heart pounding with excitement and anxiety as the noise, the crowds and the high energy overwhelming you. sticking close to your boyfriend’s side, holding onto his arms or hand is the best comfort you can get. oscar’s presence beside you acts as your shield, your safe haven in the whirlwind of it all.

today is no different. as you walk through the bustling paddock, you stick close to oscar, basically hiding behind him. he holds your hand reassuringly, his touch grounding you in the chaos and you enjoy being able to cling to him. you know he understands how you feel, always making sure you’re comfortable, never pushing you to interact more than you’re ready for, and you appreciate it so much. all of your life, people have tried to force you into becoming more social, but it never helped you, only made you more uncomfortable, so oscar’s understanding means the world.

today, though, something unexpected happens. as you pass by a group of fans, one of them, a young girl with a friendly smile, catches your eye. she steps forward, her excitement palpable.

“hi!” she exclaims. “you’re oscar’s girlfriend, right?” her are eyes wide with admiration as she questions you.

you nod shyly, trying to force your voice above a whisper. “yes, i am.”

the fan beams at you, reaching into her bag. “i made this for you. it’s a bracelet with oscar’s racing colours and his number! i hope you like it.”

she hands you a beautiful bracelet woven with intricate patterns in orange and gold. your heart swells with warmth at the kind gesture. “thank you so much, it’s lovely,” you say softly, your fingers trembling slightly as you take the bracelet and slips it around your wrist.

“can i take a picture of you wearing it?” the fan asks, her eyes sparkling with hope.

overwhelmed by the attention, you try your best to seem calm and confident, but your hands are shaking slightly as you nod your head.

the fan takes a quick photo while you muster up your best smile. her gratitude is evident in her eyes as she thanks you. “thank you so so much! you’re so sweet.”

you manage a small genuine smile in return, feeling a mix of nerves and happiness. as the fan takes a step back, you turn to catch up with your boyfriend. when he feels your presence besides him, oscar turns to you, his eyes full of pride.

“you handled that so well,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “i know it’s not easy for you, but you were amazing.”

you blush, looking down at the bracelet. “i was so nervous,” you laugh awkwardly. “but she was really nice.”

oscar chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “you were adorable. i think it’s cute how shy you get. and i love seeing you smile like that.”

your heart flutters at his words, butterflies forming in your stomach. being with oscar made you feel so special. something about his intense attention and affection makes you feel like the most important person in the world. moments like these only work to further remind you just how deeply he understands and appreciates you. you lean into him, wrapping your hands around his bicep as you continue walking into the paddock.

“thank you,” you whisper, grateful for his constant support. “i really don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “you don’t have to do anything alone. i’m always gonna be here for you.”

his promise makes a brighter, even more beautiful smile appear on your face. walking towards the mclaren hospitality, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers reminds you just how lucky you are. the luckiest girl in the world perhaps.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #mclaren #mclaren racing #op81 #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x yn #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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cece693 · 3 months ago

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Hair Care

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: me revealing my obsession with bucky's hair, like it's so magestic and beautiful, literal goals, pre-relationship, fluff

You’d never forget the first time you noticed Bucky Barnes’s hair—not the steely glare in his eyes, not the sinewy muscle you could see even through his tac gear, but that mane of dark hair framing his face. There was something so delicate about it, a detail at odds with his reputation as a ruthless assassin. From that day forward, you were kind of obsessed. You find him brooding on the battered sofa in the corner of the compound’s communal lounge. He isn’t exactly open, shoulders bunched around his ears in a constant show of tension, his left arm stiff at the elbow, metal fingers tapping incessantly on the worn-out cushion. It’s a habit you’ve noticed—something he does whenever he’s trying to ground himself.

You approach tentatively. The hum of chatter from the other Avengers buzzes in the background, but you’ve always found that when Bucky’s in the room, your attention anchors itself to him alone. When he notices you, he doesn’t speak. He barely nods. Yet, there’s something about the set of his jaw that invites you forward.

In your hands, you hold a small caddy filled with combs, hair ties, and a few hair products you’ve swiped from various corners of the compound. You’ve hidden them under your bed or in locked drawers, hoarding them specifically for moments like this—moments when Bucky might let you fuss over him and reintroduce a bit of softness into a life that has been anything but gentle.

He’s a killer. Everyone knows that. A living weapon with scars on his body and deeper ones in his mind. He came to the Avengers still haunted by Hydra’s touch, always looking over his shoulder as if the ghosts of his past might leap out at any second. He’s carved from muscle and edged by lethal grace, capable of killing even the mightiest Avenger in a blink. Yet here he is, perched quietly on the couch, allowing you to hover beside him, your hands itching to do exactly what you’ve been dreaming of.

“Yeah?” he finally says, voice rough in his throat.

“You good if I—?” You let the question trail as you gesture toward his dark hair.

He nods again. “Go for it,” he mutters, tone low but not unkind.

There’s a ripple of movement around you; one or two of the team glance over, double-taking at the sight of the half-rehabilitated Winter Soldier moving to sit on the ground as you move to sit behind him. Sam arches an eyebrow from across the room, his expression flickering between amusement and mild disbelief. Steve stands near the kitchen, arms folded over his chest, and though he tries to hide it, you can see the slight curve of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You place gentle hands on Bucky’s shoulders, pressing ever so slightly. He exhales a pent-up breath. His muscles relax just a fraction. Your fingers slip into his hair, and you marvel at how surprisingly soft it is, given his tough exterior and the rough life he’s led. You lean forward, biting your lip in concentration as you separate sections of his hair. The hush that settles around you two feels oddly comforting—like a cocoon. Even with the half-lit chaos of the compound happening at the periphery, time slows when you’re carefully braiding Bucky’s hair.

“You doin’ okay?” you ask quietly, easing the question into the calm space.

Bucky’s breath hitches, as though the words took him by surprise. “Trying,” he replies after a moment, voice nearly swallowed by the hum of other conversations. “Better. Just…some days are rough.”

You bind the first small braid, letting it frame his temple, and then start working on the next. “You’ve come a long way,” you say. It’s not empty praise. You’ve watched him wrestle with the nightmarish tangle of Hydra’s conditioning—hacking at it with therapy sessions, mental exercises, and stubborn will. He’s still got scars that he doesn’t let anyone touch, trauma that clings like a shadow, but he’s standing on his own two feet in the light, and that alone is worth everything.

He hums in acknowledgment. For a moment, you can’t tell if he’s politely brushing off the compliment or letting it settle in. Either way, you take his silence as permission to continue, your fingers dancing nimbly across his scalp.

By the time you secure the last twist of hair, you’ve created an elaborate braided style that accentuates the handsome angles of his face. He pulls out his phone, flips the camera to check your work. There’s a faint smirk ghosting across his lips as he tilts his head to examine the result. Then that tiny smile vanishes—lost under the weight of a practiced, brooding scowl. “Looks good,” he tells you, as quiet as always. It’s a compliment with a thousand unspoken thanks hidden inside it.

You grin, your heart fluttering in your chest. “You sure? I can change something if—”

He shakes his head, standing up. Even then, he doesn’t brush you away. Instead, he moves carefully, almost protectively, so he doesn’t mess up the braids. His broad frame dwarfs you, the black combat boots and the gleaming metal arm a reminder of everything he’s survived—and everything he’s still capable of. And yet, with all that lethal energy coiled in his body, he gives you a nod—one that’s practically gentle.

The rest of the Avengers stare. Tony nearly drops the coffee he’s sipping. Natasha pretends she hasn’t noticed but glances out of the corner of her eye, lips curved. In the hush that falls over the lounge, you catch a flicker of amusement mixed with that strange, collective awe. A Winter Soldier meticulously groomed, hair woven into intricate braids. It’s jarring. Surreal. But you can’t help the surge of pride that warms your chest.

Bucky moves a step closer to you, so close you swear the edge of his vibranium fingers brushes against your hip. It’s a casual stance, but you feel its significance all the same. He doesn’t usually allow anyone in his personal space unless it’s you. He holds your gaze for a moment, and for all the wordless tension thrumming between you, there’s something tender there—something that makes your cheeks heat despite yourself.

Then, in that gravelly baritone, he murmurs, “Thanks,” so softly that no one but you can hear. There’s gratitude in his eyes; an acceptance that for now, while he fights to reclaim his life, you’re here to anchor him in the gentlest of ways.

You clear your throat. “Anytime,” you reply, ducking your head to hide your smile. In your mind, you already know that you’ll be back—caddy of hair supplies in hand—the next time he needs it. Maybe one day, you’ll braid his hair and then let his hands find their way into yours, no more lines of hesitation drawn between you. But for now, this small intimacy is more than enough. He turns away, glancing at you over his shoulder like he wants to say something else, but disappears.

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prisjean · 5 months ago

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𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ caleb x fem! reader

a/n: based on the new 5 star trailer! i know it’s not spicy and i know his memory might be a lil spicy but i think being vulnerable & hand holding is so adorable c: not proofread btw!

tw: quick fluff with cyborg caleb!

the laboratory was quiet, occasionally having the creak of the low hum of the engines. caleb sat shirtless on the edge of his cot, his head bowed, his hands resting on his knees. or rather, one hand. the other, a gleaming, mechanical mental that rested there like a ghost of something he’d lost.

you had noticed it before, the way he avoided using his right hand more than necessary and the stiff movements when he tried to grip something delicate. but up until now, you hadn’t pressed him on it.

but tonight was different.

“…you’re staring, pipsqueak” he said, his voice quiet but tinged with that familiar edge of amusement.

you took a step closer. “i’m not staring. i’m... observing.” you huffed.

he let out a soft, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “same thing.”

you frowned, crossing your arms. “why didn’t you tell me?”

he finally looked up, his beautiful purple pinkish eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw in his expression, something he rarely let anyone see. “…what was I supposed to say?” he asked, his voice low. “hey, by the way, I’m not the man you remember. part of me isn’t even human anymore?…”

“don’t do that,” you said, stepping forward until you were standing right in front of him. “don’t put words in my mouth.”

caleb sighed, running his left hand through his hair. “it’s not just that it’s gone,” he admitted, his tone softer now, more vulnerable. “…i..can’t feel anything. not from this.” he gestured to the robotic arm with a small, bitter laugh. “no warmth. no touch. nothing. just cold metal pretending to be part of me.”

your chest ached at the weight of his words, and before he could retreat further into himself, you knelt in front of him, placing your hands gently on his knees. “caleb,” you said softly, waiting until he met your gaze again.

“it doesn’t change anything for me,” you continued, your voice steady. “you’re still you. the man that’s always looking out for me and taking care of me. the man that would rather throw himself in harm’s way than let anything happen to me. that’s who you are, not…” you reached out, hesitating for a moment before resting your hand on the cold surface of his robotic forearm. “…this.”

he tensed at your touch, his jaw clenching as he looked down at where your hand rested. “but i can’t feel it,” he whispered, his voice strained. “…i-i can’t feel you..”

your heart twisted, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you slid your hand up to the connection point where metal met flesh, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. “then feel me here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as though to dismiss your words, but his gaze remained fixed on yours, a mixture of exasperation and quiet longing etched into his features. slowly, you reached for his left hand, the one that was still flesh and blood.

his breath hitched as your fingers brushed against his, hesitant at first, testing the waters. when he didn’t pull away, you intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the roughness of his calloused palm against your skin. His grip tightened slightly, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch, something he could feel, something real.

“here,” you said softly, guiding his hand towards your face. you ran his fingers over your cheek, pressing into his palm, letting him feel the warmth of your skin. his thumb instinctively stroked along your cheekbone, the motion being slow and delicate, as though he were afraid to break the moment.

caleb sighed, the sound heavy and quiet, like he’d been holding his breath for far too long. “…you don’t know what this means to me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “to feel this. to feel you.”

your heart warmed at the vulnerability in his words, and you turned your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm. “you don’t have to carry this alone,” you whispered. “whatever’s happened, whatever’s still hurting, you don’t have to keep it from me.”

for a moment, he didn’t respond. his eyes searched yours, as though trying to find the truth in your words, then with a small nod, he let his forehead rest gently against yours, his hand still caressing your cheek. he was gonna cherish this moment forever.

“i’ll try,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “for you.”

you smiled softly, your free hand reaching up to cover his, your fingers curling around his knuckles. “thank you, that’s all I ask.”

the silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotions, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came when words were no longer needed, when touch spoke louder than anything else. Caleb’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb still brushing admiringly against your skin, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

#lads #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb lads #lads fluff

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pellucid-constellations · 7 months ago

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In which, Azriel tries, and you would be happier for it.

warning: angst

Azriel stared up at the ceiling as it stared down at him, the omnipresence of its height a weight that dragged him deeper and deeper into the floor. The cracks and divots in the stone bit into his wings, but nothing could remove him from this place.

Nothing could alleviate the pressure that consumed him.

He could have laid on the bed, shrouding himself in the comfort of the blankets you chose and burying his face in the pillows that might still smell like you, but that was something for another time. Today, Azriel chose the floor. Today, Azriel could not choose anything else.

His inhales hurt.

He didn’t know where his shadows were. They seemed to run from him recently, maybe out of disappointment.

Maybe out of something else—Azriel didn’t care about much recently.

Specs of dust hit the sunlight that filtered through the cottage windows, tinted green to reflect the stained glass you had picked out. Azriel loved stained glass. Azriel loved you. He watched as the air moved around him and he remained still.

Sunlight did not smell the same.

What a ridiculous notion—sunlight having a scent.

“Az, honey?”

Azriel blinked much harder than he meant to. He inhaled and it hurt.

“Are you in here? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Azriel bit into his lip until the tang of blood ruptured along his tastebuds. He felt the cold of the floor against the pads of his fingers as he pressed himself up to a seat, his wings not following suit. Footsteps were soft in the hall until they shuffled into the bedroom.

“Oh, Az,” you cooed. Azriel held his breath as you kneeled beside him. Your skin was wrong as it brushed along on his cheek. “Are you not okay today?”

Azriel couldn’t look at you, keeping his gaze firmly rooted on the carpet beneath the bed. His voice was gruff as he replied. “I’m fine.”

The hand on his face trailed down to his shoulder. You wouldn’t touch him like that. “You aren’t fine. We knew this would take… a long time.”

Heat invaded his waterline. Azriel was so tired of crying.

“I’ll be fine. I just need—” His words ended in a choke.

From his peripheral, he could see you shaking your head. “You shouldn’t keep coming here. It’s not good for you.”

“Where else would I go?” He asked, all watery and broken, still refusing to meet your eye. “This is my home.”

“You should be with your family.”

“You are my family.”

“Azriel…”

His name sounded wrong—it trailed off and fell from your lips so wrong. This was coming to an end and Azriel knew it. He gritted his teeth and felt the wetness track down his cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you. I can’t keep doing this,” Azriel admitted. He finally looked up, the blurry image of you filling his vision. The stained glass and his tears made you look so beautiful, and Azriel thought he might even smell the subtle hints of your perfume.

Only, he didn’t, and Azriel knew it wouldn’t ever again. That’s why he had held his breath—the reason he had stared so hard at the ground when you were right beside him.

“Azriel, is it happening again?” you asked. Only, it wasn’t you. It had never been you. “Should I get Rhys?”

Azriel’s jaw trembled as his vision cleared.

“I can call for him,” Mor stressed, leaning her head down to try and catch Azriel’s retreating gaze. “He’d help. He’d make it easier, like before.”

But Azriel didn’t want it to feel easier. If it were easier, that would mean you were really, truly gone. When it hurt, it reminded him of you. Your love had felt this big.

It couldn’t feel easy. It shouldn’t.

Azriel huffed out a breath that pricked at the hole in his chest. He searched for the thread within him and found it exactly where you’d left it—limp and lifeless, but a reminder that you were real and you were his.

“She wouldn’t have wanted this for you,” Mor tried again, using the only excuse that seemed to get him out of this house. “She would want you to be happy.”

And Azriel wasn’t sure if that was achievable—being happy when you were dead. But he would try, for you.

Azriel hauled himself up with the guidance of Mor’s hand, and he tried.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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fantasticfourthwingimagines · 4 days ago

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Choose to Change Pairing - Xaden Riorson x Marked!Reader Summary - After two years of being separated, you're finally reunited with your best friends in the Rider's Quadrant. After losing everything, it almost feels like being home again having Xaden at your side. That feeling only increases when Xaden's dragon spends the night with her mate, revealing feelings you'd both held onto for so long. Then a letter arrives from Poromiel, and now you have to decide. Which are you going to let Xaden choose? You, or your home? Word Count - THIS IS 18.5K. IT'S SO LONG I'M SO SORRY Playlist Warnings - Language, Canon typical violence, death (not of a main character), SMUT 18+ ONLY.

Your boots had barely hit solid ground after that godsdamn balance beam of death when your heart lurched with a single thought: find them. It had been at least two years since you had seen their faces, and you had been counting down the days for at least a year now. As much as you hated the situation that brought all of you here, getting to lay your eyes on Xaden and Garrick would be worth it.

You told your name to the roll keeper, fighting the urge to punch the guy in the face when he gave you a look of total disgust, but quickly moved on. You scanned the crowd, heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum. Too many unfamiliar faces. You wouldn’t even entertain the idea that either of them wouldn’t make it.

Then - there. To your left, half-shadowed by the building. He was still tall, unmistakable, and your breath caught.

A smile so wide it felt like it was splitting your cheeks formed on your face. “Xaden!” You yelled, not caring if anyone heard you.

As soon as he heard your voice, he turned around, and you watched his expression ease into relief, before a smile just for you lit his whole face. His smiles were so rare, you kept a special box for every single one, and locked this one up tight with the others.

You crashed into him like gravity had been waiting years for this moment. His arms locked around you, solid and unshakable, and you clung back like a drowning person breaching the surface.

The scent of mint and something uniquely him filled your lungs, and your knees nearly gave out from the relief of it. Of him. Emotion clogged your throat, and you closed your eyes. You’d missed him. You’d missed him so, so much, and it had killed you, not being able to be around him after everything that had happened. When they burned your mother alive, you’d had nothing left but the ghost of Xaden’s voice in your ears, and then he was gone too, like the world was determined to peel everything from you piece by piece.

Now here he was, right where you needed him to be.

You placed your chin on his chest, looking up . . . and up until you met those beautiful dark eyes. “Have you gotten taller?”

His smile widened, a teasing tilt of his lips that had some hidden anxiety in your chest unfurling. “I think you’ve just gotten shorter.” His thumb rubbed circles at the base of your skull, and his eyes roved over your face like he was committing it to memory.

Your body melted at the relaxing touch, and you couldn’t even be annoyed at his words. You tucked your head back against his chest, nuzzling into it once more. “Fuck you,” you muttered, but the words lacked any bite, your voice cracking a little as you burrowed into him. How could you be annoyed by the quip when it felt like the pieces of your broken soul might be starting to fit back together again?

A small chuckle left him, and you felt the slightest touch of his lips against the top of your head, sending warmth from his touch all the way to your toes.

“Well, don’t mind me. I’ll just continue to stand here until someone remembers I exist.” A voice interrupted the tender moment.

Turns out you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad about it either though. You’d missed that asshole too. “Might be standing there for a while then, Tavis.” You teased, turning your head against Xaden’s chest to grin at him. Your hands still lingered on Xaden, and you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t going to disappear if you weren’t touching him.

“Ouch. Good to know you’re still insistent on keeping me humble.” Garrick’s grin was full of teasing as he held his arms open. “Now get over here and hug your second favorite person.”

You didn’t want to let go. Every part of you screamed to stay, but you’d missed Garrick’s bear hugs. You peeled yourself away and ran the few feet to Garrick, letting him pull you into a hug so tight he lifted you off your feet. “I missed you, jerk.” You murmured, those emotions clogging your throat again.

His tone turned serious, and he squeezed you so hard you could barely breathe. “I missed you too, half-pint.” Garrick said.

You groaned at the nickname, and it made him laugh as he sat you down on the ground. “And that is why you’re only my second favorite person until Imogen gets here. Then you’re getting bumped down to third.”

He shook his head at you, but smiled as he looked between you and Xaden. “Guess the real question is if you’re going to bump Xaden down too.” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you.

You stuck your tongue out at him in a very mature way. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.” Xaden said from behind you, his fingers brushing the small of your back again.

You grinned over your shoulder at him, and couldn’t help but lean back into his touch. After going so long without it, you were going to soak up every second you had of his hands on your body. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

It was at that point they called all the new cadets to formation so they could sort all of you into wings. As you started heading to your designated locations, shivers exploded over your body when Xaden leaned down and whispered in your ear. “I already know the answer.” He whispered, warm breath ghosting your ear. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

You elbowed him in the side, pretending not to melt. Then you tucked that smile he was giving you away, top shelf, front and center, with all the others you’d never let yourself forget.

——————————

You didn’t bother knocking anymore. You hadn’t knocked on Xaden’s door since the second day he moved into it. You barged in like you belonged there, like the air inside was easier to breathe than your own. You passed the desk where he sat in a chair, quill in his hand as he worked through what you assumed was homework, and flopped yourself across his sheets. Your limbs were splayed, and you sank into the familiar softness. His scent clung to the sheets, mint and leather, and it wrapped around you like a second skin. You let out a sigh.

Nothing.

You tried again, letting out an even louder sigh this time.

He still ignored you.

You tilted your head to watch him, cheek smushed into the comforter, and let out the loudest, most exaggerated sigh you could manage.

His quill didn’t stop moving, but you caught it - the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “By all means, sleep.” He said without looking up. “You’ve clearly exhausted yourself doing nothing.”

You threw his pillow at him. “I have done something, asshole.”

“Oh? What?” He asked, catching the pillow with one hand, and turning his attention to you.

“That second year.” You replied, letting out another groan. “It was not worth it.”

“You always did have questionable taste.” Xaden said, turning his gaze back to his work.

But his hand tightened around his quill, just for a second.

Weird.

“Hey, it’s hard to find someone worthy when you had the very best for your first kiss.” You teased, smirking over at him.

