#mate bond hinting
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marc--chilton · 7 months ago
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(mgv) house taking to chase and thirteen as his pups means once he's mates with wilson, wilson starts taking to them through osmosis. which is. weird in work hours. because wilson does a lot of his pda on autopilot so he'll go in the diagnostics room for coffee and on his way out he'll brush his wrist across house's neck, peck thirteen on her crown, and pet tenderly through chase's hair
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nyxreads · 1 year ago
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So what do you think the next book will be about? We know it will be about Elain, but how do you see it going? What will be the main storylines? I am curious about what everyone is thinking.
Hello anon, sorry this kinda took me long to answer and honestly I am lazy and can't explain articulately what's in my mind but I'm gonna link you to some theories/analysis (based on canon) that I truly loved and agreed on about Elain and her upcoming book:
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maisonaime · 10 months ago
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Ilithyia's Blessings - Part 3
I am posting this in the middle of the night hot off the dome because I am exhausted but want to get this out there. Please forgive any errors grammatical or canonical and go with the flow for me please :) I actually love where this went and I'm excited to flesh out the consequences of this chapter as the story continues to develop. It will likely be anywhere from 8-12 parts in total with epilogues and whatnot. 1.6k words
Warnings: Dark Feyre, blood, unhinged behavior, pregnancy trauma, familial trauma, mentions of illness and death
Part 1;  Part 2
Part 3:
Centuries of the Illyrian winds echoing off his wings allowed Azriel to sense the unique shift in the air at the House of Wind as he remained for a few final moments, in blissful ignorance of the circumstances unfolding. For the first time in centuries, the spymaster would be one of the last to know. 
Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck and curved a path down his spine as he performed his training routines in the ring. Lost in the movements he had led his body through for centuries, he hardly noticed that his shadows had abandoned him, their relentless whisperings silenced. He would have thought nothing of it; they often slipped away to their own devices when he entered the meditative state his training permitted him. It seemed even they understood that the training ring was one of the few places Azriel could find complete solace from his roiling mind.  
Until his shadows were suddenly back and swarming him and howling, their chorus an indiscernible fever pitch. On his next inhale the air tightened, punctuated by sharp bursts of the metallic redolence he knew to be his brother's magic. 
On the exhale he tilted his head to the sky, and murmured a prayer to the Mother, siphons flaring as he steeled himself for whatever bloodshed was imminent. Instinctively his mind was both latching onto and pushing away the bolt of dread he felt for the most obvious potential source of this frenzy of wrath from his brother. 
As he turned to push himself into the sky and take stock of the tenebrous horizon, Nuala materialized from a haze of smoky shadows with wide eyes and shaking hands.He had never seen such dismay surfaced in his trusted apprentice; dread carved another chunk from his stomach. He nodded towards her, encouraging her to speak.
“Feyre is gone, she – she disappeared from the townhouse.” Azriel’s heart dropped in the pits of his stomach. “Nesta told her about the boy having wings and she unleashed herself on Amren and Morrigan and then she left. Not a trace of her. Rhys has gone absolutely feral, he’s barreling towards Nesta as we speak – along with everyone else. Cerridwen followed them.”
Azriel stood stock still, unblinking as his heart and his fists clenched. This gods damned family would be the death of him, he felt so incredibly tired. At the same time, he just barely noted the relief he felt knowing the next time he spoke to Feyre he wouldn’t be lying to her. 
They’ll level half the city and throw the entire Court into question if this unfolds publicly.” she added, earning a knowing glare from Azriel as he reckoned with his next steps. 
“Thank you Nuala” he managed to bite out. “Pack a bag for Nesta, Cassian will want to get her as far away from Rhys as possible. Leave it on the balcony, then check every residence they share. The cabin, the palace in the Hewn City, everywhere.” 
Nuala was already evaporating back into the ether to do just that, having anticipated the request from Azriel and already running through the mental list of possible dwellings she had compiled. 
Azriel took flight and looked towards the city, where churning black clouds thundered towards the center. He drew his shadows around him, prepared to let them carry him on the wind to where his circle of friends was just beginning to converge.
He was winnowing as he had a thousand times before – the thousand time prior was how he knew something was so wrong about this journey through space. He was being pulled towards something, absorbed into a pit of angry, despairing power. He assumed it was from Rhys creating some sort of dismal vacuum of fury, as he yielded to primal and unholy powers alike. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying to the Mother that his brother didn’t inadvertently rip him to shreds in his fit of rage. 
But when he opened his eyes, breathless and on solid ground. He was not in Velaris. He was not in the Night Court. He was not anywhere near the specter of power he had known and dealt with for centuries, knew like the back of his hand.
No. He was faced with a new beast entirely. And as he met the eyes of his High Lady, he knew he was considerably fucked. 
“Hello Azriel.” Feyre’s wolfish grin was empty, her eyes red and puffed. “I think it’s high time I find out how valuable you really are as our resident Shadowsinger.” Any relief he previously felt winked out as the weight of their errors settled on him with her pointed gaze.
Her distress was obvious, her outrage palpable. She clutched the swell of her stomach like she might hold the child in her, lest it rip itself out by the talons on its bastarding wings. Azriel gulped as he was faced with malevolence he had not even seen from Feyre in the Court of Nightmares. 
Azriel saw instantly that there would be no straightforward path out of this mess, that he along with the rest of them had grossly miscalculated the consequences of shielding Feyre from the truth of her pregnancy. Her pregnancy Azriel repeated to himself, dumbfounded by his own stupidity. Her child they had all lied to her about, intentions set aside. 
Though far from possessing the necessary biology to truly understand Feyre’s feelings, he imagined how he might feel if his family kept a secret of that magnitude from him. If he perhaps contracted the rare wasting sickness that caused Illyrian wings to rot and disintegrate from the inside out. Easily detectable, but highly fatal and only symptomatic in its final stages. He imagined he wouldn’t take too kindly to the lack of dignity in having his own fate concealed from him until there was no chance of a say in the matter. 
He sank to his knees and lowered his eyes, laying himself prone to her judgement. He said nothing, conveying his submission to her through his posture, yielding to the might of her power without protest. 
“Let’s make a bargain.” Feyre sneered, eyes shining with spite. “You will tell me everything that is said about me and this child; every detail of how our family plans to proceed; everything you see, do, hear will be memorized and relayed to me. You will find a way to get the information to me as close to instantly as possible. You will do so without telling or alerting anyone to our correspondence.” Azriel said nothing. “And you will not look for or even consider pondering a way to get out of or around this bargain.”
“In exchange I will consider allowing Rhysand to be a part of mine and this childs life.” dread finally claimed the last of his abdomen as the severity of her words struck him.
He opened his mouth to try to agree, to do anything that might help the situation and preserve a thread of connection with Feyre to her family, her support system. The words caught on his tongue as his fealty to Rhys overpowered his independent will, the betrayal of his vows a physical manifestation of pain ripping through his chest. 
He spoke through gritted teeth “Feyre I can’t swear myself to anything that disavows my loyalty to Rhys. I am bound to him, by magic as much as love.”
“And what of a blood oath? Would that usurp your vows to your High Lord?” she spoke without missing a beat and Azriel’s eyes snapped back to hers, gaze narrowing. It was in this moment he realized they stood at the center of a vortex of darkness, the eye of a formidable hurricane that concealed any hint of their whereabouts for Azriel to report if he somehow found a way out of swearing a gods damned blood oath to Feyre. Magic so old it called to the marrow of his bones. Magic that would render him little more than a slave to her will; he would be hers entirely to use and dispose of as she pleased. And yet, and yet, and yet… if it was the only way…
“Yes.” he breathed. 
“Yes what.” she insisted.
“Yes I will swear a blood oath to you. Feyre.” he affirmed, only a touch of the lament he felt seeping into his tone. 
“Good” she purred, unrecognizable to his eyes. And in a flash she was before him, a slash across her wrist pressed to his mouth for him to drink from. She tasted like life and mountain air and power and fury and something deep in his chest tugged as his life force latched to hers. Then it was his turn to offer blood for her consumption directly from the junction of his shoulder and neck. The bargain was sealed and thrumming in his chest, so much like what he imagined a mating bond to be but so exquisitely wrong in its essence. Even his shadows recoiled from the shift, as if recognizing the parasitic force that had latched itself to their master while simultaneously adjusting to submit to it. 
Azriel let out a hysterical little chuckle as he realized Rhysand was going to tear him limb from limb, and Cassian might even help. He had not only swore an oath that usurped the vows he swore to his brothers, but an oath that rivaled even a mating bond in its powers and manifestations. Tricky magic that would not be easily untangled. Magic that compromised every promise he had made to his Court and family. Magic that sealed itself into and across his chest with a tattoo of a gleaming golden band that wrapped around his torso, directly across his pounding heart. 
“Wander back home now Azriel, I’ll call on you when you’re needed.” there was nothing in her voice, her eyes; it was the most chilled he had been during the whole encounter.
He blinked and he was freefalling through the sky, careening from the exact spot he had dissolved from minutes earlier. He let himself fall for a moment, pondering how well and truly fucked he was. In the next moment, he twisted, shot out his wings, and dove towards his original destination, praying that he wouldn’t be greeted with the carrion he knew the gathering forces were capable of. 
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yanderenightmare · 3 months ago
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♡ TW: nsfw, dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced/accidental bonding, subjugation
♡ part one
♡ fem reader
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Once you wake up in the morning, you feel… changed.
Your body feels full—as though you’d indulged too much last night—heavy and sticky and sore all over. There’s a strange taste in your mouth—sweet, somewhat salty, and metallic. Geez, you’re head’s pounding—how much did you drink last night? No, this feels different from a hangover—more full-bodied than that—a withdrawal of some kind or another. You must have done more at the party than drink, and yet, you can’t remember having stayed there all that long. No, you left with someone. That’s right. You went with… that overgrown Omega.
Oh no.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!”
He comes in only wearing a pair of snug boxers—body stacked with brawn, not a single hint of Omega-like softness aside from his tousled bed hair. There’s a big toothy smile on his face—eyes are creased in cheer while carrying an overfull breakfast tray. You know you’re hungry, and yet you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but sick to your stomach by the horrid sight of his flaunted neck, decorated by a gory ring of your bitemark.
No. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! “Tell me that’s not what I think it is…”
He laughs lightly with an awkward smile, apologetically scratching the back of his neck while balancing the tray in the other hand. “I’m afraid so…”
The world stops spinning, and for a moment, you think it might actually never start up again. Your throat snares, and you think you might throw up. How the fuck could this happen?
He sets the tray down next to you, then himself. The whole bed takes waves upon his weight. You remain still—eyes unrest and mouth hung.
“Hey, I know this might not be what we had planned, but…” he starts.
But you don’t let him finish before declaring, “I’ll take full responsibility.”
There’s nothing else to do, you think. The red string of fate has tied the two of you together. It’s sealed.
“There is no going back now.”
His face expresses shock, but if you’d taken a closer look, he’d probably not be able to hide it—the overwhelming sensation of victory. Oh, bless your Alpha pride. He knew you would say that.
He smiles softly. “I’m in your care then.”
It’s a work in progress after that—slow in the beginning, but that’s to be expected. You never pegged yourself to be the type who got caught up in the unmendable mistakes of a one-night stand, but then here you were—mated with a stranger, moving into his apartment because it’s bigger and closer to work, sharing the same bed and eating the same meals and helping each other through one another’s ruts and heats.
He's still no closer to being your type. In fact, he’s the total opposite—too giant to give you even a semblance worth of superiority over him. A couple of days ago, when he’d been searching for the remote in the couch you were lying on, he’d taken to pick you up instead of just asking you to move. It was completely humiliating. He’s so brazen, and it’s starting to become clear he’s doing it all on purpose!
He doesn’t get fussy when you state your claim of being the one on top—no, but what he does instead is somehow worse, going along with it with snide praise, grinning up at you, his big hands weighing heavy on your haunches as you roll them, calling you his good girl. It seems to humor him how it angers you—chuckling behind your hands as you layer them both atop his mouth, growling at him to “Shut up!”
No, he doesn’t mind letting you take charge. He rather enjoys the view of watching you ride—working so hard to appease him while he rests pretty and admires your body—all soft edges and plush curves. You tire quickly, though—poor thing, why don’t you leave the rest to him?
You had rejected it the first few times he’d offered. Your bruised pride simply wouldn’t have it—you’d rather you both stop than let him finish you off. But a couple more nights and you’d quicker come around than either of you expected—perhaps worn down by his constant nagging or simply fed up with your own failure—you let him assist by bouncing you on his lap.
You wouldn’t admit it to his face, never, but you’d enjoyed it far more than you could have ever thought…
Thankfully, your face in and of its own glory told him all he needed to know. It didn’t take long before he’d taken full advantage of it, nor for you to begin allowing it without being asked. Soon you were letting him fuck you against the wall, making the entire room shake—wall creaking and shelves rattling, pictures falling down. You hold your tongue and hold on tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him—moaning sweetly right by his ear. Fuck, you even bite him again.
As time passed, you came around to indulging more and more of his antics. Letting him fuck you from behind—hard and heavy and deep—thrusting into you while grappling your waist. You even go down on all fours when he does it—digging your claws into the sheets.
Lying belly-up beneath him still makes you feel nervous—and slightly ashamed—almost convinced something’s wrong with you for liking it. And yet you can’t help it. You know any other Omega wouldn’t fuck you like this. They wouldn’t have the stamina, the drive, or the desire. Not like him, who does it all like it’s his nature even when it shouldn’t be.
Guess you’re both freaks.
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♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist �� GN x M INSERT masterlist
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azrielbrainrot · 1 month ago
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An Exercise in Patience
Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader
Kinktober 2024: Cockwarming
Description: Your plan to bother Azriel while he's working fails, or maybe it doesn't.
Warnings: Smut, cockwarming, implied vaginal sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, kinda bratty reader, actually kind of fluffy
Word Count: ~1,3k
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
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You sigh for what feels like the millionth time, unashamedly acting like a petulant child who hadn't gotten her way, pouting against Azriel's shoulder as you felt his chest rise and fall against yours.
“I'm not sure what you expected was going to happen when you walked in this room wearing that, my love.”
“I expected my mate to bend me over his desk and fuck me.”
The disinterested yet somehow amused hum he offers makes you let out a huff of your own, straightening your posture so you aren't leaning on him anymore and can meet his eyes, trying to ignore the way his cock is filling you oh so deliciously, and only goes deeper with the change in position. If he wants to act unaffected, you'll do the same.
“Rhys needs these reports ready by tomorrow morning for his meeting with the High Lords,” he starts explaining, the sounds of his pen scratching against the paper the only sound in the room as he pauses, reading carefully through the pages, choosing the documents over you even now, “I told you all of this already.”
The way he was reading over your shoulder, not even meeting your eyes as he talked or acknowledging the fact that you were barely wearing any clothes at all, the sheer black lace not truly covering anything, was annoying you more than it probably should have.
It's not your fault you can't be patient when it comes to your mate. Not when he looks like a wet dream personified, especially when he focuses on something as he is now. It's also not your fault Rhys suddenly had a meeting the day after you bought such a beautiful set for Azriel to rip off of you and ruined all your plans.
It's not like you didn't understand how important his work was, but he had shut you down too easily, simply sitting you on his cock and going back to writing his report like it was the most normal thing, like the way his mate was dripping and clenching around him didn't matter. It was especially vexing since you could barely form a single thought, his scent and warmth making the bond want to jump through your skin, lay him down over the desk and ride him until you were shaking on top of him.
“I can almost hear your thoughts,” he says, a hint of amusement breaking through the serious tone he put on earlier.
“Has Rhysand been teaching you new tricks?”
