#and instead of learning from this he then changed it in his book to be a “Cherokee legend” which it also isn't | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingpandagoth · 1 day ago

Note

hi! I want to say that I really really love your job and I'm reading almost all of them!! I had an idea for request and I was wondering if you could do it.

So, this is in the marauders era, and Y/N potter is James' little sister and when she arrives to hogwarts she literally loved Severus from the 1st sec, and eventually they start what could be a "relationship" but james find them. While they were """busy""""

I have been looking for something like this but i just dont find anything 😭😭😭😭😭

I started writing it. Changed my plans for the storyline in the middle of it and thats what came from it😂

I hope you like it!❤️

In The Shadows of Us

You don't even make it to the Gryffindor table before James has you in a headlock.

“Gryffindor! I knew it!” he crows, practically dragging you off your feet. “Brilliant choice. Inspired, really. I mean, it’s in the blood.”

“Gerroff, James,” you hiss, elbowing him hard enough that he finally lets go, laughing.

Sirius Black whistles down the table. “Another Potter. We’re doomed.”

You roll your eyes, fixing your robes as you drop into the only open seat. It’s only your first night, and already, you’re ‘Potter’s little sister’ to everyone who matters. You pick up your goblet and drink deeply, wishing you could vanish into it.

Thats when you spot him.

Not because he’s loud or smiling or trying to be seen but because he isn’t.

He sits alone at the Slytherin table, shoulders hunched, dark hair hanging like a curtain around his face.

His plate is mostly untouched. His head is bowed. He looks...out of place.

Like he’s already figured out the world has no interest in making space for him.

James is beside you, laughing loudly with Sirius about something you barely hear.

You’re supposed to be celebrating.

You’re supposed to be excited.

Instead, your eyes keep flickering back to the boy in green and silver.

You don’t even know his name yet.

But your heart tugs strangely in your chest—sharp, unexpected.

Like you’ve just stumbled onto something you’re not meant to touch, but can’t look away from.

In your first Potions class, you learn his name.

Severus Snape.

He sits three rows down, ink-stained fingers moving quickly over parchment.

He’s good.

Brilliant, actually.

You notice how fast he jots down notes. How his brow furrows in concentration. How his mouth twists, almost smiling, when Slughorn praises him.

No one else notices.

They’re too busy snickering behind their hands, throwing paper at each other, whispering names you don’t like.

You find yourself defending him before you even realize it.

When Sirius makes a joke about greasy hair, you snap, "At least he’s paying attention."

James throws you a look—half confused, half amused.

You ignore it.

You don’t care.

Not when Severus looks up, just for a second, and you swear he smiles.

The first real moment happens in the library.

You drop your Charms textbook with a loud thud, wincing as Madam Pince glares from behind the desk.

Before you can bend to pick it up, someone’s already there.

Long, slender fingers brush the spine.

Severus Snape straightens, holding the book out to you without a word.

Up close, his face is sharper than you expected. Pale, serious, with eyes that seem to burn right through you.

"Thanks," you mumble, flustered.

He gives the smallest nod.

Almost like he’s not used to being thanked.

Almost like he’s not used to being seen.

You open your mouth—say something, anything— but he’s already gone, disappearing between the stacks.

Still, the warmth lingers in your chest long after he’s gone.

You find yourself looking for him after that.

In the corridors. In the library. At meals.

Sometimes you catch him staring too, quickly looking away when you notice.

Sometimes you imagine what it would be like to sit beside him instead of across the Hall.

Sometimes you wonder what he’d sound like laughing.

James teases you about daydreaming. Sirius makes faces behind your back. You let them.

You don’t tell them your daydreams have nothing to do with Gryffindor Quidditch victories or pranks on Slytherins.

You don’t tell them your heart races faster when you think about a boy with ink-stained hands and tired eyes.

You keep it quiet.

It's weeks later when you’re wandering back to Gryffindor Tower after a disastrous study session (you still can’t get that feather to bloody float properly) when you spot a sliver of candlelight spilling out from under the library doors.

Curious, you push them open.

There he is. Same table. Same hunched shoulders. Same deep focus.

You hesitate. This is stupid. You should go.

Instead, you slip inside and take the seat across from him.

He looks up slowly, suspicion flashing across his face.

“You’re James Potter’s sister,” he says.

“Unfortunately.”

Something flickers in his eyes—amusement? disbelief? You’re not sure.

“Shouldn’t you hate me?”

You shrug. “Maybe I should. But I don’t.”

He huffs a small, disbelieving laugh, then ducks his head, hiding it behind a curtain of hair.

You smile to yourself and crack open one of your books.

You don’t say another word for the next hour, but somehow, you leave feeling like something important just happened.

It becomes a pattern.

Unspoken meetings in the dead hours of night. Shared silences. Snatches of conversation about classes, spells, potions. His sharp wit makes you laugh. Your stubbornness makes him roll his eyes in fond irritation.

You keep it hidden from James, from Sirius, from everyone.

Not because it’s wrong. Because it’s yours.

Because you know no one else would understand

And that’s how it all began.

It’s been five years now since that night in the library. Since he looked at you like he didn’t know what to make of you, and you smiled anyway.

Five years since your little crush turned into love for him.

Five years of stolen moments. Quiet laughter. Shared secrets.

Five years of friendship no one knows about.

Not James. Not Sirius. Not Remus, even though you think he suspects.

Certainly not Lily, who’s been drifting further from Severus with every passing term.

But you—you’ve stayed. Even when he pulled away. Even when he said he didn’t deserve to have anyone.

The library is nearly empty, the candles burned down low to nubs, the sky outside ink-black.

You’re supposed to be studying.

Instead, you’re sitting too close to Severus, knees brushing under the table, pretending not to notice how he’s looking at you.

"You're not concentrating," he says, voice low and dry.

"Neither are you," you shoot back, trying for lightness but failing miserably.

His lips twitch—half a smirk, half something softer.

He leans in a little, close enough that you can smell the faint sharpness of potions clinging to his robes, the worn leather of old books.

You tilt your chin up without thinking.

The world shrinks to the space between your mouths—an inch, a breath, a heartbeat.

You could kiss him. Right now.

You want to.

He freezes, studying you like he’s memorizing your face, like he's terrified and desperate all at once.

For a second, it feels inevitable.

Then a floorboard creaks somewhere in the stacks.

He jerks back like you burned him, eyes darting to the door.

You sit there, heart hammering, lips tingling with a kiss that didn’t happen.

The moment slides between you, thick and heavy and undeniable.

Neither of you says a word.

You turn back to your books, pretending your hands aren’t shaking.

He does the same.

But it’s too late now.

You both know something's changed.

The next day, James corners you after lunch.

“You’ve been off lately,” he says, arms crossed. “Everything okay?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, James. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Sirius laughs. Remus doesn’t.

You feel their eyes on you long after you walk away.

Later you find yourself sitting with Severus in the old greenhouse, knees bumping under the low wooden bench, the only light coming from your shared wand resting on the windowsill.

The world outside is silent. The castle's asleep. But you’re wide awake.

You're arguing—again.

About something stupid. Some half-forgotten Potions theory from class.

"You’re wrong," you insist, poking him in the ribs.

He catches your hand easily, fingers wrapping around yours in a slow, deliberate movement.

You should pull back.

You don’t.

Instead, you stay like that—caught between stubbornness and something thicker, something heavier that you’ve both been pretending not to feel.

His thumb brushes across your knuckles absentmindedly.

It’s such a small thing.

But it makes your whole body go still.

You look up at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The argument dies in your throat.

All you can hear is the rush of your own pulse.

He leans in a fraction.

Enough to make your breath hitch. Enough that you could pretend it’s nothing if you wanted to.

You don’t want to.

Your free hand lifts instinctively—tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips.

He closes his eyes like he’s in pain.

When he opens them again, you see it—laid bare for the first time.

Want. Fear. Hope.

"You should stop me," he says, voice rough and uncertain.

You don’t move. You just whisper, "Don't stop."

And that’s it.

He closes the distance.

The kiss is nothing like you expected.

It’s clumsy. It’s too hard at first, teeth bumping awkwardly.

You both laugh, breathless and nervous.

Then he tilts his head, and you tilt yours, and suddenly— it's right.

His mouth moves against yours with a kind of desperation, as if he's been holding back for too long and doesn't know how to be gentle about it anymore.

You slide your hand into his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans quietly into your mouth, his other hand finding your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You kiss him back like you’re afraid you’ll never get the chance again.

When you finally pull apart, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours.