There it was again, the tiniest twitch in the corner of his mouth. “We were ten.”

“And . . .”

He didn’t try to hide the smile anymore, turning in his chair to face you. “You bit my lip. Then ran away before I could even say anything.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I blushed and tripped over that dog that was hanging around your house for a while. There’s a difference.”

“He didn’t like you for a week after that.”

“He had no taste either apparently.”

Xaden shook his head at you again, “You’re impossible.”

You pouted at him. “So what you’re saying is, it wasn’t the best kiss of your life?”

“I repeat, you’re impossible.”

“I’d be less impossible if you’d come over here.” You said, patting the spot beside your head. “Especially after being stuck with that idiot for the last few hours.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He stood, crossed the room, and sat beside you without a word.

You lifted your head to rest in his lap, like you’d done a hundred times, and his hand slid into your hair, fingertips gentle and sure.

Your eyes fluttered closed. Gods, this is what comfort really felt like. Not that awkward fumbling. Not that second year's clumsy hands. This.

When you opened your eyes again, he was frowning down at you as he ran his fingers through your hair. “What did he do?”

You sighed, not faking this time. “He just wanted to fuck a marked one to say he did it.”

The fire, anger, sparked in Xaden’s eyes, and you knew you had to quell it or that second year would show up mysteriously murdered later.

“I took care of it, Xay. You don’t have to worry.” You told him, closing your eyes once more as your whole body relaxed when he resumed stroking your hair. Something about the way his fingers moved put you almost in a trance, “He has a nice new scar to show how stupid he is.”

You could hear the smile in his voice when he responded. “That’s my girl.” His voice was low, proud and warm, like it had never stopped being true.

You couldn’t help but smile. As much as this place felt like hell, it somehow felt like heaven too. Getting to be with the boys you grew up with, getting to have these quiet moments with Xaden again? It was all that you’d been craving for years now. In fact, if this was all you got to have the rest of your life? You think you’d be okay with that.

When you opened your eyes again, and looked up at Xaden, you couldn’t help but question though, would he? He was so handsome. Easily the most gorgeous guy in the quadrant, probably the whole college, and pretty soon, someone was going to get brave enough to flirt with him. You wondered if that was something he wanted.

You sure didn’t like the way the thought made your heart squeeze, and suddenly you had to know. “Xaden?”

“Mhmm?”

“Anybody caught your eye here?” You asked, biting your lip, and trying to ignore the way your heart wouldn’t slow down.

He stared at you, and by the slight smirk tilting a corner of his lips, you got the distinct impression that he saw right through your question. “As if you’d let anyone else steal my attention.”

Heat rushed to your face, and a warmth filled your chest. “If it was something you wanted- I could learn to share.”

Xaden shook his head with a soft smile. “No you couldn’t, but it’s not something I want anyway.”

You couldn’t deny the relief that his words sent through your body. Despite what he said, if Xaden wanted someone, you would learn to share his attention. You would hate it, because it would mean moments like this with him wouldn’t exist anymore, but you would do it if it meant his happiness. Knowing that you didn’t have to worry about that though? At least for right now? It took a little weight off your chest. Your hand reached up, tugging on his shirt. “If you do decide that’s something you want, you’ll tell me right?”

Xaden reached for the hand holding his shirt, taking it in his own, and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell you.” He promised.

You closed your eyes again, a slow smile forming on your lips as he continued to stroke your hair, knowing that for right now, you didn’t have to share.

Maybe you should have told him then that he wouldn’t have to share either. Ever. But the next week, when Xaden challenged that second year that tried to take advantage of you, and then proceeded to wipe the floor with him on the mat, you got the feeling you didn’t have to.

Xaden wasn’t going to share you either.

——————————

The landing jarred every bruised bone in your body. You were covered in blood. It filled your mouth with its copper taste. It dripped from your forehead and into your right eye. It still leaked from your thigh despite the makeshift tourniquet. You pushed all of that aside though, because despite the attack, you were now bonded to a fucking dragon.

“You would not be bleeding so much had you come when I called.” She said, tone dry.

You tried not to gasp at the pain in your thigh as you slid off her, landing on shaky legs, but you made it. “No, I wouldn’t be bleeding so much if the fucking crown Prince of Navarre hadn’t sent his little army after me.” When you had felt the pull of your new dragon Ailith, you had come across a secret meeting and overheard Alic’s plans to capture you and Garrick to lure Xaden out and kill him. Problem with that was that he hadn’t done his homework, sending five half trained cadets after you like you were something frail. “Besides,” you patted her leg. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the show. After all, you could’ve helped.”

“If you couldn’t take on five poorly trained cadets you were unworthy of my bond.” She huffed, then added, “Though I admit, it was entertaining to watch.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

Her head snapped to the side, as if she could hear something you could not. “I believe your friends are very concerned for your safety.” Her head tilted. “Sgaeyl reports the taller one particularly agitated.”

Xaden.

You almost collapsed with relief, or you supposed it could be blood loss at this point. “They’re okay?” You asked, your voice breaking on the last word.

She turned her gaze back to you, and her golden eyes softened the smallest fraction. “They are injured, but they will be fine, fierce one.” She assured you.

You heard your name being called, and turned around in just enough time to be lifted off your feet into a hug by a bruised and bloody Garrick. “Fuck, am I glad to see you.” He muttered, his voice cracking as he held you against him.

“I’m glad to see you too.” You said, and you couldn’t be sure whether that was more blood or tears running down your cheek. “I tried - I tried to hold them off when I heard they were coming, I ran to try and distract them, but they split up and-”

“Is she okay?” A familiar voice interrupted the two of you.

You lifted your head off Garrick’s shoulder.

A cut sliced through his eyebrow. A bruise painted his jaw. But he was here. Breathing. Alive. “Xaden,” you exhaled.

Garrick, sensing that you needed someone else now, placed you down on the ground in time for Xaden to step forward, cupping your face in his hands. You watched as his eyes seemed to catalogue every single visible injury on your body, and then traveled back up to meet yours.

If you didn’t know Xaden, you would miss it. The tense jaw, the rigid shoulders, the icy glint in his eyes. Then there was the slight tremor in his hands, the crack in his armor. Xaden, who was usually the picture of control, was about to lose it.

You placed your hand on his chest, rubbing right above his heart. “I’m fine, Xaden.” When his eyes narrowed at you, you corrected. “Okay, mostly fine.”

“How many?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Five.” You drew a rune with your finger on his chest, right over his heart. Slow and deliberate, just between the two of you. You wondered if he’d pick up on it. “They underestimated me.” You smirked.

You had been hoping that you would get at least a small smile, but nothing. “Where are you hurt the worst?” He asked.

“Xaden,” you frowned. “I’m fine-”

There was a growl from behind you, and you heard Ailith’s voice in your mind. “You are not fine. Let the tall one help you before I reconsider my choice of rider.”

You sighed, bone-deep. Was this your new reality now? Blood loss, bossy dragons, and being taken half-dead into tents? “My thigh is still bleeding pretty badly.” You admitted.

Without a word, Xaden scooped you up in his arms, only putting you down long enough to tell your dragon’s name to the roll keeper, and then you were back in his arms being carried to the makeshift healer's tent. He was warm and steady, one of the only things in your day that hadn’t tried to kill you, so while it caused stares, you couldn’t bring yourself to protest.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. You barely remembered the healer’s hands or the stab of the needle. Just flashes of light, Garrick’s murmured voice, and Xaden’s hovering shadow.

Hours later, while everyone else was out celebrating their new bonds and another day of survival, your body decided it was too beat up to do so. You found yourself laying in bed instead, about to drift off in exhaustion when someone knocked on your door.

When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Xaden there. He stared into your eyes for a moment, then walked in, shutting the door behind him. Within seconds you were wrapped up in the hug you’d been waiting for since you landed on the ground this afternoon.

Your knees buckled, but his arms were already there, anchoring you to him. Every bit of tension and pain in your body was shoved aside as Xaden held you in his arms, his hands cradling you against him like you were something precious. You felt him kiss the stitches on your hairline, but refused to wince. You’d endure anything for that kind of touch.

“I wish I could kill him again for this.”

You didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything to say. The fury in his voice said everything.

Xaden didn’t say anything else. He just continued to hold you. For a moment you wondered if he needed this more than you.

Unfortunately your leg, still burning, started to throb, and you knew you needed to lay back down. You didn’t want him to leave though. The thought of sleeping alone felt like asking your body to fall apart again. You needed him close. Pulling back enough to look in his eyes, you asked, “stay with me tonight?”

His brow furrowed, concern etched on his face, and almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he frowned. “Is your leg still bothering you?”

You hesitated, then nodded. There was no point in lying, not to him.

Like earlier, he swept you right up into his arms, carrying you to your bed. He didn’t have to, it was steps away, but he did, settling you onto it. As soon as you were comfortable on your side, he slid in behind you, the warmth of his chest enveloping your back as his breath brushed the curve of your neck and his arms wrapped around you.

This was what you needed. More than anything the healers or menders could give you. You snuggled back against him, closing your eyes and trying not to shiver at the movement of his thumb stroking up and down your stomach. “What happened?” You asked, needing to know.

Xaden tensed, his arms tightening around you, fingers still moving against your stomach in slow, grounding strokes. You could feel his jaw clench near your temple. “I found them trying to kill Garrick. There were at least ten of them. Apparently Alic had spent a lot of time amassing his own little posse.”

“Probably didn’t take much. Everyone wants to kiss the ass of the possible future king.” You grumbled.

“Garrick was taking on two, and I was up against Alic.” Xaden continued. “He wouldn’t shut up. He kept talking about how he was doing us all a favor, taking us out now. That no one expected us to make it any farther than right here. If they didn’t take us out now, the dragons would. They were loyal to Navarre and would burn us the moment they got the chance.”

Your hand reached up and started stroking Xaden’s arm, tracing along the lines of his relic. “Guess the jokes on them since we all bonded.”

“Then he started talking about you. How he hoped they were taking their time with you. How he was hoping we were close enough to hear you scream when they finished you off.” Xaden said, his voice was dark, sharp as the edge of his swords as his arms tightened around you. “He should have shut up.”

“They taunted me too.” You admitted. “Said they couldn’t wait to see you and Garrick’s traitor blood spilled. How they’d keep doing it until there was none of us left.” You took a shaky breath, your anger spiking at the thought. “It makes me want to scream that they’re so concerned with having us here when there’s a much larger problem out there staring them in the face.”

“Unless someone does something about it.”

You knew that tone. You looked over your shoulder to find his eyes watching you, as if waiting for your reaction. “What’s your plan?” You asked, because you knew by that voice he had one.

Xaden smirked.

And you knew everything was about to change.

——————————

A sharp, frantic pounding at your door tore you from sleep like a blade to your spine. It felt like you had just laid down, and you couldn’t be more irritated. You wanted to ignore it, curl back into the sheets, but the knocking was insistent. You groaned, walking over to the door and opening it. “You better have a damn good reason - Xaden?”

You��d never seen him like this. You’d known him almost your whole life, and you’d never seen him so . . . on edge. His jaw was clenched so tight you thought his teeth might crack. His eyes were fixed on the ground, shadows pooled under them like bruises. He stood rigid in your doorway, more like a storm held in human form than a man. “I can’t shut her out.” He croaked, still not looking at you.

There was one “she” he could be talking about, but . . . why would he need to shut her out? “Sgaeyl?” You tried to confirm.

His only response was a stiff nod.

Your mind drifted to that sapphire blue bond, still fresh in your mind after only a few months. “Is Sgaeyl okay?” You asked Ailith.

You could have sworn you heard . . . A chortle of laughter in response. “Sgaeyl is more than fine,” Ailith purred, smug and infuriating. “She’s entangled in matters of great passion. Unfortunately, so is her rider.”

You frowned, feeling like there was a joke you were missing out on. “What does that mean? Xaden is . . . barely hanging on right now.”

Her response was even more amused. “Sgaeyl is spending time with her mate, and the tall one needs to work on his shields.”

Your eyes widened. Was she implying - “Xaden, what are you feeling?” You asked quietly.

His eyes snapped to yours, black with barely restrained hunger, and your breath caught. Then they dropped, slowly, deliberately, dragging down the length of your body like a physical caress. Your skin burned in his gaze, each inch branded by want. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Wearing?” Xaden grunted out, and you let out a breath as his hands gripped your door frame, fingers digging into the stone.

You glanced down, your frown deepening as you looked at the gown. “This is what I sleep in, Xaden,” you glanced up at him again, more and more concerned with his behavior. You reached out to him and grabbed his flight jacket, trying to tug him inside. “Come in before someone sees-”

“Don’t,” he ground out, stumbling back like your fingers were fire. “If you touch me right now, I will lose every shred of control I have left.”

“This is almost as entertaining as watching you kill all those cadets,” Ailith’s voice spoke down the bond again.

You didn’t find it so amusing.

“How do I help him?” You asked. You didn’t like feeling like this. So powerless to do anything but watch him suffer.

“I believe you can figure that out on your own.” Ailith dismissed, humor still in her voice as a wall slammed down between your connection, and she cut you off.

You almost growled in frustration, but stopped when you locked eyes on Xaden who was still so tense you were afraid he was going to break something. “Why can’t I touch you, Xaden?” You whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Because if you touch me-“ Xaden rasped, jaw clenched. “I won’t be able to stop. I’ll take and take until I’ve had every inch of you - and even that might not be enough.”

It all clicked into place then. Why Xaden was so freaked out. Why he was looking at you like he was starving. Ailith’s words about Sgaeyl and her mate. Xaden not being able to shut her out. You hadn’t been bonded long, but you knew what it was like to have your dragon’s emotions override your own.

Xaden was being consumed by lust.

And the only person he trusted to see him like this, so out of control, was you.

Your heart thudded against your chest at the implications. You knew how you could help him. The question was, if he’d let you.

You reached out again, and this time he didn’t stop you, staring into your eyes as you tugged him inside your room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as you let go of him, his trembling hands landed on your hips. His nose dragged along your neck, inhaling like he was trying to breathe you into his lungs, his lips brushing the spot below your ear as his breath stuttered out, hot and shaky.

You should’ve been scared, of what this might mean, of what it could ruin. But all you could think about was how long you’d wanted him like this. Wild. Unraveled. Yours.

“Let me help you.” You whispered, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his soft curls. “Even if it’s the bond.” You hated how your heart cracked around the truth. Even if it meant nothing in the morning.

Xaden’s fingers dug in so hard to your hips you were sure there would be bruises. “I won’t use you.” He grunted against your neck.

You pulled back enough to look into his eyes. Then, you took one of his hands, and slid it down your side, keeping your gaze locked on his as you slid the warm, calloused hand under your gown. “You need a release.” You took a shaky breath as he started rubbing circles on your inner thigh with his thumb. “I could do with one too.”

He shuddered, visibly shaken as he touched your skin, letting out a sharp breath. “You’re so fucking soft.” He growled, each word dragging rough and reverent against your skin. His lips brushed your ear, and your breath hitched. “You always have been.”

A current of heat and anticipation skated across your skin like lightning, your nerves humming as your hands slid up his chest, memorizing every inch. “And you . . . are definitely not soft.”

Xaden let out a choked laugh, and you held your breath as his lips brushed across your skin once more with the slightest touch.

A soft sigh escaped you, and you bit your lip. “Let me help you, Xaden.” You whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. “Please.” You knew it was going to hurt, but you also knew it was going to be amazing. The pain would be worth every second of being with him.

Xaden pulled back then, to look into your eyes, and his facial expression almost looked pained. As if he wanted to give in, but something was still holding him back. “You have no idea what you mean to me.” Xaden said, his voice almost shattered. “I can’t risk-”

“I want you, Xaden,” the words slipped from your lips before you could think, rough and bare and years overdue. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d ever look at me like this. But this isn’t pity. This is five years of wanting you and trying not to show it. I want your hands on me. I want you in every way there is.”

He continued to look at you, searching your eyes, and you weren’t sure what he was looking for, but you knew the moment he found it. His eyes darkened, and one of his hands reached up to cup your cheek. “. . . Fuck,” he said, the word broken and more fragile than you’d ever heard him speak, but you didn’t have time to linger on it.

Because then, as if all the restraint in him snapped, Xaden crushed his mouth to yours.

The world fractured at the seams - air, time, thought, all vanished. You didn’t just kiss him, you collapsed into him. Into five years of yearning, into every held breath and unsaid word. You didn’t melt. You burned.

Xaden didn’t kiss. He consumed. His mouth was all hunger and heat, stealing every breath, every thought, until nothing was left but raw sensation and the addictive rush of him. And still, it wasn’t enough. You’d let him take everything - soul, breath, sanity - and offer up more with trembling hands.

He groaned against your lips, his arm tightening around you to hold you steady even though you hadn’t even realized you’d been swaying. He parted your lips skillfully and tilted your head for an angle that had you seeing stars.

Gods, kissing had never felt like this, like worship and destruction all at once. Was it because you’d only kissed lousy kissers, or was it because it was Xaden? You had a feeling it was the second. Your hands clenched into fists in his shirt because even though he was holding you up, the strokes of his tongue had you weak. You started feeling as out of control as him, all of your energy focused on kissing him back, pouring out every inch of desire into him. When the hand on your thigh slid up and he brushed your heated core, you couldn’t help but let out a whimper, wanting him there desperately.

Xaden pulled away from your lips, letting out a shaky exhale, his fingers dug into your thigh beneath your gown, possessive, shaking. “I can’t be gentle right now,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You let your gaze meet his, and you were sure your eyes were as dark and hazy as his when you tugged at his shirt sharply. “Who said I wanted gentle?” you breathed, dragging him closer. “I want you.”

Whatever lingering control Xaden had vanished.

One moment you were staring up at him, the next heartbeat your back was against your desk. Objects clattered to the floor - books, bottles, maybe your sanity - but none of it mattered. He was everywhere, and he was kissing you again, every single delicious inch of him pressed against you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His mouth was relentless, and you chased every kiss like it might be your last, sighing at the delicate slide of your tongue against his. He tasted like chocolate and churam, and you were almost positive you could get high off of it.

His hands weren’t hesitant anymore. They roamed all over your body, dragging over your skin in a way that had chills racing down your spine. You tugged him even closer, gasping as one of his hands made its way to your breast and squeezed, sending a shockwave of pleasure down your spine. “Xaden . . .” His name left your lips like a prayer, like a plea, your body arching into every devastating stroke of his hand.

Then you decided it was your turn. Your hand was the one exploring now, slipping through the narrow space between you, savoring how Xaden’s muscles tensed like a drawn bow beneath your touch - right up until you reached his leathers. After a second of hesitation, you reached in and gripped him in your hand, hot and heavy.

He moved, spinning you so fast your breath hitched and your hand shot out to steady yourself on the desk. One of his hands landed on your hip while the other gripped the strands of your hair in his fist. A breath escaped as he tugged your head back against his shoulder, his grip in your hair firm, but not causing pain. “Not yet,” Xaden murmured, and then his mouth was on your skin again.

You were going to combust. Heat, power, and want flooded your bloodstream, tangled with the bliss of his lips. He kissed every exposed inch of you until he reached the spot where your neck met your collarbone. Your heart stopped for a moment as he paused, and then he was sucking, biting, marking you as his.

Oh gods. The idea of being his, claimed, marked, had your toes curling. You arched your hips back into him with a moan, desperate for more friction, more of him. You’d never needed something so much in your life, but if you didn’t get him inside of you soon, you were sure you were going to combust. “Xaden, I need you.” You whispered.

His hand moved low to your stomach and held you there, rolling his hips and making you moan again. “Say that again,” he said, whispering the words in your ear.

“I need you inside me, Xay,” you whispered again, and felt him shudder. Whether it was from the desperation in your voice or the nickname no one else dared use, you didn’t know, but it did something to him.

The next heartbeat though his hand was back under your gown, another heartbeat and he had slipped it through the front of your underwear and between your thighs, his fingers slow, deliberate, devastating. Your knees buckled, and if he hadn’t been holding you, you were sure you would have fallen.

“Fuck . . .” Xaden groaned, slipping another finger inside easily with how wet you were. “Is this all it takes, beautiful? My mouth, my hands, and you’re already this wet for me?”

Embarrassment didn’t even register. “You’ve clearly underestimated how long I’ve wanted you.” You breathed, letting out a whimper as his thumb pressed against your clit.

His hand let go of your hair, and slid around the front of your body, taking hold of your breast again. His touch was scorching even through the thin silk of your nightgown. The only thing that would feel better was his hand on your skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Xaden murmured, then cruelly, he slipped his fingers out of you.

Your hips followed him, desperate for his touch again, but in a move that left you gasping, his hand grabbed your underwear and ripped them clean off of you. As soon as they were out of the way, two fingers slipped back inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

“How many times I’ve wanted to kill someone just for looking at you like they had a chance?” Xaden continued, as your head fell back against his shoulder. “You’re mine, no matter how many others you play with, they don’t matter. You are mine.”

He was going to destroy you. Either with his words or his touch you weren’t sure. Gods had he really been feeling this way? Or was this the bond getting the better of him? You didn’t have time to dwell on it, because in the next moment his fingers slipped out of you again, leaving you aching as you slumped against him. Then you heard the unmistakable sound of his leathers dropping behind him, and when he pulled your hips back against him, you let out a low moan.

This was happening. Xaden was about to fuck you, and it wasn’t some fever dream you’d wake up from, ashamed and alone. This was real.

He took one of his legs and pushed yours further apart while his hands slid your nightgown up to your hips. “Tell me that no one else has mattered. Tell me that you want me.” Xaden growled in your ear, and you whimpered as he ran his cock along your slit.

Gods he expected you to form words right now? If you hadn’t already thought the words, you would’ve been too blissed out to say them. “They were nothing. Placeholders for nights when I got lonely because I couldn’t have you.” You admitted breathlessly, as you arched your hips back against him, needing him inside you more than you needed air. “Xaden, please . . .”