Your tone makes him pause, hazel eyes shifting to yours for just a second before returning to the task at hand. He doesn't say anything, but he wraps one arm around your back, pulling you in closer, making you wrap your own arms around his neck, hugging him to you once again, humming when you relax a bit against him, annoyance fizzling out in his arms. Your body was a traitor, and he knew its every little secret.
One thing you wouldn't admit is how impressed you were that you had been able to fit him all the way inside you so quickly and with barely any preparation, it usually takes you a bit of stimulation to be able to get to this point, not that either of you mind the need for some foreplay.
Unfortunately, these thoughts led to memories of how well he fucked you just about every day and every night, this morning even, on the bed, in the bathtub, on this stupid desk, and up against the wall. Another defeated sigh escapes your lips, your cunt clenching around his hard cock involuntarily.
“You know if I was a little more insecure I'd find it insulting that you can keep working while I'm sitting on your cock,” you mumble, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
“I was trained to not let anything distract me,” he answers matter-of-factly.
Your teeth find the skin of his neck before you could stop yourself, biting hard enough to leave the imprint of your teeth on the soft skin, his body tensing under yours - apparently he wasn't immune to every type of distraction.
Feeling bad for him, or just wanting to see what other reactions you could get out of the stoic spymaster, you lick over the mark, kissing and sucking on the skin until a deep red spot bloomed under your mouth. Sadly, it still doesn't keep him away from the papers, only giving you the satisfaction of feeling him tense up against you a couple times.
“Didn't know you could be so mean either.”
“Mean?” His voice sounded deeper, maybe your little plan was working better than you assumed. “I think I'm being quite generous, letting you warm my cock when it's the opposite of helpful while I have work to do.”
“Then why can't I move?” You grind into him softly, a harsh breath escaping him at the movement, it brings a triumphant smile to your lips even if his shadows rush to stop you from repeating the motion.
“Because you need to learn how to be patient.”
“So this is my punishment?”
“We can call it that if it makes you feel better.” It doesn't, not at all. “Now hush, the sooner I finish the reports on my desk, the sooner I can bend you over it.”
“Azriel,” you whine yet again.
“I'm almost done,” he shushes you softly again.
You watch his face for a moment longer, debating whether to try your luck or wait patiently like he asked you to, but a quick glance from him has your body making the decision for you, leaning back down against his strong body, waiting quietly, and mostly still.
With a hand falling over the back of his neck, you pet him softly, fingers combing through the curls on the nape of his neck, just how you know he likes, feeling him relax under you immediately. Azriel wouldn't let you move too much, but you could at least do this. You start dropping little kisses all over his neck, starting by his ear and moving down until you find the fabric of his shirt, unbuttoning it so you could tug at his collar and reach as much of his soft, unmarked skin as you could.
“What are you doing?”
His voice startles you, pulling back to meet his eyes, you had gotten so focused on covering every little bit of skin that you almost forgot he was even there. He did look a bit less in control than before as half lidded hazel eyes stared back at you, and you can't help the smile from spreading over your face at that, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
“Kissing my mate,” you answer, lips brushing against his skin as you did, his stubble tickling your lips, “or are you going to tell me I can't do that either.”
“That would be cruel,” he breathes out, eyes locking on your lips when you pull back just enough.
“It would,” you say, dropping a quick peck to his lips before kissing his other cheek, traveling down his jaw. “Don't mind me, you can keep working.”
“I already finished the reports.”
“What?”
“I'm done,” he says one more time, the smile growing as you look behind you to find the files neatly arranged and ready to be delivered to your High Lord.
“You're done,” you repeat dumbly.
Azriel lets out a chuckle and nods. “I'm all yours.”
“All mine?”
He hums in response, finally kissing you properly, his scarred hands traveling down your body, caressing the exposed skin at last, moving down to hold onto your thighs. Suddenly, every bit of calmness and patience leaves your body, the feeling of his hard cock sitting inside you the only thing you can think about once again.
You're both out of breath when he pulls away, the same hunger that has been eating away at your sanity present in his eyes as he lets go of all his self control.
“How do you want me, my love?”
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illyrianbitch · 7 months ago
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Words of Affirmation
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Pairing: Reader x Cassian
Summary: Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.
Warnings: established relationship fluff :)
Word Count: 2.3k
just a quick sweet fluffy piece to make up for all my angst. dedicated to the one and only @sarawritestories
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
Cassian would never admit it, but the assumptions of his intelligence bothered him. He was always a brute, a mindless warrior, a soldier— nothing more. He knew, deep down, that his brothers rivaled him in all matters of the mind. They were more collected, more capable with familial matters and court affairs. Simply put, they were smarter. 
And he had accepted that— at least, he told himself he had. After all, he was talented where it mattered. He was a good male, a good friend, a good brother, a good commander— and amazing in bed. So truly, it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did when his meeting with Eris went sour. 
Cassian entered the room with heavy steps, a frown on his face as he began to peel off his coat, each movement slow and heavy with frustration. A part of him hoped that he could shed more than just the layer of clothing, hoped that coming home would rid him of the insecurity that had threaded itself through his ribs.
You observed him quietly, taking in the way his muscles tensed and released with each motion, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the deep exhale. He hadn’t looked at you yet, hadn’t made his classic entrance. On most days, Cass would return home with a huge grin, door thrown wide open as he bellowed out your name with a burning heart.
But he was quiet today. And you knew exactly why– you could feel it through the bond. Cassian was sad. 
Your footsteps were quiet against the wood floors as you slowly walked towards him. 
“Things didn’t go well?” 
Your voice was soft and gentle and the sound of it sent a ripple of relief through his body. Still, he felt heavy. Tired. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he finally discarded his coat onto a nearby chair. “I don’t know how Rhysand does it.”
“Does what?” 
“This whole diplomacy thing, even Azriel. I just… I couldn’t. I'm too stupid for it. Just an idiot.”
Your heart clenched at his words, a heaviness settling on the glowing bond in your chest. You wanted to console him, to fight and kill whatever it was that was unsettling him so deeply. But the thing that was causing Cassian pain wasn’t anything you could fight yourself. It was his own mind, the insecurities he was too afraid to acknowledge. 
Before you could open your mouth to respond, he waved you off with a frustrated gesture.
“I know, I know,” he murmured, his tone heavy with defeat, “I’m just whining. I’ll get over it.”
You frowned, letting out a small breath. 
“No, don’t say that,” you said gently, taking a step closer to him. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. But you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
Cassian’s brows furrowed.
“I’m not?” 
You took in the sight of your mate for a moment, took in his long hair and brown eyes, took in the stubble on his jaw and the way he let out a small breath. You extended your hand to him, voice low as you murmured, “C’mere, honey.”
He hesitated for a moment before he gently took your hand and closed the distance between you, large arms wrapping around your waist as he looked down at you. 
“You are a big ole’ dummy,” you teased lightly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you put your hands around his neck. You felt Cassian melt into your touch ever so slightly, eyes shuttering closed as a small hum left his lips. “But you are brilliant. Like really fucking smart.”
Cassian’s eyes opened to meet yours, somewhat narrowed in skepticality. You rubbed the nape of his neck with your thumbs. 
“I mean, you’re a war general. You’ve commanded hundreds of soldiers, have won countless battles– wars, even. You couldn’t get away with those things as an idiot.”
Cassian grumbled, but you caught the hint of a smile dancing in his stormy eyes, felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. A wry chuckle bubbled up from deep within him as he shook his head, his lips quirking up in a brief smile.
“Well, I don’t know about that one, we have Beron and Tam-”
You rolled your eyes. 
“Would you just let me compliment you?” You interrupted with a gentle shake of your head, eyebrows raised as you looked at him. 
A soft chuckle escaped him. “My bad.”
“You are so incredibly smart,” you repeated earnestly, slightly pulling him down and urging him to place his forehead against yours. 
He stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze heavy as he searched for something in your eyes. He seemed to find it as he gave you a small smile. “You really think so?”
You pulled yourself back gently, dropping your hands from his neck to take his in your own. Then, you gently guided one hand to your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.
“Does it feel like I’m lying?” you asked softly.
Cassian’s expression softened as his gaze flickered to where your hand held his. You watched as a glow of warmth lit up his eyes. 
“No,” he said quietly, “It does not.”
And then he was bringing his hands to hold your face, leaning in to kiss you tenderly, his lips a gentle caress against yours.
He wasn’t sure if he believed it yet, if he was comfortable enough with considering himself to be smart, let alone brilliant. But you, his beautiful mate, the love of his life— you thought he was smart, you thought he was brilliant.
And truly, that's all that mattered to him. 
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
It wasn’t that he was insecure about his looks, no, that wasn't it. 
Cassian knew he was attractive, knew that he was hot and ruggedly handsome. He knew from the looks that he got from females and males alike, from the scent changes that he caused, and the lovers he had bedded. 
But sometimes, when standing next to Rhysand and Azriel,  Cassian would catch himself wondering if he was rough around the edges in ways that his brothers were smoother, more appealing. After all, they were the two more classically pretty males, the more softly attractive and very often audibly complimented. 
And then there was him, the rough warrior. 
Attractive, yes, but pretty? Elegant? Those were never words used to describe him. 
There was a soft glow in your room tonight, gentle shadows casted across the bed from flickering fae light. Cassian let out a deep sigh as he prepared to climb into bed, his muscles aching and head heavy as he shed the remenands of his day. 
You watched him with a tender gaze as you lay on the bed. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of your lips as your eyes traced the lines of his face. Cass caught your gaze with his own, a warm hearty brown that made your heart flutter. 
A playful smirk tugged at his lips as he noticed your lingering stare. "You like what you see, sweetheart?" 
You grinned, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as you tilted your head. "Always.”
With a grin of his own, Cassian began to crawl towards you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he closed the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Admiring how absolutely handsome I am?” he said, “How Incredibly sexy?" 
You let out a small laugh as he reached your face, his body hovering over yours. With a gentle hand, you pushed back his tousled hair, your touch feather-light against his skin. A soft sigh escaped him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the warmth of your touch. His lips wore a content smile. 
"So beautiful," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced the contours of his face with your fingertips.
He pulled back slightly, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes scanned your face. You ran your finger along the crease that they created. "Beautiful?" 
You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Yes, beautiful. Maybe I don't tell you enough."
He chuckled softly as he leaned into your touch, heart swelling with warmth at your words. There was a new flutter in his chest that he didn’t recognize. For a moment, Cassian felt shy— he wasn’t quite sure why. But he laughed it off all the same. 
"That's a word reserved for you, sweetheart." 
You shook your head, your fingers trailing down his cheek to cup his face in your hands. "My beautiful mate,” you whispered, "My handsome, gorgeous, incredibly sexy, and beautiful mate." 
For the first time in a while, Cass was stunned, unable to respond as quickly as he was used to. Your words held a certain reverence to them, a sincerity that made him melt into your touch— made him melt into your voice itself. Before you, Cassian never knew himself as something gentle, as something capable of softness and sensitivity. But here he was before you, in all of his warrior glory, feeling like a child with a playground crush. And there you were, staring at him like he was the most exquisite thing you’d ever laid eyes on. So when words failed him, Cassian did the only thing he saw fit. 
He leaned in to kiss you tenderly, bringing his lips to yours softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in closer, feeling his warmth against you as he smiled into the kiss. From deep within your chest, you felt a glow— a deep, ethereal, and overwhelming glow. 
Beautiful, his mind echoed, beautiful. 
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
You let out a soft sigh as you settled onto the couch with Cassian, pushing yourself further into his warm chest as he wrapped an arm around you. You’d spent the night at the River House, drinking more wine than you could handle and eating almost all of Elain's sweet desserts. There was a smile on your face as your eyes closed, your hearing quickly tuning into the heartbeat of your mate below you. 
You frowned when the sound began to quicken, echoing like a drum in your ears. You pushed yourself up, slightly turning your body and placing a hand on Cassian's chest. When you looked up at him, his face was scrunched, his gaze distant as if lost in contemplation.
Cassian wore a specific face when he was troubled, furrowed brows and a downturn of his lips. He wore it was he was sad or frustrated, when he had thoughts that plagued him at night. The face before you was a troubled one, indeed. But it was less rough than the others he bore, more vulnerable.
You slightly tapped against him with your palm. Cassian blinked at the sensation, then he slowly looked down to meet your eyes with his own. You let your chin fall gently on his chest. 
“What's wrong?”
Cassian managed a smile, shaking his head as he brought his hand to run over your hair. “Nothing.”
You frowned. “Tell me.”
For a moment, Cassian’s thoughts traveled again. Mor’s laugh echoed in his mind, wine glass in hand as she pointed at him. You have the subtlety of a war horn. You’re so loud I can hear you across Prythian. I don’t know how Y/n handles it all the time.
"Am I too loud?" 
His voice came out rushed, drenched in a tinge of what you could only describe as worry— even doubt.
A flicker of surprise passed through your features. “What?”
He let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Mor said something tonight, it just got me thinking.”
“Mor says a lot of things. Especially when she's drunk.”
“I know.” He nodded in agreement, tongue running across his teeth before he let out another sigh. “But she had a point tonight.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”
He took a moment to take you in, to trace the features of your face with his eyes. Absentmindedly, he ran his hands through your hair. 
“Maybe I am too loud.”
Cassian's voice was defeated now, lips naturally falling into a frown. The crease between his eyebrows was still there as he peered down at you, hand still caressing your head.
You stared at him for a moment before you responded. "You're so loud." 
A flicker of disappointment crossed Cassian's face. But before the thought could spread through his mind, a soft smile graced your features. You gave his chest a small kiss. “But I love it. So very much.”
Cassian’s eyes lit up, a sense of release evident in his features as his lips curved into a smile. The crease between his eyebrows faded. "Really?"
"Absolutely," you affirmed, your voice filled with a sincerity that made his heart flutter. "My world would be too quiet without you."
Cassian’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently swiping loose strands away from your forehead. “Yeah?” 
You nodded against him, chin still resting on his chest. “I hear everything I love in your voice.”
He smiled, the bond deep within him singing as he stared at you. He felt you tug at it, felt a roll of warmth run through his body— something gentle, something loving. And for a minute, Cassian could have cried at the sensation, could have cried at the way you looked at him, at how happy he felt. 
With his heart swelling, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
“I love you,” he murmured, voice filled with a depth of emotion that he couldn’t quite express in words. He hoped that you could sense it, that you would hear those words and know everything he was trying to say— that you would understand just how much you meant to him, how your love filled him with a sense of peace and belonging he never knew he needed.
With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, feeling his now steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. “I know,” you said, “You practically scream it from the heavens.”
Cassian let out a deep laugh, the sound reverberating through his chest. You felt his body move from under you, felt as the sound caressed you like a pair of warm hands. 
As his laughter subsided, Cassian pulled you closer to him. “I’ll keep shouting it so you’ll always hear it,” he whispered.
A warmth spread through you at his words, a feeling of love so strong it was tangible through that sacred tie that connected you.
“And I’ll keep listening.”
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
me not writing angst?? (i’m about to write the most gut wrenching pieces ever) unheard of. but we love a sweet established relationship <3
permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria
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steveslevis · 7 days ago
Text
all of you, all of me, intertwined.
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azriel x healer!reader
summary: You met your mate during the war and have been obsessed with him–and his dagger–ever since.
warnings: smut!!!!!, improper use of of Truth-Teller (aka object in v), knife kink, dom/sub dynamic (+ hints of R in subspace), praise kink, lots of dirty talk, mentions of war & injuries, mentions of pregnancy
If anyone would’ve told you five years ago that the mating bond snaps for you when your brand new mate pulls a knife from his hip and presses it to your throat, you wouldn’t have believed them. Hell, even five days ago you wouldn’t have believed them. 
