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surielstea · 2 months ago

Text

Wedding Crasher

Based on this request.

Paring: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mates)

Summary: Reader is forced into an arranged marriage, and when the day of union comes it is interrupted by two familiar Illyrian warriors.

Warnings: Toxic relationship with parents | forced marriage | Azriel threatens a life | but pretty much all fluff <33

2.4k words.

My white dress hung heavy on my shoulders, my corset too tight, my heels already making my feet ache.

The plastered smile on my face hurt my cheeks, and the thorns in my bouquet prickled my sweaty palms. I released a shaky breath as the music of the string quartet began to play, an unmistakable tune meant for happy brides ready to walk down the aisle.

Which is what I was supposed to be, happy, ready. Heads turned in my direction and my back straightened, my brows creasing the slightest fraction.

My husband-to-be waited at the end of the walkway, his smile broad and malicious. My stomach churned.

I didn't want to be here, here on this beach getting married to some guy twenty years older all for an alliance my parents forced me into. My self-sovereignty for what? For a few pieces of gold and a minor title?

I took a steadying breath and began walking forward, keeping in rhythm to the strum of the music. The groom reached his hand out towards me, my own shook as I took it and he pulled me the rest of the way to the altar.

The officiant began the reading from his script, and with it, my ears began to ring, I tuned the priest out and my eyes fluttered closed. My fiancé's hands squeezed mine, not in a comforting manner, but a warning. I snapped my head up and looked at the officiant, I blinked at him with creased brows.

"Do you, take Rhen Talor to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?" He repeated each word adding another pound of weight to my shoulders.

"I—" I look between the oblivious officiant and the groom, Rhen, to my parents who were watching with narrowed eyes. "I..." I wanted to say yes, I was going to say yes, but the pounding in my heart could be heard in my ears and I got the sneaking suspicion that I was about to vomit all over my white gown.

An unnatural wind blew my hair back as if nature itself was beckoning me to step away, to run.

I looked in the direction of the wind, my hands slipping from Rhen's as I spotted two towering, familiar winged figures in the distance and I realized the pounding in my ears was the beat of their wings.

The crowd murmurs at the intrusion as the two Illyrians casually stroll towards us, arrogance and power in each step.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say, gathering my skirts in my hands and rushing over to the two males as fast as I can in my heels that seemed determined to get stuck in the sand.

"What in the seven hells are you two doing here?" I seethe, looking at the fae warriors who were smiling at me with wicked amusement. Some part of me relaxed to feel anything besides fear and nausea, even if it was anger taking over.

"We're here to save you, what else?" The shadow singer arches a brow, dark shadows swirling up the pure white of my dress.

"I don't need anyone's saving, especially not two Carynthian warriors," I argue and Cassian snorts, taking in my appearance.

"I only came along because Az promised there'd be a buffet," The lord of bloodshed shrugged.

"Not for— this is wildly inappropriate, even for the two of you." I groaned but Cassian only continued walking, towards the guests that were scrambling away from the sight of his seven siphons. Leaving me and Azriel, our words drowned out by the crashing of the waves.

"You're too late. I already said I do," I cross my arms over my chest.

"Liar," He narrows his hazel eyes on me. "You know better than to try and fool me, Love, I could feel you tugging at the bond, you were in distress," Azriel took a dangerous step forward and I sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of the bond, not accepted but not rejected either. A bridge between us that I both refused to sever and to walk across.

H grabbed my hand that was prickled with the thorns of my bouquet, shadows soothed over my palm, relieving the sting of my minor wounds. "You shouldn't be here," I frowned but his smile remained.

"No, probably not, but I can't let you marry him," He said, his voice brooking no room for argument, ever the cool and collected male.

“Go home, Azriel,” I speak quietly, but not weakly.

“Come with me.” He matches my tone, his scarred fingers intertwining with my manicured ones and the sensation was so different than the feeling of Rhen’s grip. "Why did your parents arrange this? What are they gaining from this union?" He asked, voice slightly stiff at the idea of selling me off for their own personal achievement.

"Money, the Talor's have a small title and crop of land, it'd be enough to last us a few centuries,” I shrug. I loved my parents, despite their twisted and corrupt ways, I loved them because they fed and raised me, I loved them because they put clothes on my back and told me bedtime stories. I never assumed I’d have to pay them back, not this way, at least.

"I'll give you every cent to my name if that's the price of my mate's freedom, if money is what they want, they can take mine." The shadow singer stated, his words certain that it made me realize that I’ve never been as sure about anything as he was about this.

"I can't ask you to do that." I shake my head, slipping my fingers from his, knowing the lingering guests were watching.

"You don't have to, I want you to be happy, let me buy you then set you free." He implored, allowing my hand to fall to my side only because he moved to cup my cheek. "And if I'm lucky you'll fall in love with me along the way." He shrugged with a smirk of pure fae male arrogance.

"Az," I deadpan, the words half a growl.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm asking you not to marry him." His eyes flick back to the male watching with furious eyes from the archway. "If you tell me to I’ll leave, and you can walk down that aisle again— but let's not kid ourselves, you never wanted this, never wanted him,” His hand on my face made me melt slightly, and he was right, despite wanting to pay my mother and father back, this is nowhere near anything I wanted.

I swallowed thickly, weighing the options. If I married Rhen my parents would be happy and this would all be water under the bridge— but I’d suffer a life of being both a housewife and broodmare with a male who did not truly love me.