His hand flexed at your hip, and a shiver went down your spine as his lips brushed your ear. “You told me to tell you if I wanted someone. I do.” Your heart stopped as he paused at your entrance. “It’s you.”

Then, in one deep thrust, he slammed inside of you.

His hand covered your mouth to stifle your cry as he filled you up more than anyone ever had. While one of your hands clutched at the edge of the table, the other reached up and grabbed his wrist, digging into his skin as your eyes closed at the intensity of this moment.

Gods you didn’t even have the right words to describe the pleasure that was pouring through your body. The closest thing you could think of was when you were flying and Ailith would go into a sudden dive. The adrenaline would crawl up your throat, all encompassing, exuberant. It was one of your favorite things. However the pleasure, the intimacy of having Xaden inside of you, topped it.

“Are you okay?” His voice sounded almost underwater with the sound of blood rushing to your ears, but you heard him.

You nodded, and then tugged his hand down from your mouth so he could hear you. “Don’t stop. You feel perfect.” You said breathlessly. Then, unable to help yourself, you pressed back against him, looking for that friction again and moaning when you found it. Godsdamn you were never going to get enough of this.

“Fuck,” Xaden’s voice was raw, almost tortured, and this time there was no stopping him. He pushed down on your back until your chest was resting on top of the desk, and then slid out of you for the briefest moment to push himself back in roughly. The whole desk shook with the force of it, and you cried out again as the new angle caused him to hit even deeper inside of you.

Xaden didn’t bother to muffle your voice this time.

As promised, he wasn’t gentle. His pace was rough, bruising. He used a hand on the small of your back to hold you down to the table while he pounded into you, keeping you in place while his other hand dug into your hip. You’d seen Xaden out of control, rarely, but never like this. It was as if everything that you knew he kept inside of him was being unleashed, and it added an extra level of intimacy to the moment knowing that he felt safe enough to do it with you.

You loved every second of it.

Pleasure curled low in your stomach as heat rushed through your body, and you felt a familiar rush of power flooding you. Almost as if he could sense it, Xaden’s pace picked up even more until you could barely keep up, your hands digging into the sides of the table. “Xaden . . .” You moaned, not even sure what you were asking for. All that you knew was that you needed more.

He seemed to know though. His hand that was around your back slid around to slip between your thighs, touching you in a way that would have made you fall to your knees if you hadn't already been across the desk. His other slid up your side to cover your hand, entwining your fingers with his large ones. Xaden said your name then, raw and vulnerable, and you closed your eyes at the sound of it and the emotions it stirred in you. “I’m not going to make it long with you squeezing me like that.” He groaned, his hand tightening around yours.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been doing it. Your body reacting before your mind could even catch up with what was happening. “Don’t care,” you managed to say. “I’m so close too.” You told him, letting out another cry as he slammed to you again, hitting a spot that had you seeing stars.

Your words seemed to egg him on, and his pace became relentless. There was no time to breathe, no time to absorb anything that was happening. It was a build up of pleasure that was moments away from crashing over you and dragging you under. You felt Xaden lean over the desk, his lips finding your ear again. “I’ve got you. Let go.” He whispered, and then brought his lips down to your neck while rubbing your clit.

Like your body had been waiting for permission, you exploded. Your whole body tensed, then released in waves of bliss almost like when you were using Ailith’s power. You know you called out his name, squeezing his hand so you didn’t lose him in the ocean of pleasure he’d dragged you into.

Some part of you heard his grunt of, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” while he sped up even more than you thought was possible until he released inside of you.

Glass shattered, and darkness swallowed the room.

“Xaden!” You gasped, panic widening your eyes as your other hand reached for him.

“It’s me,” He said, taking your other hand like an anchor, and you watched as the blackness - the shadows - slithered back toward him, curling along the walls like smoke. “I’ve never - I’ve never done that.” His muscles released against your back, and you felt the most gentle kiss against your shoulder as your breathing went back to normal.

And as soft light returned to the room, your eyes landed on the plant in your window, once a modest size, now curled up the whole height of your wall, the pot it had been in shattered on the ground. “Yeah . . . I’ve never done that either.” You breathed, eyes wide.

Gods. That had really happened.

A slow, satisfied smile formed on your lips as feeling started to return to your body. Sensation returned in pieces: the cold press of wood against your cheek, the edge of a scroll digging into your stomach, the delicious heat of Xaden flush against your back -

You laughed, unable to hold it in. “Gods, you didn’t even bother taking your shirt off.”

There was silence for a moment, and then you heard one of your favorite sounds in the world. Even more rare than his smile.

His laugh.

You let out a sigh as he slid out of you, then gripped your waist, turning you around to face him. He looked so much calmer, more like the Xaden you knew, and not the desperate man who’d shown up at your door. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me without a shirt on.” Xaden said, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the view when I get it” You said, and you let your hands slip under his shirt, fingertips brushing the hard muscles of his abs that had your mouth watering and eager to trace them with your tongue.

His eyes darkened, hands slipping lower to tease at the hem of your gown.

You’d thought the fire had burned out, but no - he was already stroking it again.

“You know, it’s not fair. You’ve seen me, but I haven’t seen you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Who’s fault is that?”

Xaden smirked at you, “Can’t blame me for getting distracted when you’re wearing a gown like that.” His hands fisting in the fabric.

A small smile tugged at your lips. The Deverelli silk clung like a whisper - barely there, hiding nothing. You loved the way it felt on your skin, but right now, all you wanted was Xaden. His hands. His lips. His everything. “Well, I’m all for fairness,” you said, and kept your eyes locked on him as you slipped the straps over your shoulders.

Xaden took it from there, tugging it down your hips, and your whole body heated once more as his eyes trailed over every inch of skin you revealed like he was memorizing it. Then he paused at a spot right above your heart. “When did you get that?” He asked, voice low, brow furrowing.

Your heart stuttered for a moment, because you’d forgotten it existed until Xaden reminded you of it. You bit your bottom lip, unsure. You never thought you’d have to tell him, but there was no way you could lie to him after all that. “Right after our parents- ” You swallowed hard, the words crumbling in your throat before you could finish.

He didn’t need you to though. His thumb brushed across the scar again, the touch reverent. Then he glanced back up at you, his eyes still dark. “Who is it for?”

You hesitated, but reached down to take his hand, sliding it up over the scar until his eyes met yours. “You took responsibility for everyone, no questions asked, but . . .” You squeezed his hand. “I wanted to have responsibility for you.”

You’d never seen him like this, truly speechless. His gaze was locked on yours, and you watched emotion crash over his features in waves. Disbelief, guilt, sorrow, but then it changed to something else. Reverence, devotion, and for a second, something you were too scared to even put a name to. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, even though it barely rose over a whisper. “You didn’t have to-”

You lifted his hand up to your lips. “I think we need to work on your communication skills, Xaden Riorson.” You said, pressing a delicate kiss to his palm. “Because I just told you, I wanted to.”

His hand slid up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing across your jawline with aching tenderness. “You realize that mark means you’re stuck with me.” Xaden murmured, his eyes like twin pools of onyx locked on yours.

“You should be more concerned that you’re stuck with me.” He would be. He was never getting rid of you now.

One of those rare, gorgeous smiles tugged at his lips. The next heartbeat, his shirt hit the floor. The one after, he had you in the air, leaving you gasping with a laugh as you clung to his muscled body like a lifeline. Then your back hit the mattress and Xaden was on you, kissing you like a starving man, like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.

——————————

You had no idea what time it was when your eyes opened, but you knew it was still dark outside your window so it couldn’t have been long. You stretched out on your bed with a soft, blissful sigh as memories of earlier curled around your thoughts like smoke. You rolled over, hoping to find an asleep Xaden, but instead you found him sitting up, the moonlight catching on the map of scars across his bare back. You gave into the quiet pull in your chest and sat up, leaning forward to press a kiss against one.

He tensed beneath your touch, and you sighed, running your hands up and down the steel lines of his biceps.

“If you try to make this weird, Xaden Riorson, I swear I’ll kick your ass.” You warned, your voice low but firm.

You couldn’t see his face, but you saw the way his jaw clenched, the thoughts churning behind his silence. Before he could spiral, you cut in.

“And remember, I know you. I know how your mind works, and don’t insult me by even thinking I’d let you use me like that. I’ve been dreaming about what happened for years.” You pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder. “So unless you’ve decided you don’t want me-”

Xaden turned to face you, his eyes narrowing at your words. “Don’t ever think that. I could be at Malek’s doorstep, and I’d still be craving you more than death.”

His words sent your heartbeat stuttering, and suddenly you weren’t close enough. You climbed into his lap, sliding your arms around his neck. “Then don’t fight it.” You whispered, resting your forehead against his.

Xaden wrapped his arms around you like he never planned to let go. “I can’t.” He let out a sigh, looking so deep into your eyes, you were sure he could see straight to your soul. “But if something happens . . . If this doesn’t work - I will not lose you.”

You didn’t want to think about it not working. You didn’t want to think about the possibility of anything other than forever with him, but you knew why he had to say it. You and Xaden were entwined, far beyond the physical. Your souls had been tangled together since that ridiculous night Garrick locked you both in the kitchen and refused to let you out until you were best friends - right around the time Xaden handed you the bigger half of his chocolate cake without a word. Xaden owned too much of your soul to ever let him go, no matter what happened between the two of you. “You can’t lose me, Xaden.” You took his hand and pressed it over the scar above your heart. “You’re a part of me.”

His eyes flared as he felt the scar under his palm, and then moved his hand so he could press a kiss against it. “And you’re a part of me.”

Gods let that be enough.

——————————

You paced from the edge of the courtyard to the stone pillar and back again, arms folded so tight they might bruise.

“You’re making me dizzy.”

You ignored him.

“Pacing back and forth is not going to make them show up any faster.”

You gave him nothing.

“Xaden, your girl is making me nauseous.”

There was a sigh, and a large hand grabbed your wrist, tugging your back into a firm chest. “I swear, being around the two of you is like taking care of toddlers.” Xaden murmured, trapping you against him with an arm around your waist.

“Let me go so I can actually make him nauseous.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You need to relax.” His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned in close. “They’re going to make it across. Like we did.” You let out a little sigh as he brushed a kiss to your cheek. “Worrying is not going to change anything. Besides, I thought I wore you out too much last night for you to be this wound up.”

Despite yourself, a little smile tugged at your lips as scenes from last night began to play in your mind, sending a wave of desire through your blood. “Guess not. You’ll have to make up for it tonight, Squad Leader.” You teased him.

He bit your earlobe, just enough to make you shiver. “Greedy.”

You laughed, cheeks flushing.

“Okay now I’m really nauseous. I think I liked it better when you two were oblivious idiots.” Garrick said, pulling you and Xaden out of your moment. His words may have been annoyed, but the dimple in his cheek exposed how happy he was for the two of you.

You flipped him off with a grin. “Don’t be jealous because Imogen’s not here for you to flirt with yet.”

“Urgh, as if. Everyone knows the only person I’d flirt with here is you.” A familiar voice said.

For the first time in a year, you willingly peeled yourself out of Xaden’s arms to tackle your best friend in a hug. “I knew you’d make that parapet your bitch.” You mumbled as you held her even tighter.

She laughed, returning your hug just as strongly. “No way was I abandoning you with this duo of disaster. Well, trio now, I guess.” She said, and you looked up to see Bodhi grinning behind you.

Relief swept through you, tension melting from your shoulders. While the danger wasn’t over, you could at least keep a better eye on them now. Especially since Xaden was a Squad Leader and Garrick an Executive Officer. Not for the Squad you were in, but still, it had its benefits. It also helped that everyone was scared shitless of Xaden.

Except for you.

You watched as he approached Bodhi, pulling back from Imogen so you could watch the two of them embrace. “It’s good to see you, cousin.” You heard Xaden say.

Bodhi returned his hug. “You too.” His words were short, but you could feel the emotion rolling off of him in waves. They were thick with feeling. Relief. Gratitude. The ache of finally being with family.

“Gotta say, Durran. Thought you would have grown at least a little since last time.” Garrick said with a grin as he embraced the younger boy.

“What’s your excuse, Tavis?” Imogen said before Bodhi could even respond as you stepped forward to give him your own hug now. “I think you’ve gotten shorter since the last time I saw you.”

You smirked. Gods, it had always been obvious, but now it was undeniable - Imogen and Garrick still had that spark. Even if they insisted on pretending otherwise.

Xaden sighed, and a ribbon of shadow curled around your ankle, something new he’d just started to master. A quiet, intimate kind of claim. “I take it back.” He said, his hand settling on your hip as Garrick and Imogen’s bickering hit a new pitch. “I’d rather handle you and Garrick than them.”

You grinned over at him.

——————————

“I won.”

“It wasn’t a race.”

“It was the moment I called it.”

Xaden slid off Sgaeyl’s back with enviable ease, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at you. “When you had already started flying away. I believe that makes you a cheater not a winner.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, a smirk playing at his lips as he stepped towards you. “I can think of much better uses for that tongue, you know.”

“Xaden!” You playfully gasped, slapping at his chest. “Not in front of the dragons! We’ll traumatize them.” You couldn’t help but smile though as he took hold of your hands, entwining your fingers. “Sgaeyl is finally starting to like me.”

He shook his head, backing you up until your spine brushed cool stone. “She tolerates you.”

“Because according to her, you make the tall one less surly.” Ailith supplied down your bond.

You would’ve grinned at Sgaeyl if you weren’t afraid of her literally biting your head off. “Tolerate is better than despise.” You insisted, tugging him close until his body was pressed against yours. “Ailith likes you.”

Xaden’s smirk turned into a grin as he bumped his nose against yours. “Oh?” He said in a disbelieving tone.

“Only because he makes you happy, fierce one. If he stops doing so I’ll gladly set him aflame.” Ailith told you, warmth edged with threat.

Affection rolled down your bond, and your smile turned soft. “She says you make me happy.”

Something tender flickered across his face - like you’d handed him your heart, and he knew how carefully he needed to hold it. “Do I?” He asked. His tone was playful, but you knew the question was real.

You loved how easy it was for you to tell him the truth. “You always have, Xaden.”

You could feel it coming off of his skin. The joy, the awe, the pride, even the four letter word you still had trouble believing. His eyes were shining as he looked at you. “All right,” he conceded. “You win. What do you want as your prize?” He asked, one of his hands letting go of you to tug at the collar of your shirt.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to that sensitive spot behind your ear that had you squirming. “Mhmm, you.” You responded, your voice already a little breathless.

Xaden’s mouth kept moving - along your jaw, down your neck - while his fingers slid under the collar of your shirt, tugging it down enough to expose the scar on your chest. He pressed a kiss to it, and sparks shot through your bloodstream. “I’m already yours.” He murmured.

There was no deception in his voice, simply facts, and your whole body melted at the words because they were still hard to believe. You didn’t think you’d done anything in your life to deserve how Xaden Riorson felt about you, but you were going to hold it close to your chest all the same.

Xaden moved, and it pulled you out of your thoughts as he got down on his knees in front of you, trailing kisses down your chest, then lower. “Xaden, what are you-?”

“How about for your prize . . .” His hand unbuttoned your leathers, and he shoved them down to your knees. “I’ll show you some of the uses of my tongue?” He looked up at you with a downright sinful smirk, and within the next heartbeat he had you in the air, legs lifted as he fit himself between them, cool leathers brushing your thighs, and his shoulders braced beneath you.

Heat flooded your veins, curling low in your belly despite the chill of the stone at your back. Your fingers dove into his soft, dark hair, tugging him closer. “You have such good ideas.” You told him, brushing his hair back so you could see the wicked smile that was all for you.

Xaden’s grin turned devilish.

——————————

“And you say I’m the one who’s always distracting you.” You tossed a look over your shoulder, voice laced with amusement.

“Hmm?” Was all he offered in return.

You glanced over at Xaden and groaned. He was lounging shirtless against the headboard, arms tucked behind his head, muscles on full display - tempting enough that your tongue itched to trace every inch.

Unfair. Completely and utterly unfair.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Xaden said, his tone pure innocence, but his smirk and the look in his eyes gave him away.

You looked pointedly at the shadow that was teasing up your thigh with a featherlight touch. “Oh, you don’t?”

Xaden smirked. “Sometimes they have a mind of their own. They like you.”

A pleased smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “Uh huh. Totally unrelated to the stupidly sexy man who’s been doing everything short of lighting himself on fire to get my attention for the last hour?”

His eyes sparkled. “Stupidly sexy, huh?” He echoed, smug, as his shadow slid even higher, making you shiver.

Gods you were so weak for him. It took so little for him to make you fold it was almost embarrassing. Then again, you didn’t care. “You’re not going to let me finish this, are you?”

His smirk widened.

You sighed, loud and theatrical, and then all but ran to his bed, diving into his arms, right where you belonged.

Xaden laughed, threading his fingers into your hair while the other slid beneath your shirt, tracing slow circles on your spine. He then pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your face that made you smile. “That’s better.”

“I’m going to tell everyone that Xaden Riorson is the quadrant's biggest cuddler and ruin your badass reputation.” You mumbled into his neck, returning his kiss with one against his warm skin.

“No one will believe you.” He replied, amusement threaded in his tone as he continued to draw soothing circles on your back.

He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to admit it. “You’re hindering my education.”

He nipped at your ear. “Since when have you given a shit?”

You pulled back, giving him your most serious thinking face, then ruined it with a grin. “You’re right.” You said, then leaned forward to capture his lips in a deep kiss.

His smile curved against your lips, and before you could catch your breath, he flipped you beneath him, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thump as he settled over you.

He slid his tongue between your parted lips, turning your laughter into something breathless. Gods you would never have enough of him. You would drown in this man without hesitation, even if it meant never surfacing for air again. Nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to the way Xaden kissed you, like you were the only thing in this world that brought him peace.

A sharp knock broke the moment like shattering glass, and you and Xaden groaned in unison - you already knew who it was. “Sometimes his distance wielding is really inconvenient.” You murmured against Xaden’s lips.

He pulled back to give you a soft smile that went straight into your box of favorites. “We’ll continue this later. We’ve got time.” He replied, getting off of you, only to pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he had no intention of letting go. “Come on in.” He called to Garrick.

Garrick stepped in, closing the door behind him, a smile tugging at his lips when he spotted the two of you. “Cozy,” he remarked.

“Did everything go okay?” Xaden asked, ignoring the jab. His hand kept tracing slow, absent circles on your stomach.

He nodded, “They were a couple of hours late, but they got their present.” Garrick then reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, his expression dimming. “They sent something back for us this time.” He tossed it to Xaden.

Xaden picked it up, a frown already forming as he turned the envelope over in his hands. The paper crackled as he broke the seal.

The change was instant. His whole body went rigid. In a single breath, the man you’d been laughing with vanished, and in his place was Xaden Riorson, the son of Fen Riorson, the leader of a secret revolution with the weight of Aretia on his shoulders.

You had no idea what the letter said, but your stomach turned to stone. A cold pulse climbed your spine, and dread clawed its way up your throat. You pulled away from Xaden, your heart already fracturing as you searched his face. “What does it say?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xaden didn’t answer right away. When he looked up, his eyes met yours, and it hit you like a punch. Disbelief, hopelessness, duty, regret and underneath it all, that cursed, beautiful four letter word. “It’s from Tecarus,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “About the deal that was made when I was younger.”

Your heart plummeted. It was like the floor had been ripped out from under you.

“Deal? What deal?” Garrick asked from somewhere behind you. His voice sounded distant, like it was underwater, as the world tilted on its axis.

“To marry Catrionia.”

You should have known. It was too easy. Too good. You were too happy. If you’d learned anything in this life, it was that you didn’t get to have anything happy. It was always going to be taken away from you.

Xaden saw it, felt it, you were unraveling. “I didn’t think - I thought when my father died it was off -” He reached for your hand.

You flinched away before his fingers could touch yours.

“Well, then tell him it's off.” Garrick said, like it was that easy. Like it didn’t feel like the sky was caving in.

“It’s not that simple.” You said, your voice as raw as your breaking heart.

“Why not?” Garrick asked, though his voice was quieter now, uncertainty creeping in.

You gave Xaden a small, broken smile, blinking hard against the tears. “Because if Xaden marries her, we get the luminary.” You swallowed, voice barely holding. “We can make enough weapons to protect our home.”

Silence wrapped around the room like a noose. You could feel the war raging in Xaden, torn between his duty and his feelings for you. He cared about you, he cared about you so much. That was never the problem.

But this was your home, and sometimes that beautiful, yet unforgiving word wasn’t enough. Not when people were dying.

Xaden said your name, soft, like a prayer, and his voice was thick with so much emotion you couldn’t sort it all. But you knew what was coming. You knew.

You were already shaking your head as you rose from his bed. “You should do it.” Liar. Don’t do it. “It’s what’s best for Aretia.”

He surged to his feet. “I don’t give a fuck about Aretia if it means losing-” He reached for you again.

You took another step back. Another inch of distance you didn’t want but needed. If he touched you, you’d fall apart. “You’re not losing me, and home comes first.” You tried to smile. It trembled and fell apart halfway.

This time when you stepped back, Xaden didn’t follow.

You stepped past Garrick, who stood frozen, eyes flicking between the two of you, helpless and hollow. “We can figure out another way-” He started, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“You know Tecarus won’t go for that.” Your voice cracked. You turned back to Xaden as the first tears spilled down your cheeks. “Protect our home. That’s what’s most important.” You felt yourself fracturing, splintering into shards you couldn’t hold together. Not here. Not in this room where ten minutes earlier he’d been holding you in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. “I’m going to go to Imogen’s, okay?” Your voice was faltering. “You two can . . . start working on the terms.”

Xaden said your name again, his voice cracking on it - as broken, as lost as you were.

You ran.

You ran as if your body might shatter if you didn’t reach Imogen in time. As if distance could save you from the ache blooming in your chest. When you made it to her room, and she opened the door, you threw yourself in her arms, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Woah - hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Not a single sound. You just shook your head as the tears poured, hot and relentless, down your face.