Neither of you speaks. There’s nothing to say.

The first kiss should have been enough.

It should have been a fluke—a mistake to laugh off, bury under awkward silences and mumbled excuses.

It should have ended there.

But it didn't.

Instead, it ignited something.

Something that had been smoldering between you for years, waiting for the right spark.

Now, every look lingers too long. Every brush of hands feels electric. Every stolen second alone turns dangerous.

You crave him like oxygen. always have.

And judging by the way Severus watches you when he thinks you’re not looking, the way his hands twitch at his sides like he’s fighting himself—he craves you too.

It starts small.

A kiss stolen in the shadows of a stairwell. A hand slipping under your robes to squeeze your hip before disappearing into the crowd. A whispered, "Meet me tonight." against the shell of your ear that makes your knees go weak.

You both know it’s reckless. You both know it can’t stay hidden forever but it’s already too late.

You’re too far gone.

And the taste of his mouth still clinging to yours is all the excuse you need to chase it again.

The corridor is abandoned except for you and Severus, hidden half behind an ancient suit of armor.

Your back slams lightly against the stone wall as he presses into you, mouth moving hungrily against yours, hands braced on either side of your head.

You wind your fingers into his hair, tugging him closer, swallowing the broken sounds he makes against your lips.

Footsteps echo from somewhere down the hall.

You both freeze—lips still barely touching, breaths harsh against each other's skin.

Severus pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, "Later."

You kiss him once more anyway, fierce and reckless, before darting away in opposite directions.

And again.

You slip into the back corner of the library, pretending to search the dusty shelves.

Severus is already there, hidden in the shadows between towering bookcases.

No words.

Just his hand catching yours, pulling you into the gloom.

He cages you between the shelf and his body, kissing you before you can even breathe.

It’s slow, deep, burning.

Your hands slide up under his open robe, tracing warm skin and the sharp bones of his hips.

He bites back a low sound when your hips brush.

You both know this is insane. You both don't care.

And neither of you is going to stop.

The greenhouse is humid, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming moonflowers when he asks you to be his girlfriend. You barley have said yes before Severus grabs your waist, hoisting you up onto the long wooden worktable.

You wrap your legs around him automatically, pulling him flush against you.

His mouth is frantic against yours, fingers digging into your thighs.

Your hands trail under his shirt, feeling the sharp contrast between damp fabric and burning skin.

A pot clatters to the floor behind you.

You both freeze, staring at the door.

When no one comes, he just growls low in his throat and kisses you harder.

Like he can't stand being careful anymore now that he can call you his.

You push open the portrait hole as quietly as you can.

The Fat Lady mutters grumpily under her breath, but you slip through before she can scold you properly.

It’s nearly midnight.

The common room is dark, save for the dying embers in the fireplace. Chairs pushed askew, books forgotten on tables. Silent.

You breathe out slowly, easing toward the girls' staircase—

"Where were you?"

The voice cuts through the dark like a knife.

You jump, spinning around.

James sits in one of the armchairs, half-sunken into the cushions, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glinting in the low firelight.

Waiting.

Watching.

"I—I was in the library," you lie, too fast.

He arches a disbelieving brow. "Library closes at ten."

"Studying," you mumble, heat prickling at the back of your neck. "Lost track of time."

James stands slowly, unfolding himself to his full, infuriating height.

"You've been disappearing a lot lately," he says carefully, like he's testing the waters. "Skipping meals. Staying out after curfew. Coming back looking like—" He gestures vaguely at you—your wrinkled robes, your tangled hair, your flushed cheeks.

You cross your arms defensively.

"So what? I'm not allowed to have a life?"

"Depends who's in it," he says, voice sharp.

You meet his gaze stubbornly.

He narrows his eyes. Searching your face for something you won't give him.

Finally, he shakes his head, disgusted.

"Whatever," he mutters, brushing past you toward the boys' staircase. "But if you think I'm not paying attention—you’re wrong."

The words hang behind him like a curse.

You stand there long after he’s gone, heart hammering.

James is suspicious.

Too suspicious.

James lounges in one of the worn-out armchairs in the Gryffindor common room the following night, tossing a Chocolate Frog in the air and catching it lazily.

You’re supposed to be upstairs.

Asleep. Safe. Instead, you’re nowhere to be seen.

Again.

"You know," Sirius says, grinning as he drops into the chair beside him, "if you’re so worried about her sneaking off, we could just check."

James frowns. "Check what?"

Sirius smirks, pulling a folded, worn piece of parchment from his pocket.

James' stomach sinks.

The Marauders' Map.

"Always knew you were paranoid, Prongs," Sirius says easily. "Now you can prove it."

James hesitates—guilt flickering in his gut but not enough to stop him.

He taps the map once with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The parchment comes alive under his hands, black ink curling into familiar hallways and stairwells.

Dots labeled with names begin to appear all over the map—some clustered in dormitories, some roaming late through the castle.

He scans quickly.

No sign of you in Gryffindor Tower. Not in the library. Not in the Great Hall.

His stomach knots tighter.

Then he sees it.

Severus Snape Y/N Potter

In an abandoned classroom.

Far from everything else.

He doesn't think. He shoves to his feet, knocking the chair over, map clutched tight in his hand.

"Where are you going?" Remus asks sharply.

James doesn't answer.

He’s already gone, heart hammering, fists clenched.

Already sprinting down the stairs, across the courtyard, through the darkened halls.

Already knowing—knowing—that whatever he finds won't be something he can ever unsee.

Already furious.

You had once again sneaked out to meet Severus in the abandoned classroom where you always meet now. You had found it by accident after looking for a quiet place to make out in peace.

He’s already there, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, hair falling into his eyes. He looks every bit the dark, dangerous secret he’s always been—and he is all yours.

You slip inside without a word. His wand flicks. The door shuts with a low thunk.

You set your books down noisily, pretending you don’t see him watching you.

Pretending you’re not vibrating with the need to touch him.

He crosses the room in two long strides.

“You’re late,” he says quietly, but there’s no real bite to it.

“Did you missed me?“ you tease, smirking.

He shakes his head, that small, private smile you love flashing across his face.

“You have no idea how much.”

His fingers skim your sleeve first. Testing. Asking.

When you don’t move, he steps closer.

His hand slides down your arm slowly—slow enough to make you shiver—and tangles his fingers with yours.

The kiss is inevitable.

You lean into him, your mouth finding his easily, naturally, like you were made for it. His hands come up to cup your jaw, tilting your head just right, deepening it.

And when he kisses you properly—really kisses you—you forget how to stand.

Your back hits the desk. His robes are cool against your legs as he presses between them. His fingers slip under your shirt, tracing your ribs lightly, making you arch into his touch.

He breathes your name against your throat.

You tug at the buttons of his shirt, frustrated when they don’t come undone fast enough. He laughs—quiet and strained—and pulls it over his head instead, leaving him gloriously rumpled and flushed.

You run your hands across the planes of his chest, savoring the way he shudders under your touch.

"Severus," you whisper, pulling him closer.

He groans low in his throat, like he’s barely holding himself back.

He lifts you onto the desk properly, standing between your knees now, and drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, the hollow at your throat. His teeth scrape lightly over your skin, making you gasp.

His hands are everywhere—your hips, your back, your thighs. opening your shirt.

You cling to him, kissing him harder, needing more.

Your shirt is pushed open, your skirt hitched higher around your waist. You feel him against you, hard and trembling with restraint, and it hits you how close you are to not stopping this time.

He breaks away long enough to mutter, "Tell me to stop."

"I don't want to," you breathe, pulling him back.

You want this. You want him.

Completely.

His hand slides up your thigh, hesitating only a second before moving higher.

You gasp against his mouth.

He curses under his breath—your name twisted into something desperate—and then he is laying you back against the desk with heartbreaking care.

You feel his hands fumble with the button of your skirt—

The door crashes open with a bang so loud it rattles the old windows.

You barely register the sound—too wrapped up in Severus, in the heat of his mouth on your neck, the desperate clutch of his hands on your hips.

You gasp, shoving Severus back instinctively.

He freezes.

And you turn—already knowing.

Already dreading.

James stands in the doorway, wand drawn, face contorted with something worse than rage.

Betrayal.

James' gaze flicks between you, taking in every disastrous detail. And then he moves.

Fast.

He barrels across the room and shoves Severus back with both hands.

"GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS OFF HER!" James roars, voice cracking.

Severus stumbles but doesn’t fight back, hands raised, palms open.