But here you are, a blade against your throat, back pushed against a wooden support of the tent you accidentally walked into as the most breathtaking male you’ve ever seen holds you in place, eyes narrowed and hands firm on your shoulder and throat as he stares down at you intensely with bright hazel eyes. 
You didn’t mean to walk into the wrong tent, exhaustion and confusion has taken over your body hours prior and it was an honest mistake to walk up the wrong row of tents in the middle of the night. So, you truly don’t blame the male for holding a knife to your throat. You would’ve done the same if a random fae waltzed into your tent while you were recuperating after battle, considering this is the middle of a Godsforsaken war with Hybern. 
A strained cry breaks from your throat as the bond tugs on your chest for the first time ever, feeling like your heart is about to beat through your ribcage as you stare back at the male in front of you, your mate. 
“Who are you?” he insists, blade pressing harder into your throat as he watches emotionlessly as you cry out once more.
You thrash in his grasp once, the blade slipping across your throat as you throw your head to one side. The male grips your chin to force you to look at him, making the blade slip across your throat once more, the tiniest ripples of blood coming to the surface as you lock eyes with him once more.
“M–Mate,” you whimper, voice barely audible as you stare up at him with terrified eyes, hands trembling as you try to reach for his blade. 
“Mate?”
Those are the only words you hear before you slip into unconsciousness, collapsing into the male’s grasp as he stands there, dumbfounded at your words. 
When you wake, you find yourself slumped in a chair, presumably in the tent that you accidentally entered prior to fainting. You’re faced with a familiar female when you wake, who you slowly realize is the High Lady of the Night Court. She’s standing over you, pressing a damp cloth to the shallow cuts on your throat. Your eyes wander as you process the people you’re currently in the room with, you see two very obviously Illyrian males next to the High Lord of the Night Court on one side of the room along with a tall, beautiful blonde female helping the High Lady with tending to you. 
It takes you a moment, but you slowly realize that you definitely wandered into the High Lord and Lady’s tent thanks to the fatigue from battle. 
On your final scan of the room, you finally comprehend that one of the Illyrian males on the other side of the room is definitely your mate, and it’s definitely the male that’s pacing back and forth in front of the other two while running his hands through his hair frantically. You finally recognize the two males with the High Lord as his General and Spymaster, the Spymaster being the one who bombarded you as you entered the tent, but you can’t remember either of their names in your haze.
You try to sit up straight as soon as you see him, but Feyre gently guides you back in the chair before you can. 
“Azriel,” she calls out, making the male snap his attention towards you. 
He’s next to you in an instant, kneeling next to the chair while peering up at you with those cautious hazel eyes. 
“H–Hi.” is all he says, voice shaky as he speaks. 
“H–Hello.” you stammer, finally sitting up straight in the chair, “My deepest apologies for barging in, I–I promise I thought I walked up the right row of tents, I was just trying to go–”
“It’s alright,” the male in front of you, who you now know to be named Azriel, interjects coolly, shaking his head as he notes the panic in your eyes. “The High Lord knows you mean no harm. He saw what you were trying to do.”
You furrow your brow, unsure what he means by the High Lord seeing what you were trying to do. Before you can question it, Rhysand himself takes a step towards your chair.
“And I saw how much blood you’d lost prior to your walk over to the tents, even before your new-found mate here decided to put a blade to your throat.” Rhysand says, “It’s Y/N, correct?” he asks, and you nod hesitantly, “Would you like to see a healer?”
It’s then that you remember that the High Lord is daemati and definitely infiltrated your mind when you entered the tent, in order to gauge the threat you posed to them. 
You shake your head quickly, a frown pulling on your lips as you’re reminded of the blood pooling beneath your leathers at your hip. You don’t want to see another healer, you’re a damn good healer, but you have to remind yourself that they don’t know that yet. Pain ripples through your side as you twist slightly in the chair to look at Rhysand and you have to force back a grimace as you give him a weak smile. 
“No, I am quite alright. Thank you very much, High Lord.” you say, nodding formally at him before attempting to stand from the chair. “I have plenty of healing and strength tonics back in my tent. I just n–need to wrap it and get some rest for the morning.”
You barely make it one step before stumbling, your mind going hazy and body going shaky due to the lost blood and lack of food or water throughout the day. Azriel is there to catch you as soon as you stumble, strong hands holding your weight up before settling you back into your chair. You see shadows skitter around you as you take a shuddering breath and you wonder if your vision is clouding again. But you soon notice them around Azriel’s hands as well and make a mental note to ask about them once you’re fully conscious and not feeling delusional. 
“It doesn’t seem like you’re fit to go anywhere right now.” Azriel mumbles with a slight growl in his voice, turning away from you immediately after you relax back into the chair. 
He walks over to a table on the other side of the room that’s filled with objects you’d find scattered across your own desk on any given day at work. There’s bottles of tonics, gauze, bandages and even some sutures strewn across the table. It makes sense that the High Lord and his Inner Circle would have their own supplies given to them during the war. 
Azriel takes his time gathering the supplies he needs, then sets them on a table adjacent to the chair before turning his attention back to you. 
“Do you need help, brother?” Rhysand questions, noting Azriel’s furrowed brow as he tries to decide what to do first. “I can call for Madja.”
“No, I can do it.” Azriel grunts insistently, sending a warning glare in Rhysand’s direction. 
There’s a tug in the center of your chest as he speaks, as he unintentionally sends his possessiveness and frustration down the bond to you. Without a word, you send a weak but soothing hum of power down the bond back to him, which makes his brows furrow again, his attention snapping to you instead of the High Lord now. 
The look in his eyes is wild, one filled with shock and awe as he processes what you just did. 
“Did you feel that?” you question softly, eyes wide and watery as your heart feels like it’s going to beat through your chest. 
He only nods, his own eyes wide as his hand rests over his heart. You hear the rest of them behind you beginning to exit, hearing the High Lady suggest that they go visit her sisters to give the two of you space. A feeling of relief washes over you as the tent empties, leaving you alone with Azriel, your mate.
“So it is real,” he says breathlessly, a strangled noise of shock falling from his lips as you tug on the bond once more, “you’re really my mate.”
“I am,” you say in reply, a smile playing on your lips as you gaze up at him, you reach a hand up to his cheek to cup it as you grin as you repeat his words back to him, “you’re my mate.”
The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he notices how shaky your hand is against his cheek. He turns his gaze back to the slew of supplies he has in front of him. You hold back from directing him only for a moment before noticing the look of pure confusion on his face as he reaches for one of the tubs of salve that he’d grabbed. 
“Did Madja give you any strength tonics?” you ask, eyes scanning the table for the distinct bottle of aquamarine liquid that you have in mind. 
You spot it eventually, but can’t reach far enough to grab it, so you point to it for him to hand to you. Azriel does so and watches you closely while you shakily take off the stopper and take a drink from the bottle. You know that you only need to take half of the bottle, because you’d mixed these yourself and the amount in each was enough for male Illyrian warriors, not for an ordinary high fae healer. So you drink half of it and set it back down, noticing the male staring at you with wonder-filled eyes as you do.
There’s a beat of silence in the room as you reach for the healing salve on the table, making quick work of soothing the stinging cuts on your neck from Azriel’s interrogation. He continues to stare as you work on your own wounds, unsure of what he can do to help.
“Are you–” 
“A healer?” you interrupt with a smirk, giggling at the dumbfounded male in front of you. “I’m a healer working under Madja.”
“So you really don’t even need me to help with this, do you?” he questions, a small smile on his lips as he stares down at you soothing the cuts on your neck.
“Normally I wouldn’t,” you jokingly hum in return, “but since my healing abilities are stunted and I can’t twist too well right now to see what’s going on, I will need you to dress my wound.”
Azriel’s eyes widen at your words and he nods quickly, dropping to his knees in front of you again. His hands hovered over your waist, taking in the bloodied gash on your side. Your leathers are tattered in that area and there’s a piece of some other cloth shoved in between the holes of the leather, something you did while trying to keep the bleeding at bay while you fought. Truthfully, you can’t fully remember what caused the wound itself, but you’d rather not remember the traumas of the battlefield you endured over the last few days. 
“May I?” his voice interrupts your thoughts as his hands still wait for your approval to peel your leathers away from the wound. 
You nod silently, inhaling sharply as he pulls the leather away from your waist, tugging it up with your help. There’s blood caked on your skin, so Azriel makes quick work of carefully wiping down the area with a warm washcloth. You wince at the rough feeling of the cloth against your skin, biting back a cry as he continues to clean it. He mumbles apologies to you over and over again, his free hand grabbing for one of yours for you to squeeze.
“Almost done,” he murmurs, his thumb running across the back of your hand as he intently stares at your wound.
He finishes up quickly, pressing some dry gauze to the cut area before turning his gaze to you. Your eyes are watering when they meet his hazel ones, but you still give him a weak smile in return. 
“Now you can stitch me up, right?” you question jokingly.
Azriel misses the joke and the half smile on his face falls slowly at the thought. You giggle at his expression, shaking your head as he stares at you blankly.
“I’m only joking,” you tease, watching him finally relax once you start giggling. “I just need you to wrap me up, okay?”
“Yeah, yes of course.” he replies quickly, reaching for the large roll of bandage to his left to start wrapping it around your waist, “Do you harass all your healing trainees like that?”
There’s a smirk on his face as he places the bandage over the gauze on your side, eyes twinkling as he teases you back. 
“No, only the ones that interrogate me with a knife right before I find out that they’re my mate.” 
______________________________________________________________
Six years later
“Can you believe that it’s been six years since you held me at knife-point with Truth-Teller the first time we met?” you ask your mate, who just emerged from your en-suite bathroom in only a towel.
You’re laying on your side in the middle of your king-sized bed in the middle of your shared bedroom, toying with Truth-Teller that Azriel had left behind on the bedside table. 
“Are you ever gonna let that go?” Azriel says as he walks toward the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he pushes Truth-Teller out of your grasp. “I only did it because I thought you were gonna try to kill Rhys, or even worse, kill Feyre.” 
You gasp at his statement, throwing your hand over your heart dramatically. 
“I would never do such a thing and you know it.” you say with a dramatic frown, propping yourself up on your elbows as he inches closer to you by sitting down next to you. 
“I didn’t know that then,” he says matter-of-factly, “but now I know that you would never do such a thing and that you’re a little too fascinated by Truth-Teller after all that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re turned on by it.”
Your eyes widen at his bold statement, your body flushing with embarrassment as he smirks at you before pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hands caress your sides, fingers gently grazing over your scars from that fated night from over your silk nightgown. You grasp for any part of him that you can, your hands shoving their way into his slightly damp hair to pull him closer. He hums against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. 
He presses your hips down onto his, causing you to moan into the kiss and grind back into him as you feel his half-hard length pressing against your core. His lips trail from your lips, to your cheek, and up to your ear. His breath fans against your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Shadows trail along the hem of your nightgown, pulling the silky fabric up and up and up–
“How would you feel if I used Truth-Teller on you now, huh?” he murmurs against your skin, nibbling on your earlobe as he chuckles, “What if I took the blade and cut this pretty little nightgown off? What if I took the hilt and–”
Azriel’s lewd words are interrupted by a loud banging on your bedroom door, causing you to nearly jump out of his lap as the pounding continues.
“Training in twenty minutes with the Valkyries, asshole.” you hear Cassian’s booming voice call from the other side of the door, “Get your shit done and get out here, I can smell you two from out here.”
“I’ll be there, now fuck off,” Azriel retorts, biting back a smirk as he peers down at you to mumble, “remind me to look into new houses for just us soon.”
A pout pulls your lips down as you make the smallest bit of space between you and your mate, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you become all too aware of your arousal hanging thick in the room.
“Don’t worry, love. We can continue this later,” he hums, bringing his lips to your neck to pepper kisses along the soft skin, “I don’t wanna rush anything today, wanna take my sweet time with my sweet girl.”
The flush of your cheeks deepen as you pull him closer, whining in response to his sensual touch, grinding your hips ever-so-lightly against his as you try to silently convince him to stay with you. He only growls in response, shaking his head at your mischief as he realizes your plan. 
“It’s our anniversary, Az.” you whine, a frown on your lips once more as the scent of your arousal continues to linger around you, enticing your mate more and more with each breath. 
It’s the anniversary of the mating bond snapping into place along with the anniversary of your mating ceremony today. The two of you decided to wait a year to accept the bond in order to get to know each other, and you’ve been inseparable since.
“I know, love.” he coos gently, hand coming up to your cheek to stroke it gently. “That’s why I wanna take my time with you, wanna make sure my perfect girl is taken care of in every way possible tonight. Can you be a good little mate and hold out until after dinner with the family?”
You continue to frown at your mate, but nod at him slowly. He smiles in return, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before gripping your hips to remove you from his lap and place you back on the bed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to training?” Azriel asks as he stands, reaching for his coveted blade as he stands over you. “I could bring Truth-Teller out to play just for you.”
You narrow your eyes at him, trying to ignore the familiar yet strange feeling of dread roiling within your gut as you try to feign annoyance with your mate. You shake your head at him wordlessly, rolling your eyes playfully when he shoots a lighthearted smirk in your direction. He’s only teasing you and you both know it, but the thought of training for battle does not sit right with you anymore, especially after you swore to him five years ago that he’d protect you forever, and that you’d never have to be on the front lines of war again. You could continue your duties as a healer for as long as you pleased, and would never have to worry about defending yourself, as your very own shadowsinger would do so for you. 
Ever since sustaining your injury six years prior, your body has never been the same. The injury you sustained was so intense that even the powers of you and Madja combined couldn’t heal the skin of your waist fully, nor could the two of you completely repair the damage to your hip bone that fractured from the impact of whatever took a chunk out of you. You can’t move as freely as you once could, though it doesn’t stop you from many things now aside from training, which you’ve only attempted once. 
“I’m only joking, love.” he reassures you, seeing the dimming light in your eyes as you drift off into thought at the idea of training. His hand runs along your side reflexively, as if his own scarred hands can heal the scarred skin of your waist. He plants one soft kiss on your lips before pulling away, taking you in as he smiles, “I love you, happy anniversary.” 
“Happy anniversary, Az. I love you so much.” you murmur, watching as your mate continues to get ready for the day. 
The day flies by quickly, filled mostly with fulfilling orders from Madja for illness tonics and salves in preparation for the coldest months in Prythian. It’s all a blur to you in all honesty, your mate being the only thing on your mind all day as you try to preoccupy yourself with busy work until it’s time to go to the River House for dinner.
It’s only 4:30 in the evening by the time you finish putting the rest of the salves into their tins. But you still decide to head to the River House a little early in order to speak to Feyre regarding an experimental tonic the two of you had brainstormed about a few weeks prior. 
She had commissioned you to do some research on non-Illyrian females giving birth to half-Illyrian children if there was any magic that could help to make the process less life-threatening. The High Lady never specifically asked you to make anything, just to research the topic, but you found a mix of tonics that would potentially help with flexibility and strength of a female’s bones during pregnancy in order to prevent major complications with the Illyrian wings and couldn’t help but start experimenting right away. 
It was a topic dear to your heart and you were more than grateful for Feyre’s commission, as you’d been told by Madja multiple times that it’s very possible that you’d never be able to mother Azriel’s children, especially due to the injuries you sustained in battle damaging your hip and pelvis. You’d hoped that this could be the cure for your feelings of inadequacy in being able to give your mate a child, but Madja still warns you to be careful and to wait as long as possible before deciding to try for a child in order to make sure you are truly healed. 
Despite the ringing thoughts of inadequacy in your brain after finishing the tonic, you nearly floated with excitement over to the River House at the end of your day, feeling beyond excited to tell Feyre the great news about your work-in-progress.