And then, through the bond - gentle and warm, like a balm on a wound - came Ailith’s voice. “You will be alright, my fierce one. You are not alone.”

She was right. You weren’t alone.

But your heart was gone, still in his hands. Hands that now had to belong to someone else.

——————————

“I’m starting to think this is personal.” You said, spitting blood out of your mouth - and maybe a tooth?

He scowled, pulled back, and swung. “You don’t deserve to be here, traitor.” He spat, yanking your head back so hard you were afraid for a second he snapped it.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You rasped, sucking in a breath, and immediately regretting it. Yep. Ribs, definitely bruised. This guy really had some anger issues to work out.

It was obvious now, this wasn’t about interrogation. This was their free pass to beat the shit out of you, and they were making the most of it. They hadn’t asked a single question, nothing about secrets, intel, or loyalty. Instead they had spent their time bruising up every inch of your body. It was so bad that even your squad had taken to protesting.

They ignored them.

Not that it mattered. No punch could compare to the pain of watching Xaden and Garrick leave every weekend, heading off to visit his fiancée. Like you’d never existed. Bile rose in your throat, but you weren’t sure if that was because of your injuries or the thought of Xaden and her.

“Hold strong, fierce one. This is almost over.” Ailith’s voice spoke to you. She tried to keep her voice calm for you, but it was impossible to hide the underlying rage. She’d been keeping you sane during this. Well, her and your general numbness.

Your friend leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispered. “How does it feel to know you’ve been abandoned? First your family. Now your boyfriend.”

That stung. That stung more than you cared to admit. It was obvious to the entire quadrant that you and Xaden were no longer a thing. He wasn’t at your side always anymore. There were no more possessive touches. It had been months, and you couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled at you. The man you’d once always been able to depend on was now turning into a stranger. All you had left was Imogen, who probably wanted nothing to do with your depressive ass, and Garrick, caught in the middle, too loyal to both sides to choose one. Bodhi still checked in now and then, but it always felt . . . obligated. Like maybe Xaden had told him to.

Because try as you might, you could still feel the protectiveness rolling off him every time you crossed paths.

Not that it was doing much good now. Gods he’d be pissed if you made it out of this.

“Personally, I think it’s what you deserve.” The man continued, his smug smile making you want to knock his fucking teeth out.

“That is enough.”

Ailith’s voice rang down the bond like thunder.

So much for restraint.

His fist froze mid air, held back to throw another punch and his eyes widened as he looked at you.

A smirk tugged at your busted lips. “You forgot the one who’s still with me. And she’s as sick of your shit as I am.”

Ailith’s voice spoke in your mind. “Tell that pitiful excuse for a rider that if he touches you again, I will tear the wings from his dragon’s back, and grind its bones into dust, Empyrean be damned.”

“Pretty sure I don’t have to. He looks about two seconds away from pissing himself. What did you do?”

“The blood of his dragon tastes foul,” Ailith purred, “But the satisfaction? Divine.”

“Interrogation’s over. Get out.” He shot you a glare sharp enough to flay skin, then stormed out - door swinging open behind him like a white flag.

Your head dropped forward, and the last of your strength drained away, leaving you weightless and aching. You felt a couple of your squadmates working at your bonds, but it was too much effort to try and keep your eyes open. “I’ve called for help.” Ailith murmured, her voice softer now, gentled by pride. “You did well, fierce one.”

“That was fucked up.” Alastair muttered from your right.

“They didn’t even ask anything,” Elara said, her voice tight with anger. You assumed they were the ones lifting you up.

“I’ve got her.”

“Tavis? How the hell did you get here-”

You let out a gasp of pain as Garrick picked you up into his arms. “Sorry, half-pint.” Garrick murmured, adjusting his grip as you winced. “I’m trying to be gentle.”

You weren’t sure what caused it. It could have been the use of your nickname, the exhaustion, the pain . . . All you knew was that suddenly you couldn’t breathe. “It hurts, Garrick - all of it hurts.” Your voice cracked as hot tears slipped down your cheek. You buried your face in his neck, clinging to him with the only arm that still worked. It was all too much.

“I know.” He said quietly, his voice strained with pain. “Let’s get you to the healers.”

The next few hours were a blur. Even the healers seemed shocked at your appearance and got to work. Garrick didn’t leave your side, but others joined him, Imogen first, then Bodhi, all looking furious.

However, none of them came close to the storm that tore through later that night.

Dinner had just been served. Nolon was, unsurprisingly, still missing when the doors slammed open and shadows erupted. Xaden stormed in with absolute fury in his eyes, and once he spotted you, it deepened. People scrambled back from him, making his path to you easy. “Who?” His voice was low, deadly calm, jaw clenched, shoulders coiled like a snake waiting to strike.

Of all people, he was the last you could handle seeing right now, too much pain, too much unfinished. “It doesn’t matter.” You whispered, turning away from him.

“Yes it does.” His fingers touched your chin, and you flinched away.

You felt the hurt rolling off of him. “Ailith took care of it.”

“It’s my job to take care of-”

“No it’s not.” You told him, reaching down to yank the collar of your shirt down so his mark, the scar you bore for him, was on display. “My job is to protect you, and I did that by staying strong in there so I can be alive to do it another day.”

You heard someone gasp, but since none of them knew about the scar until right now, you couldn’t be sure who it was.

Xaden’s eyes flared as his gaze darted to that exposed skin. The reminder of what you shared. Then he looked back up to meet your gaze. “I gave you space, because I figured that’s what you wanted.” He stepped closer, his voice hardening. “That’s over. I’m not letting anything like this happen to you again.”

It was what you wanted. How could he not understand that? Couldn’t he understand how badly it hurt? “Xaden, I don’t want-”

“I don’t care.” He snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Your mouth dropped in disbelief.

“I’m keeping you safe, whether it’s with me or one of the others.” Xaden said, his voice leaving no room for argument. Before you could even begin to protest though, he had started walking away.

“You’re being an asshole.” You muttered.

“I’ll be whatever I need to be as long as it keeps you alive.” Xaden replied over his shoulder.

What you needed him to be was the one thing he couldn’t.

Almost as if he’d heard the thought, Xaden turned back. The look on his face, raw, exposed, stole your breath.

Then he was gone.

You wanted to run after him. But what good was chasing a future already promised to someone else?

——————————

“How long do we have to wait?” You asked, kicking a rock forward

Garrick kicked it back to you. “I say we give it another hour then take off.”

“Thirty minutes.” Xaden said, tense and unreadable as he stared at the sky like it had personally offended him.

“Won’t see any argument here.” You mumbled, returning the rock to Garrick who grinned at you.

You hadn’t wanted to come. But everyone Xaden trusted to stay with you was tied up with flight maneuvers or training. So here you were - outside the wards, wasting time with Garrick and Xaden, waiting on fliers who clearly weren’t showing. You glared daggers at Xaden’s back.

“Looking at me like that won’t get them here any faster.” Xaden said, still not turning around.

“I hate when he does that.” You said, ignoring him and looking at Garrick instead.

He wiggled his eyebrow at you. “It’s creepy, isn’t it?”

Ailith’s voice cut through the conversation. “The fliers have arrived.”

You stood up, tension in your bones as you heard the wingbeats of the gryphons started to fill the air. You had been on one of these meetups, but they still made you anxious.

You weren’t the only one on edge. Garrick and Xaden both stood stiff as boards.

But as all the fliers landed, a new emotion started showing itself.

The tension snapped into something sharper - anger.

You glanced over at Garrick, confused, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes locked, as if avoiding looking at you at all.

Then you looked at Xaden. Same fury, same focus, locked on one particular flier.

A beautiful one.

But you didn’t let your gaze linger on her, instead turning back to Xaden. It was easy enough to read all the emotions past the anger. Duty. Shame. And beneath it all, disgust.

Why would he . . .

“Xaden.” She said, with a blinding smile. She went straight to Xaden, her black hair shining in the light as she pressed a kiss to his cheek like they weren’t surrounded by silence thick with tension.

A kiss he clearly didn’t want.

And everything fell into place. You now knew exactly who she was.

“What the hell are you doing here, Catrionia?” Xaden asked, pushing her back without hesitation.

“She insisted.” A voice answered, stepping forward. “Since you haven’t visited except for these drops the past month.” The resemblance to Catrionia was unmistakable. Same eyes, same cold smile. Definitely family. She glanced down the line of you, pausing on your face. “I don’t know this one.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

“And you don’t need to.” Xaden snapped.

But you spoke your name over him anyway.

His jaw tightened.

Catrionia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and calculating. Menace curled off her like smoke.

You raised an eyebrow. Oh. Oh. You felt her. Slithering along the edges of your thoughts, pressing like icy fingers against the door of your mind.

“Say the word and I will flay her alive.” Ailith growled, her fury shaking the forest itself.

You expected to feel rage. Hatred. Jealousy. But instead, all you felt was clarity.

Because you could feel how Xaden felt about her - and there was nothing. No love. No longing. Just a sense of duty, brittle and tired.

And from her? She saw him not as a partner, but a conquest.

You couldn’t have him, but at least you knew he loved you.

That would be enough. It would have to be.

“Xaden’s mentioned you.” Catriona said, her smirk slicing through your thoughts.. “Not very often, though.”

Well yeah, you wouldn’t talk about your ex to your fiancée either. Then you felt her again, playing at the corner of your mind. “Fliers do mind work, right?” You asked, glancing at Garrick. “What can she do?”

Catrionia’s eyes flashed. “That’s none of your-”

“She can intensify emotions, but only ones you already have.” Xaden cut in, his eyes locked on you like he expected an explosion.

But you wouldn’t. Because the emotions you were feeling right now were regret, and pity. “You want me jealous, angry, but you can’t get there.” You offered her a pitying smile. It made her seethe.

“I’m not doing-”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, you are. I can feel you scraping at my shields.”

She narrowed her eyes.

You continued anyway. “I may not be able to manipulate emotions, but I can sense them. That means when I look at Xaden, I can feel everything he feels about you. And when I look at you, I can feel everything you feel about him.”

You could feel the shock radiating from Xaden and Garrick, but you ignored that for now.

“So no, I’m not jealous. I already know where I stand with him, and it’s a hell of a lot closer than you’ll ever be.”

Catrionia might get his ring, might get his last name, but you had his love.

And that was worth everything.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on Ailith before she decides to make you her dinner.” You said, and turned your back, walking away from the party.

“That was almost as entertaining to watch as you taking down those cadets at threshing.” Ailith rumbled, full of pride. “Even Sgaeyl is amused.”

Well, that might be your biggest accomplishment to date.

“You have a second signet?”

You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you, but you weren’t surprised that he did. You turned around to face Xaden, wrapping your arms around yourself. The bold girl you’d been moments earlier crumbled inside of you, buried under the weight of everything you couldn’t say. You nodded.

He looked hurt, “and you didn’t tell me?”

You didn’t respond.

Xaden took a step forward, and gods you wanted to back away, but he was like an addiction, a craving you could never detox from. “When did you manifest?” He asked, those onyx eyes drilling into your soul.

Of course, the one question that hurt the most. You stared past him, into the trees, willing the memory not to swallow you whole. “The first night we . . .” You swallowed, pain tightening your throat. “At first I thought it was me, just how much I felt, but then I realized . . . it wasn’t. It was hard to differentiate between my emotions and other people’s at first. Not so much now.”

“This whole time . . . “ Xaden stepped closer, his voice caught between fury and disbelief. The two of you were in touching distance now. “When you told me to marry Cat - you knew that I love -”

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, stepping back as heat flooded your eyes, tears you didn’t want to shed. “Please don’t say it, Xaden.”

“But you know it!” He insisted, and you inhaled sharply as he grabbed your elbows, tugging you back to him. “If you know it, why can’t I say it?!”

“Because then I can’t pretend!” You choked out. “I can’t lie to myself if I know you know!” You swallowed, willing yourself to get back under control before speaking again. “When you stand on that altar in however many years,” you rasped, “and I’m sitting in the crowd, watching, because you had to choose her . . .” Your fists struck his chest, once. “You’ll still be everything to me. Always.” Another blow, softer this time. “And I’ll pretend. I’ll pretend you don’t know. That you pushed it down. That you’re doing your duty like I told you to, because that’s the only way I’ll survive it.”

Xaden’s hands cupped your cheeks. “Don’t I get a say? You won’t even let me try to choose you.”

You shook your head, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your ribs, “because I know you would, and I’m never going to make you choose between Aretia and me.”

Xaden leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours.

Every instinct screamed at you to melt into him, to let him hold you together like he always did, to forget Aretia, the war, the cost - but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Aretia had to come first.

He sighed, his thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t know you were shedding. “I can read intentions.” He hesitated, as if saying the words alone might cost him. “It’s my second signet.”

He could read intentions? Of a person? Gods. If he could do that . . . it was practically an inntinnsic. It would get him killed.

“You’re the only one that knows.” He added.

Your heart stuttered. He hadn’t told anyone? Not even Garrick? You clutched his shirt tighter, like maybe that could hold the truth between you. “I won’t say a word. Xaden, I swear no one will know-”

“I know.” Xaden interrupted. “I trust you. I’m telling you because that’s why I’m not on my godsdamn knees right now fighting for you . . . because I already know you’ve decided you’re not worth choosing. Not over Aretia. Not even for me.”

He was right. There was nothing he could say that would make you change your mind. Your home was worth so much more than you.

Xaden pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes and let the emotion behind it soak into your bones. “I wish it could be different.” You whispered.

He exhaled, long and quiet. “I wish you’d let it.”

——————————

The air felt wrong.

Not in any obvious way, but in the prickling, bone-deep way that told you something was about to go sideways.

The scary part though was that there was no reason for it to be. There was no rogue activity, no wards that had been breached as far as you knew. It was just another weapons drop, routine as it came. So why did your spine feel like it was trying to crawl out of your skin?

Why did you feel so anxious?

You glanced over at Xaden and Garrick who were having their own conversation a few feet away. They didn’t seem to notice anything odd. Was it you? Were you being paranoid?

“It is not just you, fierce one.” Ailith’s voice reassured down the bond.

Your stomach dropped. If Ailith felt it too, then it wasn’t nerves. It was something real, and real meant dangerous.

“You’ll let me know if you see anything weird?” You asked her.

She scoffed. “You know you don’t need to ask.”

You turned your attention back to Xaden and Garrick, tapping your fingers against your thighs until you couldn’t control it anymore. “How much longer?”

They both turned to you, Garrick rolling his eyes. “We’ve been here for ten minutes, half-pint. They’re not supposed to get here for another fifteen.”

But Xaden, Xaden knows your body better than anyone, and his eyes shift to your hands, still tapping against your thighs. He looks up and meets your gaze, jaw tensing. “What's wrong?”

Before you can even respond, Ailith’s voice enters your mind again, sharp and urgent. “The fliers have arrived.”

You brush off his concerned look. The fliers are here. You can finish this drop and get the hell out of here. You forced your voice steady. “Nothing, let’s hurry up.”

Then the fliers stepped through the trees, and every alarm in your body went off.

You’ve been to enough of these drops to recognize the small groups of fliers you always end up trading with. The groups might change, but there’s always at least one familiar face.

Here there are none.

Then the emotions. You cracked the door open to Ailith’s power and they came rushing in. Hunger. Greed. Thrill. As you looked at each of them in turn though, one emotion stood out among all the others.

Malice.

You glanced at Xaden, but he wasn’t looking at you. You knew his body too though, and you watched as his hands clenched into fists, showing the underlying tension. You had no doubts he was reading their intentions, and with the way he shifted, a step to the left, between you and them, you knew. He didn’t like what he saw. “Who are you? Where’s Syrena?”

You stood up, letting the weeds by the trees creep forward towards the unwelcome company, while you watched Xaden’s shadows do the same.

“She got a little . . . tied up,” said the man in the middle, his grin all teeth and venom. “Sent some of us on without her.”

Xaden’s arms crossed over his chest, and his voice was like a blade. “She knows we only deal with her.”

“Yeah, well . . . we’re not here to make deals.” He said, taking a step forward, slow and smug. “We’re here to take. Whether it be weapons . . .” His eyes drifted to all three of you, pausing once he met yours. “Or lives.”

For a second, you felt it, Xaden’s rage boiling in your chest like it was your own, then -

“Now!” Xaden barked, and the world exploded into motion.

Shadows surged, vines lashed, and Garrick’s gusts howled like war drums.

It was a blur after that. You and Xaden tripped them with creeping weeds and writhing shadows while Garrick hurled them backward with blasts of wind. You thought it was going to be quick. The three of you moved like you were one weapon, and the six of them didn’t stand a chance.

Then a flash of brown -

A rune arched through the air and struck near your feet.

Pain detonated inside your skull, sharp and blinding. A high-pitched ring screamed through your head.

You crumpled, hands flying to your temples, your knees slamming into the dirt. The world twisted and wobbled. The sound blocked out everything else. All you could think about was ending that pain, now. You forced your eyes open only to find yourself blanketed in a wall of dense, coiled, and trembling shadows.

Xaden.

Even now, with all six of those fliers out there, he was protecting you.

You could barely think, but your heart cracked open all over again. You had to make it stop. You couldn’t do anything until this debilitating ache was gone, and you had to protect Xaden. He was going to burn himself out if he had to keep this shield over you and fight.

You clawed your way through the fog in your mind, searching for the sparkling bond between you and Ailith, and you yanked.

The roots obeyed your call, inching closer and closer through the Earth until they found the rune and wrapped around it. The power that held it together was strong . . .

But so were you.

You dug deep, teeth clenched, fingers curled into the soil. You picked at the seams, found its weakest joints, and -

Snap.

The silence after the ringing was louder than the pain. You dropped, boneless, heart thudding in your ears.

“FIERCE ONE!” Ailith’s voice pounded into your skull.

“I’m okay,” you rasped, or maybe you thought you said it. You allowed yourself one breath, then two. “Are you coming?”

“The trees are too thick, but we’re getting as close as possible. Sgaeyl has suggested burning the forest down-”

“No,” your voice cut in fast, firm. “We don’t need the attention. We’ve got this.” You staggered to your feet, bracing against a nearby tree as the world tilted, then steadied.

“Say the word,” Ailith hissed, “and the whole place burns.”

You didn’t doubt her, or Sgaeyl. Even Chradh would probably love to assist. So if you didn’t want this whole operation to be found out, you had to get out there. Now. Taking one more deep breath, you took a step through the shadows, feeling them caress your skin as you did.

Garrick was holding off two of the fighters. Xaden had three. That wasn’t going to work.

You cracked the door wider to Ailith’s power, the ground answering with a guttural tremor. Roots erupted from the ground, fast, violent and hungry. Two fliers, one near Garrick, and one flanking Xaden, were snared mid-swing. You clenched your fists, and the vines did the rest.

Their necks made the same sound the rune did.

Xaden glanced at you, a flicker, but the relief in his eyes gutted you. Then the shadows behind you collapsed inward, pooling like ink before surging forward. They wrapped around his last attacker’s throat like a noose.

Xaden didn’t hesitate. One step forward. A blade driven clean through the chest.

Garrick dispatched his with brutal efficiency and moved to your side.

You closed the door on Ailith’s power, your skin hot with overuse, and fought every urge you had not to fall to the ground.

“Took you long enough,” Garrick muttered, breathing hard, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Fuck you,” you said, still breathless, but you gave him a weak smile.

Garrick smirked, placing a hand on your shoulder as his eyes swept over you. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Will be. As soon as we find out how those assholes knew we would be here.”

Then everything fractured.

A twig snapped.

Xaden’s head jerked toward the sound - toward you.

Shadows burst from him in an instant. One set yanked Garrick back. Another lashed past you, but -

-Xaden didn’t wait.

He tackled you, a hard blur of motion and panic.

Two roars echoed through the forest, loud and unmistakable ones of your dragons.

The two of you hit the ground hard and rolled. Your ribs ached. Dirt filled your mouth. You clutched him close, not knowing what had happened, just that you still had him, until the world stopped spinning and he was under you.

“Xaden?”

He didn’t respond.

You scrambled off of him. “Xaden, you fucking idiot! Why would you-”

He wasn’t moving.

“No. No. No. No-” The words cracked out of you like glass breaking.

You touched his face, fingers trembling as they pushed back sweat-damp hair, the other resting on his hip, right under his armor. You couldn’t find a wound, any blood, but hidden in his hair, you found a bump. You dropped your hand to his neck, searching -

There. It was there. Fainter than you wanted, but it was there.

He was alive. Unconscious, but alive. You were going to kill him when he woke up. He was going to get the biggest fucking lecture . . .

But then awareness creeped into your bones that something still wasn’t right.

Your hand was wet.

You pulled it from his hip, the red staining your skin, and glanced frantically at Garrick who had bypassed the two remaining fliers Xaden had killed to pick up a dagger, its silver blade covered in red. “Garrick . . .” You said his name like a prayer, a whisper, even though it felt like you were screaming. “Garrick!”

He was at your side in a second, eyes locking on the wound your hand was pressing over. “Shit, shit, shit -”

You shoved the panic down, swallowed it whole. There wasn’t time. Xaden was alive. He was still alive, and you had to get him out of here to a mender fast. You were responsible for him and you’d be damned if you let Malek take him like this. “Garrick, you have to get him out of here. Now.”

Garrick shook his head. “Xaden will fucking kill me if I leave you here-”

“And I’ll kill you if you don’t take him right now. Do you understand me? For the love of Amari, get him out of here and to a mender now.” Your voice was sharp as steel. “Don’t argue. Go.”

He stared at you a second longer, but then nodded.

Together, you lifted Xaden and helped get him onto Chradh so Garrick could get him to a mender faster. Garrick mounted behind him.

You watched as they flew off. Sgaeyl followed close behind.

You watched your heart vanish into the sky.

Only then, when he was gone, when the adrenaline burned off, and your body remembered the pain did you collapse.

Ailith, settled beside you, folding her wing over your body to shield you from the world, as if even the forest didn’t deserve to witness your unraveling.