"James, STOP!" you cry, scrambling off the desk, yanking your shirt closed with trembling fingers.

He doesn’t even look at you.

"You slimy little bastard," James snarls at Severus, wand jabbing at his chest. "How long has this been going on, huh? How long have you been sneaking around with my sister like some—some filthy—"

"Don’t!" you scream, shoving James back now, standing between them. “It’s not what you think—”

"Not what I think?! I caught you practically shagging Snape on a classroom desk!“ He got even more furious saying it pulling you away from Severus and bringing himself between the two of you again.

"We're together, James!” you shout, chest heaving. “We've been friends since my first year. We didn’t expect to catch feelings.“

James flinches like you hit him.

"You—you let him touch you For Years?! That greasy git?!"

„Don’t talk about him like that! I love him!" you shout.

It rips out of you before you can stop it.

The words hang heavy in the air.

Severus speaks then, voice low and broken: "I love her too I won’t hurt her…“

James rounds on Severus.

"You think loving her matters?" he spits. "You really think that matters?! after what you said to Lily?! You truly think you are worthy of my Sister!? You think loving her makes you deserve her?!You don't even deserve to breathe the same bloody air as her!“

Severus recoils.

Not from James.

From the truth he already believes.

You see it hit him like a curse.

Hard.

Final.

You step toward him, desperate, reaching out.

“Sev—”

He shakes his head once. Sharp.

He bends to scoop up his shirt from the floor with shaking hands, not meeting your eyes.

"Severus," you plead, grabbing his arm. "Please. Don’t—"

He pulls away like your touch burns him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." he says, voice cracked and broken.

And then he shoves past you both and bolts out the door.

You lurch forward without thinking.

"Severus—!"

You’re halfway to the door when an arm wraps around you, dragging you back.

"Y/N, STOP!" James snaps, voice urgent, tight with anger.

You thrash against him, struggling, fighting to break free.

"Let me GO!" you scream, kicking and shoving, but he won’t loosen his grip.

"Just listen to me!" James hisses into your ear. "He’s not good for you. You’re upset—you’re not thinking straight. Whatever he told you it was just to ruin you."

"I’m thinking clearer than I ever have!" you sob, fists pounding uselessly against his chest. "And you—you’re the one who ruined it!"

James pulls you back harder, trying to force you to face him.

"You’ll thank me someday," he says, voice trembling. "I—I had to. I couldn’t stand there and watch you throw your life away on—on him."

You whip around, shoving him back with both hands.

"Thank you?" you repeat, voice rising. "You think I’ll THANK you for this?"

You step forward, shaking with fury and heartbreak.

"You didn’t save me, James," you hiss. "You broke me."

James' mouth opens—maybe to defend himself, maybe to argue.

You cut him off.

"You have NO right," you shout. "No right to decide who I love. No right to tear him down in front of me. No right to rip apart the one thing that made me feel like I wasn’t just—just some extension of YOU!"

Your voice cracks completely, the sob ripping out of you.

"He loves me," you choke out. "And you—you made him think he was a monster for it."

James grabs your wrists, trying to steady you, but you wrench away.

"He left because of YOU!" you sob. "Because you couldn’t see anything but your own damn hatred!"

James looks stricken.

"Y/N—"

You turn away from him, chest heaving, heart aching so badly you don’t know how you’re still standing.

"I love him," you whisper again, broken and quiet now. "And now he’s gone because you made him believe he shouldn’t have ever touched me. Like being with me and loving me is wrong…“

The Gryffindor common room is nearly empty when James hauls you through the portrait hole.

The fire burns low, casting long shadows across the floor.

Sirius is slouched on one of the couches, tossing a Gobstone from hand to hand.

Remus sits nearby, a book forgotten in his lap, brows furrowed.

They both look up when you enter and freeze.

You’re pale. Empty. Your clothes rumpled, your hair a mess, your face so hollow it doesn’t even look like you anymore.

You don’t say a word. You don’t even look at them.

You just walk—no, stumble—across the room and up the girls' staircase without stopping.

The dormitory door clicks shut behind you.

The silence you leave behind is deafening.

James stands there for a second, fists clenching and unclenching, breathing hard like he’s just fought a war.

Maybe he has.

"What the bloody hell happened? Who did she sneak off with?" Sirius demands, sitting up straight, the Gobstone forgotten, rolling onto the floor.

James turns, jaw tight.

"Snivellus" he spits.

Remus' eyebrows pull together sharply.

Sirius whistles low. "Snape? Seriously?"

James paces, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Had her pinned against a bloody desk," he snarls. "Half-dressed. Hands all over her—"

Sirius swears loudly, jumping to his feet. "You should’ve cursed his bollocks off!"

James shakes his head violently. "I should’ve killed him."

Remus stays silent. Watching. Thinking.

"He must have messed her up badly the way she looked like" Sirius presses, jaw set.

James doesn’t answer at first. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw.

"She said she loves him."

The words hang in the air, ugly and unbelievable. Sirius looks like he’s about to vomit. Remus just sits there, silent, pale, staring at the stairs you disappeared up.

Not at James.

Not at Sirius.

"She’s not thinking straight," James insists, half to them, half to himself. "She’s innocent. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. He—he’s twisted her around."

Sirius nods fiercely, fanning the flames. "Exactly. She’ll realize. She’ll thank you for saving her."

James nods along with him, desperate for someone to agree.

Remus just watches the fire crackle and die, his mouth a thin, worried line.

Finally, he speaks—quietly, too quietly.

"I don’t think she’s going to thank you, James."

James freezes.

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Remus looks at him—really looks at him—and sighs.

"I think you just broke something you can’t fix."

No one says anything after that.

The fire guttered low. The common room swallowed in shadows. The world tilting under their feet—and none of them knowing how to stop it.

And upstairs, behind a closed door, you cry into your pillow for the boy who ran—and the brother who pushed him away.

Next morning everywhere you go, one of them is there—leaning against the corridor wall, “casually” reading a book by the portrait hole, “just happening” to walk into whatever room you’re in.

If you so much as glance toward the dungeons, Sirius is suddenly cracking a joke, slinging an arm around your shoulders and steering you in the opposite direction.

If you take too long at dinner, James nudges your plate toward you, frowning like you’ve committed a crime by not eating.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You sure as hell can’t slip away to find Severus.

At first, you try.

You sneak toward the library after dinner:

Sirius appears two corridors over, yawning theatrically.

You slip out early from Charms:

James is waiting outside the classroom door, arms crossed.

It’s suffocating.

Eventually, you stop trying.

You stop talking. You stop laughing. You become a ghost in your own life—going to classes, eating mechanically, staring through people when they speak to you.

You exist but that’s all.

You don’t even bother looking for Severus anymore.

Because when you catch the briefest glimpse of him—across the courtyard, by the greenhouses—you see it.

The wreckage.

He’s thinner, paler. He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t speak unless forced. Doesn’t meet anyone’s eye.

If he sees you in the hallway, he turns sharply and disappears down another corridor.

Like you’re poison now. Like loving you hurt too much to bear.

The castle feels wrong without him. Without you.

Without the part of yourself you gave him and can’t get back.

One evening, after a long, miserable dinner where James and Sirius chatter loudly about Quidditch like everything’s fine, you excuse yourself early.

You climb the stairs alone, footsteps hollow on the stone.

You reach the dormitory, shut the door softly behind you, and collapse onto your bed.

You lie there fully clothed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the laughter drift up from the common room below.

It doesn’t feel like your laughter anymore.

You don't even recognize the girl they think they’re protecting.

And miles away in the dark corridors of the castle, Severus Snape leans his forehead against the cold stone wall and wonders why letting go hurts worse than holding on ever did.

It’s another miserable evening in the common room.

You sit by the fire, pretending to read, staring at the same page for half an hour.

James and Sirius are across the room, laughing too loudly about something stupid, like the world hasn’t cracked open and swallowed you whole.

You don’t laugh. You barely breathe.

Remus watches you. He watches the way your shoulders sag lower every day. He watches the way your eyes stay dull, unseeing, unfocused. He watches the way you shrink smaller and smaller until you barely take up space at all.

And finally, he’s had enough.

He stands up abruptly crossing the room and sits down across from you.

When you glance up, startled, he says it—simple and quiet:

"Go to him. He is at the old Astronomy Tower."

You blink.

It takes a second to even register the words.

Behind him, James and Sirius whip their heads around like they’ve just heard a curse word.

"What?!" James explodes, half-rising from his seat.

"Have you lost your mind, Moony?" Sirius demands.