You enter the River House and are greeted with the smell of fresh pastries and a crackling fireplace. One turn into the drawing room and you spot Feyre lounging on the couch while Nesta plays with Nyx in the middle of the floor. Rhysand enters the room from the other direction as you do, three glasses of wine in hand as he strolls toward the couch to sit with his mate. Your chest blooms with warmth at the sight in front of you, admiring your found family that you lucked into becoming part of just a few years ago. 
Feyre is the first to notice you enter the room, greeting you with a grin as she motions for you to come in. You sit on the couch that’s facing the one the mates are sitting on, quietly greeting the others in the room as you settle. 
Nyx all but abandons Nesta when you come in, waddling over to you to give your legs a hug. You giggle at the boy, grabbing him under his arms to pull him into your lap and give him a proper hug giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You’re here early today,” Rhys notes, summoning a fourth glass of wine for you before handing it to you. 
“I finished with my work early today, and had some exciting news to tell the High Lady that I wanted to share before dinner.” you retort with a smile, bouncing the toddler on your knee as you speak. 
Feyre’s eyes narrow at you as you call her by her formal title, but it’s so second nature to you that you almost always slip up when referring to her in conversation. You give her an apologetic look but her mood quickly changes once she realizes what you’re referring to.
“Oh, what have you found?” she says excitedly, sitting up straight as if that would help her hear your response any better. “Any good ideas for us to look into?”
“Actually, I have something better than good ideas to look into,” you say, reaching your hand into the bag at your side, pulling out a small vial of a cherry red tonic to show the three in front of you. 
“Is that–”
You nod slowly and hum in response, swirling the liquid in the vial before handing it to Feyre. She inspects it with wide, wonder-filled eyes as it sloshes in the tube. Nesta and Rhys crane their necks to look as well, both confused about the content of the vial.
“If it does what it is meant to do, it should be able to widen the pelvis of non-Illyrian females in order to aid in the birth of winged babes and make the process easier on our bodies.” you start, a bittersweet smile on your face as you catch yourself using the word our, referring to yourself as one of the females, though you know how unlikely it is that you’ll be able to. “It is supposed to help with the flexibility of the bone and grow the bone outward in order to accommodate the wings. We–We just need to complete some trials on non-pregnant females to confirm that it does what we want it to do before we can start advertising it to the public–”
“I’ll volunteer,” Nesta says, eyes wide as her own eagerness takes her aback. “I mean–If you need volunteers, I would love to help.”
“Of course, Nes.” you say with a smile, “You’ll be the first person on my list to contact when we’re ready for volunteers.”
“And what about you?” Rhysand interjects, taking a sip of wine as he peers over at you with nothing but pure interest and amusement in his eyes. “Would this be able to help you with childbirth, given your situation?”
Feyre immediately elbows her mate in the ribs, giving him a sidelong glare as she does. You know his curiosity is genuine and he means no harm by asking the question, but the thought alone feels like a knife through the heart. 
As you open your mouth to answer him, the doors to the house swing open, a booming voice flowing through the lower level as Cassian and Azriel enter. You thank the Cauldron in that moment for Cassian’s loud mouth, turning your attention to the two males strolling into the drawing room. 
Your mate’s eyes meet your own instantly, brow furrowed as he looks down to you, able to feel your discomfort, thanks to the conversation they’d interrupted, through the bond. You give him a weak, but reassuring smile, tugging on the bond lightly as if to tell him that you’re fine. 
“We thought we’d find you two here,” Cassian says to you and his mate, pulling Nesta into an embrace when she stands to greet him. “Neither of you can go a full day without seeing your precious Nyx, can you?” 
You smile down at the giggling boy in your lap, little wings flapping happily behind him as Cassian comes behind him to poke him teasingly. 
“As much as I love this little babe, I know my rightful place,” you laugh, standing from the couch to hand the child over to Nesta. “I know I’m quite far down on the list of favorites, especially since Auntie Nes is 1000% his number one.” 
Nesta hums in approval as she holds the little boy close, cooing as he plops his head down on her shoulder. 
Azriel makes his way over to you, his shadows immediately greeting you with lingering touches and whispers in your ears. His wing closest to you nearly wraps all the way around you like a protective shield, covering your back as he pulls you to his side to press a kiss to your forehead.
“Are you alright?” he mumbles against your skin and you nod, feeling better now that your mate is by your side again, especially when he sends a soothing hum down the bond to you. 
The rest of the night goes by smoothly, with flowing drinks and a bountiful feast. You told Feyre a thousand times that she did not have to do all of this just to celebrate your five year mating ceremony anniversary, but she insisted. It’s just you, Nesta, Feyre and your mates, and Nyx, present for dinner this time, as the others have other obligations. 
You don’t mind, though, since sometimes it’s overwhelming with all of the Inner Circle, including Varian and Lucien following their lovers around like lost puppies, present for dinners. So you’re grateful for the somewhat smaller crowd, meaning there are less people around to ask prying questions about your job, about your life before meeting Azriel, or–your least favorite–about what Azriel is like in bed. Those questions typically come from Mor or Amren after a few too many glasses of fae wine, but you’re grateful for the break from them for the time being.
You don’t miss the way your mate sneaks glances at you all night, sending his shadows to tease you and play with the crushed velvet of your skirts while acting engrossed by conversation with Nesta, using his own strong hand on your thigh to tease you. 
By the time desserts roll out, you’re having a hard time sitting still under his touch, ready to head back to the House of Wind to continue whatever you had started with him earlier in the day. You’re shifting back and forth in your seat while trying to focus on the chocolate tart in front of you when you feel a strong hand squeeze your thigh once again, making you snap your attention to your mate. 
Azriel smirks down at you, reaching his free hand to your cheek to stroke it gently. Your knee brushes his leg as he massages your thigh gently, pushing your knee against the sheath holding Truth-Teller flush to his outer thigh while a wicked smirk plays on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s damn near driving you insane.
“Are you going to be okay to leave after you finish your dessert, love?” he questions, feigning innocence as he knows at least Nesta and Cassian are listening to him from the seats on the other side of you. “I’m exhausted from training today.”
You nod quietly, keeping a cool and collected expression on your face while you tug on the bond between your souls sensually.
It’s only 8 in the evening by the time Az is shooting into the sky with you in his arms, two hours earlier than the two of you usually are leaving the River House on a family dinner night. He typically has to drag you out of the drawing room after multiple drinks with Feyre and Cassian, but this time you’re the one dragging him out. 
He doesn’t even bother entering the House of Wind through the front, just flies straight onto the balcony outside your bedroom, pushing the door open quickly as he sets you down gently. 
Before you can pounce, he turns away from you and walks over to his desk on the other side of the room, rummaging through the top drawer. He pulls out a black rectangular box that’s a little longer than his hand, adorned with a golden ribbon. You frown as he turns back around, shaking your head at him.
“Az, we said no gifts.” you say, brows furrowing as he runs his hand along the edges of the box nervously. “I–I didn’t get you anything.”
“I know, I didn’t want you to get me anything,” he says firmly, hazel eyes flaring with love and intensity as he stares down at you. “I–I just wanted to give you this, it’s something I’ve had for a long time and haven’t really known what to do with, until now.”
He’s firm in his movements as he places the box into your hands, not letting go until you accept the gift. You eventually grab it, a frown crossing your face as you look down at the box.
You choose not to argue with him anymore, giving in to his intense gaze as you tug on the golden ribbon to free the lid for the box. In all honesty, you’re expecting some kind of jewelry, some delicate and historic necklace that he’s had for centuries. What you’re not expecting to find on the other side of the black lid is a dagger. 
Lying within a blanket of velvet inside of the box is a silver dagger, one with a braided silver and gold hilt adorned with large white and golden-yellow gemstones in an intricate pattern imitating starlight all the way from the pommel down to the cross-guard. A gasp falls from your lips as you take in the beauty of the weapon in the box, unsure of what to say.
“I was given this dagger centuries ago by my mother. She told me she knew I would never use it myself because my hands had nearly outgrown it by the time she gave it to me, but she knew that I would find the perfect person to give it to.” Azriel says, unsheathing Truth-Teller to place it next to the box in your hand. “I think deep down she knew that I would meet you, love.”
The dagger within the box is almost an exact replica of Truth-Teller in shape and form but not size, only the color of the gemstones embedded in the metal and the gold-adorned hilt of the smaller one setting the two apart. 
The two blades seem to hum when set next to each other, as if they were Made together, as if they were twin flames, as if they were mates. You can feel the vibration in your hands along with in your own soul as you stare down at the gift in wonder.
“Az, I–I can’t take this from you,” you say, finally looking back up at him with teary eyes, “I know how much your daggers mean to you, I don’t want to take one from you.”
“My lightsinger,” Azriel nearly whispers to you, his free hand coming up to brush through your hair, “my beautiful mate, can’t you see?”
You smile gently at the nickname, one he’d given you shortly after the two of you had met. He’d told you that he thought you were a lightsingerwhen you walked into the tent that evening, joking that you were just like the faeries living in the Bog of Oorid in the way that you lured him in immediately. The nickname stuck, especially after the first time he’d watched you heal Nyx, seeing the bright light flowing from your fingers as you healed the boy’s scraped knee to ease his pitiful sobs. 
“Can’t you feel it, love? This dagger was made for you, it took me so long to realize it, but I just know this was made for you. It sings to Truth-Teller, just like your soul sings to mine. You are the light to my shadows, I–I really never thought I would find you in this lifetime, but then you just stumbled into that damn tent six years ago and my life has been so much better since. I was stuck in a constant state of darkness with no real purpose in sight until this bond snapped into place, but now I can see what my life is meant to be spent with you.” he continues, cupping your cheek. 
For a man of few words, Azriel always knows how to make you melt. Without a word, you pull him down for a gentle kiss, feeling the two daggers hum in rhythm with your bond between your bodies. You pull away from the kiss to peer up at him, eyes glowing with love and warmth.
“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, pulling him close as his shadows skitter over your hand that’s touching his cheek. “My shadowsinger, my mate.”
He doesn’t say anything as he wraps one arm around your waist, the other pulling the daggers from your grasp. He sets you and the blades onto the edge of the bed, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you deeply.
“Can we finally finish what we started earlier today?” you tease against his lips, earning a chuckle from the shadowsinger.
“I think we need to finish the conversation we were having earlier before we continue anything else, yeah?” he murmurs, trailing kisses along the smooth skin of your neck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum innocently, grinding your hips up into his eagerly. 
“Hmm, you don’t?” he questions, blindly searching for the blade he’d strewn onto the bed next to you with his free hand before running it along your arm. You gasp at the contact, the coolness of the blade making your skin erupt in goosebumps, “Does this jog your memory at all, love?”
You open your mouth to make a teasing comment to your mate, but he trails the blade from your arm and up to your chest, stopping at the hem of your shirt laying between your breasts.
“Do you want me to use my blade on you?” he questions, voice low and sultry as he speaks, “I see the way you watch when I train with Truth-Teller, I can feel the way it makes your heart race every time I pull it out. I see how disappointed you get when I take it off my hip when I come into the bedroom, love.” he continues, the tip of the blade drawing tiny circles on your chest as your breathing grows heavy. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
You stare up at him with lust-filled eyes, pupils blown as you think about what’s about to happen. He gives you an encouraging yet lustful look in return, tugging on the bond between your souls to tell you how much he needs you. His shadows trail around you as well, tendrils swirling by your ears and down near your breasts excitedly to spur you on. 
“I–I want you to use Truth-Teller on me, Az.” you admit finally, a blush spreading over your cheeks at the confession. 
“How would you like me to use it, love? You gotta use your words or I won’t know what you want.” he coaxes, a smirk playing on his lips as he tries to get you to elaborate, since it always took much encouragement from the foul-mouthed shadowsinger to get you to talk dirty with him. 
“Want you t–to fuck me with it, u–use the hilt to fuck me.” you murmur, eyes falling to avoid his as the words fall from your lips. “Want you to cut my clothes off with it and–and then fuck me, mark me as yours, Az.”
He hums happily at your confession, one hand coming up to grip your chin. Your eyes meet his and you notice that something’s changed, something dark and lustful taking over his gaze as he trails the blade from the exposed skin of your chest towards the ruffled neckline of your pale marigold dress. Your breath catches as the blade digs into the velvet, easily creating a small nick in the fabric.
“This dress is one of my favorites on you,” Azriel states in an almost disappointed tone as he watches the blade slowly separating the bust of the dress, “but I guess I’ll just have to find a really good seamstress to make you a new one because I need to get this off of you, right now.”
Before you can process the scene unfolding, Azriel uses one swift flick of Truth-Teller to split the velvet all the way down to your navel, and one more to separate the skirt. His eyes are wide as he shoves the fabric from your body, helping you as you tug your arms out of the sleeves, leaving you in only a glittering navy blue bralette and thong, picked out specially for him. 
“You’re incredible,” the shadowsinger breathes out, feverishly pressing his lips to yours again once he takes in your figure below him.
Your heart races as you raise your hips up, grinding against his clothed cock while he trails Truth-Teller over your bare hip. He groans into your mouth before pulling away from the kiss, gently removing your legs from around his hips to spread them for you. Shadows work on your bralette as he moves the blade, unbuttoning the back of it so you can quickly toss it off, leaving you in only the glittering navy thong.
Truth-Teller is in Azriel’s hand as he takes a half-step away from you in order to trail the blade down to your core, the cool metal against your heat causing you to squirm slightly. He smirks at you as he flips the dagger around, hand on the blade as he presses the hilt against your clit. 
“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” he questions seriously, watching you closely for any signs of hesitation. He finds none as you shake your head firmly.
“Yes, Az.” you nearly whine as it takes everything in you to keep your hips on the bed, feeling like you’re going to implode if he waits another minute to touch you. “I need you..need Truth-Teller, please.” 
“Nuh-uh, love. I gotta hear what you want.” he purrs, a smirk playing on his lips as he holds your hips in place with one hand while pressing the dagger against your clit with the other, “Gotta tell me what you need from me and Truth-Teller.”
It takes everything in you not to scream as he urges you to beg for him, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at your mate. His hazel eyes are blown with lust as he continues his relentless teasing, getting pleasure from you begging for him.
“P–Please,” is all you can say as your mind becomes fogged by desire, eyes glassy as you beg.
“Use your words, love.” he prods again, a wild smirk on his face as he watches you becoming a mess beneath him. He knows you love submitting to him like this, and loves watching you give in to his every desire, loves watching you give up all control in order to please him. 
“I don’t know what you want when you just sit there and whine at me,” he teases, removing Truth-Teller from your core to move it towards your lips. “For all I know, you could want me to fuck your face with it.”
He catches the way your eyes flare slightly with interest at his suggestion, the way your lips part slightly as if you’re ready to take the hilt in your mouth instead. He knows you’re close to giving in again just from the way you can’t take your eyes off of him, the look in your eyes showing him that you’ll do anything for him.
A low chuckle falls from his lips as your mouth falls open when the pommel presses against your plump lips, allowing him to slide the hilt into your mouth with ease. Your lips close around the metal and he presses it to the back of your throat, slowly pumping it in and out as you whine around it.
“This isn’t what you really want, is it?” he questions and you hum around the hilt and shake your head slowly. “That’s what I thought. Once I take this out of your mouth, you have five seconds to tell me what you want, or you don’t get to cum at all tonight, got it?”
You nod obediently up at him, heart swelling with pride as he smiles sweetly down at you. 
“Good girl.” he whispers, finally pulling Truth-Teller out of your mouth for you to speak.