“I told him not to choose me.” You whispered, voice cracking. “I told him, and then he -”

“Maybe, fierce one,” Ailith said softly, her breath a warm balm against your numb skin. “Choosing you is not a choice he gets to make. Maybe his heart has already made it for him.”

She leaned closer, her voice a gentle hush. “Just as your heart has chosen him.”

——————————

As you stumbled into the healer’s quadrant, dozens of hours later, limbs aching and mind frayed, you couldn’t help but be thankful it was the weekend. That meant no classes. No Battle Brief. You couldn’t have sat still through one even if you tried. Not without knowing how he was.

Your eyes scanned the room frantically, not unlike they had right after you had crossed the parapet so long ago. It took you seconds to spot Garrick, standing sentinel at the end of Xaden’s bed.

You didn't even think. You bolted, shoving through any people that were in your way. “Is he okay?” You choked out, your heart hammering so hard in your chest it felt like it might shatter your ribs.

Garrick pulled you into a tight, grounding hug. “He’s okay.” He whispered into your hair.

Relief swept through your body in a wave, and the weight of it would’ve sent you to your knees if Garrick hadn’t been holding you.

He was okay. He was okay.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Garrick pulled back and gave you the space to wipe your face. His expression softened as he glanced back at the bed. “They gave him something to knock him out. He would’ve been awake by now otherwise.”

You exhaled shakily. “Probably a good idea.” You said with a weak smile. “He’d be storming out of here against healer orders if he could.”

“Bastard nearly took my head off trying to argue with the mender.” Garrick looked back at you then, a small frown forming on his face. “Did you run into any trouble on the way back?”

You shook your head. No patrols, no enemy sightings - just the chaos in your own head, which felt more dangerous than anything else out there.

“Come on. You’ve been flying for hours. Sit.” He led you to the chair beside Xaden’s bed, and you couldn’t even find the energy to protest.

Then you made yourself look at him.

He looked peaceful. It reminded you of the nights that you’d fallen asleep together, and the rare moments when you’d woken up before him. Gods how you missed it. The weight of the world gone from his face as he dreamed, his arms holding you close like his favorite pillow. You’d almost never seen him like that again.

You couldn’t help it. You’d almost lost him. With trembling fingers, you reached for his hand, covering it with your own and giving it a squeeze.

Garrick’s voice broke the silence. “We need to have a talk.”

Well, you had wondered how long it would take him.

You didn’t look up, instead you kept tracing the lines of Xaden’s knuckles with your thumb.

You heard him let out a sigh, and then he slouched down in the seat on the other side of Xaden, stretching out his legs. “You two, especially you, are being stupid and stubborn.” He said, his voice tired.

“You know that’s a trait we share.” You said, shrugging.

“And normally that only gives me a mild headache. Lately it makes me want to bash your heads together.”

You looked at him then, and felt a stab of shame. Garrick had been caught in the middle of you and Xaden’s mess from the beginning, and now this. You knew that it had to suck. “I’m sorry.” You said quietly.

“He didn’t hesitate when that knife started flying toward you.” Garrick’s voice was level, but there was a tightness under it.

“I know.”

“He’d do it every time. You know that right?”

You swallowed. You wish you didn’t know that.

“So this whole, choosing Aretia over you thing? It’s a lie you’re telling yourself. He’s never going to do it.”

“Taking a knife for me isn’t the same as choosing a whole province -”

“It is when he could have died.”

The sharp edge in Garrick’s voice cut you off. That tone, the one he usually saved for idiot cadets who couldn’t follow orders, startled you into silence.

“That dagger was meant for you.” He said, quieter now, but more dangerous. “And he still took it. That’s choosing you over everything.”

You looked away, throat burning. He was right. You knew he was right. Xaden would have taken that dagger for you over and over again without hesitation, like you would for him. “I can’t - I don’t know how to make him stop.”

“For the love of Amari, you can’t!”

You jumped. Garrick never yelled at you.

He scrubbed both hands over his face, dragging in a breath like he needed to stay calm. This time when he spoke his voice was more even. “He’s in love with you. He has been for ages. I know you know that, and I know he knows that.” He leaned forward, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I want you to ask yourself one thing: can you make yourself stop loving him?”

The question hit you like a slap. It wasn’t something you’d ever considered. You didn’t have to. There wasn’t a version of this life, or any other, where you didn’t love him. You were always going to.

Your voice cracked as the truth clawed its way out of you. “Why . . . Why would I even try?”

“So you wouldn’t have to be miserable for the rest of your life, because half-pint-” his eyes softened. “That’s what you’re resigning yourself to if you can’t make yourself stop loving him.”

You glanced down at Xaden again, tracing the lines of his face with your eyes. Gods he was so beautiful, too beautiful to be hurt because of you. Your heart stuttered at the thought of even trying not to love him.

“I - I can’t.” The words burst from you, raw and unguarded. “Garrick, it'd be like losing a lung. I wouldn’t be able to breathe-”

He gave a grim nod. “Maybe you’re okay living like that. But are you okay with making him live like that?”

The words sank like a dagger straight into your ribs.

“You’re responsible for him right?” Garrick said, pointing to where the scar on your chest was hidden. “Then stop being selfish,” His voice didn’t rise, but it cut. “Stop pretending this is about duty. Start thinking about his happiness. Because I’ll tell you something right now, Xaden is fucking miserable without you.”

The air vanished from your lungs. You never wanted that. You never meant to make him miserable. You thought . . . you were helping. Instead of being torn between you and Aretia, you took yourself out of the equation. You convinced yourself that he would move on. That he’d settle, find some measure of peace with Cat.

But it had been months, and you knew he still felt the same way about you. It hadn’t dimmed at all.

He still loved you. He hadn’t moved on.

And neither had you.

“And I know you’re miserable without him. Godsdamn you two are my best friends and deserve happiness more than anyone I know. Fucking take it.”

“Gods will you two stop arguing already?”

The voice was rough, gravelly with exhaustion, but you’d know it anywhere.

Xaden’s eyes were open, and he was looking at you with a softness you didn’t deserve.

Relief tumbled through you like a wave. Gods for a moment you thought you’d never see those eyes again. It took everything in you not to crawl into that bed and bury yourself in him, but you hadn’t earned that.

“I wouldn’t call it an argument.” You said, forcing lightness into your tone. You glanced at Garrick, gave him a faint smile, then squeezed Xaden’s hand. “More like a lecture. Fitting since you’re about to get a hell of one.”

Xaden groaned. “Figures.”

“Well, honey bear, I’m going to leave you to that.” He said, reaching out to squeeze Xaden’s shoulder. “Have to tell everyone why they haven’t seen your pretty face today.”

“Or you could not.” Xaden replied.

“And miss the chance of lining up more lectures for you? No way.” He replied, but then the teasing look on his eyes faded somewhat and his tone turned more serious. “I’m glad you’re okay, man.”

Xaden gave him a nod, the kind that said more than words ever could. “Me too, brother.”

Garrick ruffled your hair as he passed, earning an eye roll that you didn’t really mean. His hand lingered for a moment longer on your shoulder, and then he leaned in close and muttered just for you, “Fix it.”

Then you and Xaden were alone.

There was silence for a minute while you stared after Garrick, but then your breath caught as Xaden threaded his fingers through yours. Your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d held your hand like that. You had forgotten how perfectly his fingers slotted between yours, like they’d been made to fit. How could you have ever thought you could give this up forever?

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the rest, but Xaden squeezed your hand, grounding you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice soft in the morning light.

You laughed. A choked, incredulous sound. You turned back to him, a look of disbelief all over your face. “Did you seriously ask me that after you took a damn dagger for me?”

He shrugged. The bastard shrugged. “He was aiming for you. I stopped it from happening. I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of this damn -” Xaden then started moving, slinging his legs over, and you didn’t miss the wince when he did.

You shot to your feet, placing your free hand on his chest. “Xaden Riorson.” You snapped. “You have been stabbed. Keep. Your. Ass. In. This. Bed.” You said, pushing on his chest with enough force to make him lay back down.

Xaden sighed, and closed his eyes like a man surrendering to the inevitable. “All right. Go ahead and let me have it. Tell me how pissed you are.”

“Pissed?” you echoed, your voice rising. “Pissed?! Xaden I was terrified!”

The words burst out, and once they did, the dam broke.

His eyes opened again, watching, listening, and you couldn’t stop.

“You have no idea how that felt. You could have died! Gods, I couldn’t breathe when Garrick flew off with you! What if he didn’t get you there fast enough? What if you died? What if I lost you, and it was my fault -”

Xaden shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been-”

“Don’t bullshit me.” You snapped, your voice breaking. “You almost died for me. Despite everything I’ve done to you. Despite the fact that I told you to put Aretia first over and over again-”

“And I’d do it again.” Xaden interrupted, firm. “And again, and again, if it keeps you breathing.” Xaden sat up, using his grip on your hand to tug you closer. “I’m not living in a world without you.”

Gods the way he said that. Like it wasn’t a decision - just the truth. How had you ever doubted him? How had you convinced yourself he’d choose anything, but you, when you’d give up everything for him?

You sat down on the bed, bringing his hand to your chest so his knuckles brushed against where your scar for him was. “And you think I’m okay living without you?”

Xaden’s eyes dropped to where his knuckles brushed the fabric hiding the mark that tied you to him. Then he met your eyes again, and the flash of grief you saw there nearly shattered you. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do?”

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. You had been trying to push him out of your life without even realizing it. You thought it was for a noble reason, making him keep his focus on Aretia instead of you, but . . . a part of it was hoping that if you kept him at a distance, it would dull the ache of missing him. But it hadn’t. It never would.

And you didn’t think you had the strength to push him away again.

You shook your head, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to it. “Not anymore.”

Xaden’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears, gentle, reverent. “What are you saying, love?”

“I told you once not to say that,” you whispered, your breath catching.

The smile he gave you, soft, wicked, and adoring, should’ve come with a warning. It melted every part of you, and the box in your mind, the one that stored all of your favorite smiles of his, cracked open after the longest time of being shut. “Yeah, I’m not hiding it anymore. I love you. And I’m done pretending I don’t. I’m ending the deal with Poromiel. I won’t spend another moment allied with people who threatened you, and I sure as hell won’t marry that throne-chasing manipulative viper.” He said, and you couldn’t help but let out a strangled laugh. “So the engagement is off, no matter what you’re about to-”

“-I love you too.” You blurted, cutting him off. “Gods, I love you so damn much, and I can’t take another day not being able to call you mine-”

He didn’t let you finish. Xaden’s hand slid from your cheek into your hair and pulled you into him, his mouth crashing into yours like it had been aching for years.

Oh gods. You had almost forgotten. You’d almost forgotten how perfect his lips were. How they obliterated every thought from your mind.

How they felt like home.

You clutched him closer as he deepened the kiss, desperate to keep him there as you let yourself drown in him, the mint and leather smell, the heat of his body, the delicious taste of him. And you couldn’t help but ask yourself, how could you have ever let him go?

He slipped his tongue in your mouth, and you moaned, which caused the horrible reaction of him pulling away. He didn’t go far though, his lips still brushing yours as he spoke. “You make that noise again, and we’re going to traumatize half the Healer’s Quadrant.”

You leaned forward, nipping at his bottom lip and grinning at the growl that he made in response. It heated your whole body. “Mhmm, promise?”

Xaden shook his head for a moment, and the smile he gave you would have made you collapse if he wasn’t already pretty much holding you up. “You’re such fucking trouble.” He murmured, and then distracted you with kisses down your throat.

Gods maybe you should’ve helped him sneak out of here before you had this conversation.

This time when he pulled away, your eyes were closed, but you opened them again when his gentle fingers found your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Before you go sweet talk a Healer to get me out of here so I can take you back to your room and make up for months of not fucking you, I want to make something clear.”

Gods, he was going to destroy you, and you couldn’t wait. You bit your lip, nodding for him to continue.

“You’re not leaving me again.” he said, his voice low, but unyielding. “Not for Aretia. Not for another man -”

“As if anyone could-”

He silenced you with a thumb to your bottom lip.

“Not even for Malek’s godsdamned doorstep. I will follow you. Always. You are mine, love. I won’t let anything take you away from me again. Especially not you. Understand?”

Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest at the sincerity in his tone. There was no doubt that he meant every word he said, and honestly? Being by Xaden’s side for the rest of your life? Rebuilding your home together like you’d always wanted to?

You couldn’t imagine anything happier.

“Yours,” you whispered. “Until the end of time, Xaden Riorson.”

#xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson x you #xaden riorson imagine #fourth wing imagine

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mahalachives · 2 months ago

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Part 9: The Rise of the High Lady of Autumn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The wind rushed past, cold against your tear-streaked face as Azriel's wings cut through darkness. His arms formed an unbreakable cage around you, keeping you pressed against the steady beat of his heart.

Below, the world stretched in shadow-painted patches: forests giving way to hills, plains to mountains, all rushing by as he flew with desperate speed.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Eris was captured. Your safe haven in Dawn Court had crumbled in moments.

"It's my fault," you whispered, the words torn away by wind. "Beron wants me."

Azriel's arms tightened fractionally. "No." The word vibrated through his chest, against your cheek. "Beron sealed his fate the moment he betrayed you. What happens now was always coming."

The charm between your bodies pulsed with shared warmth, fire and shadow interwoven. It offered comfort where words failed, a silent promise that transcended the chaos below.

When the most imposing mountain range you'd ever seen loomed ahead, Azriel banked sharply.

You closed your eyes against vertigo, burying your face in his leathers. He smelled of night-chilled stone and cedar, of safety and danger in equal measure.

"Look," he commanded softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You opened your eyes.

And there it was.

Velaris. The City of Starlight.

Nestled between mountains and sea, it glowed with a light that owed nothing to the sun. Instead, thousands of lamps, pearl and gold and silver, cast their glow across buildings that somehow managed to be both ancient and alive.

A river cut through its heart, midnight blue and glittering with reflected stars. Bridges arched gracefully across the water, each one uniquely beautiful.

In this moment, suspended between sky and earth, you understood something profound: beauty could exist alongside terror. Light could persist through darkness. Perhaps this was what the bond had been trying to teach you all along.

"Home," Azriel offered, the word rife with meaning.

It wasn't a demand or expectation, merely an invitation. A possibility.

He circled lower, wings extended to catch thermal currents as he guided you toward a house built into the side of a mountain.

A balcony extended outward like an offering hand, glowing with warm light that spilled from tall windows.

"The House of Wind," he explained. "Where the Inner Circle gathers."

The mention of his family sent anxiety coiling through you. The bond reacted instantly, tightening between you as golden light briefly illuminated your joined bodies.

Azriel landed with practiced precision, wings folding with mechanical efficiency as he set you carefully on your feet. Your legs wobbled, unaccustomed to solid ground after hours of flight.

His scarred hand steadied you, the touch brief but grounding.

His eyes, normally warm when they looked at you, turned to ice as they shifted toward the waiting figures. "They're here."

The glass doors opened. A male of such devastating beauty it seemed almost cruel stepped onto the balcony. Violet eyes flickered between you and Azriel, noting the proximity, the lingering touch.

Rhysand's power rolling off him in midnight waves, stars glittering within that darkness like predator eyes. Yet there was wisdom there too, ancient and considering.

"Az," he greeted, voice cultured and carefully neutral. "I see your mission was successful."

Something in his tone made your spine stiffen.

Not hostile, precisely, but measured. Assessing.

"High Lord," you responded before Azriel could speak, straightening to your full height despite your exhaustion. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Rhysand's eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across those perfect features. "Lady of Autumn. Welcome to Velaris."

Behind him, others appeared. Feyre and beside her, Cassian, his wings tucked loosely against his broad back.

And then, a golden-haired female, beautiful in ways that transcended conventional prettiness. Her eyes assessed you with such cold hostility it felt like a physical blow.

Morrigan. The cousin who had once been promised to Eris in marriage, before he'd left her bleeding at the border between their courts.

Your brother's victim.

The air thickened with tension as her gaze slid from you to Azriel, noting how he'd positioned himself half a step ahead of you, wings still partially extended in unconscious protection.

"What is she doing here?" Mor demanded, voice sharp enough to cut. "We discussed this, Rhys."

Rhysand's expression tightened fractionally. "Mor..."

"No," she interrupted, her beautiful face contorted with a fury that seemed to transform her from within. "This is Velaris. Our sanctuary. Our home. And you bring Autumn Court royalty here?"

Azriel didn't speak. Didn't warn.

His shadows simply expanded, darkness slithering across the balcony floor toward Mor like living things with purpose, with intent. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that frost crystals formed on the railing beside you.

"Az," Cassian said, voice low with warning.

Azriel's face remained perfectly expressionless, but his shadows darkened, swallowing nearby lamps with cold precision. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of the gentle cadence he'd used with you. Each word fell like a shard of ice.

"She is under my protection."

Four words. Simple. Final.

Mor's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "We're talking about Beron's daughter. Eris's sister. Have you forgotten..."

"I forget nothing." Azriel's interruption was soft yet somehow more threatening than any shout. His shadows coiled tighter, their edges hardening into something closer to blades than mist. "Nor do I need reminding of my own experiences, Morrigan."

The use of her full name, not the casual "Mor" of five centuries' friendship, fell like a blow between them. Something fractured in the air, invisible yet undeniable.

The bond between you flared in response to the building tension, golden light not just briefly visible beneath your skin but radiating actual warmth that pushed back against the frost his shadows had created. It was like standing in a ray of winter sunlight, your joined magics creating a balance neither could achieve alone.

"I don't expect welcome," you said quietly, meeting Mor's hostile gaze despite the instinct to retreat. "Only temporary sanctuary."

"Well, you won't find it here," Morrigan replied, her voice cold as Winter Court frost. "Not as long as I have any say."

Feyre stepped forward, diplomatic mask firmly in place. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside. Our guest has traveled far under difficult circumstances."

"Our guest," Morrigan repeated with venomous emphasis, "shouldn't be here at all."

The charm against your chest burned painfully hot as Azriel moved, not toward Mor but toward you. His body shifted until he stood between you and the others, a physical barrier of muscle and wings and shadow.

"She is my mate," he said, each word precise as a blade strike. "That should be enough for you, for all of you."

The declaration fell into stunned silence. Even Rhysand seemed momentarily at a loss for words. His violet eyes widened fractionally, power momentarily faltering around him as the implications registered.

In that silence, you felt something shift within the shadowsinger beside you. A weight lifting, perhaps.

"Mate or not," Mor said, recovering first, "she's still Beron's daughter. Still Eris's sister. Or have you forgotten what Autumn Court nobility is capable of?"

Azriel didn't turn to face her, his body remaining a shield between you and the others. His wings flared slightly, an unconscious display of aggression that made even Cassian's hand drift toward his weapon.

"You know nothing about her," he said, voice midnight given sound. "Nothing about what she's endured or survived."

Cassian shifted uncomfortably, the movement drawing your eye. The general's expression held none of Mor's hostility. Instead, he watched the exchange with something approaching concern, recognition flickering in his eyes.

"Az," Cassian said quietly, "maybe now isn't the time..."

"There is no better time," Azriel cut him off, his normally controlled voice edged with emotion. "Before assumptions become actions."

Ember and Sizzle materialized on your shoulders, sensing your distress. Their tiny flame forms brightened defensively, casting warm, pink light across Azriel's shadowed wings.

In their appearance, you understood something about magic you hadn't before. It answered to emotion as much as to will. Perhaps that was why the bond had formed in the first place, answering to something beyond conscious choice.

Rhysand's expression shifted subtly as he studied you with renewed interest.

Feyre moved closer to her mate, her own gaze thoughtful. She slipped her hand into Rhysand's, a silent communication passing between them. As High Lady, she would understand better than anyone what it meant to be bonded to a powerful male, to have that bond form against all expectations.

"She can't stay here," Morrigan insisted, crossing her arms. "I won't have it."

Something cold and resolute settled in your chest.

The truth was simple. You didn't belong here. You couldn't heal in a place where your very presence caused others pain.

"She's right," you said, the words falling into sudden silence. "I shouldn't be here."

Azriel turned to you then, shock evident in his expression, his shadows momentarily dispersing with his surprise. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I won't stay where I'm not wanted," you replied, voice steady despite the pain radiating through the bond.

"Where would you go?" Feyre asked, genuine concern in her voice. She, of all of them, had once been the outsider, the human in a world of immortals.

"Somewhere else," you answered simply. "Somewhere new."

"Alone?" Cassian's brow furrowed.

"If necessary." You lifted your chin, refusing to bend beneath the weight of Morrigan's hatred. "I've survived worse."

Azriel's shadows exploded outward, dark tendrils lashing the night air. The temperature on the balcony plummeted until breath fogged before faces. Even Rhysand took an involuntary step back, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of Azriel's reaction.

"You won't go alone," he growled, the words vibrating with conviction. "Wherever you go, I go."

The declaration stunned everyone into silence. Even Mor's hostility faltered, replaced by disbelief.

Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest. The bond between you blazed golden-bright beneath your skin, responding to the absoluteness of his choice. Through that connection, you felt what he felt, centuries of isolation crashing against the terrifying freedom of choice. Five hundred years of darkness giving way to a light he'd never believed himself worthy of claiming.

A choice made not out of duty or obligation, but something infinitely rarer. Free will.

"Az," Rhysand began carefully, "think about what you're saying."

But there was something beyond caution in Rhysand's voice now, something like understanding. His gaze flickered to Feyre, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He, too, had once chosen his mate over everything else.

Azriel turned to face his High Lord fully, his body shifting to stand beside you, equals, not protector and protected.

"I have thought," Azriel replied, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. Gone was the shadowsinger who had flown with you through the night. In his place stood a warrior hewn from winter frost and ancient darkness. "For five centuries, I've served the Night Court. I've spilled blood and shadow without complaint or hesitation."

His wings snapped fully open, an intimidation display that made even Cassian take an instinctive step back. His shadows formed patterns of such complexity and rage that they hurt the eye to follow.

"But I tell you now, clearly, so there can be no misunderstanding." His gaze swept the gathered circle, lingering longest on Mor. "If the choice is between my mate and my court, I choose her. Every time. Without hesitation or regret."