Remus doesn’t even turn. He keeps his gaze steady on you.

"You heard me," he says calmly. "Go to Severus. I saw him go there after dinner I am sure he is still there."

You open your mouth—whether to argue or cry, you don’t know—but James storms over before you can speak.

"Remus, you can't be serious!" James hisses. "After what he did—after what she almost did—"

"He didn’t force her," Remus cuts in sharply. Still quiet but deadly.

James flinches.

"You two," Remus says, voice low, "have been watching her like a bloody hawk. Controlling her. Smothering her. And look at her now."

He gestures to you.

You sit frozen, hands clutching the book in your lap so tightly your knuckles are white.

"She's not better off," Remus continues. "She's not happier. She's breaking apart. It's YOU she needs saving from and not Severus"

James' mouth opens.

"She is perishing in front of us. Obeying you and it's killing her." Remus says, louder now, anger crackling just under the surface. "And you call that protection? Her being heartbroken just so You can be happy?"

Sirius shifts uncomfortably, looking away.

James stares at you like he sees it for the first time—the hollowness in your eyes, the defeat carved into your face.

It hits him like a blow.

Remus stands, taller than you’ve ever seen him, voice steady and firm.

"You love him," he says to you. "And he loves you."

You shake your head, tears burning in your eyes. "It's to late...He left—"

"Because he thought it was what you needed," Remus says gently. "Because James made him believe it."

He steps closer.

"You deserve to be with the one you love, happy." he says, soft but fierce. "Not trapped in someone else's idea of who you should be."

He glances at James now, full of steel.

"Go. Be with him and if anyone tries to stop you again," he adds, voice dropping dangerously low, "they'll have to answer to me."

James stiffens. Sirius stares at the floor.

Remus turns back to you.

"Go," he says simply. "Don't waste another bloody second and don't ever let go again."

And for the first time in weeks—

You feel like you can breathe again.

You don’t say thank you. You don’t say goodbye. You just run—faster than you ever have—out into the night, chasing the only thing that’s ever made you feel whole.

The castle is dark and empty when you run. Corridors blur past you.

Your chest aches with every breath, shoes slap against the cold stone floor but you don’t stop. Not until you reach the place you need.

The old Astronomy Tower.

The one place where the world always felt just a little farther away.

You shove the heavy door open and spill onto the stairs.

Up and up, higher and higher, heart in your throat.

And there slumped against the far wall, knees drawn to his chest, head bowed—

Severus.

For a long moment, you just stand there.

Frozen.

He looks so small. So broken. So far from the boy who once argued with you over Potions essays and sneaked kisses behind dusty curtains.

You take a trembling step forward. He doesn't look up.

You whisper, "Severus?"

He flinches like you hit him.

"You shouldn’t be here," he says hoarsely, voice raw from disuse or crying—you can't tell.

You move closer anyway.

He finally lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot. Haunted.

And full of so much guilt it nearly floors you.

"I left," he says brokenly. "I left so you could find better. You should Hate me."

You shake your head furiously, blinking away the tears blurring your vision.

"I could never hate you," you whisper.

He laughs then—a terrible, hollow sound.

"You should," he mutters. "Your brother was right. I’m—I'm nothing. I’m—"

"Stop," you say sharply, dropping to your knees in front of him.

He tries to look away. You grab his face between your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

"Don't you dare," you whisper fiercely. "Don't you dare let him make you believe that."

Tears spill down your cheeks, but you don’t let go.

"You are mine," you say, voice shaking with the force of it. "You are good and you are brilliant and you are everything to me."

His hands tremble as he grips your wrists.

"You deserve better," he chokes out.

"I don’t want better," you snap. "I want you."

Something crumbles in him then.

You feel it. The last wall cracking and falling apart between you.

He surges forward, crushing his mouth to yours—desperate, broken, real.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, closer until there's no space left between you.

Tears mix with the kiss, but neither of you cares.

Not anymore.

You’re here. He’s here.

And that’s all that matters.

When you finally break apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, you whisper the only thing that matters:

"I love you."

You feel him shudder against you.

"I love you too," he whispers back, voice wrecked.

"And I’m not leaving," you promise. "Not ever again."

He pulls you into his arms then, holding you so tightly it nearly hurts.

You hold him just as tightly back.

Two broken pieces, fitting back together.

And for the first time in weeks—you feel whole again.

The grass is cool beneath you, the spring air sharp and fresh.

You sit cross-legged under one of the big oaks near the lake, a book open across your lap. Severus leans against the trunk beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours with every shift.

He’s reading too—or pretending to.

Mostly, he keeps glancing at you from under his lashes, as if still half-convinced you might vanish if he looks away too long.

You lift your head and catch him staring.

"What?" you tease, cheeks warm.

He just shakes his head, smiling in that small, secret way only you ever get to see.

"Nothing," he says. "Everything."

You reach up and brush a strand of hair out of his face.

He leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering shut.

You kiss his forehead—slow, lingering.

He wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you closer until you’re half in his lap, laughing breathlessly.

"You’re ridiculous," you murmur against his temple.

"You chose me," he reminds you, voice full of wonder.

"Always," you whisper.

For once, there’s no fear. No hiding. No need to look over your shoulder.

Just you and him.

And the sunlight weaving between you like a blessing.

You don’t even hear them at first. The crunch of footsteps across the grass. The shift in the air.

Severus stiffens beneath you.

You twist to look.

James. Sirius. Remus.

Walking back from the Quidditch pitch, laughing and loud—until they see you.

Then everything stops.

Severus’ body tenses even more under your hands. You feel the old fear rising in him—automatic, instinctual. He shifts, like he might pull away.

You don’t let him.

You tighten your grip around his waist, leaning in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw.

You stay.

You don’t hide. You hold him in the open and dare anyone to take him from you.

James' mouth tightens. Sirius’ jaw clenches.

Remus lingers back, watching, unreadable.

Severus doesn't move. Neither do you.

After a long beat, James looks away first.

He turns, stiff and silent, walking on without a word. Sirius follows, slower, frowning.

Only Remus pauses.

He meets your eyes across the space.

And he smiles. Soft. Certain. Proud.

He nods once—small but full of meaning—before jogging after the others.

Severus slumps slightly against you, breathing out shakily.

"They didn't—" he starts.

You kiss the corner of his mouth.

"They won't," you promise.

He threads his fingers through yours.

And together, you watch the lake sparkle in the late afternoon light.

Free.

Seen.

Loved.

At last.

#fanfic #severus snape x reader #severus snape #harry potter

50 notes · View notes

scarameownya · 2 days ago

Text

NIKO'S VOICELINE (P1)

Hello

" The name's Niko, Fontaine's personal inventor but maybe "The Araignée Noire" would ring your bell better. What ? You got my name, my profession and my titles, there's nothing else for you to know. "

Chat: Clockwork Meka

" They are fascinating, aren't they ? There's still so many thing I wanted to learn about them it's driving me insane, I remember seeing them walking around everywhere and I would just stare at them like I just found some rare treasure chests, well, to me they might as well be. "

Chat: Talking

" Isn't talking kind of tiring ? I don't like just opening my mouth and made some sound that others might or might not listen, sometimes I just stay silent cause I don't feel like talking, either way I don't think moving your mouth for 24 hours straight will be good for you. "

Chat: Niko's Leg

" Hm ? You're sad about my leg ? Don't bother, your pity gaze is not needed. What happened had happened, all I can do is to move on from it. I mean, what are you going to do about it ? Break it again ? Haha. "

When It Rains

" Rain's not my favorite, I don't get why people like it so much. All they do is make you wet and give you a cold. "

When Thunder Strikes

" You know how you can tell when someone doesn't like something by the look on their face ? Look at me now and try to guess how I feel about this. "

When It Snows

" Winter in particular is not a favorable weather for those without a home, it's cruel, it's cold and yet, I can't help but see the beauty in the snow, I wonder why... "

When the Sun is Out

" Ugh, too bright, is this what you have to deal with everyday ? "

When the Wind Is Blowing

" The wind is nice, it's a good way to test the endurance of my inventions, wouldn't want mechanical parts flying everywhere and hitting people, would you ? Although, that is an amusing idea... "

Good Morning

" Seems like you're ready to go. Morning is not exactly favorable for me, but it used to be the only time I get to collect food before too many people catch me. "

Good Afternoon

" This time of day is more bearable than the morning, the light hurts my eyes but beggars can't be choosers. "

Good Evening

" I like the night, it's quiet, cooler and not a lot of people are active, it let me escape reality a bit before continuing doing the same thing the next day. "