“Want you to fuck me with Truth-Teller, Sir.” you beg almost immediately, “Please, I–I need to feel it, wanna cum on your dagger, wanna be your good girl.”
“Oh, I can’t say no when you ask so sweetly, can I?” he coos at you as he pulls your panties away from your core, making room for his fingers on your clit and the hilt of the dagger against your entrance. “Now, be a good girl for me and stay still, sweetheart.”
He presses the pommel into your cunt, groaning as he watches your heat swallow the metal so well. A cry of pleasure falls from your lips as the hilt is pushed deeper into you, mouth falling open as you squeeze your eyes shut. That familiar feeling coils in your core as the hilt reaches your cervix, pent up from all the teasing you endured leading up to this moment. 
“Look at you, already ready to fall apart on my dagger. Such a good slut for me,” he remarks, pumping the blade into you at a steady pace. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say so, alright?”
“Yes, Sir!” you whine, nodding feverishly as you squirm.
Azriel watches in wonder as you take the entire hilt of the blade, your hips bouncing in rhythm with his thrusts. He can tell you’re fighting hard to hold back your orgasm, getting even more turned on by the tears of pleasure and frustration pricking the corners of your eyes as you bite your lip harshly. 
“Love when you take what I give you and listen so well,” he praises, increasing the speed of his thrusts as you begin to chant his name mindlessly, “My beautiful little mate.”
“P–Please, Sir.” you beg, eyes opening quickly and hips snapping roughly as you feel the shadows begin to work on your clit when Azriel takes his hand away to palm himself through his pants. “I wanna cum for you, please!”
“That’s it, love.” he coaxes as you don’t dare to look away from him, watching as he smirks down at you approvingly, “C’mon, cum on my blade.”
You don’t have to be told twice, your release immediately washing over your whole body as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. Azriel wraps an arm around your waist as you squirm beneath him, pumping Truth-Teller into you at an unforgiving pace to fuck you through your orgasm. He kisses your neck gently, whispering praises in your ear that you can’t hear over the shout that falls from your lips. He doesn’t stop moving until you’re almost begging him to, squirming beneath him to get away from his relentless touches. 
“Did so good for me.” he murmurs against your skin, planting one last kiss against your neck before pulling away from you completely and placing Truth-Teller next to you on the bed. “Think you can give me another?”
You watch in a daze as he strips, discarding his clothes quickly before returning to the foot of the bed. In his own lustful daze, he begins to sheath himself into you immediately upon stripping, but stops himself when he looks down to see you blinking up at him slowly. He relaxes for a moment, reaching to stroke your cheek gently to bring you back to him. 
“Need your color, love.” he coos, smiling down at you sweetly.
“Green, Az.” you say confidently as you nuzzle against his hand, “Need you so bad, Az, please.”
He hums in response, leaning down to kiss you gently as he pushes into you, one hand toying with your clit as he does. You both groan at the feeling, his cock filling you to the brim, unlike the hilt of Truth-Teller that didn’t have the same thickness.
“F–Fuck,” he groans, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “You feel so good, love. Don’t know how long I’ll last.”
He couldn’t lie, watching you get off on Truth-Teller turned him on so much more than it should have. It turned him on so much that he’d almost cum in his pants at the sight of you, so he’s on the brink of cumming just from being inside your warmth for a few strokes. 
“Want you to cum in me, Az.” you whine, desperate to feel him, in love with the sight of your mate marking you as his. “Please, cum inside me. I’m close again too. Make me yours all over again.”
He nods wordlessly, speeding up his thrusts as you coax him now, the feeling of you clenching around him spurring him on even more. You wrap your legs around his waist, digging your fingers into his shoulder while you moan, his name falling from your lips like a chant. 
It isn’t long before his hips are stuttering, thrusts becoming erratic as he reaches his own climax. You’re not far behind, feeling his cum coating your walls making you cum quickly as you hold onto him tightly. 
“Gods,” he mumbles as he collapses against you, your sweat-slick bodies flush against each other as you feel your heart beating in time with his. “You’re unbelievable.”
You hum tiredly in response, trying to fight your weariness for long enough to get ready for bed. Azriel can tell that you’re exhausted as he pulls away, and he knows what he has to do. He plants a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulls his half-hard cock from your cunt, making you whine at the loss of contact. 
Before you can protest, he’s walking towards the en-suite bathroom to draw you a bath, though the House is already one step ahead of him. There’s already a steaming bath running, along with a bottle of fae wine and two glasses sitting next to the tub, ready for the two of you to clean off. 
Azriel quietly thanks the House and returns to where you’re sprawled out on the bed. You give him a tired smile as he reaches for you, stroking your hair to get your attention. 
“Let’s take a bath before you fall asleep, alright?” he suggests and you nod, willingly letting him pick you up bridal-style to carry you to the bathroom.
You wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling against his bare chest as he carries you effortlessly, “I love you, my shadowsinger.” “And I love you, my lightsinger.”
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imjustreadinglmao · 5 months ago
Text
BLUE
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Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader
Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?
PART I
word count: 3k
A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)
Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)
part 2
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I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.
The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.
Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.
Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.
Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.
In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.
“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”
I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”
Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”
I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.
Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.
I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.
“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.
As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.
“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.
I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”
Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.
“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.
Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”
I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.
———————
I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.
“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.
“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.
Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.
I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.
Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.
I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.
Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.
I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.
To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.
I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.
Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.
Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.
“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”
He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.
That’s how I look at him.
—————————
“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.
I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”
He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”
I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”
Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.
I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.
After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.
It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.
There is really only one downside.
“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.
Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.
“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.
I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.
Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.
Him.
——————
The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.
Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.
Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.
“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”
He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.
Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”
A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.
There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.
The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.
But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.
“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”
Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.
“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”
Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”
I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.
“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.
“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”
His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.
“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”
“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”
Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”
Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”
Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”
The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.
“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.
“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”
Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.
“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”
Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”
I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.
Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”
The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.
Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.
I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.
---
The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.
I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.
I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.
Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”
I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”
He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.
Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”
Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”
“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”
Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”
I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”
Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”
A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.
“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”
Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”
He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”
As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.
—————————
The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.
Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.
To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.
Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.
Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.
“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”
Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”
Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”
Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”
Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”
I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.
Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”
Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”
Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”
Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”
Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”
There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.
Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”
As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”
He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”
He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”
Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.
“Ready.”
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moonlitstoriess · 1 month ago
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Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1
Part 2 here
Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.
Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst
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The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.
Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.
Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.
Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.
Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.
“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.
Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.
For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.
They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.
The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.
She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.
They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.
She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.
“Naga?”
Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.
She shook her head. “Attor.”
He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.
“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”
Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.
He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.
“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”
Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.
Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.
But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.
She was wrong; this happened again.
This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.
In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.
Her greatest nightmare came true.
She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.
And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.
Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”
Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.
Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.
"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"
That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.
"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."
Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.
That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.
The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.
Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.
She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.
“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.
“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.
A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.
Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.
He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”
She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.
She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.
“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.
For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.
“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”
He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”
It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.
Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.
As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”
Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.
“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”
Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?
“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”
“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”
She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.
Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.
She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.
Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.
They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.
“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”
Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”
Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”
Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.
She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”
Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”
There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.
Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.
And, for now, that was enough.
After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.
Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.
They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.
One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.
Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”
Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”
He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”
“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”
Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”
She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”
He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”
“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”
He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”
From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.
Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.
With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.
Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.
In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.
They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.
Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.
On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.
“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.
For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”
The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.
Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”
But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.
As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.
But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.
Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?
As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.
What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.
It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.
Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.
But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.
Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.
Rhysand was her mate.
The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…
Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.
Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.
Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.
As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.
At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.
The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.
But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.
Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.
She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.
The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?
And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.
The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.
Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.
The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.
When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.
He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.
Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.
And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.
Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.
Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.
“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.
Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”
“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.
There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”
Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.
Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”
Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.
The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.
Everyone except her.
She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.
And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.
Rhysand and Feyre.
They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.
Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.
Just silence.
She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.
Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.
As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.
She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.
With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.
Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.
She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.
Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.
The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.
The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.
And Y/n? She would be forgotten.
The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.
For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.
By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.
Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.
She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.
As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.
Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.
Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.
For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.
The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.
She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.
Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.
There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.
Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.
The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.
And now, she was ready to let go.
With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.
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soulofapatrick · 1 month ago
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Snap into place - Azriel x female reader
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Summary: You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place
Words: 2.7K
Warnings: None really; heated make out session
Notes; debating on a smutty part two...
Y/N's POV
I land softly in the grand dining room of the House of Wind, the air thick with the scent of fresh herbs and a hint of something sweet. Rhysand’s arms release me gently, and I steady myself on my feet, my heart racing from the exhilaration of flying through the skies of Velaris. The room is filled with soft, glowing light, casting an inviting warmth over the beautifully arranged table. A high ceiling adorned with intricate carvings seems to echo with laughter and conversation.
Before I can take in my surroundings fully, a stunning figure catches my eye. A woman with long, flowing blonde hair and striking features stands nearby, wearing a form-fitting red dress that barely conceals anything in the front. It clings to her curves, exuding confidence and allure.
“Ah, my cousin,” Rhysand announces, his voice filled with warmth. “This is Morrigan—though everyone just calls her Mor.”
Before I can respond, Mor crosses the room in a heartbeat, pulling me into a fierce hug. Her laughter is bright and infectious. “Welcome! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice a melodic blend of mischief and sincerity. I feel an instant warmth in her embrace, a sense of belonging I didn’t expect.
“Thank you,” I manage to say as she releases me, taking a step back with a bright smile that makes her appear even more radiant.
Feyre steps forward, her expression friendly and open. “Let me introduce you to my sisters,” she says, guiding me toward a small group nearby.
Nesta stands with her arms crossed, an aura of guardedness surrounding her. She meets my gaze with a sharp look, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. “You’re Rhysand’s guest?” she asks, her tone skeptical.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to match her intensity with a friendly smile.
Elain, their sister, smiles softly at me. She has an ethereal quality, with gentle features that instantly make me feel at ease. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says sweetly, her voice warm and inviting. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
I nod, feeling a flicker of appreciation for her kindness.
Cassian stands next to Nesta, his muscular frame radiating strength and energy. He grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t let her intimidate you,” he teases, motioning toward Nesta. “She’s really just a big softie at heart.”
“Hardly,” Nesta retorts, rolling her eyes but the corners of her mouth lift slightly.
As they all welcome me, I feel a tug in my chest, an inexplicable pull that draws my attention across the room. I turn my head, and my breath catches in my throat. Another Illyrian soldier stands there, much like Cassian but not. His arms are crossed over his toned chest, looking out the large windows at the stars. His dark hair catches the light, and there’s an air of quiet strength about him. He seems lost in thought, his posture relaxed yet commanding.
“Azriel,” Rhys speaks to his friend, his tone light but expectant. “Won’t you greet our guest?”
Azriel turns slowly toward me, and I find myself momentarily entranced. He is classically beautiful, though nearly unreadable, an enigma wrapped in shadows. He stands tall, his dark hair tousled and framing his face perfectly. Golden-brown skin gleams softly in the warm light, and his massive Illyrian wings are folded elegantly behind him, giving him an imposing yet graceful presence. The planes of his face are striking—high cheekbones, a strong jawline—carved by years of rigorous training. His hazel eyes, a blend of green and gold, hold a depth that makes my breath catch.
As our eyes lock, that tugging sensation in my chest intensifies, pulling me closer to him, and then—snap. It’s as if an invisible bond has snapped into place, an undeniable connection that leaves me momentarily off-balance. I stumble, my breath hitching, and I reach out instinctively for support.
Rhysand’s violet eyes widen with concern as he steps closer, his hand steadying me. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.
I nod quickly, but my attention is drawn back to Azriel, who steps toward me in large, graceful strides, closing the distance between us with an effortless fluidity that only heightens the charged atmosphere.
He reaches out, taking my right hand in his scarred one, the warmth of his touch igniting a thousand sensations within me. Then, with a deep bow, he bends slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice low and velvety, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.
At his touch, a wave of emotions floods through me. I can feel everything he feels—an undercurrent of fear at this unexpected connection, a deep anticipation for my response, and there, beneath it all, an undeniable want and lust that makes my cheeks heat with embarrassment. It’s as if our souls are whispering secrets to one another, threading together in an intricate dance of intimacy and longing.
I try to pull my hand back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions coursing through the bond, but he holds my gaze, and I find myself rooted to the spot, caught in the depths of his hazel eyes. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of sensations that leaves me breathless and wanting more.
I glance down at Azriel’s scarred hands, tracing my thumb along the rough texture of his skin. The warmth of his touch sends a soft shudder through him, and I feel it travel down the bond between us—a wave of heat that washes over me, igniting something deep within. It’s an intimate gesture, one that feels both innocent and charged with unspoken promises.
But suddenly, I feel something else—claws prying at the edges of my mind, a persistent probing that sends a shiver down my spine. I snap my head to the side, my eyes landing on Rhys and Feyre. Rhys stands with his head tilted slightly, a focused expression on his face as he tries to break through my mental shields, searching for what I’m thinking and sensing what’s happening between Azriel and me.
“Rhys!” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “Get out of my head!”
His bright violet eyes widen in surprise, but there’s no malice behind his glare—just concern and curiosity.
I squeeze Azriel’s hand slightly, seeking comfort in his presence as I feel the bond shift, allowing a flicker of privacy to return. With a subtle sigh, Azriel finally lets me go, his grip loosening but the warmth lingering on my skin.
With the weight of too many eyes on me, I feel exposed and overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of it all. I take a step back, my heart racing. “I need some air,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. Without waiting for a response, I move toward the balcony, seeking solace in the open air. The stars shimmer above me, bright and unyielding against the velvet backdrop of the night sky. The cool breeze nips at my skin, sending a shiver through me, and I realize with a pang that I shouldn’t have let Feyre dress me up so much; the delicate fabric feels too thin against the chill.
I take a deep breath, looking up at the stars, trying to quell the turmoil in my head. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined, each twinkling light a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond this moment. The Night Court is far more peaceful than anyone ever says it is, a soothing embrace of tranquility that wraps around me, lulling my racing heart.
But then, just as I begin to gather my thoughts, I feel the presence behind me. Scarred hands rest on the balcony railing between mine, and a solid body presses against me, immediately calming the raging thoughts and anxiety within me. It’s as if now that Azriel has been found as my mate, he can calm me with just a touch. My parents always told me stories about mates, about how their presence could soothe even the most tumultuous of storms.
Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. The heat radiating from him envelops me, grounding me in the moment. I seem to fall back against him instinctively, feeling the solid strength of his body as he envelops me in a comforting warmth. I breathe him in—the scent of dark wood, cool night air, and something uniquely him that sends my heart racing anew.
I take a deep breath, letting my eyes slide shut as the back of my head rests against his shoulder, feeling his presence wrap around me like a protective shroud. I can’t help but open my mind to him, allowing our connection to deepen. I show him every thought I’ve ever had about mates—the way my parents were so perfectly entwined, the love that seemed to glow around them like a beacon. I share my awe from moments ago, the overwhelming rush of emotions when our eyes first met.
I can feel him absorbing my thoughts, understanding the weight of them as they flit through our bond like soft whispers. And as I let go of my worries and fears, I realise that in this moment, with Azriel, everything feels right. The bond between us is no longer just a connection; it is a sanctuary.
When I finally open my eyes, I realize it’s not just Azriel’s presence wrapping around me but his massive wings have unfurled, forming a dark cocoon around us. They block out the view of the dining room and the curious gazes of the others, creating a sanctuary that offers me the privacy I’ve always craved, especially in gatherings like this one. I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and now, in this moment, I’m grateful for his instinct to shield us.
His wings are magnificent—dark and leathery, reminiscent of a bat’s, stretching wide to envelop us in shadow. The texture is smooth yet powerful, each wingbone prominent and elegant. I slowly turn to face him, our bodies close but still connected through the warmth of his wings. His arms remain on the balcony railing, and the soft look on his face takes my breath away. There’s something in his gaze, a mix of vulnerability and fierce desire, that makes my heart race.