The words fell like a thunderclap. Mor's face drained of color. Rhysand's expression remained carefully controlled, but something like pain flickered in those violet eyes, the understanding of a High Lord who might lose not just his spymaster but his brother.

Your body went completely still, breath caught in your lungs. Five centuries of brotherhood. Five centuries of loyalty. Five centuries of shared battles and blood and nightmares. And he would walk away from it all, for you.

The bond between you vibrated with the magnitude of his choice, golden light spilling from beneath your skin, illuminating the night around you both. It wasn't just light; it was truth made visible. Undeniable. Absolute. The warmth it generated seemed to push back against the chill, creating a pocket of heat around you both, as if the magic itself rebelled against the coldness of potential separation.

"No one is asking you to choose, brother," Rhysand said, voice deceptively calm despite the power now coiling around him like a storm waiting to break. His eyes, though, betrayed deeper emotion, the memory of his own sacrifice for Feyre shadowing his features. "There are other solutions. We can find another place within Night Court territory..."

"No," you interrupted, your decision solidifying with each passing moment. "This is your sanctuary. Your safe place." Your eyes met Mor's, acknowledging her pain without minimizing it. "Some wounds can't heal in the presence of what caused them. I understand that better than most."

"You don't have to leave," Feyre insisted, stepping forward. "Mor doesn't speak for all of us." She, perhaps alone among them, fully understood what it meant to be separated from a mate.

"But she speaks truth," you replied. "And I respect that more than false welcome."

You looked at Azriel, heart pounding against your ribs. "You don't have to come with me. This is your family. Your home."

Azriel's scarred hand found yours, cool fingers slipping between your warm ones with careful deliberation. "You are my home now," he said simply.

Through the bond, his emotions crashed into you, raw and unfettered: centuries of silent longing, of watching others find connection while he remained in darkness. The terrible, wonderful freedom of finally choosing something for himself. The fear of unknown pathways balanced against the certainty of what he'd found in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of choice.

Cassian moved forward, genuine alarm in his features. "Az, think about this. Five centuries together. We're brothers."

Azriel's gaze shifted to Cassian, something almost like regret flickering briefly in those hazel depths before ice reclaimed them. "And brothers understand when one must follow his own path," he replied, though the slight roughness in his voice betrayed the cost of his choice. "This isn't goodbye, Cassian. Just... a different road."

"Where will you go?" Rhysand asked, power now visibly swirling around him, tiny stars coalescing and fading within the darkness that clung to his skin.

"West," Azriel answered after a moment. "Beyond Prythian's borders. Beyond the reach of courts and politics."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with finality. Rhysand's face remained impassive, but his eyes, those star-flecked violet eyes, revealed the depth of his shock. Centuries of brotherhood, of shared battles and blood and loyalty, suspended in this single, fragile moment.

"I won't command you to stay," Rhysand finally said, each word weighed and measured. "I never would. But I ask you, as your High Lord and your friend, to reconsider."

Though his tone remained controlled, Rhysand's power betrayed his turmoil, stars burning brighter, darkness swirling more intensely. He understood the choice Azriel faced, had made similar sacrifices himself, yet still struggled with the reality of losing his shadowsinger.

Azriel's expression remained coldly resolute,"I've made my choice, Rhys. As you once made yours for Feyre."

The comparison wasn't lost on any of them. Rhysand had once risked everything, including his own life, for his mate. The parallel hung between them, uncomfortable but undeniable.

Morrigan stepped forward, her earlier hostility tempered by dawning realization. "You would really leave? For her?"

"Not just for her," Azriel corrected quietly, his shadows calming as they settled around you both. "For myself as well. For what we might become together, without the weight of past sins and obligations."

The admission stole your breath. This wasn't just about protection or duty. This was about something far more profound, a future neither of you had dared imagine possible. The knowledge of it settled in your chest like a stone, heavy with potential and terror in equal measure.

"At least wait until morning," Feyre urged. "Rest. Eat. Make this decision with clear heads."

Before you could answer, a sudden tug pulled at your awareness, a sensation like blood calling to blood. Your head snapped toward the city streets below, an instinct more primal than thought drawing your attention.

Chaos erupted below a heartbeat later. Shouting rose from the streets of Velaris, the sounds of panic reaching even the lofty heights of the House of Wind.

Rhysand was at the balcony's edge in an instant, power rolling off him in midnight waves as he scanned the city below. Cassian and Feyre flanked him, their own magic rising in response to potential threat.

"What is it?" Morrigan asked, moving forward despite her earlier hostility.

"Something's wrong," you whispered, the familial connection pulling at you with increasing urgency. "Someone's here. Someone of my blood."

Azriel's shadows stretched outward, tasting the air, gathering information beyond normal senses. His expression shifted from confusion to grim determination as they confirmed what your blood already knew.

"Lucien," he said, shadows confirming what his eyes could now see. "He's wounded."

You pushed past him to the balcony's edge, eyes straining to see through darkness.

There, in the street below, stood your brother. His clothing was torn and bloody, his hair matted with what could only be more blood. But he was alive, standing proud despite obvious injury.

"Lucien," you whispered, relief and fear warring within you.

Azriel's hand found yours, scarred fingers twining with your own. "I'll take you to him," he said, voice rough with shared concern.

As he gathered you in his arms and launched from the balcony, you caught a glimpse of the Inner Circle's faces, shock, concern, and in Mor's expression, something complicated that couldn't quite eclipse her earlier rejection.

The shadowsinger carried you down toward your brother with swift purpose, his wings creating eddies in the night air.

Landing lightly beside Lucien, Azriel set you carefully on your feet. Your knees nearly buckled as you took in the full extent of your brother's injuries, a deep gash across his forehead, burns along his arms, a limp that spoke of damage to his right leg.

"What happened?" you demanded, moving to your brother's side. "Where's Eris?"

Lucien's mismatched eyes were haunted, the mechanical one whirring erratically. "I couldn't get to him in time," he said, voice ragged with exhaustion and grief. "Beron caught him organizing the rebellion. He..." Lucien's voice broke. "He's torturing him. Using him as an example."

Horror flooded through you, cold and paralyzing. "No," you whispered. "No, no, no..."

"I tried," Lucien continued, the words tearing from his throat. "Mother above, I tried to reach him. But Beron's guards were everywhere. I barely escaped with my life."

Cassian landed beside you, having followed from the House of Wind. His face hardened as he took in Lucien's condition and his news.

"We need to get you to a healer," Cassian said, military precision taking over. "Then we plan our next move."

"There is no next move," Lucien replied, his voice hollow. "Beron has sealed the borders of Autumn Court. Every entry point is guarded by his elite. He's sent a message to all High Lords, any interference will be considered an act of war."

"And the rebellion?" Azriel asked quietly.

"Still fighting," Lucien confirmed, though his expression held little hope. "But with Eris captured... their leadership is in chaos. Beron is systematically hunting down anyone connected to the resistance."

The implications settled over you like a physical weight. Eris, your eldest brother who had risked everything to help you escape, was now paying the price for his defiance. The brother who had always seemed so untouchable, so invulnerable, was at Beron's mercy.

And Beron had none.

"We have to do something," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't just leave him there."

Azriel's shadows coiled tighter around you, as if trying to shield you from a truth too painful to bear. "We won't abandon him," he promised, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to the coldness he'd shown his Inner Circle moments before. "I promise you that."

"But we need a plan," Cassian added, his battle-trained mind already working through scenarios. "Not a suicide mission."

You glanced back at the House of Wind, where Rhysand and Feyre still watched from the balcony. Morrigan had disappeared back inside.

"We still need to leave," you said quietly to Azriel. "But not until we've done everything possible for Eris."

"We'll find a way," Azriel agreed, his shadows swirling protectively around both you and Lucien. "Then we go."

Lucien's gaze shifted between you and Azriel, confusion evident in his mismatched eyes. "Go? Go where?"

"Somewhere new," you said simply. "The Night Court isn't the right place for me. For us."

Understanding dawned in Lucien's tired face. "Mor," he guessed, accurately reading the situation. "She's still blinded by the past."

"She has reason," you acknowledged, refusing to villainize someone whose pain was so clearly genuine. "And I won't heal in a place where my presence causes others to suffer."

Lucien's gaze shifted to Azriel, assessment clear in that mechanical eye. "And you? You would leave everything for my sister? Your court? Your High Lord? The family you've served for centuries?"

Azriel's expression remained neutral, but his shadows curled possessively around your joined hands. "I would."

The words shimmered between you, a truth so profound it left you breathless. The realization of what this male was offering, not just protection, not just loyalty, but a future built on mutual choice rather than obligation or duty, made your heart pound against your ribs.

"We stay until we've done everything we can for Eris," you said, your decision made. "Then we find our own path."

Lucien nodded slowly, acceptance settling in his weary features. "I understand. More than most."

The healing center of Velaris melded practicality with comfort in ways that spoke to the Night Court's character. Stone walls, softened by tapestries in deep midnight blue, captured and reflected the perpetual night of the city. Windows stood open to the cool air, carrying the distant hum of city life and the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. Rooms glowed with starlight captured in floating glass orbs, their light gentle enough for healing but bright enough for precision work.

The air carried the distinctive scent of healing herbs: night jasmine to induce restful sleep, crushed moonberries for pain, and the sharp tang of wintermint for clarity of mind. Beneath it all lingered the subtle sweetness of healing magic itself, like honey dissolved in water.

Healers, quiet and efficient in midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver stars, had immediately taken charge of Lucien, guiding him to a treatment room where they now worked on his injuries with methodical precision. Their hands moved with the confidence of those who had mended far worse wounds than his.

You waited outside, pacing the smooth stone floor. Each step echoed softly in the quiet corridor, marking time like a heartbeat. Azriel stood motionless by the window, his shadows stretching periodically down the hallway, gathering information, monitoring for threats. His stillness made your restlessness all the more pronounced.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, admitting a slender female you had seen.

Elain Archeron.

"Where is he?" she asked, voice melodic yet urgent. "Is he..."

"He's being treated now," you answered, instinctively stepping forward.

Elain. Lucien's mate.

The female whose face appeared in his rare, unguarded moments, whose name he sometimes spoke in his sleep. The female who had sent warning, created diversion, saved Lucien's life.

Azriel's shadows maintained their steady patrol, neither reacting to her presence nor acknowledging any shared history. His face remained calm, completely unperturbed, as if greeting a casual acquaintance rather than someone with whom he might have once shared deeper connection.

"You helped him escape," you said softly to Elain.

Elain's gaze finally focused on you fully, wariness evident in her posture. Her fingers twisted a small silver ring with nervous energy. "You're his sister. The Lady of Autumn."

"Just his sister," you corrected automatically. "Nothing else matters right now."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you with unexpected sharpness. Then, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she nodded once. "He called for you. In my visions. Before they happened."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. "Visions?"

"I'm a Seer," she explained simply, no pride or apology in the statement. Just fact. "I See what's coming. Sometimes. Not always clearly. Not always in time." Her gaze drifted to the treatment room door, guilt shadowing her features. "Not soon enough for Eris."

Azriel's shadows curled inward at the mention of Eris, growing denser, almost defensive. "You did what you could," he said.

Elain looked at him fully for the first time, her expression complicated. "Az," she acknowledged, something like resignation briefly crossing her features at his professional demeanor.

Before any of you could say more, the treatment room door opened. A healer stepped out, bowing formally to Elain.

"He's asking for you," she said simply, stepping aside.

Elain moved forward, then hesitated, glancing back at you. "Will you come? He needs his family too."

The unexpected inclusion startled you. You looked to Azriel, whose shadows had gone utterly still, as if holding their breath. He nodded once, a tiny movement that nonetheless conveyed complete support for whatever you chose.

"Of course," you said, stepping forward to follow Elain into the room.

Lucien lay on a bed of midnight blue, his injuries already partially healed. The gash on his forehead had closed, leaving behind a thin red line that would fade to silver. The burns on his arms were covered in a translucent green salve that smelled of mint and something sweeter, like crushed berries. His mechanical eye had been removed for repair, the empty socket covered with a patch of dark silk.

His remaining eye widened at the sight of you and Elain together. Surprise, then something like wonder, crossed his features. Beneath it, you caught the flash of vulnerability, the momentary disbelief that his mate and his sister would stand together at his bedside.

"My two guardian angels," he said, voice rough with exhaustion but touched with genuine amusement. "Come to ensure I don't slip away?"

Elain moved to his bedside without hesitation, her hand finding his with practiced familiarity. The moment they touched, a barely perceptible sigh escaped him, his body relaxing as if a hidden tension had finally released. "You're not going anywhere," she said, the dreamy quality entirely gone from her voice. In its place was steel, determination, a will that seemed at odds with her delicate appearance.

His eye never left her face, drinking in her presence as if storing it against future drought. The nakedness of his need was almost painful to witness, a male so thoroughly claimed by the mating bond that even the presence of others couldn't mask it.

You approached from the other side, relief making your movements unsteady. "The healers say you'll recover fully."

"They always say that," Lucien replied with a weak smile, finally tearing his gaze from Elain. "Makes the patients feel better." His gaze shifted to Azriel, who had remained by the door, shadows wrapped tight around him. "They're treating me better than I expected, Shadowsinger. Your doing?"

Azriel's face revealed nothing, but his shadows briefly formed a pattern that might have been confirmation. "The Night Court respects loyalty to family," he said quietly. "Even when that family belongs to Autumn."

Lucien's eye narrowed, studying Azriel with unnerving intensity. The mechanical gold eye, temporarily removed, would have been whirring with calculation.

Lucien's expression sobered. "We need to act quickly. Beron won't keep him alive indefinitely."

"We need a plan," you agreed, anxiety clenching your stomach at the thought of Eris in Beron's clutches. The bond with Azriel flared briefly, responding to your distress with golden warmth that pushed back against the cold fear. "A way to reach him."

"I can help with that," Elain said, her dreamy voice returning, eyes going slightly unfocused. "I've Seen a path. Through shadows and flame. A way beneath mountains where guards don't look."

Azriel straightened, interest sharpening his features. "What did you See, exactly?"

Elain's gaze turned inward, focusing on something none of you could perceive. "A tunnel. Ancient. Forgotten. It runs beneath the border mountains between Night and Autumn. It emerges in a grove where the trees burn eternally without being consumed."

Recognition flashed across Lucien's face. "The Sacred Grove. It's less than a mile from the Autumn Court palace."

"How did you know about this tunnel?" Azriel asked Elain, his voice remaining professionally curious rather than personally invested.

Elain's eyes refocused, meeting his with unexpected directness. "I Saw it after you left the House of Wind. When I knew what you'd chosen." She shrugged lightly, acceptance rather than hurt shaping her features. "The Cauldron shows me what's needed, Az. Not what's wanted."

The atmosphere remained calm, without the charged tension of unresolved feelings. Azriel's shadows continued their steady vigilance, neither reaching for Elain nor recoiling from her. Whatever history lay between them seemed settled, at least on his part.

Lucien watched this exchange with careful neutrality, though his fingers tightened slightly around Elain's. The movement was subtle, possessive yet insecure. A male who had found his mate but still feared losing her, even to a male who clearly had no interest.

"This tunnel," you interjected, "can it get us to Eris?"

"Yes," Elain said, attention returning to you. "But not all of us. Two, at most. More would draw attention."

"I'll go," Azriel said immediately, shadows coiling with deadly purpose.

"Me too," you added, the decision requiring no thought. "He's my brother."

"You can't," Lucien protested, struggling to sit up. "Beron wants you most of all. If he captures you..."

"He won't," Azriel interrupted, his voice midnight-cold and absolute. "I won't allow it."

The conviction in his voice silenced Lucien's objections. The scarred male exchanged a long look with Elain, some silent communication passing between them.

"When?" you asked.

"Tomorrow night," Elain answered, certainty in her voice. "When the moon is highest. The guards change shifts. There's a gap in their rotation, seven minutes when the eastern dungeon corridor is unwatched."

"How do you know that?" Azriel asked, shadows stretching toward her as if testing the truth of her words.

"I Saw it," she replied simply.

The finality in her voice sent a chill down your spine. Azriel's shadows recoiled slightly, then settled into watchful stillness.

"Then we leave tomorrow night," you said, decision made. "And afterward..."

"You go your own way," Elain finished for you, no judgment in her tone. "West, beyond Prythian's borders."

Lucien's eye widened, realization dawning. "You're leaving the Night Court?"

"I'm not welcome here," you said simply.

The bond's golden light briefly shimmered beneath your skin as you spoke, carrying warmth and certainty despite the unknown path ahead. In that moment, you realized that "home" was no longer a place for you, but a connection. A bond not forced by fate but chosen in defiance of it.

"And I go where she goes," Azriel added, voice softening when he looked at you despite the distance he maintained from the others.

A complicated series of emotions crossed Lucien's face. "I understand," he finally said, gaze lingering on Elain. "Sometimes the place you're meant to be isn't where others think you belong."

Elain's hand tightened on his, an unspoken acknowledgment of his words. "I'll draw you a map," she said to Azriel. "Of what I've Seen. The tunnel entrance, the guards' positions, the cell where they're keeping Eris."

Azriel nodded, gratitude softening his severe features. "Thank you, Elain."

She met his gaze directly, simple kindness in her eyes. "Be happy, Az," she said quietly. "That's all any of us ever wanted for you."

The words struck him visibly, shadows briefly dispersing in surprise before gathering closer than before. He didn't respond, but his eyes flickered to you before returning to her, answer enough.

The bond burned beneath your skin, molten gold tracing veins of fire through your borrowed body as you walked the streets of Velaris.

Each pulse echoed the question that had haunted you since waking in this world. Which life is truly mine?

The Night Court's famed city of starlight unfurled around you in painful, breathtaking beauty. Artists captured moonlight on canvas beneath silver-starred streetlamps. Music spilled from taverns like liquid joy, mingling with laughter and the scent of cinnamon and sea salt. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, their faces illuminated by faelights hovering like captured stars.

Too beautiful. Too perfect. A dream you'd never dared imagine.

"Are you cold?" Azriel's voice slipped through your thoughts, quiet as shadow. He walked beside you, wings tucked tight, shoulders angled to shield you from curious stares without touching you.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. The golden thread of the bond twisted tighter as another wave of panic crashed through you.

Eris in chains. Lucien fighting alone. Beron's flames consuming all you'd begun to care for.

Azriel's shadows reached toward you before retreating at your rigid posture. You pretended not to notice the hurt that flashed across his face when you stepped further away.

"Just ahead," he said, gesturing toward a townhouse nestled between two larger buildings. Three stories of pale stone with midnight-blue shutters, a small balcony dripping with night-blooming jasmine. "Rhys and Feyre arranged it. Privacy until..."

He didn't finish. Until you left. Until he abandoned everything for you. Until you made choices that would shatter one world or another.

You nodded and walked ahead, climbing the few steps without waiting. The scent of jasmine clung to your clothes as you passed beneath the flowering vines, sweet and foreign and heartbreaking.

Inside, the townhouse breathed quiet elegance—plush furniture in midnight blues and silvers, windows strategically placed to capture moonlight, walls adorned with paintings of star-strewn skies. A fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the polished wood floor.

Too much. Too real.

The flames reminded you of Eris. Of his face when he'd declared rebellion against Beron. Of what your father must be doing to him now.

Not your father, you reminded yourself. Not your blood. Not your world.

Azriel stood in the doorway, shadows darker than the night outside wreathing his powerful frame. His face remained carefully blank, but his shadows betrayed him, curling into agitated patterns that revealed his concern.

"There are two bedrooms upstairs," he said, voice carefully neutral despite the golden light flickering beneath his skin whenever the bond pulsed. "You can choose whichever you prefer."

You moved toward the stairs without answering. Each step felt like wading through water, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and fear.

At the landing, you paused, throat tight with words you couldn't say.

Don't throw your life away for me. Don't sacrifice everything for someone who doesn't belong here. Don't care for me—please, don't care.

"I need to rest," you managed, the words hollow.

"Of course." The shadows around him shuddered with something like despair.

You turned away, entering the nearest bedroom and closing the door with a soft click that somehow felt deafening in the silence.

Alone at last, you sagged against the door, sliding to the floor as exhaustion claimed you. Ember and Sizzle materialized in twin pops of flame, immediately nuzzling against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered, voice breaking. "He's giving up everything for someone who can't stay. Someone with a body lying in a hospital across worlds, family keeping vigil, machines beeping out the rhythm of a life half-lived."

The flame bunnies chirped softly, climbing into your lap, their tiny warmth both comfort and burden. Hadn't they, too, become real? Hadn't this body, this magic, this life begun to feel more substantial than the ghostly memories of a human existence?

You pushed yourself up and crossed to the bed, not bothering to change out of travel-worn clothes. Sleep claimed you almost instantly, dragging you into dreams of hospitals and beeping monitors and sobbing aunts who had long since given up hope.

You woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your ribs with enough force to hurt. In your dream, Eris had been screaming your name as Beron's flames consumed him, the scent of burning flesh so vivid you gagged.

The room was pitch black, moonlight long since faded. The city below slumbered, only occasional lights visible in distant windows.

Decision crystallized in your chest, cold and final. You couldn't wait until tomorrow. Not with Eris suffering at Beron's hands. Not with Azriel preparing to throw away five centuries of brotherhood, of family, of purpose—for a female he barely knew.

For an imposter in a body not her own.

You dressed silently, strapping on the knife Lucien had pressed into your hands before you'd left the healing center. The blade thrummed with old magic, protection spells etched into its hilt.

Ember and Sizzle watched from the bed, unusually still, their tiny flame ears laid flat against their heads.

"Stay with him," you whispered. "I need to do this alone."

Your palm curled around the silver charm Azriel had given you.

Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance.

You removed it carefully, placing it on the bedside table. You wouldn't drag him into this. Wouldn't be responsible for another sacrifice.

You eased the door open, heart in your throat, and nearly collapsed at the sight that greeted you.

Azriel.