Good Night

" Are you going to sleep ? Not yet ? Help me instead of just sitting there then. "

About Niko: Glory Day

" I'm an inventor, I invent things, what more is there to say ? Hm ? My days as a thief ? Sorry, that's classified information, it's your fault you weren't here when I was still in my prime. "

About the Vision (Friendship Lv. 4)

" Vision, huh... For a while, whenever I look at this thing, all I can remember is the night I received it. Cold, lonely, scared, devastating... None of which are positive. It feels like a cruel joke sometimes, to receive something many considered to be a blessing, but what kind of blessing was it to only give help after the damges had already been done ? "

About Mekal (Friendship Lv. 4)

" My pride and joy in simple term. Mekal is my partner, my first ever creation that I had made and someone that has went through everything with me. Before it became public knowledge, no one knew Mekal was posing as my body double, his flexibility to change forms made it easy for him to do a quick escape if he ever got close to being caught by the Gardes. Ever since our time at the Fortress begins however, Mekal has taken an interest in being a butler, there's nothing wrong with it per se but he won't stop calling me "Young Master" no matter how many time I told him it's not necessary, maybe I should stop Sigewinne from getting him more of those self-help butler books... "

More About Niko: I

" Even though my old mischievious glory days are over, it doesn't mean I'm done just yet- Those who are corrupted and selfish still exist, I won't hesitate to draw my weapon and take away their possession, giving power to those who doesn’t deserve it won't do anyone any good, why not strip them away and give it to those who need it ? "

More About Niko: II (Friendship Lv. 3)

" Some people often called my ideal 'childish', they told me I can't save everyone, that the corrupted always wins, that my resolve are too unrealistic... and maybe they're right, maybe I am naive, that I'm too hopeful for a future that's never going to happen, that things will never change no matter what.... That doesn't mean it will stop me from trying to reach it. "

More About Niko: III (Friendship Lv. 4)

" I... Actually still get nightmares where I stand back to The House of the Hearth, that I was still running away, that I'm back at the street, barely scaping by with a piece of bread and the few spices I managed to snatch. But even when I woke up, never in a million year, would I ever thought I would be where I am now. Three meals a day, clean water, a place to stay... Something that I had to fight tooth and nails to even get a fraction of back when I still roamed the street. "

More About Niko: IV (Friendship Lv. 5)

" "The Araignée Noire"... It means "Black Spider". It's the name that was plastered all over the news after my first incident blew up and nobody knew who I was. Amusingly, it's not a name I chose for myself. The Steambird gave me the name after the Meka legs I used to escape. I don't know who or how they managed to get a picture of me back then, but because of how much I looked like a spider from that photo, the name had stuck to my image for years to come. I don't mind though, way better than, say, "The Traveler" ? Hehe, just kidding. "

More About Niko: V (Friendship Lv. 6)

" I have... Never see myself fitting in with other people, even while I was in the House of The Hearth. Maybe it's a part of the reason why a lot of them don't like me, they called me a freak, an anomaly, an eccentric individual... But what exactly is their definition of "normal" ? Just because I don't act exactly as they expected me to, does that mean I am not human anymore ? Am I just a dysfunctional Clockwork to them ? Either way, social constructs are stupid, people should be able to be themselves without people saying what's wrong and what's right... Hah, what a stupid thing for me to think about, right ?

#NINI'S VOICELINES !!!#i updated some of them !!!! and fixed a lot of them too #HEEHHEHEHEHE #oc: niko #genshin oc #original character #queued

20 notes · View notes

carmasi · 1 day ago

Text

Post like this make me think "did we read the same book" anytime anyone called Tamlin Manipulative I raised a brow, caused how many time do we read throughout the book how Rhys is the manipulative one? and yet we excused him? are we forgetting Rhys had half his court that he court court of nightmares becaused that's literally what is is, and instead of enacting change he chooses to put up a show and manipulate everyone into thinkin he's the big bad while letting Kier do what ever the fuck he wants? We forgot Feyre Manipulated the whole court, while 'protecting' them on a mind link from the twins, which come on, if Tarquin had a mind door, you bet Tam had one too. Is surprising she managed to do all that manipulation while exhausting her demati powers, but wait, she learned from the best manipulator there is.

People call Tam narcissistic and fail to see Rhys is one too. the only reason why you call Tam narcissistic is because he was focus on HIS WAY of doing things instead of everything else, which mind you his way of doing things was "go find a way to break the bargain and forget aboUt everything else"

he neglected feyre and his court, becaused of Rhysand actions, and yes it's been month and Rhys did nothing, but having that looming over your head isn't fun either, and then he goes and does activate his bargain on his wedding day. on Tam's POV that was his worst nightmare coming to pass. Even if Feyre was the one asking for help, stop and put yourself on Tam's shoes for once, and take those night court coloured glasses... oh wait, those Velaris colored glasses off, becaused that's the only part of night court you all seem to acknowledge. not the classicism on court of nightmare, or the sexism with the Illyrians, and he has the power to go against the Illyrians don't tell me he doesn't not when He's the most powerful high lord and he had 2 of what they call the most powerful illyrians on his side how had not 2 nor 3 they have 7 Syphons

That's my pro tam thought of the day

Misleading post like this shows me how far people would go just to USE Tamlin for clicks and views and insight some sort of feelings and imaginations that was never there.

First of all anyone under a hl respects and obeys them. Ratsand is not exempt. Cassian and Azriel still do his biding go on missions and pick up after Rhys.

What the hell? 😹 it’s like the stay with the STAY WITH THE HIGH LORD statement that has become a sound now. Believe it or not it was always Tamlin and it’s come full circle but anyway look what kind of comment it brings up?

Again I love Nesta, Lucien, Eris but this is getting out of hand.

#pro tamlin #feyre acotar #sjm critical #tamlin #pro lucien vanserra #tamlin stan #tamlin forever #team tamlin #acotar tamlin #tamlin acotar #pro lucien #lucien vanserra #anti rhysand

62 notes · View notes

bigboobshaunt · 9 months ago

Text

Y'all can we stop using the "inside you there are two wolves" meme?

#tldr: a southern baptist guy made that proverb up and attributed to the Inuit #who then told him to fuck off and not misappropriate their culture #and instead of learning from this he then changed it in his book to be a “Cherokee legend” which it also isn't #/maybe/ it's not good to keep circulating it? just maybe #I've tried sending this to ppl who post that meme in fandoms I see them in #but more often then not it's just ignored

9 notes · View notes

humanjarvis · 2 months ago

Text

the world when you're with me

synopsis: you seek out sylus for comfort after realizing you were wrong about him.

tags: comfort, fluff, implied avoidant!reader learns to trust sylus, implied avoidant!reader clings to sylus, sylus takes care of reader from afar, sylus has mephisto and the twins follow reader but wbk pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mostly mc word count: 802

a/n: is this the peak of literature? no. did i need to write it after the day i had? yes. did i need to post it today? no, because i’m trying to stagger my posts more, but here we are. anyway 4k caleb pwp coming tomorrow

For the first few weeks after you’d infiltrated the N109 Zone, you’d avoided Sylus Qin like the plague.

After being scared out of your wits by the first version of him you'd met—the cold, unavailable criminal mastermind who’d forced you to shoot him within 5 minutes of knowing one other—you were unashamedly wary of working with him again.

But Sylus’s intel was unrivaled. More and more often, you found yourself visiting the N109 Zone to meet with him, eventually not even bothering to book a place to stay. There was always a guest room at the Onychinus base prepped for your arrival.

As you spent more time with Sylus, he’d noticeably changed his approach to interacting with you. Rather than forcing you to resonate with him, he’d explained to you how his Evol worked, letting you aim his hands at some training dummies to test it out yourself. Instead of unceremoniously shutting you out when he was tired, he’d drag his robe-and-slippers-clad self to sit beside you on the sofa, answering your cautious questions by practically giving away all his secrets.

His shift in attitude hadn't stopped there. Sylus had clearly been using that endearingly incorrigible crow to keep tabs on you, but for the strangest reasons.

Whenever you had a bad day at work, some building-wide maintenance emergency would magically appear, forcing your team to cease operations for the rest of the day. He’d text you a couple hours after your early dismissal, saying he was in the city and inviting you on an evening joyride to clear your head.

The day after you’d lugged a case of water up the stairs to your apartment, having to pause a couple times to catch your breath, you came home to see your fridge mysteriously stocked with groceries. The only traces left behind were the masked twin figures you spotted scurrying away from your window.