I reach out tentatively, fingers brushing against one of his wings. At my touch, he lets out a breathy sound, a mixture of surprise and something deeper. A surge of sexual want travels straight through the bond between us, igniting every nerve ending in my body and leaving me breathless.
Azriel’s hazel eyes flutter open a moment later, the warm color gone so dark they’re almost black, filled with an intensity that makes me shiver. His voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, the words rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret. “I need to kiss you.” There’s a desperation in his tone, almost like a plea, and my hands instinctively reach up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.
In that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of us in our private world. His hands finally move, wrapping around me with a possessive tenderness that makes my heart leap. He pulls me closer, pressing my hips into the balcony railing, creating an exhilarating friction between us. One hand weaves into my hair, the other slips to my thigh, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his waist as if to draw me even nearer.
And then, as if the world outside has disappeared, he dives down and kisses me like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe. His lips are soft yet insistent, sending sparks of electricity through my body. The taste of him is intoxicating—warm and rich, like dark chocolate laced with a hint of something sweet. With every brush of his mouth against mine, I feel my heart race, igniting a fire within me that spreads from my chest to my fingertips, making me dizzy with desire.
I can’t seem to get enough of him. My hands instinctively roam over the contours of his back, searching for a break in his Illyrian armor, eager to find hot, bare golden skin beneath. I’m met only with cool metal and the hard lines of his physique, a growl of frustration escaping me when I can’t reach my destination. The sound draws a deep chuckle from him, vibrating through our connection and sending shivers down my spine.
As we pull apart just enough for him to speak, I’m breathless. “I have waited hundreds of years for you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion and longing. The weight of those words settles over us, filled with the gravity of a bond forged over lifetimes.
Before I can process what he means, he surges forward again, crashing his mouth against mine with a heat and passion that sends my mind reeling. I feel every dip and curve of his body pressed against mine, the solid strength of him overwhelming me in the best way possible. I don’t care how hard the railing is digging into my back; everything Azriel is consuming me, and I want him—no, I need him—right here and right now.
A low sound of agreement rumbles in his chest, deep and resonant, making my insides flutter with excitement. But just as I lose myself in the warmth of his embrace, a sudden clearing of the throat outside our cocoon of wings startles me, and I yelp with fear, pulling back from the kiss.
“Darlings!” comes the voice, sickly sweet and teasing. Rhys’. “As hot and amusing as this is, please do whatever this is somewhere else where your mental shields won’t go down and blast unwanted thoughts my way.”
I glance over at Rhysand, who stands just outside the shadow of Azriel’s wings, a smirk playing on his lips. His violet eyes dance with mischief as he takes in the scene, clearly amused by our moment. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, my heart still racing from both the kiss and the unexpected interruption.
Azriel's presence remains a steady anchor behind me, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me in a comforting embrace. Despite Rhys's teasing, I can’t shake the feeling of exhilaration coursing through my veins.
Without breaking the intense gaze between us, Azriel flips Rhys the bird over his shoulder, a smirk dancing on his lips. It’s a surprisingly playful gesture from someone as serious as him, and it sends a flutter of laughter through me, lightening the tension in the air.
Then, with a sudden and fluid motion, he scoops me up in his arms, mirroring how Rhysand had carried me here. The world shifts around us as he cradles me against his chest, his hold firm and secure. My heart races, not from the shock of being lifted, but from the thrill of what’s to come.
He strides out of the House of Wind, his powerful legs propelling us into the night, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his dark wings. I let my head rest against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and night air, a mixture that calms me even as my pulse quickens. Anticipation and want settle deep in my bones, intertwining with the warmth radiating from him, making it hard to think straight.
What does my mate have planned for us once he gets me to his bed? The mere thought sends butterflies swirling in my stomach, a mix of excitement and nerves. I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling of safety in his arms, relishing the electric connection that pulses between us.
With each step flap of his wings he takes, I feel the promise of the night stretching out before us, a canvas of endless possibilities. All I can think about is how I’ve finally found him—my mate—and everything is about to change.
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ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024
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sodapopwrites · 30 days ago
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like calls to like
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azriel x shadowsinger!reader
summary - you and azriel have been dancing around the mating bond for years. hiding the secret of your shadowsinger powers from your friends for years. before leaving for hybern to destroy the cauldron some secrets must come out and some remain unsaid. both you and azriel must deal with outcome.
work count - 3.2k
warnings - angst i suppose.
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“I’ll stay”
Amren’s words sat heavy amongst the inner circle. The town house, in all its warmth, was dark. The air of what was ahead of them settling into the space. Rhysand studied her carefully. 
“If Rhys must go to Hybern, then I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives.” 
Silent still. 
He watched her eyes find his. His shadows curled around his neck. The smallest shake of his head. The smallest warning. Don’t. 
“No you’re not.” 
All heads turned towards her. 
Grim faced, she held her chin high, meeting Rhysand’s gaze. He studied her. Brows furrowed. It only took him a moment to realize what she was hinting towards. He whipped towards Azriel. Who held his gaze. Cold as ever, but wavering just slightly. With guilt more than anything. 
Amren’s silver eyes had not left hers. Watching the girl before her. The girl offering to stay behind and help. There was something like surprise, and what looked like a glimmer of approval, laced through Amren’s sharp features. Surprise that now was the time she was choosing to reveal this to Rhysand. 
The highlord in question turned his gaze back to her, and it all clicked. 
The way that his spymaster trailed behind her all these years. The way his shadows had curled around her like they followed her, and not only their master. Azriel’s insistence on training her personally. The shade that came over her features sometimes, so palpable it could almost be seen as real. 
“How?” 
The question voiced by Rhysand, but asked by all of them. Mor and Cassian studying the impassive look on Azriel’s face. Feyre looking only at Rhys, waiting for him to grow angrier. To ask the question with more insistence. 
“How do any of us have any magic?” 
Her words lingered in the air for a moment before being swatted away by Rhys’s retort. 
“Why hide it? All this time?” 
“It hid itself.” 
He waited for her to continue. Eyebrows raised expectantly. 
“I didn’t need…I didn’t know what it was until..” 
Until Rhysand had gone under the mountain. Until the loss of a friend and the fear for the rest of Prythian had swallowed her whole. Until him. Until the shadowsinger became her solace.  Until his shadows had wrapped themselves so tightly around hers that they couldn’t breath, that they had to come out. Why? She knew why. Like calls to like. But she forced it away. She didn’t want to know. Not until there was time, and there never seemed to be time. 
Her eyes flitted to Azriel. Who had pointedly not said anything. Whose eyes were locked with his Highlords in some sort of silent battle. Some silent argument about the lie of omission. 
Feyre’s hand came to rest on her mate’s arm. Severing the telepathic conversation with Azriel. Another time she seemed to say to him. 
Mor loosed a sigh. “So what do we do now?” 
Amren cast one more look towards the newly revealed shadowsinger, her ally to be in the hours coming, before saying, “We sleep. We eat.” 
Azriel, voice raw and quiet, added “And then we retaliate.” 
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He found her minutes before everyone was to depart. 
He searched her face for any sign of fear of what was to come. Any sign of regret of the admissions made last night. Her eyes were fixed to the floor. Avoiding. 
“Is he angry?” 
Her question was whispered. Barely audible. He sighed heavily. 
“Rhys is upset that he didn’t bother to notice. He’s upset that I didn’t tell him.” 
“Why didn’t you tell him? I thought it would be one of the first things you’d tell him after he came back.” 
He paused. 
“You deserved to understand it. To wield it on your own. Before anyone else could.” 
She looked up at him. Finally. Taking in his Illyrian leathers. Truth-teller by his side. His siphons glittering. He looked beautiful. Terrifying. With him those two features always seemed to blend together seamlessly. Fear and grace. Dread and delicacy. 
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The pair made their way downstairs. To where the group was readying themselves for departure. All of them dressed in the Illyrian leathers. Strapped with silver blades. 
She watched as Feyre rose to kiss Rhysand and whisper “We’ll be fine – We’ll all be fine.” 
Her eyes locked with Azriel’s. He gave her the smallest dip of his chin. As if in agreement with Feyre. 
A small promise that he’d be safe. He’d be careful. 
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Azriel forced himself not to think of her while creeping his way through the Hybern castle. 
He should have told her.
He took out another guard.
He should have told her. 
He willed himself not to worry about whether or not she’d have to wage a battle of her own tonight. Demanded that cold calm to seep through him, to keep him focused on the task at hand. 
Feyre standing in front of the Cauldron. Entranced almost. Moving to connect both halves of the book. A small glimmer of panic before it all happened.
He should have told her.
It wasn’t until the arrow pierced his chest that he let himself fall into the chasm of lament. 
It wasn’t until he could not stand on his own that he let himself think it. As chaos and betrayal raged around him it was all he could think. 
His mate.
He wasn’t even sure if she knew. 
He should have told her. He should have told her. He should have said it. 
He could feel it. The poison on the arrow tip. Weaving it’s way slowly through his entire body, through everything, shadows and all. 
He could barely think. Could barely process what was happening around him. His eyes were barely open. His blood was everywhere. On everyone. Coating his brothers. Dripping onto the ground and trickling away. Trying desperately to escape him, as everything did, as everyone did. Everyone except for her. The shadows trapped within him straining against whatever held them. Trying desperately to make their way to something familiar. To her. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She sat with Amren in the town house. Never speaking. Barely moving. Frozen with worry that she wouldn’t let loose. 
Amren’s silver eyes roamed over her. But she didn’t break the silence that had fallen over them in the last few hours. 
They had been gone too long. 
Something had gone wrong. 
She could feel it. Darkness simmered in her gut, behind her rib cage, under her finger nails, everywhere. Shadows buzzing like they could sense a disturbance. Like they knew something had gone awry. Like they were reaching for something. For someone.
And then it happened. In a storm it all happened at once. 
Rhysand slammed into the floor of the house. Amren lept from her seat, racing to their friends. 
Cassians wings were shredded, bleeding, almost beyond repair. 
Rhys’s face stricken with what could only be grief and rage and something else. Something she couldn’t quite place. 
Mor nowhere to be seen. 
She couldn’t see him. There were too many people in the entryway. She couldn’t see him. 
Where was he. 
“Get the book out of here” 
Rhys shoved the thing towards Amren, who let it fall to the ground. The slender female ignored Rhysands order. 
“Where is she?” 
And then she could see him. As Rhysand moved slightly, as if he'd been hit by Amren's demanding question.
He was on the ground. Arrow in his chest. Eyes closed. Barely breathing. 
A sob hurtled it’s way out of her throat, a sound so broken that it was barely a sob at all. She pushed her way through her friends. Falling to her knees before him. Ripping the arrow free of his chest. His blood spattering her hands, her face, the carpet. The faintest shadow seeped it’s way out of his wound. 
Something in her broke. Something in her shattered. Something between them snapped. 
Her mate.
She let the snap of that golden bond hit her hard.
Every bit that pent up worry, that pent up shadow, burst from her in a roaring storm. Reaching desperately, clawing for his prone form. Swirling around them. 
The force of it pushed the others back a few paces. Rhysand’s wings stretching behind him in some desperate attempt at balance. Amren’s hair whipping around her face as she held steady to shield Cassian from it. 
She had no idea how long she let the shadows rage around her, in fury, in terror, in grief.
She could hear the faintest call of her name through the tempest of black cloud. Mor. 
She let the shadows calm…slowly. Gradually they retreated within her once more. As they ebbed away they swept gently across Azriel. Through his hair, across his cheekbones, over the hole in his chest. As if they thought they could heal him. 
Her name once more echoed through the room. 
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring herself to raise her head from where it rested against him. 
Her mate. 
Did he even know? 
How could he not? 
Why follow her footsteps so closely? Why watch her form move through every room they shared? Why keep her secrets from his brother…His highlord? 
How could he not have known? Like calls to like. 
Why didn’t he say anything? 
Would he ever be able say anything now? 
She barely felt Mor come to kneel beside her. Barely felt Mor’s arms circle around her. Barely heard Amren repeat her earlier question. Barely registered Feyra’s gaping absence. Barely heard Rhysands explanation, his admission. High lady of the night court trapped once more in the thornes of Spring. 
Azriel’s bleeding had eased, enough to keep him alive until the healer arrived. Her shadows still circled  around his wound as if they were trying to keep the blood in his chest. As if they could do anything at all. 
She couldn’t bring herself to rip her eyes away from him. 
“Until then?” Amren demanded. “What of the cauldron – of the book?” 
It was only when Rhysand responded that she was able to look away from her mate. 
“Until then,” The high lord’s face was grim as he looked towards the door, as if he was hoping Feyre would miraculously walk through it, “We go to war.” 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She hadn’t left his bedside. She hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. As long as Azriel remained unconscious, she remained restless. 
Her eyes had lost any glimmer they once held. Her hair had gone flat and dull. Her skin pale and stretched thin. 
She didn’t move when Rhysand crept into the room and took a seat in a chair a couple feet away. He watched her pained and tentative. He watched as she ran a hand over Azriel’s forehead, sweeping the hair from it, soothing the fever ridden skin. He watched as wisps of shadow trailed along his brothers face with her fingers. 
“Why keep it a secret?”
She sniffed and straightened her spine. Still not looking at him, but acutely aware of his incessant stare. She didn’t answer. 
“A gift like that. It’s rare…It’s vital.” 
She turned to face him slowly. Her gaze full of reproach. 
“Don’t dare to lecture me about secrets.” 
Feyre Cursebreaker. High lady of the night court. 
He clenched his jaw. She spoke once more, barely more than a whisper. 
“If I had known. I would have-” 
He shook his head. Realizing now where her anger was coming from. 
“There was nothing you could have done.” 
She looked back at Azriel and something in her cracked. A tear raced it’s way down her tired face. 
“I would have gone. I would have helped. Protect her.” 
Another tear. Searing a path down her cheek. 
“I would have protected him…With my life.” 
Rhysand moved to stand and sit by her. She tensed. He stilled and settled back into his seat. 
“You protected his home.” 
“I sat idle while he lay on death’s doorstep a hundred miles away.” 
“You did exactly what you were supposed to.” 
She took a rattling breath, “And it wasnt enough”
The cold fury in her voice sent a chill down Rhysand’s spine. No. Not a chill. A shadow had stretched from her to wind it’s way up his body. Cold and unrelenting. He watched it, more calmly than he should have per chance, before slowly responding. 
“He didn’t want you to tell me you were a shadowsinger, for fear that I’d ask you to accompany us to Hybern.” 
No response. 
“He wanted you as far from that place as you could get.” 
Again no response. Rhysand sighed and ran a hand over his face. He shook the tendrils of shadow off and moved closer to her. She let him lay a hand on her shoulder. 
“He’s healing.” 
She laid a hand over the bandages around Azriel’s wound, again refusing to look at Rhys, no matter the comfort he tried to offer her. 
“He’s okay.” 
He heard a creak in the doorway. Mor leaned against the doorframe and cocked her head, beckoning him out of the room. Telling him to leave her be. He relented, withdrawing his hand from her shoulder, and closing the door behind him as he followed Mor down the hall. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No one spoke to her in following days. Not that it would have been any comfort to her. She could hear the whispers of her friends in the hall behind the closed door. She could feel the worry seeping up through the floorboards from the rooms below. She ignored the panic that came off of Rhys in waves. She knew what being separated from his mate was doing to him, and she just couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her own lay stationary in bed, sweating out a fever, working a poison out of his blood stream. 
She would feel guilty later. For abandoning her family while they all suffered loses. 