Sitting on the floor outside your room, back against the wall. His magnificent wings were folded tight against his spine, shadows wrapped around him like a living blanket against the chill.

Not sleeping—you doubted he ever truly slept—but guarding.

Waiting.

His head snapped up at your appearance, and the naked emotion in his eyes stole your breath.

Concern, yes, but something deeper. Something that made the bond sing gold and fire between you.

Shadows writhed around him, betraying his agitation even as his face remained carefully neutral. Several tendrils reached toward you before he called them back with visible effort.

"You're leaving." Not a question. His voice, velvet darkness wrapped around steel, betrayed nothing of his feelings.

"I have to try," you admitted, unable to lie to that piercing gaze. "For Eris."

"Alone?" The word carried more emotion than any outburst could have.

"Yes." You moved to step around him, refusing to acknowledge how the bond screamed against the distance you insisted on maintaining.

Azriel rose in a single fluid motion that reminded you what he was—warrior, predator, death on silent wings. He blocked your path without touching you, his body a wall of night and shadow.

"You'll die," he said. The starkness of it, the absolute certainty, sent ice down your spine.

"Better me than him." You straightened, meeting his gaze despite the effort it cost. "Better me than you."

Something fierce flashed across his face, breaking through that careful mask of control. "That's not your choice to make."

"And throwing away your life for mine isn't yours," you countered, frustration finally cracking your careful indifference. "Five centuries with the Night Court, with family who loves you, and you'd walk away for what? A broken bond with someone who isn't even supposed to be here?"

His expression shifted, surprise briefly visible before his shadows receded slightly.

"Is that what this is about?" The gentleness in his voice threatened to shatter you. "You think I don't know what I'm choosing?"

"I think you're making a sacrifice you'll regret for the rest of your immortal life," you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the pain it caused. "And I can't let you do that."

"Let me?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained grave. "I've been making my own choices for five hundred years."

The words sent heat curling through your veins, unwelcome and undeniable. The bond flared in response, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin, beneath his, a betrayal of bodies despite minds' protestations.

"Come downstairs," he said, soft as night breeze. "Please. Before we both do something we'll regret."

The request was reasonable enough that you found yourself nodding, following him to the small sitting room on the main floor.

Shadows settled into corners as you both sat on the same couch, a careful distance between you that somehow felt both too great and not nearly enough.

The silence stretched, alive with all you couldn't say.

"Why have you been shutting me out?" he finally asked, directness catching you off-guard.

You stared at your hands, at the borrowed skin with its too-smooth texture, its too-perfect nails, its too-bright veins of gold that danced beneath the surface like trapped sunlight.

"Because this isn't real," you whispered. "None of it."

"It feels real to me," he replied, the simplicity of it cutting deeper than arguments ever could.

"It's not," you insisted, looking up at last. "This bond, this world, this body—none of it belongs to me. And I can't... I can't let you destroy your life for an illusion."

His scarred hand moved slightly closer, not quite touching yours. Even that small movement sent the bond into a frenzy of golden heat beneath your skin.

"What if it's not an illusion?" he asked, voice dropping lower. "What if this is precisely where we're both meant to be?"

The words struck closer to your secret fear than you'd thought possible.

What if he was right? What if the hospital room was the dream, and this—this magic, this bond, this male whose mere presence eased an ache you hadn't known you carried—was your truth?

"I don't belong here," you said, throat tightening around the words. "My body—my real body—is waiting for me to come home."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by compassion so genuine it hurt to witness. "The hospital. The human world."

You nodded, tears threatening. "I can't stay here, Azriel. No matter how much I might..." Want to. Belong to you. Need you. "I have family waiting. A life."

"And you think I'm following you out of obligation?" The question was gentle, offering understanding where you'd expected hurt. "Out of some misguided sense of duty to the mating bond?"

"Aren't you?"

His shadows stilled completely—a rare occurrence that drew your attention more effectively than any shout could have.

"I have spent five centuries in darkness," he said, voice so low you had to lean closer to hear, to breathe in his scent of night-chilled stone and cedar. "Five centuries as weapon and warning, as the nightmare that keeps enemies at bay. Five centuries watching others find connections I believed I could never have."

His eyes, when they met yours, contained such vulnerability that your breath caught. The golden light beneath his skin pulsed in time with your heartbeat, the bond singing recognition between your bodies even as your minds fought its pull.

"I thought I loved Mor once," he continued, the confession clearly costing him. "Then Elain. But it was always the idea of love that drew me. The possibility of light. Not the females themselves."

His scarred fingers traced patterns on the cushion between you, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.

"With you, it's different," he said, voice roughened with emotion. "From the moment the bond snapped into place, even as I rejected it, I knew. This wasn't just magic. This wasn't just fate. This was recognition."

"Of what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

His shadows stirred, curling into shapes that reflected his words—wings and flames dancing together, darkness and light intertwined.

"Of the only person who's ever seen me," he replied, each word carefully chosen, heavy with significance. "Not the shadowsinger. Not the spymaster. Not the weapon." His voice dropped lower. "When you look at me, your eyes don't reflect centuries of blood and darkness. They show me something I thought I'd lost long ago."

"What?" you whispered, unable to look away from the raw emotion in his gaze.

"Possibility," he said simply. One word that contained worlds.

His shadows curled toward you with heartbreaking hesitancy, stopping just short of contact. "I'm not following you out of duty or obligation. I'm following you because for the first time in five hundred years, I've found something that's mine alone. Not given by Rhysand. Not shared with Cassian. Not demanded by war."

"I can't give you what you want," you finally said, each word a shard of glass in your throat. "I can't stay here, Azriel. I can't be your mate. Not permanently."

"Why?" His voice remained gentle despite the pain that flashed across his beautiful face.

"Because I don't belong to this world," you whispered. "This body isn't mine. This life isn't mine. And someday—somehow—I have to find my way back home."

His scarred hand finally reached across the distance between you, not grasping, simply offering. "What if this is home? What if that human girl is the dream, and this is your reality?"

The question struck deeper than you'd expected, touching the fear that had haunted you since waking in this fae body.

What if he was right? What if the hospital was the illusion, and this strange, magical world was where you truly belonged?

"I don't know," you admitted, the confession leaving you raw. "I don't know which is real anymore."

"They both are," he said, shadows forming shapes that looked like doorways, like bridges between worlds. "And whichever you choose, I'll respect it. Even if it means losing you."

The words hung between you, heavy with sincerity. This wasn't just about the bond anymore. This was about choice—his and yours. About making decisions with open eyes and full awareness of the consequences.

"Why would you do that?" you asked, voice breaking. "Why would you leave everything for someone who might not stay?"

His scarred fingers extended further, an invitation without pressure. "Because some moments are worth an eternity of loss."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, the bond responding with a flare of golden warmth that momentarily eclipsed all doubt, all fear. This male who had known only duty and shadow for centuries was offering you something no one in either of your lives had ever given: complete freedom to choose your own fate, without expectation or demand.

His shadows brushed your wrist, cool as night air, gentle as a whisper. "I would rather know you for a single heartbeat than live an eternity wondering what might have been."

The bond between you shimmered, visible now as golden threads spanning the distance between your bodies, delicate as spider's silk but stronger than steel. Each breath you took made them glow brighter, a constellation of shared possibility.

"Tomorrow we rescue Eris," you finally said, pulling your hand back despite the bond's protest. "After that... I don't know. I don't know what happens next."

Azriel nodded, accepting your withdrawal without question. His shadows retreated, curling back around his shoulders in patterns that spoke of restraint, of patience, of understanding beyond what you'd thought possible.

"One day at a time, then." He spoke the words like a promise.

"One day at a time," you agreed, rising from the couch. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, the weight of his truths, of your fears, threatening to pull you under.

He stood as well, shadows gathering around him like a living cloak. "Would you prefer I remain downstairs tonight?"

There was no judgment in the question, no hurt, only simple respect for your boundaries. The consideration—so at odds with the fearsome reputation that preceded him—made your throat tighten with emotions you weren't ready to name.

"You don't have to sit outside my door," you said quietly, the bond aching as you forced distance between you. "But... I wouldn't mind knowing you were nearby."

The admission cost you, revealed more than you'd intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret it when understanding flashed in his eyes, followed by something that might have been hope.

"I'll be here if you need me," he promised, shadows reaching toward you one last time before he pulled them back. "Always."

You nodded once, then turned toward the stairs, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.

In your borrowed bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, Ember and Sizzle immediately materializing to nudge against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to them, the question you couldn't ask Azriel. "What am I going to do?"

The flame bunnies had no answers, only warm comfort as they curled against you, tiny embers of promise in a night that seemed endless.

Outside your door, shadows whispered quiet vigilance, a promise kept without words. Downstairs, the shadowsinger of the Night Court—who had offered you his scarred heart without demanding yours in return—waited patiently for a decision you weren't sure you could make.

And in another world, separated by barriers of reality itself, machines beeped a steady rhythm beside a hospital bed where a body lay suspended between life and death, while family members whispered, "Please come home."

Two lives. Two worlds. Two hearts beating across an impossible divide.

The bond pulsed once more, golden light briefly illuminating the darkness of your room, carrying with it the echo of his words: Some moments are worth an eternity of loss.

Tomorrow, you would rescue Eris. Tomorrow, you would fight for family—chosen and given and made. Beyond that lay choices that terrified and tempted in equal measure.

You closed your eyes, the weight of worlds pressing against your chest.

One heartbeat at a time.

The High Lords converged on Velaris like gathering storm clouds.

The emergency conclave had been called by Rhysand after news of Beron's actions spread across Prythian. War loomed on the horizon, and even ancient enemies now sought common ground against Autumn Court's growing madness.

You stood on the balcony of the townhouse, watching as entourages made their way through the streets below. Each High Lord had brought a small contingent, enough to demonstrate power without appearing threatening. The air itself seemed to thicken with magic as they passed, a tangible pressure against your skin.

"Are you certain you want to attend?" Azriel asked from the doorway, his voice quiet. His shadows curled restlessly near the railing but never touched you.

You didn't turn. "I need to be there," you replied, fingers whitening as they gripped the cold stone. "For Eris."

Azriel said nothing more, but his presence shifted closer, a silent offering of strength.

The River House had been transformed for the gathering. The central chamber now held an enormous circular table, each seat marked with the sigil of a different court. Rhysand and Feyre stood at the entrance, greeting each arrival with careful diplomacy.

You entered with Azriel at your side, his presence a cold comfort as curious gazes tracked your movement. His shadows remained tightly controlled, but you could feel the tension radiating from him, a predator walking willingly into enemy territory.

Tarquin of Summer Court nodded politely as you passed, sea-salt scent clinging to his turquoise robes. Helion of Day Court studied you with scholarly interest, golden eyes missing nothing beneath his crown of light. Kallias of Winter Court remained expressionless, his silver-white hair contrasting sharply with his midnight blue attire.

Something strange fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, not recognition but a sudden chill that traced your spine despite the warmth of the room. You swallowed hard, attributing the feeling to general anxiety about the meeting.

The discussions began with Rhysand outlining the situation in Autumn Court, his voice measured despite the rage that occasionally flashed in his violet eyes. The rebellion, Eris's capture, Beron's increasingly erratic behavior. Maps were spread across the table, territories marked in colored ink.

"Winter Court has intelligence suggesting Beron has moved Eris to the eastern dungeons," Kallias was saying, his voice crystalline and sharp as ice. "Our late Lord Kieraven provided similar information before his death in the war with Hybern."

The name hit you like a physical blow.

Kieraven.

Your vision blurred at the edges, the room suddenly too bright, too hot. Your heartbeat accelerated, a fluttering bird trapped in your chest. Something about that name made your skin crawl, though you couldn't place why. Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails cutting into your palms.

"These dungeons have access points through the servant corridors," another Winter Court advisor added, pointing to the map with fingers that seemed too long, too pale.

A phantom sensation of cold hands gripping your wrists flashed through your body. Your throat tightened as if invisible fingers pressed against it.

Beside you, Azriel shifted slightly in his seat.

To anyone else, the movement would appear negligible, a simple adjustment of posture. But you felt his attention sharpen, felt his shadows condense beneath the table, pooling around your feet in silent vigilance. His face remained impassive, yet something in his eyes had changed, a dangerous awareness that hadn't been there moments before.

"Are you well?" Tarquin asked from across the table, sea-glass eyes noting your pallor.

"Yes," you managed, though your voice sounded thin even to your own ears. "Just concerned for my brother."

The meeting continued, but you felt increasingly detached, a strange buzzing filling your head. Whenever your gaze drifted toward the Winter Court contingent, unease rippled through you, gooseflesh rising on your arms. You deliberately looked away, focusing instead on the maps spread across the table, tracing the familiar outlines of Autumn Court territories.

Azriel remained silent throughout, his contributions limited to precise tactical observations when directly addressed. But his attention never wavered from you, from the cold sweat beading at your temples, from the minute tremors in your hands that you tried to hide.

"The eastern corridor has twelve guards stationed at regular intervals," the Winter Court representative continued, "but there are passages between guard rotations where..."

Thirteen.

The thought came unbidden, bewildering in its certainty. There were thirteen.

"...where infiltration would be possible with proper timing."

When the Winter Court advisor mentioned "corridors in the eastern wing," your stomach twisted violently. Without warning, tears sprang to your eyes, though you had no idea why. The scent of frost and blood filled your nostrils, a memory that couldn't be yours.

Stone walls. Cold floor. Hands holding you down.

"The structure of these dungeons suggests a weakness in the northwestern corner," Kallias added, his pale finger tracing a path on the map.

Voices whispering things that couldn't be forgotten. Pain beyond naming.

You blinked back tears furiously, refusing to show weakness in front of these powerful beings. But Azriel noticed, of course he did. Nothing escaped the shadowsinger's attention, especially not concerning you.

His hand found yours beneath the table, scarred fingers wrapping around your trembling ones. A touch so light it might have been imagined, yet anchoring you to the present. His face remained distant, focused on the maps, but his thumb traced a small circle against your wrist, steadying your frantic pulse.

"Each rotation changes at midnight," the Winter Court advisor was saying. His voice seemed to come from far away, distorted as if through water. "Which gives a window of approximately seven minutes..."

Seven minutes. Seven minutes where no one came. Seven minutes of desperate hope before the eighth male arrived.

The room began to spin, colors bleeding into one another. Your lungs couldn't seem to draw enough air, each breath shallow and insufficient. The bond beneath your skin pulsed erratically, your borrowed Fae body remembering what your human mind could not.

When you tried to speak, your throat closed. Panic rose without explanation, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The room seemed to shrink around you, the voices of the High Lords becoming distant and indistinct.

A single tear escaped despite your efforts, tracking silently down your cheek.

Azriel was on his feet in an instant, his movement so smooth it seemed he'd simply materialized standing. His shadows flared around him, tendrils whipping in patterns that spoke of deadly intent, though his face remained controlled.

"My lady requires air," he announced, his voice giving no room for question or challenge. "Continue without us."

Before anyone could object, he had gathered you into his arms. Not gently, not tenderly, but with efficient, impersonal precision that would appear as duty rather than concern to watching eyes. His wings unfurled as he strode toward the balcony, his face a mask of cold indifference that belied the protective fury radiating from him.

"My apologies for the interruption," he said to Rhysand, his tone suggesting anything but remorse. "We'll return shortly."

Then you were airborne, the cool night air rushing past as Azriel carried you away from the River House. Your body trembled against his, tears flowing freely now though you still couldn't understand why.

"I don't know what's happening to me," you whispered against his chest, embarrassment and confusion warring within you. "I don't know why I'm reacting this way."

Azriel said nothing, his silence almost comforting as he flew through the darkness. The city fell away beneath you as he climbed higher, banking toward a sheer cliff face that towered over Velaris. Stars scattered across the vast expanse of night sky, cold and distant as ancient memories.

He landed on a small ledge invisible from below. A tiny flat space carved into the rock, overlooking the entire city and the sea beyond. A single bench made of polished stone sat against the cliff wall, worn smooth from centuries of use. The air here smelled of wild thyme and night jasmine, undisturbed by the scents of the city below.

"No one knows about this place," he said, setting you carefully on the bench. "Not even Cassian or Rhys." The admission hung in the air between you, significant in its rarity.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the trembling that seemed to come from somewhere deep within. "I'm sorry for disrupting the meeting. I don't understand what came over me."

Azriel moved to the ledge's edge, wings partially extended as if ready for flight. His shadows swirled in agitated patterns around him, occasionally forming shapes that looked almost like protective shields before dissolving back into formless dark.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"I do," you insisted, wiping at tears that wouldn't stop. "Breaking down like this when Eris needs us to be strong, to be focused..."

Azriel turned to face you, and the expression in his eyes made you fall silent. Not tenderness or concern, but something darker, more knowing. His shadows quieted, gathering close to his body as if containing secrets too dangerous to share.

"The body remembers what the mind forgets," he said, each word carefully chosen. "Sometimes it warns us of dangers we don't consciously recognize."

You shook your head, confusion only deepening. "What are you talking about? I've never even met these people before."

Azriel didn't answer directly. His gaze shifted to the city below, to the River House where the conclave continued without you. "The Winter Court," he said finally, voice so low you had to strain to hear it. "Your reaction wasn't without cause."

"I don't understand," you whispered, another tear sliding down your cheek.

He moved to sit beside you, not touching, a precise distance maintained between your bodies. His shadows, however, encircled you both, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world. The scent of night-chilled stone and cedar enveloped you, bringing strange comfort.

"You're safe here," he said, voice gentle despite its underlying steel. "No one can reach you. No one can hurt you."

The words should have been comforting. Instead, they made you cry harder, great gulping sobs that seemed to rise from some hidden well of grief you hadn't known existed. Your body remembered something your mind could not access, a trauma buried beneath layers of magic and dimensional walls.

"Why do I feel like this?" you gasped between sobs. "Why does it hurt when I don't even know what's hurting me?"

Azriel remained silent for a long moment, his shadows shifting restlessly. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Some wounds run deeper than memory."

You turned to face him fully, frustration cutting through your tears. "Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what you know."

His eyes met yours, ancient and knowing and filled with a darkness that made you shiver. "I can't," he said softly. "This is something you must discover for yourself, when you're ready."

The bond between you pulsed, golden light briefly visible beneath both your skins. It thrummed with truth, with connection deeper than conscious thought.

"Your human life," Azriel continued carefully, "and this Fae existence... they're more connected than you know."

Before you could press further, he removed his outer leathers and draped it around your shoulders. The leather was still warm from his body, carrying his scent. The weight of it was grounding, pulling you back from the edge of panic.

"For now," he continued, "just know that your reactions are valid. That what you feel is real, even if you don't understand why."

The certainty in his voice gave you pause. There was more to this, much more, than he was saying. But the gentleness underlying his cold exterior suggested whatever knowledge he held was being withheld out of protection, not cruelty.

"Will you tell me someday?" you asked, pulling his jacket tighter around you.

"When you're ready to hear it," he promised, shadows briefly touching your hand before retreating. "Not before."

After a long while, when your tears had finally subsided, you found yourself leaning against him despite your earlier resolve to maintain distance. His body tensed momentarily at the contact, then relaxed, one arm coming around you with cautious precision.

You both sat in silence, watching the stars reflect on the distant sea. The panic had receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The night air carried the salt scent of the ocean mixed with the wild herbs growing in crevices of the cliff face.

"I sometimes think about what life would be like," you whispered into the night, voice raw from tears, "if I stayed in Prythian."

The moment the words left your lips, the entire world seemed to still. Even the wind paused, holding its breath with you.

Azriel's body went rigid against yours, but his arm remained, a steady anchor around your shoulders. His shadows, ever-moving, froze in mid-air like fractured pieces of night. The only sound between you was the soft rhythm of his breathing, more careful now, more measured.

"Tell me," you continued, heart hammering against your ribs, "if you could choose any life for us, what would it be?"

The question hung between you, fragile as spun glass.

For several heartbeats, he didn't move, didn't speak. Then his shadows pulled tight around his body, as if he were gathering parts of himself that had never been exposed to light.

"Not here," he finally said, voice so low you felt it more than heard it, rough-edged with longing he'd never allowed himself to voice. "Not in Velaris or any court."

You tilted your face to study his profile, severe and beautiful against the backdrop of stars. "Where then?"

He swallowed, the movement visible in the strong column of his throat.

"There's a place..." He faltered, then began again. "Beyond the western mountains. Past Illyrian territory."

His voice softened into something you'd never heard from him before, something almost reverent. "A valley hidden between two peaks where the snow never falls too heavily and the summers are mild."

As he spoke, his shadows formed shapes you could almost recognize. Mountain peaks. Pine trees. A lake surface rippled by gentle wind.

"No High Lords," he continued, something in his voice breaking open. "No war. Just forest and mountains and a lake clear enough to see the stars reflected in its depths."

Your breath caught. "It sounds beautiful."

"I found it centuries ago," he admitted, the confession weighted with significance. "During a mission for Rhys. I've never told anyone about it." The words that followed were quieter still.

The knowledge settled in your chest, a precious gift. This wasn't simply a fantasy he was spinning; this was a secret he had kept, a dream he had nurtured in solitude for centuries.

"Why not?"

His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, as if he could see this valley even now, waiting beyond the darkness. "Because some sanctuaries must remain untouched." His voice dropped further. "Because some dreams are too fragile to share."

The bond between you pulsed, golden and warm, as if in recognition of truth freely given.

"Would we have a house there?" you asked, allowing yourself to fall into this impossible future.

"A cabin," he corrected softly. "Built of pine and stone. Simple but strong."

He hesitated, then added in a voice that made your heart crack open. "Windows facing the sunrise."

"With a porch," you added, your own voice thick with emotion. "Where we could watch thunderstorms rolling across the mountains."

His shadows stirred, curling toward you before retreating. "Yes," he agreed. "And space behind it for a garden, if you wanted one."

"I would," you whispered, the vision so vivid you could almost feel soil beneath your fingernails. "Herbs and vegetables. Maybe wildflowers. Things that heal and feed and bring beauty."