When a new phone showed up at your doorstep one day—you never even told him you’d shattered your screen, you thought—you’d decided that Sylus wasn’t as bad as you’d once assumed. Not anywhere near as bad, in fact. He was thoughtful, generous, and helped you without taking credit or forcing you to ask for it. You’d never had that before.

Which is why, somehow, you find yourself standing in the doorway of his armory, studying him silently as he polishes an antique-looking gun.

When he notices you, Sylus looks up, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Something wrong, kitten?” he drawls, subtly checking your body for injuries.

Mind numb from your absolutely dreadful day, you stay silent while Sylus looks at you expectantly, his hands forgetting their earlier task.

But for the next minute, you remain hovering in the doorway. You expect him to get annoyed—you almost want him to, so you have an excuse to go back to relying only on yourself—but all you see on Sylus’s face is patience.

When you start shuffling toward him, that patience mixes with a glimmer of anticipation that he visibly tries to suppress. You need him to be calm right now—an anchor, he thinks. If he loses his composure, if he startles you with his excitement at your approach, you might bolt at any moment.

Sometime during his inner struggle, you reach him. Meekly, you stand before his chair, briefly opening your mouth before closing it.

“What is it, sweetie?” he asks softly. “Tell me, and we can figure it out together. I’ll personally track down whoever seems to have stolen your words from you.”

At his offer, you break, collapsing into his lap. His large, warm hands immediately encircle your waist, and you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his leather and spice cologne.

“Aw,” he coos in his baritone voice, rocking you slowly in his embrace. When he lifts your head an inch, you resist, letting out a soft whine. Gently, he guides your head back to his chest, his quickening heartbeat thumping in your ears and grounding you in the the moment.

After several moments of silence, your deep, shuddering breaths the only interruptions, Sylus murmurs into your ear. “When I noticed you never ask for help, I was worried the world may not be treating as well as it should. You must be very tired, hmm?” he asks, rubbing his chin against your hair.

Tightening your arms around him, you sit there for a while, his steady breaths seeming to mend a decades-long rift in your heart.

The next time Sylus tries to lift your head, you let him. He pulls your face from his neck so he can look into your eyes, hoping his gaze conveys his sincerity, before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t need the world when you’re with me,” he promises. “I’ll treat you better than it ever could.”

#iris writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace comfort #love and deepspace fluff #lnds #sylus qin #lads fluff #lads comfort #lads sylus #lnds sylus

4K notes · View notes

kkusuka · 14 days ago

Text

more roommate simon!

i love the idea that simon thinks he's super open and available with his emotions and reader thinking he's really cold and disinterested. is he ooc? yeah. do i care? no. if you want cannon ghost, play the game!

simon riley doesn't know when you became so important to him.

the only reason he even put out the ad for a roommate was because his landlord though he'd moved out while he was away and he'd rather have some bird in his place than deal with that again.

you were just so easy; showing up to the coffee shop (where you requested to have your first meeting just in case he was some crazy murderer) face flushed, strands of hair all over the place, and sweater a mess; rushing to explain how you got sprayed by a sprinkler on your walk over then chased by a dog. and just as you repeat sorry for the 30th time simon thinks he's in love. you're officially his roommate 30 minutes later.

but it's so out of character for him. he hasn't been around anything other than hard ass military men since he was a teenager. fuck, he's killed hundreds of men in his line of work, tortured thousands more. (he doesn't like to think that that's why he's so drawn to you. that you're so different from who he has to be, someone he's been for so long, that being around you lets him breathe. that he feels like he can actually sit and enjoy his moments away from the field in your tiny manchester apartment.)

he thinks it actually started with the decorations.

the small trinkets you let around the common spaces when he was away. it starts with your room obviously; fairy lights above your bed that spills light into the hallway when he comes home in the early morning hours, paintings on the wall that eventually flow over into the living room, the small plants in your window sill that you ask him to water one day after you leave for work.

then the dinner table suddenly has checkerboard placemats and a vase of flowers that change with the season. and his run-down couch has decorative pillows and a throw blanket (both words he learned from you when he questions what the fuck is on his couch). then the bathroom in the hallway gets a new soap stand, and a mat is placed at your front door, next to the shoe organizer and coat rack.

so he starts buying things too; the penguin plushie in the supermarket window, the vase that matches the curtains in the living room, and a small skull magnet to rest on the face of your fridge.

and before simon knows it his dreary, cold apartment actually looks lived in. and instead of coming home to a dark hallway and an empty fridge, your flower lamp is on, some random show from the 90s is playing, and there's food on the table.

he gets to know you more than he thought he would; he knows what foods you don't like, the books you're reading and the ones you refuse to read again, and even that dick from work he promises to take care of if he bothers you again (it's evident that you think it's a joke and not something that he would genuinely do but simon doesn't think he's ever been more serious).

but he never lets you know too much about him, you don't need to know about it and the less you find out the better.

then came dinners, actual dinner not just him showing up while you already had food ready. you would ask if he wanted whatever you had made ( 'i'm already making food and i normally don't eat is all anyway, so i might as well share' ). so suddenly he was spending his nights at your table with a homecooked meal and simon doesn't think he could ever let this go.

then he gets sent away again, for way longer this time. he makes sure to update his paperwork, changes his emergency contact, your name swirled onto the spouse line. you were probably as close as he'll ever get to one and if you're there they'll tell you if anything happens to him faster. he doesn't want to think of how nice your first name looks with his last name. and you'll probably never even know, simon's never gotten that injured before and he doesn't plan on it now.

months in the heat of the middle east return him to hard shell of a man he was. coming home caked in dirt, blood speckled on his clothes; he doesn't want you to see him like this, he doesn't want you to know this version of him. and for the first time he regrets letting you come into his life.

you are home when he gets back, 2:30 in the morning and every light is off, he opens your door to make sure. you're asleep, not shocking, cuddled into the giant octopus you won at an arcade. he tries not to move, he just wants to look at you for a little bit.

he wakes up the next morning to breakfast and a new pair of combat boots. he's only home for a week this time, not that he's ever home for longer than a month, and he tries to soak up all of your time. you complain about your car, he's on it. the heater started being testy, that's fine he'll take care of it. he's going grocery shopping with you, he watching that weird hospital show, and he enjoys his time in domestic bliss before getting thrown back into some random country.

somehow that all led him here. laying in a hospital bed with two bullets lodged in his shoulder with you sitting in some shitty chair pulled as close to the bed as you could.

"so uh, i'm mrs. riley now?"

"yeah, ya are. 'av been for a while."

#call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #need a roommate like this

3K notes · View notes

bunnis-monsters · 6 months ago

Text

NSFW

Elf lover who researches immortality to make sure you, his human wife would never die. Unfortunately, he spends most of your lifetime with his nose buried in a book, and misses out on so much.

When he realizes you’ve become old and gray in the blink of an eye… he’s heart broken. You’re in pain, he couldn’t burden you with an eternity of this. If only he had spent more time with you, given you his all instead of researching something that might not even be real.

When you die, he’s inconsolable. You were everything to him. His love, his life, the very air he breathes, and without you he feels like he’s suffocating.

One day he learns about reincarnation, and that’s when he begins searching for you. You had always said the bond you shared would last forever, and god he hoped it was true.

When he found you, all he could feel was… impatient and upset. You were a newborn, unable to do anything but cry, feed, and sleep.

He let you be, making sure to come back when you were an adult. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and soft touch again.

Part of him knew there was a chance some man would ask for your hand in marriage before he could return… but he held on to the words you said.

“I’ll always love you… not even death can change that.”

Although you didn’t remember your past life, you still felt a strange sensation in your chest when you met him for the first time. He had been watching you the past few years, scaring away potential suitors and making sure you were safe, but this was your first meeting with him.

He was gentle, kind, and attentive. When his hand brushed against yours, there was a spark that made your body feel like it was on fire.

It didn’t take long for marriage to come up after he started courting you. He wanted you back as soon as possible. Despite being an elf that would live forever, the two decades he spent apart from you felt like centuries. Time slowed down with your absence, and he couldn’t bear being apart from you any longer.

After marrying you, he finally felt at peace. Getting to see you underneath him, mewling in pleasure as he held onto your hips and fucked into you was nothing short of ecstasy. He hadn’t taken another woman the entire time he had been waiting for you, and it felt nice to feel the warmth of your cunt after being lonely for so long.

He spent most of his days holding you, his hands tracing your soft sides and belly, moving down your thighs and then between them.