Mor would come by every couple hours to try and get her to eat. It never really worked. The room was always clouded with shadow and with unspoken grief. Even Amren prefered not to enter. No one could bear the darkness that she had let consume her, that she let simmer around her. The black mist that she let settle against the carpet and pool into every corner. 
Cassian came to visit once, when he was strong enough. He stood next to the bed that she had yet to move from and stared at his best friends figure. The sight of Azriel blanched his face to a snowy white. He looked like he could be sick. He tried to play it off with a half hearted comment about how the shadows she summoned probably weren’t helping the healing process. He barely managed to get the statement out before he was met with a piercing glare, and excused himself from the room. 
Another thing she would feel guilty about later. 
She didn’t know how many days had passed. It didn’t matter. Every hour felt like years. 
She was so tired. 
She couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself sleep. 
She couldn’t look at him anymore, moving to face away from him. She remembered the last time she was in his room. In this bed. 
Weak morning light flickered through closed curtains. Her fingers tangled with his and she watched as he spun a shadow between their interlocked hands. She listened to the hum of content that rumbled through his chest and she sank further into him. Letting his warmth envelope her. He let her take control of the shadow winding it’s way down their arms. 
Like calls to like. 
She flicked it into his face and watched it disperse with a small laugh. He stared back at her. Something in his eyes. Something dangerous. Something warm and adoring. 
A golden thread wound it’s way out from her soul, from her chest, reaching for him, begging to connect with him. She pulled away and moved to start getting dressed. 
“Stay” He had whispered. 
“I have to meet Cassian. I promised him we’d train at seven. It’s seven thirty.” He rolled his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. Watching as she sat on the edge of his bed. 
“He’s going to be pissed you’re late.” 
She let out a huff of annoyance at his response while she tugged on her boots. He watched her tie the laces and slowly let one of his shadows creep towards her. It wrapped around her hands and her movements stilled. 
“I have to go.” It was a whisper. 
He rolled over, closer to her now, and ran a hand down her back in what could have been a soothing gesture, if he hadn’t been trying to get her to come back to bed. 
“Don’t” 
Her tone a mock stern. 
He tried to hide a smile, “Why not?” 
“Because if I stay here with you a moment longer I’ll do something stupid.”
He wasn’t even trying to hide the smirk now. 
“Like what?” 
She looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line like she was actually nervous. Maybe she was. 
Like fall in love with him. That’s what he knew she wouldn’t say. He nodded his relent. 
“Better hurry. Cassian is apparently taking Feyra to the Symphony today.” 
She let out a snort trying to imagine the bulking warrior in a theater. 
“And what are your plans for the day spymaster?” 
He shrugged, “Patrol”.
She nodded once. Straightening and heading for the door. She paused before leaving. Maybe considering voicing what they both knew she wouldn’t. 
He should tell her. He should tell her. 
The thought rampaged through his mind, through the gaping hole in his heart that he yearned for her to fill. 
“I’ll see you at dinner?” Was what he said instead. 
She pushed away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
She should have said something. That morning. Before the attack. Before Hybern. She should have said something. 
She couldn’t even bring herself to cry now. She was too tired. Too dehydrated. 
Something cold ran its way down her back. She shivered. Another shadow.
No. It was solid. Something solid and cold rested against her skin. A hand. 
“You look terrible”
She whipped around at the sound of it. His voice. Shredded to a thin rasp, but his voice nonetheless. 
Hazel eyes blinked under long dark lashes. Smile lines crinkled the corners of them. He was awake. 
And there it was. 
That golden thread untangling itself from her ribs. Calling for him. 
And she leaned into it. Letting it wind it’s way towards him as she crashed into him. A pained huff escaped him at the impact. She pulled away at the sound, her hands grasping each side of his face. She turned his face from side to side, inspecting him, as if his appearance in the last couple minutes had changed. 
And then she let herself laugh. An unbelieving sound. 
“I look terrible? You have a hole in you chest.” 
Half a joke. Half a panicked statement. 
And then he felt it. That golden thread. That bond. That thrumming power reaching out and unwavering. 
She knew. She knew. She knew. 
His mate. 
“Not anymore”
His words held years of meaning. Years of longing and pushing away. Years of hiding from what they were. Years of letting her hide from it. 
They held eachothers gaze for a moment, and then she frowned. 
“Not anymore huh? You want me to stick my finger in there to prove a point?” 
He winced at the thought and shook his head. 
“No. I want you to kiss me.” 
582 notes · View notes
marcsburnerphone · 10 months ago
Text
And they were roomates
(Captain John price x F!reader)
Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.
Warnings: angsty (very minimal), mentions of readers past relationship, some bond building, smoking, some tense moments
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4!! - part 5
————-
“Captain?” Soap yells from afar to get what seems to be prices attention. When he realizes that is indeed his captain he jogs to where John stands.
“What’re ye doin’ back?” Soap question a little confused, after their last two month mission John was granted leave for three months to recoup and rest. 
“Just came to turn in these files.” He says waving the Manila folders in his hands.
“You could’ve just done that online, you know.” And yes John does know and by the look he gives Johnny he also knows.
“What, trouble in paradise?” Johnny smiles widely at the guilty look on his captain's face.
“Something like that.” John replies clearly a little tense.
“Well, tell me about it.” He says waiting expectantly.
“Over some drinks Sergeant.” Price replies before making his way into the building and soap returning to the trainees.
————-
“Oh that’s fucked mate.” Ghost says.
“Captain no offense you’re a very intelligent and capable man but that is so fucking stupid.” Gaz states before taking a drink of his beer. 
“You thought oh I’m catching some feelings for her, let's just ignore her.” Soap says in a mimicking voice.
“No, it's not only that, I don’t have time to entertain dense feelings and she likely doesn’t share those same feelings.” His gruff voice replies as he takes a puff of his cigar and blows the smoke out into the pub they sit in.
“Did you ask her?” Gaz asks, already knowing the answer.
“Am I twelve? What grown man asks a woman if they have feelings for them usually there’s hints and clues you can pick up on.” Ghost grumbles in agreement from price earning a slap on the arm from soap.
“And she’s done nothing that may even give you an inkling that she’s into you mate?” Gaz quips in.
“Like “oh hey captain can you help me open this jar?” Or “price can you please help me fix this?” Johnny tries his best at a womanly voice. 
“First of all she doesn’t call me captain or price and second of all, yes she does that but it’s only because she needs the help.” They all look at him with blank stares.
“I bet you wish she’d call you captain.” Soap whispers but before John can reply Gaz starts.
“Captain, does she ever stutter when you talk to her?” Gaz asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
“sometimes.” He excuses that as human behavior. 
“When she noticed your avoidance, did she get upset?” I mean you got a little mad at him that once but that was cause he was overstepping. 
“A little.” He replies not really seeing where it’s going until oh.
“Yeah cap, you're being naive.” 
“You should go back there, be kinder and less weird. She probably thinks you don’t like her and if that lasts too long she’ll start to actually not like you.” Well he obviously can’t have that.
“We need a mum anyways.” Gaz says under his breath and soap agrees. 
“What?” 
———————
“Hey you’re back.” You can’t resist the small smile that makes its way onto your face as John walks into the kitchen.
“Told you I’d only be a day or two.” He repeats his words from a couple days ago, hands awkwardly in his pockets. 
He notices there’s something different in your energy that he picks up on or maybe it’s his energy that has changed.
“Yeah but last time you said a month and we’re gone two.” He remembers that and sees your point then he thinks about the fact that you remember that. 
“Well last time I really didn’t think I’d be gone that long but you know.” He says not going into detail and just waving it off.
“Well I have a job to get too.” You say closing the package of blueberries you’d been eating out of then place them back in the fridge.
“On a Saturday?” He questions the unusuality of it.
“Yeah I had a woman call me this morning, said her wedding was next week and she really wanted me to be the one to give her her dream hair so I agreed.” 
“Okay then, I’ll see you later, doll.” He says as you grab your keys and purse getting ready to leave.
“Bye John.” You smile softly looking anywhere but him cause if you did the smile that lays on your face at the newfound nickname would be too evident. 
————-
“Hey so we’re just doing some highlights and a cut right.” You ask the woman in your chair as you drape the cape over her paying mind to her swollen belly and button it in the back.
“Yeah I actually have some pictures if that’s okay.” She says pulling out her phone to show you.
“Great, I’d love to see them.” You say getting your equipment ready.
She shows you and by the already light tone of her hair this will be easy work. You get everything settled and ready, mixing the bleach and color and sorting through the pieces you’ll paint.
“So what made you ask me to do your hair?” This is a question you always love to ask your clients. Was it social media or a referral or maybe something else.
“My finance actually recommended you.” Her fiance.
“Oh I don’t actually do men’s hair, who’s your fiance?” You question a little confused but clearly he might’ve just seen you on instagram or had a friend who’s been with you.
“Brian, he said he used to know you and heard you did really good hair.” No fucking way.
“Oh yeah I know Brian old friends.” You smile through the tears that threaten to escape your eyes. 
How could he? How could he give this woman everything you’ve ever wanted then send her to you to show off that goddamn-
“He says to tell you hi.” She smiles looking back at you not having a clue of who you really are. 
“Oh tell him I said hello.” You reply shortly.
“How’d you two meet?” You ask curiously.
“We actually worked together and when we first started talking he was actually in a relationship but nothing serious and the more we spent time together it just became clear we were meant to be together.” Her.
“So he cheated on his ex partner?” You say in a polite tone, one a girlfriend would use.
“Well I guess you could say that but according to him their relationship was over before it was over.” You smile at her nodding in understanding. 
Scream, you wanted to scream your fucking head off the rest of the appointment. But no you stood there politely and gave this woman the most beautiful hair you could’ve imagined you even took fucking pictures for her to send to you’re cheating ex.
—————
On the way home you cried out of anger not even out of jealousy, or sadness just anger at the audacity that man had and the years you wasted with such a fucking loser.
When you pulled into the driveway you turned the car off and just sat there. You sat there and pondered on everything. You’d always asked him for a baby and he’d said he would never be a father. You always wanted to get married and he would say “marriage isn’t my thing.” And yet he’ll do it all for another woman. A woman he really loves. 
But in the end you're glad it’s not you. It isn’t you that has to deal with that man child, it won’t be you who’s stuck with someone who isn’t faithful. In the end you’re the lucky one and finally you feel like you can let it go. 
So you dry your eyes and head inside, kicking off your shoes by the door and paying notice to John that’s currently in the living room. You walk over to the couch and sit a comfortable amount of space away from him simply testing the waters and watch the football game he has on.
“How was your appointment?” He says suddenly taking in notice of your puffy eyes.
“Good.” You reply in a whisper with a half smile.
“You’re lying.” He assumed maybe just an asshole client or the outcome wasn’t good.
“It was my ex boyfriend's new pregnant fiancé, who also happens to be the woman he cheated on me with.” You admit with a small laugh at the end with how ridiculous that sounds.
“You got cheated on?” He asks, thoroughly shocked not paying mind to the other details.
“And she’s hot.” You reply looking him in the eye. All he’s thinking is hotter than you?
“Did she know who you were?” This has to be the most mind fucking thing he’s ever heard.
“Not a clue and what's funnier is he recommended me to her.” You laugh again and it’s slightly scary how calm you seem.
“You’re not upset?”
“John I was over that man the minute he cheated on me. I’m only upset over all the time I lost wanting things he said he never wanted but what he meant was he never wanted that with me.” You say quietly between the two of you like it’s a secret. 
“His loss.” he says, offering you a small smile.
“I guess.” 
“No doll I know.” You don’t know what to make of that comment and just smile back at him. 
————-
Later that night after a long shower you step onto the outside patio for some fresh air not noticing John smoking a cigar beside you. 
“Jesus!” You jump slightly at the sight of his looming shadow.
“At this point just expect me to be everywhere.” He laughs as he exhales the puff of smoke. 
“I didn’t know you smoked.” You reply before taking in the sight before you. John in Levi’s, a thermal and brown leather jacket, thick fingers holding a cigar between them lightly tapping it to drop the excess ash.
“I’m sorry, does it bother you?” He asks suddenly, concerned about whether that was in the policy or something. 
“No, not at all.” You smile shivering at the breeze that blows through the air.
He offers the cigar between his fingers by gesturing it towards you, you’ve smoked cigarettes but this thing looked like a cigarette on steroids. Nonetheless you didn’t decline the offer and hesitantly wrapped your lips around it giving it a small puff letting the earthy flavor consume your taste buds as you exhale. 
John watches you with longing eyes. Truthfully he expected you to grab it from him but instead you toked it straight from his fingers and shit it was hot. The way your lips wrapped around the very end had him running hot suddenly. The layers he wore were becoming overbearingly warm. 
“Do you ever wish you chose a normal career?” The question left your lips before you could think about why you were asking it and he clears his dirty mind before answering. 
“Not really, my job makes me feel like I have purpose and although my hands get dirty it’s for a good cause.” You nod as you look up into the blue sky that’s slowly becoming darker. 
“You do have purpose outside your job though you know that right?” You look him in the eye for a mere second then back up. 
He’s taken aback slightly by your statement and stays silent. He lets it settle in his thoughts and feelings. Wondering what prompted you to say it in the first place.
“Thankyou.” He replies shortly after. 
“You're welcome.” You reply gently.
“I’m going to head inside, don’t be out here too long you’ll get sick.” You say sliding the door open and he laughs in return. If you even had the slightest idea of the weather he’s lived in. 
———
You woke up the next morning bright and early, currently stood in the kitchen brewing hot water for tea and setting the coffee machine on. One for you, one for John. He was surprisingly still asleep although it also is still very early. He never sleeps past 7.
As you turn the heat off the stove, knocking sounds at the front door. Maybe a package you assumed as you made your way down the hall peeking through the small hole to see who’s out there and to your surprise it was a woman. 
“Hi, how can I help you?” She looks at you a bit taken aback.
“Does John Price live here?” She asks as her blonde hair blows in the cold breeze. 
“Yeah?” 
“I need to speak to him.”
“Okay I’ll be right back.” Was this a lover of John’s, maybe an ex wife or something. You knock softly at his door and nothing so you knock a little louder. Before you hear a grunt and the squeak of the hardwood floors.
“Morning, y’alright?” He asks with a deep sleepy voice. 
You take notice of His messy hair and pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips so you practically beg and will yourself to not look at his body. 
“Yeah sorry there’s a woman at the door for you.” You reply smiling when you notice the sleep marks on the side of his face. 
“Oh okay let me just put a shirt on, tell her I’ll be right out.” He can already guess who it is and quietly curses to himself. No peace of his ever lasted long.
You relay the message to her and offer her to come inside which she politely accepts but goes no further than the entrance. 
“I’m Kate by the way.” She offers her hand to you. 
“Oh nice to meet you Kate, are you a friend of John’s?” You pry.
“Oh yeah, a longtime one.” You should’ve known.
“We’ve been working together since he was a lieutenant and that was ages ago.” She laughs and you feel light with relief for whatever reason.
“Laswell.” A deep voice sighs out from behind her.
“Well don’t be too excited to see me.” She says to him.
You get the message to exit the room and do so. He walks with her to the kitchen, offers her a drink then they both go to his office and from the sound of it have a pretty heated conversation. Not that you were eavesdropping or anything.
———-
It was hours before she left and when she did John didn’t seem too happy. You walk to the door a bit after you hear it shut. John stands there running a hand through his hair.
“You okay?” You stupidly ask as he rubs his forehead still standing in front of the door although she left 10 minutes ago.
“Yeah doll I’m alright.” He sounds tired and bothered. 
“Okay.” You begin to turn around getting the feeling he doesn’t want you there. 
“Wait, actually I have to leave tomorrow for a while..” He replies quickly. 