You closed your eyes, imagination carrying you further into this shared dream. "What would we do there? So far from everything?"

"Live," he said softly.

The word hung between you, heavy with all it contained. No wars. No courts. No duty. No pain. Just existence without the weight of the world on your shoulders. Without the pressure of a bond neither of you had asked for. Without the pull of another world where machines kept a body breathing while you inhabited this one.

"No missions," you murmured. "No courts summoning you away."

His arm tightened fractionally around you. "No more shadows used as weapons," he said, voice roughened with longing that cut you to the bone. "Just shadows as they were meant to be, cast by trees and mountains and ordinary things."

Something tight in your chest unraveled at his words. This wasn't merely a dream of escape. This was his deepest yearning—to be defined not by his power or utility, but by simple humanity.

"Ember and Sizzle would love it," you said, thinking of your flame bunnies exploring forest trails.

A sound escaped him—so close to a laugh it made your heart stumble. "They'd terrorize the local wildlife," he replied.

"I'd want coffee," you said, surprising yourself with the mundane desire.

Azriel turned his face toward you then, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it. "I'd find a way to get it for you," he promised. The certainty in his voice made something within you ache. "Whatever it takes."

"I'd bring other things too," you continued, warming to the idea. "Music. Books. Ridiculous holiday traditions that would make no sense to you."

His brow lifted slightly. "Like what?"

"Christmas trees," you said, smiling despite the tears still drying on your cheeks. "Bringing an entire pine tree inside the house and covering it with shiny objects. For no logical reason whatsoever."

His brow furrowed. "That sounds... hazardous. Especially with your flame bunnies."

The laugh that escaped you was unexpected, bright and clean in the night air. "It is! People's houses catch fire all the time. But we do it anyway because it's beautiful."

Something shifted in his expression as he watched you laugh—a softening, a wonder, as if he'd just witnessed something rare and precious. His shadows reached toward you, hesitant, almost shy.

"Tell me more," he said, voice hushed with quiet hunger. "About these strange human traditions."

"We'd have movie nights," you said, leaning into him. "Which would be impossible without electricity, but let's pretend. We'd huddle under blankets and watch stories play out on a screen."

"I don't understand what that means," he admitted. The honesty in his face, the genuine desire to know this part of you, made your throat tight with emotion.

"It doesn't matter," you whispered. "I'd find other stories to share. We'd make our own traditions."

His eyes held yours, something unspoken passing between you. The bond thrummed, golden threads weaving tighter with each heartbeat.

"Would we have children?" you asked, the question slipping out before courage failed you.

Azriel went completely still, even his breathing suspended. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd shattered everything with that single question.

Then his arm tightened around you, so subtly you might have imagined it if not for the way his shadows trembled, forming and reforming shapes that looked suspiciously like tiny winged figures near your joined hands.

"Would you want them?" he asked, voice controlled to the point of breaking.

"Yes," you admitted, the word falling like a stone into still water. "Two, I think. A boy and a girl."

"With wings?" he asked, the question barely audible.

You turned to face him fully, heart in your throat at the vulnerability in his expression. "Of course with wings," you said fiercely. "Beautiful wings like their father's."

His breath caught, the small sound devastating in its honesty. His hand found yours, scarred fingers intertwining with your own as if they'd always belonged there.

"And your fire," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Your courage. Your heart."

The bond between you blazed, golden light spilling from beneath your skin to illuminate the darkness around you. His shadows didn't recoil from the light but danced with it, twining together in patterns that spoke of possibility.

"They'd be free," you whispered, the realization settling bone-deep. "No courts claiming them. No ancient grudges to inherit. Just mountains and forests and stars."

"I'd teach them to fly," Azriel said, voice breaking on the final word. "Among the peaks at sunrise."

You could see it so clearly—his powerful hands steady on small backs, his fierce protectiveness tempered with patience as tiny wings learned to catch the wind.

"I'd teach them stories from both worlds," you said, tears gathering again. "So they'd understand where they came from. Who they are."

"They'd know peace," he said, the word like a prayer on his lips. "True peace."

You both fell silent, the shared vision suspended between you—so vivid, so beautiful, so achingly out of reach. The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life built on choice rather than duty or obligation.

Yet for the first time, you found yourself wondering which world truly felt like home. The human one, with its beeping monitors and grieving family? Or this one, with its magic and pain and the possibility of a valley beyond the mountains?

"It's a beautiful dream," you finally said, unable to keep the longing from your voice.

Azriel shifted, turning to face you fully. "It doesn't have to be just a dream," he said, and for the first time in all your encounters, you heard naked pleading in his voice—an emotion you'd never expected from the controlled, deadly shadowsinger.

When you looked up, what you saw stole your breath. Azriel—the Night Court's most feared assassin, the male who had witnessed five centuries of darkness without flinching—had tears in his eyes. Not falling, not yet, but there, shimmering in the starlight like diamonds.

"Azriel," you whispered, reaching up without thinking to touch his face.

He caught your hand with his scarred one, pressing your palm against his cheek in a gesture so vulnerable it fractured something essential inside you. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but warming rapidly. The bond between you pulsed, a heartbeat shared across bodies and worlds.

"Whatever you choose," he said, each word weighted with centuries of solitude, "know that the cabin waits. Whether in a month or a century." His voice faltered. "Whether we go together or—"

The words died in his throat, but you heard them nonetheless.

"Or I return to my world," you completed for him, the possibility that had always stood between you.

He nodded once, barely perceptible. But his eyes, those ancient, haunted eyes that had witnessed centuries of darkness, held yours with unflinching courage.

"Either way," he said, "I wanted you to know. That somewhere, there is a place that belongs to us alone. Without courts or duty or pain."

The first tear fell then, tracing a silver path down his scarred cheek and onto your joined hands.

The bond between you flared, golden light spilling from your joined hands, illuminating your faces in the darkness. Not a chain binding you together, but a bridge between worlds, between possibilities.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking. "For showing me this. For letting me see."

His only response was to draw you against him, wings unfurling to create a private sanctuary around you both. Against your cheek, you felt the steady rhythm of his heart, its beat perfectly synchronized with your own.

Tomorrow would bring danger—Eris's rescue, confrontation with Beron, an uncertain future beyond. But for now, cradled against the shadowsinger's chest while his rare tears mingled with your own, you allowed yourself to hold that impossible dream close.

The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life beyond the courts.

A dream, perhaps.

But with the golden bond pulsing beneath your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the scent of night-chilled stone and cedar surrounding you, the human world of beeping monitors and grieving family seemed increasingly distant. Like a half-remembered dream fading with the dawn.

For the first time since waking in this borrowed Fae body, you felt something settle inside you. Not certainty, not yet. But possibility. Hope.

Home.

Which was real? Which was home?

For the first time, you weren't certain you knew the answer.

The golden bond thrummed beneath your skin as you woke, an urgent pulse matching your heartbeat. Outside, Velaris slept under indigo skies, last stars fading as dawn approached.

Perfect timing. Perfect silence.

You dressed in shadow, fingers finding Lucien's enchanted blade without looking. Its weight at your hip felt both foreign and familiar, like muscle memory that didn't belong to you.

Ember and Sizzle materialized at your feet, tiny flame bodies flickering with anxiety. They sensed your intentions without words. You pressed a finger to your lips, and they quieted, though pink embers sparked with protest.

"Stay," you whispered, stroking each once. "Wait for him to return."

They settled on the windowsill, sentinels against the pale horizon, their glow dimmed to near-invisibility.

Downstairs, the townhouse held its breath. Azriel's jacket hung by the door, night-chilled stone and cedar wrapping around you as you slipped it over your shoulders. One last comfort before what must be done.

Your fingers found the silver charm at your throat, his parting gift. Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance. You placed it on the small table, a note beneath in your hurried hand.

Forgive me.

Three heartbeats later, Velaris's pre-dawn streets enveloped you. The rising sun gilded rooftops with the same golden light that pulsed beneath your skin, a warning you ignored.

What you planned was foolish. Suicidal, even.

Going alone to rescue Eris when the combined might of multiple courts had organized for tomorrow. But another day meant more torture for your brother. Another day risked Azriel's life for your family's conflict.

Another day meant facing him with the truth. That you planned to return to your world. That his dream of a cabin in the valley, of children with wings and your shared future, would remain just that, a dream.

Between one step and the next, reality fractured.

The hospital room blurred over Velaris's cobblestones. Your aunt's face, tear-stained and haggard, superimposed over dawn-touched buildings.

"The doctors say it's time to consider letting you go," her voice echoed, "but I can't. I just can't."

You stumbled, shoulder striking stone. A passing Night Court citizen glanced with concern, but your forced smile sent them on their way.

The winnowing point beckoned from the edge of the city, a place to bend reality and step directly into Autumn's territory. You'd memorized it from the war maps, burned it into your mind while the High Lords plotted.

But first came the hardest part.

In an alcove away from prying eyes, you pressed your hand to your chest. The bond pulsed steadily, familiar as breathing. A constant presence anchoring you to this world, to him.

"I can't let you suffer when I go," you whispered to no one, to him, to yourself. Golden light spilled between your fingers. "It would destroy you."

Better a clean break. Better mercy than slow torment.

"I release you."

The golden light flared, blinding.

"I sever this bond, not out of hatred but mercy."

Pain lanced through your chest, not external but from within, like ribs cracking outward.

"Not out of rejection..."

Your knees struck cobblestones.

"...but protection."

Tears blurred your vision, golden light pulsing erratically.

"I reject this bond." The words tasted like ash and iron. "I reject it so you may be free when I am gone."

Something inside you tore, not muscle or bone but something essential, something primal. Your vision whited out, breath stolen.

"I reject it because..." a gasping sob interrupted, "...because I love you."

The golden light pulsed once more, then dimmed. The connection that had hummed between you since that first moment in the Autumn Court didn't vanish but receded, like music heard underwater, distorted, distant, muffled.

Cold swept through spaces where warmth had lived. Hollowness echoed where completeness had dwelled. Your hand pressed against your sternum, searching for the familiar pulse, finding only silence.

You dragged yourself upright, swaying. The world felt wrong, off-balance. You'd grown so accustomed to the bond's weight that its absence left you lightweight, untethered.

No time for mourning.

Dawn broke fully now, spilling gold across the city. Soon Azriel would return. Soon he'd find the charm. Soon he'd feel the muted bond and know.

The winnowing point shimmered as you approached. Your magic felt diminished without the bond's amplification, but determination burned hotter than power. You gathered what remained, world dissolving around you.

Reality reassembled. Endless autumn spread before you, trees burning with color that never faded, crimson and gold leaves against a perpetual sunset sky.

You stepped forward, then stumbled as another merged memory hit, hospital corridors overlaid with forest paths. Medical staff around your bed, discussing options, timelines, prognoses. "Irreversible" floated through the air as your doctor shook his head.

"Not yet," you gasped, forcing clarity. "I'm not finished here."

The castle loomed in the distance, Beron's ancestral seat. Eastern dungeons, according to intelligence. Servant passages with specific guard rotations.

You moved toward it, staying to shadows, avoiding patrolled roads. The spice-and-smoke scent of autumn wrapped around you, so different from Velaris's salt-touched breeze. Yet something in you recognized it, a distant familiarity you refused to acknowledge.

Spires pierced a blood-orange sky as you approached. Your body ducked beneath a low archway without conscious decision, hands finding servant passages your mind shouldn't know existed. Stone whispered beneath your fingers, hidden doors responding to touches that felt both foreign and instinctive.

Memory flashed, running these same passages as a child, hiding from brothers who sought to torment, servants who sought to tame.

Not your memory. Not your life.

You pushed it away.

The first guard appeared at the dungeon approach, young, barely more than a boy, bored with his assignment. His eyes widened at sight of you, recognition blooming.

"My lady," he breathed, dropping to one knee. "We were told you were..."

Your hand found his forehead before he finished, sleep spell springing to your lips without thought or practice. He slumped forward, consciousness fleeing.

The magic drained you more than it should have. Without the bond's strength flowing through you, your powers were diminished, hollowed. You leaned against stone, breath ragged.

"Just a little further," you told yourself, pushing away.

The main dungeon entrance waited ahead, an iron door carved with moving flame patterns. Two alert guards stood before it, hands on weapons.

You couldn't risk another sleep spell. Not when Eris waited beyond, not when escape would demand whatever magic remained. You drew Lucien's blade instead, its enchanted edge catching torchlight.

Then you stepped into view.

"My lady," one gasped, shock evident. "Lord Beron said..."

"Lord Beron says many things." Your voice emerged colder than you'd ever heard it, a tone that didn't belong to you but to the body you inhabited, the cruelty cultivated over centuries.

Both guards hesitated, confusion and fear battling across their features. They'd been trained to obey the High Lord, but generations of instinct told them to defer to the Lady of Autumn.

You exploited that hesitation, moving with deadly grace you'd never possessed in your human life. The blade found the first guard's throat, not killing, but promising.

"Open the door," you commanded the second, "or watch your companion bleed."

He fumbled with keys, fear making him clumsy. The heavy door swung open with a groan of metal, revealing a staircase spiraling into darkness.

"Down," you ordered, pushing the first guard ahead while keeping the second at blade-point.

The stairs descended endlessly, air growing colder, damper with each step. Blood and fear-scent thickened as you descended, your stomach knotting with dread.

At the bottom waited another door, this one reinforced with both iron and magic.

You studied the symbols carved into its surface, pulsing with malevolent energy. Following instinct that wasn't yours, you pressed your palm against the center where Beron's sigil burned brightest.

Fire erupted beneath your hand, searing your palm. You gritted your teeth, refusing to pull away as the sigil flared once, recognized something in you, then faded to ash. The door swung open.

You turned to them, fire of the Autumn Court burning in your eyes. "Leave," you commanded.

They fled, taking the stairs two at a time.

The chamber beyond was lit by a single brazier, shadows dancing across stained stone. The air reeked of blood and burned flesh, of bile and sweat and despair.

And there, chained to the far wall, hung Eris.

Your breath caught. You'd prepared yourself for injury, for pain. Not for this.

The once-handsome face swollen beyond recognition. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, broken in multiple places. Blood had dried in rusty streaks down his chest and legs. The stench of infection and charred flesh made your eyes water.

His breathing came in wet, labored gasps. Each inhale bubbled with what might be blood in his lungs.

"Eris," you whispered, rushing forward.

At your voice, his head lifted slightly. One eye, the only one not swollen shut, focused on you with effort.

"You... fool," he croaked, each word a struggle. "Trap."

"I'm getting you out," you said, examining the chains that bound him.

His laugh was a broken thing, dry as autumn leaves. "Sister... you need to..."

You reached for the chains, examining the enchanted metal. "I need to get you out of here."

"Be careful," he warned, words slurring. "Spelled to..."

You pressed Lucien's blade against the lock before he finished. The enchanted metal glowed briefly, then clicked open. Eris slumped forward as the chains released, his weight falling against you.

"Can't walk," he mumbled against your shoulder. "Ankle... shattered."

"Then I'll carry you," you replied, though you had no idea how you'd manage it without the bond's strength.

Before you could figure out a solution, slow clapping echoed through the chamber.

You whirled, pushing Eris behind you as best you could while drawing your blade.

Beron stood in the doorway, flame crown burning atop his head. Behind him, a dozen guards filled the stairway, weapons drawn.

"How touching," the High Lord of Autumn said, voice like silk over steel. "The wayward daughter returns for her traitorous brother."

"Father," you acknowledged, keeping your blade steady despite the fear coursing through you.

Beron studied you, head tilting slightly. "But you're not really my daughter anymore, are you?"

A chill ran down your spine.

Beron circled you slowly, flames dancing at his fingertips. "My daughter was cruel. Calculating. Vicious." His eyes narrowed. "She would never have risked herself for anyone, least of all Eris."

The way he said it, not with anger but something like baffled wonder, unnerved you more than rage would have.

"I'm not her," you said flatly. "I never claimed to be."

"And yet..." Beron's voice softened unexpectedly, "...you opened the sigil door. Only the power of the High Lord can do that."

Something in his expression shifted, a flicker of recognition that made your heart stutter.

"I remember when you were born," he said, each word deliberate. "So small. The first female born to Autumn in three centuries."

"Stop it," you snapped. "These mind games won't work."

A memory flashed unbidden, sitting on Beron's knee as a child, watching in wonder as he formed fire animals in his palm.

You shook your head violently. "Those aren't my memories."

"You don't want them to be," Beron corrected. His flame crown dimmed slightly as he studied you. "But they are yours. As is this body. As is this court."

"I have a family," you insisted. "A life waiting for me."

"And yet you're here." Beron gestured to the dungeon around you. "Risking everything for a brother who would have let you die without a second thought."

"He's lying," Eris rasped from behind you, somehow finding strength to stand straighter. "Tell her, Beron."

"Tell me what?" you repeated, unwillingly drawn into the conversation.

"After Winter Court," Eris said, each word costing him. "Thirteen nobles. Left you for dead."

Beron's jaw tightened. "Ancient history. Diplomatic matters."

"Not... diplomatic," Eris forced out, blood speckling his lips with the effort. "Assault. Torture. Abandonment."

Ice flooded your veins as another memory surfaced, cold hands on your skin. Laughter echoing off stone walls.

Pain beyond imagining.

"No," you whispered, the blade trembling in your grasp. "That's not... I'm not..."

"Your soul fractured that night," Eris continued, each word a blade between your ribs. "Split in two. Half fled to another world."

"That's not possible," you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Because it made sense. It explained everything, the foreign memories, the body that felt both alien and familiar, the life in another world that seemed increasingly distant.

"My little flame," Beron said, and the childhood endearment struck like a physical blow. "I made you into something terrible because I had to. The courts would have devoured you otherwise."

Another memory, Beron teaching you to hurt servants, to hide weakness, to cultivate cruelty as armor.

"You were so gentle as a child," he continued, something like regret coloring his tone. "I remember how you wept when you accidentally burned a butterfly. How you tried to heal it with your fingers."

The memory crashed through your defenses, the orange butterfly, its wings blackened by your untrained magic. The desperate attempt to save it, tiny hands cupping its broken body.

"Stop," you begged, but the memories kept coming.

Beron took a step toward you. For an instant, his face transformed, not the cruel High Lord but the father who'd once lifted you to his shoulders. "I wasn't there when Winter took you. I thought... I thought it was politics. By the time I realized..."

"It was too late," you finished, the words rising from somewhere deep inside. "I was already torn apart..."

Beron nodded, something like pain flashing across his features. "Your mother warned me. She said making you cruel would destroy what made you special. I didn't listen."

The blade wavered in your hand, your voice breaking. "You left me to them. You let them..."

"I didn't know what they planned," Beron said, but his eyes slid away from yours. The lie sat heavy between you.

"You knew," Eris snarled, finding strength from somewhere deep inside. Blood trickled from his mouth with each word. "You knew and did nothing. Then covered it all up."

"You understand nothing of ruling," Beron snapped, anger flaring. "Sacrifices must be made. Alliances preserved."

"I was your daughter," you whispered, the truth of it settling into your bones. "Your only daughter."

Something in Beron's face cracked then, a glimpse of the father beneath the High Lord's mask. "Yes," he admitted. "And I failed you."

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected in their sincerity.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then Eris moved.

It happened so fast you barely registered it. Eris, who moments ago could barely stand, lunged forward with hidden strength. Something flashed in his hand, a small blade concealed somewhere on his broken body.

It struck Beron in the chest, driving deep. Directly into his heart.

Beron's eyes widened in shock, his gaze locked with Eris's. "Son?" he gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

"For her," Eris whispered, holding his father's gaze without flinching. "For what you let happen."

Beron's flame crown sputtered, then flared blindingly bright. Power, ancient and terrible, erupted from his body as he collapsed. It swirled like a living tornado, seeking its new vessel.

Eris fell to his knees, arms outstretched, face lifted to receive what had been promised him for centuries, the High Lord's power.

But the magic had other ideas.

It swirled around Eris, examined him, then veered sharply toward you. Golden fire engulfed you, lifting you from the ground as it poured into your chest, your veins, your very soul.

You whimpered as centuries of power and knowledge invaded your body, not just magic but memory, history, duty.

The fractured pieces of yourself collided, human and Fae, present and past, nurse and Lady of Autumn.

When the transfer ended, you collapsed beside Beron's motionless form. The High Lord of Autumn was dead. His power now resided in you.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hands where flames now danced unbidden. "No, this isn't right."

Eris stared at you in shock, his face drained of what little color remained.

"It chose you," he said, disbelief evident. "The magic recognized its own."

Around you, the guards had fallen to their knees, recognizing their new High Lady in the same moment you did.

"I didn't want this," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be..."

But where were you supposed to be?

The hospital room seemed like a distant dream now, your human life fading like mist in morning sun. This, the flames dancing at your fingertips, the memories flooding back, the fractured soul finally reunited, this was real.

"Long live the High Lady of Autumn," Eris said, bowing his head despite his injuries. "My sister. My High Lady."

Fire danced across your skin, responding to emotions too complex to name. You weren't just who you'd been in that hospital bed. You weren't just the cruel Lady of Autumn from before.

You were both. You were neither.

You were something new entirely, forged in trauma, tempered by two lives, crowned in fire.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the shock and grief and power, a small voice whispered.

This is who you were always meant to be.

Author's Note: I could apologize for the emotional damage... but let’s not lie to each other. You came here willingly. 😌🔥 Beron’s toast (literally), your girl’s a High Lady, and Azriel is one "where is she?!" away from emotionally combusting in a corner. Buckle up. It only gets worse better from here.

💌 Thanks for reading, crying, and mentally punching Beron with me. Now the real questions: Will our girl embrace her inner fire queen or sprint back to her coma body like it’s the last bus home? Will Azriel survive this emotional rollercoaster without setting something (or someone) on fire? Will Eris finally get a nap?

Stay tuned. I have no idea either. 😇

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#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #rhysand #azriel x you #cassian #feyre acotar #nesta acotar #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra

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