If I went with Azriel my parents would likely attempt to cleave us, unless Azriel paid them as he said he would, as long as gold was placed in their hands I doubted they’d have much argument— and I could be free to choose what I wanted with my life, I could accept my mating bond.

"But where will I go? What will I do?" I ask, my mind filled with questions that could only be answered by my future self.

"It's entirely up to you, you can live with me, or you can move to another court, whatever you choose. You'd be free." He stresses and my mouth gapes open, then closes. I look to the waves crashing against the shore only a few yards away, shouting at me to flee, to go with him.

All of it was too good to be true, Azriel coming to be my savior with this plan. It couldn’t be real and I needed him to punch me so I could wake up from this dream.

"Though I'd prefer if you stayed close, it's painful having you so far even right now— and you're only a city away, I can’t imagine a whole court,” He added and I looked back to him, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips.

"I haven't even accepted the bond yet and you're already desperate." I tease.

"Yet?" He arched a scarred brow.

I flush a soft hue and avert my eyes again, this time settling them on the approaching figure that formed a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

"You're out of line, get your hands off my bride you bastard." Rhen spat and I flinched at the way he cursed the word, Azriel didn’t so much as shift, in fact, I could’ve sworn there was a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Out of line? No, I'm exactly where I should be, you're the one that's in my way." The shadow singer smoothly replied, Rhen snarled at his retort and grabbed me just above my elbow, his grip as tight and immovable as iron.

"Don't touch me." I gritted out, tugging at my arm but he didn’t budge and simply pulled me back towards where the officiant stood, uneasy on his feet.

"Come on, be a good little wife, and finish the damned ceremony," Rhen growled, and before I could take even another step towards the archway my fiancé halted, freezing in his footsteps as shadows wrapped around his limbs, his neck, encasing his body and shoving into his open mouth, restricting him of oxygen.

"She told you not to touch her Talor, so I'd highly suggest you let go or you won't have a hand anymore." The Spy Master’s voice was death incarnate, I had never heard anything so paralyzing in all my immortal life. It chilled me down to my very bone, and I thought that I might be carrion if I was ever on the receiving end of my mate's deathly stare.

Rhen’s hand releases me if only to grasp at his own throat, silently pleading with his eyes to have mercy.

The shadows released him and Rhen was sent running, sprinting as fast as he could away from the male that stood before me, now looking at me with an incredulous grin. Insane, he must’ve been insane— and I must’ve been too, to be so in love with that smile and the dimples that came along with it.

"You were seriously going to marry him?” He scoffed, hand coming to my arm and inspecting the area Rhen held me for any injury.

"Well, it wasn't really my choice," I grumble under my breath as Azriel lets go of my arm with a gentleness that rivaled his vicious exterior that occurred only moments ago.

Azriel’s eyes flicked over to the few remaining guests and I turned in the direction he stared, at my parents who were staring with both helplessness and fury in their eyes.

"Me and Cass will deal with them later, let's get you out of here, alright?" He tugged at the tether between us and my head whips back to him.

“Okay,” I nod and reach out, my hand finding his. His eyes soften as he pulls me into him, wrapping a wing around me and cocooning us in darkness before he utilizes his shadows to pull us into another realm entirely, it was only a brief moment of darkness and an empty void before my heels were on a hardwood floor and the sweet citrusy smell of Velaris flowed through my nose.

"We left Cass," I say, glancing around to find the second Illyrian nowhere to be found.

"He was in the midst of stuffing his face with bread rolls, I think he'll be just fine." Azriel half scoffed, half chuckled. He pulled away but before he could completely slip from my grasp my hand tightened on his and his brows lifted a fraction, eyes lighting with intrigue.

"Thank you." Is all I can manage to say.

"Don't thank me." He shakes his head. "I should have gotten you out of there far sooner." He spoke as if he was more dissatisfied with himself than anyone else.

"But still, when it mattered you came for me," I utter, taking a cautious step forward.

"You're my mate, even if you haven't accepted the bond, it's my duty to keep you safe— you shouldn't have even been out of my sights," He says, his voice soft as he looks down at me, hand squeezing mine.

"I wasn't, not really." I hum, gesturing down to the shadow that swirled around my ankle, the one that would always remain there.

He smiles at the thought, then says, "You look beautiful, by the way." His eyes flick down to my white gown and I follow his gaze, smiling softly at the dress, it had been the only thing that was my decision in this entire endeavor.

"I only wish that it was your choice to put that dress on, this morning," He added, as if reading my mind, and for a moment I wondered if the mating bond allowed him to see how I felt.

"It will be, one day," I nod confidently and his brows raise with insinuation. A gentle smile blooms across my lips and I cup his sharp jaw. “But for now, baby steps,” I suggest rising up onto my toes, leaning closer, placing a kiss on his adjacent cheek.

When I pulled back he was beet red and I giggled at the sight, it was a wonder that this male, who flushed at a chaste peck on the cheek, was also one of the most feared in Prythian.

“Right,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat, his hand only a phantom at my waist, hovering. "I'll have money sent to your parents by Dawn." He says, then quickly adds, “Even if they don’t deserve it.”

I smile brightly and pull away. “Thank you, Az,” I murmur.

“Anything, for you.” He confessed, and I knew he meant it. I smiled, thinking that in the morning I might reward him with some breakfast, in turn, accepted that golden tether between us and finally allowed myself to be happy, with a mate.

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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

Note

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”