Finally, he got a second chance, and this time he would cherish you with everything he had.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads

4K notes · View notes

dostoyevsky-official · 7 months ago

Text

The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books

Nicholas Dames has taught Literature Humanities, Columbia University’s required great-books course, since 1998. He loves the job, but it has changed. Over the past decade, students have become overwhelmed by the reading. College kids have never read everything they’re assigned, of course, but this feels different. Dames’s students now seem bewildered by the thought of finishing multiple books a semester. His colleagues have noticed the same problem. Many students no longer arrive at college—even at highly selective, elite colleges—prepared to read books.

This development puzzled Dames until one day during the fall 2022 semester, when a first-year student came to his office hours to share how challenging she had found the early assignments. Lit Hum often requires students to read a book, sometimes a very long and dense one, in just a week or two. But the student told Dames that, at her public high school, she had never been required to read an entire book. She had been assigned excerpts, poetry, and news articles, but not a single book cover to cover.

[...] Twenty years ago, Dames’s classes had no problem engaging in sophisticated discussions of Pride and Prejudice one week and Crime and Punishment the next. Now his students tell him up front that the reading load feels impossible. It’s not just the frenetic pace; they struggle to attend to small details while keeping track of the overall plot.

No comprehensive data exist on this trend, but the majority of the 33 professors I spoke with relayed similar experiences. Many had discussed the change at faculty meetings and in conversations with fellow instructors. [...] Daniel Shore, the chair of Georgetown’s English department, told me that his students have trouble staying focused on even a sonnet.

Failing to complete a 14-line poem without succumbing to distraction suggests one familiar explanation for the decline in reading aptitude: smartphones. Teenagers are constantly tempted by their devices, which inhibits their preparation for the rigors of college coursework—then they get to college, and the distractions keep flowing. “It’s changed expectations about what’s worthy of attention,” Daniel Willingham, a psychologist at UVA, told me. “Being bored has become unnatural.” Reading books, even for pleasure, can’t compete with TikTok, Instagram, YouTube. In 1976, about 40 percent of high-school seniors said they had read at least six books for fun in the previous year, compared with 11.5 percent who hadn’t read any. By 2022, those percentages had flipped.

[...] Mike Szkolka, a teacher and an administrator who has spent almost two decades in Boston and New York schools, told me that excerpts have replaced books across grade levels. “There’s no testing skill that can be related to … Can you sit down and read Tolstoy? ” he said. And if a skill is not easily measured, instructors and district leaders have little incentive to teach it. [...] The pandemic, which scrambled syllabi and moved coursework online, accelerated the shift away from teaching complete works.

[...] But it’s not clear that instructors can foster a love of reading by thinning out the syllabus. Some experts I spoke with attributed the decline of book reading to a shift in values rather than in skill sets. Students can still read books, they argue—they’re just choosing not to. Students today are far more concerned about their job prospects than they were in the past. Every year, they tell Howley that, despite enjoying what they learned in Lit Hum, they plan to instead get a degree in something more useful for their career.

[...] For years, Dames has asked his first-years about their favorite book. In the past, they cited books such as Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. Now, he says, almost half of them cite young-adult books. Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series seems to be a particular favorite.

3K notes · View notes

crookedfandomquill · 9 months ago

Text

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

#us politics #kamala harris #tim walz #harris walz 2024 #politics #just to reiterate #this is not everyone’s situation #but if it’s yours please have the hard conversations

5K notes · View notes

lqveharrington · 4 months ago

Text

Loathing | D.M.

summary: you and draco have loathed one another since first year, but you know something happened over the summer before your sixth year. he had changed.

pairing: rival!draco malfoy x potter!reader

includes: fluff, angst, bleeding, both of them being oblivious, both of them taking care of each other

a/n: unadulterated loathing (guess who watched wicked last week?)

The moment you met Draco Malfoy – well, the moment he insulted one of your friends and then wanted to be friends with your brother – you knew you would loathe him for the rest of your life. From every glare from across the room to house rivalries, you loathed him for all you had. Especially when he ruined your Yule Ball experience by knocking the eggnog on you and refusing to explain why, only glaring instead.

But something changed in your sixth year. He changed.

Usually, the second you got on the train to Hogwarts, he would find you and start with the insults, but this year was different. Hell, when you were trying to find Harry on the train when you got to Hogwarts, Draco walked past you without even sparing a glance. He wasn’t even in his Slytherin robes, he was just in a black suit.

Then when the quidditch season started, you learned that he had quit his position as seeker and chance as quidditch captain. You were surprised he lost almost all interest in the sport itself when he used to brag on and on about how good he was at the game. Everything he used to egg you on about was close to nothing, and it worried you just a little.

You knew something was different – he was different – and wanted to know what happened, but you knew your friends couldn’t care less about the Slytherin Prince.

“Hermoine, please tell me you noticed something wrong with Malfoy.” You murmur and enter the potions room, eyes instantly meeting the gray and blue eyes you were speaking of. He quickly averted his gaze and stared down at his potions book instead, making you frown. “He hasn’t been throwing enough insults at us this year.”

“Is that not a good thing?” She creases her brows and takes her seat beside you, pulling her potions book out of her bag. Hermione looks at you with slight unease, not really understanding why you were asking in the first place. “Besides, why should you care? Don’t you hate him?”

You don’t respond, only spinning your ring and bringing your attention back to the Slytherin Prince himself, your teeth kissing your lips in your own turmoil. He looked so tired and… Helpless. You wanted to understand what he was going through despite everything he had put you through. He was still a student at Hogwarts. It may seem out of the ordinary from your usual loathing, but if something serious was going on, you hoped to Godric that he would be okay.

For the rest of class, Slughorn assigned the most ridiculous sounding potion to create. It was supposedly the most powerful love potion in existence and when Slughorn said it could help anyone identify their true love, you doubted it. It was only when Harry properly made the potion did you test the theory out. It seemed like Lavender was having a day with the potion and kept batting her eyes at Ron, making you and Hermoine roll your eyes in annoyance.

When Slughorn called the rest of the class in pairs to come over to smell the potion and describe what they smelled, you still believed people made up with what they smelled. You thought they were just believing they smelled the person they liked. From Hermione smelling freshly-mown grass and new parchment to Harry smelling some kind of sweets, it seemed quite fake.

And you could have gotten away with not having to smell the potion when you unashamedly yawned the second Slughorn turned to look over.

“Miss Potter, since you and Mr. Malfoy seem to have found this task boring, why don’t you both come up and tell me what you smell.” Slughorn beckoned you up toward Harry’s cauldron.

Pursing your lips, you do your best not to roll your eyes as you made your way over to the cauldron, only to be overwhelmed with Draco’s cologne when smelling the potion. You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, noticing he was just as confused as you.

“Maybe tone down the cologne, Malfoy.” You mutter to him and try to find a scent that wasn’t just his stupid cologne.

He rolled his eyes at you and leaned his head down, practically hissing into your ear. “Me? Your fucking shampoo is blocking all my senses right now.”

“Like you can smell that right now.” You turn your own head and glare at him, the tension growing larger and larger.

As if you were in a staring contest of who could hate the other more, you forgot about the class and only the loathing you felt for the blonde in front of you. However, the class soon began to felt the tension, uncomfortable with how you two were behaving. Whispers began to fill the air, but you two continued to bicker.

“Maybe use less product, Potter.” Draco suggested and flicked a piece of your hair off your shoulder, ignoring the way his cheeks flamed at how close the two of you were at the moment.

You crossed your arms and squinted, hating how he had to bend just to be at eye level to you. “Says the one practically bathes in Dior Sauvage—”

“Mr. Malfoy and Miss Potter, please, go back to your seats. We have gathered all the information we need.” Slughorn spoke with an amused smile.

For the rest of the week, it seemed like the entire student body was pointing to you and whispering. Even if you were just switching classes or sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione, eyes averted to you before they eventually turned away when they caught your eyes.

You didn't understand what was going on. It felt like everyone you knew began to have a knew found hatred toward you and it bugged you. Even Harry gave you questioning looks from time to time. You don't remember doing anything cruel and vile.

Eventually, you did give up guessing why everyone was giving you dirty looks. You ignored all their staring and only acknowledged the people you knew didn't mean any harm toward you. It soon became a habit for you to leave the trio alone for a good hour or two, spending time to practice spells in the room of requirements; Mainly casting your Patronus and watching it have the time of its life.

Well, until one day the room began to change on its own.

“Hello? Room of requirements?" You stood abruptly and looked around at the changing room, your Patronus dissipating in thin air.

The room began to shift in size, becoming quite large in size with piles and piles of junk. As you tripped over the old trinkets decorating the room — trying to find the exit to the ever expanding room — you cut yourself on the sudden arrival of a rusted sword.

Holding your cut hand close to you body, you glared at the room like it was your least favorite thing in the entire world. "This is not what I asked—“

“Fuck.”

You heard the voice whisper before you jumped back in surprise when the person banged on something wooden. So someone who needed the room more came. That's why. As you tried to make your way out a give the person privacy, you tripped back into another pile of junk, making you wince.

“Shit.” You mutter and do your best to remove yourself from the pile, pursing your lips when you heard footsteps approach you.

Before you could even try to hide, the said person appeared right in front of you with their wand pointed at your face. You followed the wand up until you met their eyes, making you inwardly groan at your luck.

“What are you doing?” You spoke at the same time, both of you rolling your eyes at the same time.

Hastily, you stood up from your spot on the dirtied floor and dusted your clothes off, mentally cursing yourself for being ever so clumsy.

“I asked you first, Potter.” Draco tucked his wand away, glancing down at your bleeding hand. He frowned and moved around you.

You stepped away from him, still nursing your hand. Unsure of what he was going to do, you simply answered the question truthfully.

“I was using the room to practice my spells, but it changed because apparently your needs were far more important than mine.” You watched him dig through dusted cabinets and drawers, looking for something. “Now answer mine.”

“I don’t have to.” He muttered and pulled out some type of cleanser and a kit, making you recoil at the sight. You hated the doctors and it seemed like Draco was ready to operate on your hand.

“You know? I think I should go before—" You start before he raised a brow at you, looking down at your injured hand and then back up to your eyes. "What?"

“You could get in trouble, you know?” He gestured to your hand before guiding you to sit on a bed that seemed too clean to be one of the old trinkets lying around before. "You need to clean your hand before it gets infected. Everything in here is old and dusted."

"Then I will clean my hand on my own, thank you very much." You yank the cleanser from his hands and pop the cap open. You stared at your wound before looking at the bottle, already regretting your choice.

"What?" He looked over your face, noticing the hesitation in your facial expression. "Do you need me to do it?"

"Yes, please." You whisper quickly, shutting your eyes tightly when you felt him lightly dab your cut with the cleanser. You bit your lip when it stung, nodding when he told you it would be over in a second.

“I'm done." Draco murmured and threw the cloth in the trash, watching you slowly open your eyes and look at your now bandaged hand. He nodded at you before standing, finding his way back over to a wooden cabinet.

You looked around the place, noticing the fresh bedsheets and glass of water that surely hasn't been sitting there for Godric knows how long. Tucking your injured hand in your free one, you wandered the small sleeping area before stopping at all the books piled next to it.

"Malfoy, what are you doing in here?" You take a book from the top of the pile and read its title. The Fundamentals of Vanishing Cabinets. You raised your brows in curiosity, looking over at him to find him already staring. "Well?"

“Like I said, I don't have to answer you.” He murmured and stepped toward you, taking the book from your hands.

You stared at him and frowned. His image was even worse up close. You could see the bags underneath his eyes and the gel from his hair completely gone from how many times he ran his fingers through his hair. When he glanced down at you, you were once again millimeters from each other before you both pulled away in confusion and guilt, like your skin was on fire.

“Are you getting enough sleep?" You ask as he walks toward the cabinet again, but this time, you followed him over. "I don't see you eat enough during dinner either."

“You watch me, Potter?” He spoke in amusement, lips turning down to hide the smirk that wanted to present itself to you.

“What? No!" You splutter out and look away, face flamed in warmth. "Only in hatred.”

"Whatever you say." He murmured and began tinkering with the cabinet, placing a green apple on the top shelf. "Stalker." He whispered, earning an annoyed glare from you.

“Just answer the question. Why did the room change to this mess?” You look at the bed you assumed his stayed in and then change your gaze toward the cabinet he seemed so intent on working on. “And why are you spending all your time on this old cabinet?“

He opened his mouth to speak when he winced and clutched his left forearm, making you panic ever so slightly. Draco moved to sit on the bed, pursing his lips and trying to think of anything but the pain being emitted on his arm.

You frown and take his arm in your hands, pulling his sleeve up only to silently gasp in surprise. Draco pulled his arm away and tugged the sleeve down, glaring at you.

“You’re a death eater.” You look at him with wide eyes, stepping back in shock. You looked between his arm, his frantic eyes, and then the cabinet. Your head was reeling at all the information you learned. "You got the dark mark—"

“You can’t tell anyone.” Draco whispered, almost pleading you to not tell a soul. If you told Harry, then everything would go to shit. But when he saw your face clear of all shock and shift to remorse, he knew you wouldn't go against his wishes despite him being a real threat to you and your brother.

“Why? Why did…” You move closer and clutch his arm, pulling his sleeve up again and wanting to trace the design. When he stopped you, you looked up and knew it would hurt. You nodded and thumbed the skin below it, eyes looking over the ink. “You didn’t have a choice, did you?”

Draco nodded and shut his eyes when you continued to thumb the empty space, opening them when you stopped. He knew that the gears were turning in your head when you stared at him like he was you next project — which he knew you would never call him that despite the loathing you had for him.

After seconds of silence, you open your mouth and speak softly, thumb moving over the space once more. “Can't you tell Dumbledore at all? Maybe he could do something to protect you—“

“That’s not how it works.” Draco stopped your movements and tugged his sleeve down. He caught you hesitating to look over the mark again, tilting his head to the side when you took a seat beside him. "Why are you still here?"

"What do you mean?" You murmur and trace the bandage over your hand before looking up at him, meeting his blue-gray eyes. "I can leave if you want me to. But I want to know if you'll be okay if I leave first."

You kept eye contact with him for a little longer before looking away, eyes finding interest in a silver crown in the corner. You weren't sure why you cared so much about him. It was like a switch flipped on in your mind. In all your years at Hogwarts, his taunting was a constant in your life. So when that went away, you knew something was wrong and you wanted to make sure he was okay, even if your brother hated him. It was an instinct you suddenly gained.

"Why?" He stared at the mirror across from him, catching your eyes through the reflection once more. "Is it because you want more material to tease me about?"

"Godric, no." You huff and run your fingers through your hair. "I'm not a monster, Malfoy." You let a small smile slip through when he raised his brow at you. "I'm not a monster!"

"Not saying you are, Potter." He finally smiled at you. But even through the smile, you could see how exhausted he was. With whatever he was doing for the Dark Lord, you just hoped he would be fine in the end. "If I tell you I'll be okay, will you leave me be so I can finish my task?"

You turn your head to look at him properly, looking in between his eyes. You sighed and broke eye contact, "Yes." You look back up and find him millimeters away again, making you squint. "If you don't come to potions tomorrow with any kind of retort, I will be in here waiting for you, understand?"

He rolled his eyes and nodded, "Whatever gets you out of here, Potter."

Nodding, you stand and dust off your clothes once more. Talking with Draco civically was quite a feat, but you knew it was for the better or worse. But just before you could leave the room, you heard his voice ring out to you once more, you first name falling from his lips instead of your last.

"Don't use that strong of a shampoo anymore, yeah?"

You send him a half smile, "Only if you don't apply your entire bottle of cologne."

2K notes · View notes

steveslevis · 4 months ago

Text

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop.

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position.

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?”

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you.

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond.

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops.

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though.

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have.

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different.

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back.

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up.

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male.

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you.

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead.

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.”

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment.

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly.

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.”

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now.

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store.

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do.

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him.

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there.

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses.

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do.

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice.

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table.

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod.

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.”

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks.

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.”

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond.

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now.

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond.

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill.

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness.

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space.

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse.

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made.

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong.

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him.

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark.

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.”

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day.

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time.

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed.

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.”

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them.

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario.

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps.

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest.

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him.

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son.

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them.

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.”

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s.

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.”

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe.

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more.

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too.

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough.

But they don’t.

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops.

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs.

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.”

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.”

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering.

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days.

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?”

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can.

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in.

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed.

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find.

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.”

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?”

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat.

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy.

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest.

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another.

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue.

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate.

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore.

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss.

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment.

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub.

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain.

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough.

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach.

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed.

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently.

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?”

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word.

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing.

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever.

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room.

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump.

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?”

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.”

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate.

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead.

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register.

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh.

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding.

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.”

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar x reader

2K notes · View notes