“Oh.” You try not to sound too disappointed.
“I’ll leave you a check for six months, if I’m gone longer my checkbook is in the bedside drawer. If you need assistance with anything I have a friend you can call please don’t do it yourself or have someone else do it.” He says as you stand there not getting past the eight month part.
“Six months or longer?” He meets your eyes seeing a hint of sadness.
“Yeah that’s what I can expect.” You suck your bottom lip between your teeth for a second not really knowing how to reply. 
“Are you hungry?” 
“What?” He replies at the random change in topic.
“Would you like to order too much food and watch a movie?” You ask again.
“Sure?” 
“I mean if you’re leaving for months and you seem upset about it then it’s serious and when’s the next time you’ll eat good food, you know?” You explain.
“Italian?” 
“Italian.” 
——————-
You both sit on the living room couch in the dim ambient light while “How to lose a guy in 10 days” plays on the TV, your choice. Empty boxes once filled with pasta and bread now are mostly empty. You tell John every time one of your favorite parts is coming on but not like you even needed to. He can tell by the anxious shake of your foot and slightly raised eyebrow.
“So does he ever find out that it’s for the em magazine and does she find out it’s for a bet?” He asks midway through the movie.
“You’ll have to watch it.” You whisper.
He laughs and for a moment in time he feels content, at ease for once. He feels like this is the moment he’ll recall in the next eight months when nights are cold and he’s spent. 
Your eyes are drifting closed before the movie is over and he watches you find sleep then returns his attention to the tv determined to finish the movie. Once all is done he picks the containers up off the floor quietly and turns the tv off kneeling to the floor to wake you.
“Doll let’s get you to bed.” He whispers in the dark. You're slightly disappointed you fell asleep but your drowsy mind doesn’t let you think too deeply as you bid him a goodnight and head to bed.
————-
The next morning he was ready to leave at 4AM. Big duffel bag in hand and a backpack. He thinks of waking you to say goodbye and even walks to your door. But he doesn’t not because he doesn’t want to but because he won’t want to leave if he does. Internally he curses himself for wasting so much time avoiding you the previous weeks. 
So he writes a quick note and of course the promised check and heads on his way.
—————-
Next chapter is already written and I’m so excited at the build up!!
Comments and reposts are always appreciated<3
@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppixie @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic
1K notes · View notes
23victoria · 4 months ago
Text
Special Delivery
carlos sainz x wife!reader, lando norris x reader, carlos x lando
wc: 810
authors note: thank you for the request anon🤍! first time writing about pregnancy, even though it wasn’t really detailed…not too confident about this but i hope you guys enjoy it!!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!!
wanna be tagged in my works? CLICK HERE
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You sit in the hospital room, the soft hum of the machines around you creating a soothing backdrop to the miracle of life cradled in your arms. Carlos sits beside you, a proud and tender look in his eyes as he gazes at the tiny bundles you both hold. Twins. You still can't quite believe it. After months of anticipation and preparation, they're finally here.
Carlos leans over, his arm resting gently on your shoulder as he looks down at the babies. "They're perfect, cariño," he whispers, kissing your forehead. You smile, feeling a swell of love and contentment.
The door creaks open, and you both look up to see Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face. "Can I come in?" he asks, his voice filled with excitement and a hint of trepidation.
"Of course, mate!" Carlos says, his eyes lighting up as he sees his friend. Lando steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. His eyes are immediately drawn to the tiny babies in your arms.
"Wow," Lando breathes, stepping closer. "They're so small." He looks at you and Carlos with a mixture of awe and joy. "Congratulations, you two."
"Thanks, Lando," you say, your voice a little hoarse from the whirlwind of emotions. "Do you want to hold one?"
Lando's eyes widen. "Really? Can I?"
Carlos chuckles. "Of course. Here, sit down." He gestures to the chair beside the bed, and Lando quickly sits, his movements careful and deliberate.
You gently pass one of the babies to Carlos, who then places the tiny bundle into Lando's arms. Lando looks down at the baby, his face softening with a tender smile. "Hey there, little one," he whispers, his voice full of wonder.
Carlos reaches behind the chair and pulls out a small, wrapped box. "Lando, we have something for you," he says, his tone playful.
Lando looks up, surprised. "For me?"
"Yes, for you," you say, exchanging a knowing glance with Carlos. "It's a special gift."
Lando carefully adjusts the baby in his arms, holding the tiny head with one hand while he reaches for the gift with the other. He unwraps it slowly, his fingers trembling slightly with curiosity and excitement.
Inside the box is a small frame with a photo of Lando holding one of the babies, taken just moments ago. The frame has a heartfelt message inscribed: "Will you be our godfather?"
Lando's eyes widen, and he looks up at you both, his mouth opening and closing as if he's trying to find the right words. "I... Are you serious?"
"Absolutely," Carlos says, his voice thick with emotion. "We couldn't think of anyone better."
Tears well up in Lando's eyes, and he blinks rapidly, trying to hold them back. "I don't know what to say," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Thank you. This means everything to me."
You feel your own eyes misting over as you watch Lando's reaction. He looks back down at the baby in his arms, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "I promise I'll protect them forever," he says, his voice filled with determination and love. "I'll always be there for them."
He gently places the baby back in your arms and stands up, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you," he whispers in your ear. "Thank you so much."
You hug him back, your emotions overwhelming you. When he finally pulls away, he turns to Carlos and hugs him too, the two men sharing a moment of deep, unspoken bond.
Carlos claps Lando on the back. "You better not start crying too much, mate. You'll make us all cry."
Lando laughs, wiping at his eyes. "Too late for that."
You all laugh together, the room filled with joy and love. The babies stir slightly in their sleep, their tiny faces scrunching up before they settle back into peaceful slumber.
Lando looks at you both, his eyes still glistening with tears but his smile wide and genuine. "I'll be the best godfather ever," he promises. "And I'll teach them all the important things."
"Like what?" you ask, amused.
"Like how to pull off the perfect prank and how to get free money from their uncles!" Lando says, grinning.
Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm sure they'll love that."
You all laugh again, the sound warm and full of happiness. As the laughter dies down, Lando looks at the babies once more, his expression soft and tender. "Welcome to the world, little ones," he whispers. "You've got so much love waiting for you."
And in that moment, surrounded by the people you love most, you know that everything is exactly as it should be.
y/n_sainz
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liked by carlossainzjr, landonorris, charlesleclerc, lewishamilton, beyoncé, versace, cartier, scuderiaferrari, and more
life has never felt so warm, my angels are finally here 🥹❤️
and daddy is looking good in the last pic 🤭
carlossainzjr i love you and this life our ours 🥰❤️
landonorris so proud to be the godfather to these beautiful babies 🥰
lewishamilton congrats guys!!! they are beautiful 🫶🏾❤️
charlesleclerc congratulations y/n and carlos!! 😘
comments have been limited
carlossainzjr
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liked by y/n_sainz, landonorris, charlesleclerc, lewishamilton, maxverstappen, oscarpiastri, scuderiaferrari, and more
spending time with mi familia! 🥰❤️
landonorris beautiful 😍
charlesleclerc adorable 🥰
scuderiaferrari daddy carlos!! 🥹
oscarpiastri 🥰
maxverstappen beautiful family! 🥰
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.•☆.°.•.*₊ .*₊ .• ☆.°.• . .•☆.°.•.*₊ .*₊ .• ☆.°.• .
✿ .° • everything taglist • °. ✿ : @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164
✿ .° • carlos taglist • °. ✿ : @tellybearryyyy @magixpracticality
.•☆.°.•.*₊ .*₊ .• ☆.°.• . .•☆.°.•.*₊ .*₊ .• ☆.°.• .
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© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own
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bxlladxnnabxtch · 4 months ago
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Devotion & Deceit
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Rhysand x Reader
❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀
Summary: Upon learning Rhysand intends to go through with his proposal, you begin to deteriorate. Your mates complete disregard for your concerns leaves you making some brash decisions of your own.
Read pt.1 to Devotion & Deceit - HERE
Read pt.4 - HERE
Warnings: Descriptions of trauma, Panic Attacks, Blood, Depression, Brief mentions of self harm.
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You weren’t able to get up out of bed, and despite Azriels visits and multiple attempts, he couldn’t get you up either. Even though the majority of your time was spent in the small bedroom of that log cabin, very little time was spent actually sleeping in it. The miniscule amount of sleep you did get was broken by you jolting awake in the dead of night only to cry until the sun peaked through the cracks of the drapes that remained closed no matter what time of day.
The meals that Azriel brought to you remained ignored and untouched on the nightstand, to be removed by him the next day with a fresh platter in the hopes that you would at least pick through it. On occasion the smell would have you scrambling for the toilet, thin figure peeled over the side as you dry heaved into the bowl. The meals eventually reduced to small snacks the more often it happened, making you feel the slightest hint of guilt which only had you burrowing further into the sheets.
Niliana’s best efforts didn’t seem to shake you either, she’d come by to give you the latest spiel of the gossip in town, or brush out your hair as you laid in bed. She came by every day for the better part of a month, until the work she put off caught up to her, sending the wraith scrambling to catch up. She no longer came by.
Rhys hadn’t sent a word down the bond. Not a flicker of emotion, pain, even a thought. Just.. nothing. He was completely shut off from you. Not like you could complain, you did the exact same to him, going completely MIA.
“Have you two spoken?” Azriel said from the doorway, a glass of water in hand along with a small rag that undoubtedly held more food he wanted you to shove down your throat. Azriel sighed as he saw your eyes fall on the item, a grimace gracing your features. You muttered a soft “no” as he padded towards the bed, hand outstretched in a silent plea for you to sit up.
You groaned, sitting up as you rubbed your eyes, the dark circles surrounding them making you look like you had taken a beating. “I need to change anyways.” You croaked; voice rough as you swung your legs over the side of the bed.
You had visibly lost weight, your legs looking like if you look a step they’d crack under the pressure. You couldn’t bring yourself to care even the slightest bit. Ever since he had chosen her. Left his mate to rot in this stupid log cabin as if you meant nothing to him. Chose her again just like he did Under the Mountain, while Amarantha forced you to watch every night as she danced for him in that skimpy little outfit. But even then, you understood, then you knew that he was doing it for you- doing what was necessary.
What you didn’t understand was this. It had ended, you had run to him in that arena like you had wanted to for fifty years. You had clung to him like he was your lifeline. Five decades of Amarantha using you as her slave, only allowing you to see Rhys when he was tangled up with her. Always by her side.
And he had chosen someone else over you- yet again.
Azriel broke your thoughts by holding out the glass to you, and you rose from the bed, taking it in your frail hands, slightly shaky from the lack of vitamins. You brought it to your mouth, letting the chill of the glass rest on your bottom lip as you swallowed a few mouthfuls of the liquid. It didn’t go down easy, the cold making you recoil slightly as you swallowed the last bit.
You turned back to hand the glass back to Azriel, but he was frozen, face pale as he looked at you. His shadows swarmed him, moving around him in a frenzy, curling towards his ears, flicking around his waist. He stared at the glass you held out to him, and you slowly retracted your hand as you realize he was too caught up in whatever his shadows were whispering to him.
Your face fell, and the corners of your mouth downturned into a poorly concealed frown. “Is she there?” You asked, the question falling out of you before you could do anything to stop it, not that you could’ve. You didn’t know why you needed to know so bad, your body ached with the question, your hand gripping the glass tighter in an unexplainable want.  His mouth opened like he was going to speak, but immediately shut closed as he hesitated. He didn’t need to say it, you knew.
You knew, you always knew.
Something in you snapped, and like a cage being unlocked, a fiery, all-consuming fury burst through the bars and swallowed you whole. The feeling swamped you like a tidal wave, your arm cocking back, barely feeling the glass slipping from your grasp as you sent it soaring straight at the wall.
The glass shattered immediately upon impact, the sound breaking the comforting stillness of the room, making Azriel flinch. Shards of glass and remnants of water were blown back at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you felt the water drench the front of your shirt. The cloth stuck to your ribcage, the frigid wetness not registering in the slightest. You felt a shard slice your cheek open as it grazed you, and other bits of glass embed themselves into you as you heard the tinkle of the pieces falling to the floor, a few skittering across the ground.
“I’M NOT STAYING HERE!” You roared, hands coming to cradle your head, hands fisted in your hair. You pulled at the roots, clung to them like they’d offer some grain of comfort as your breathing began to speed up. The room was spinning, everything was spinning.
And you were Under the Mountain again- you were cold and wet. It was dark, your cell was too small. You could feel the dirt and grime and how it was caked under your fingernails like the dust had engraved itself onto you. Your matted hair and the feeling of the violent tugs as you ripped it out. But that was your hair- you could feel it between your fingers. You couldn’t breathe- God, why couldn’t you breathe.
“Get your shit together!” Azriel yelled, jolting you as he forced you to stop spiraling, hands clamping down on your wrists as you stilled. His grip dug into your skin, and you finally surfaced from the hurricane in your head enough to realize you were holding clumps of your hair in your hands. The thin strands hung from your fingers like a morbid Solstice decoration, and you vaguely recognized the sting that told you that you had bitten through your bottom lip in your haste.
You stared at him wide eyed, feeling the burn of your tears leaking into the cut on your cheek. You flinched as you felt a drop of blood hit your forearm, and looked down soon enough to watch the crimson run down the expanse towards your elbow. It stained your skin, and you watched as another drop landed right beside it. You were bleeding, you could feel as it ran down your cheek, over your jaw, mingling with the blood that dripped from your lip down your chin.
“Do you think if you destroy yourself enough that he’ll come save you like he did for Feyre?”
It dawned on you then, just how much you had ruined yourself. You had turned into the very thing you had hated Feyre for. The very thing that had Rhys tripping over himself to go and fix, just like he did for her Under the Mountain.
Yet he didn’t come for you.
“I can’t stay here.” You whispered, bottom lip trembling.
“Then you won’t.” Azriel said, letting go of your wrists.
Azriel had helped you calm down and think of what you were going to pack, not that you were taking much with you, the very idea of having anything to remind you of your time here made you want to throw up whatever was left in your stomach. You settled for a small change of clothes, your hands smoothing over the wrinkles as you folded the articles.
“Have you even decided where you’re going?” Azriel asked as he perched on the bed beside you. You shoved the small shirt you were folding into your bag, eyes trailing over to him as he waited on your answer. The drapes had been opened after your breakdown, making the light glint off Azriel’s siphons as he shifted, hands coming to perch on his knees. You shrugged, eyes stinging the slightest bit as they still needed time to adjust to the newly introduced light that you’d been avoiding for weeks. “Home.” You answered simply, finishing shoving your change of clothes into the small pack you now slid over your shoulder.
Azriel bristled, head cocking back as he questioned “The Winter Court?” The dresser at the corner of the room suddenly became very interesting as he made no attempt to hide his concern. “Yep.” You licked your lips, tongue smoothing over the teeth marks that had made a small crater in your bottom lip, the indent making you sigh. “That’s one hell of a flight.” You tucked your knife into the sheath on your thigh, the metal making a grating sound against the studded leather that had you cringing. “It’s not like I could winnow in if I wanted to.”
It's there, then that perhaps Azriel had begun to understand your insatiable need to flee. To leave everything that you had created, the life you’d built, everything that you are. Maybe he had sensed it subconsciously when he had found you that day on the border of the Night Court.
Azriel knew why you couldn’t winnow, it had always been a silent understanding between you two, and exactly the reason he hadn’t touched on it when your training had begun all those years ago. Not that you had gone into detail about what had happened in the middle, what you went through during your journey. But with Azriel being a spymaster, it hadn’t taken him long to fill in the blanks. He knew enough, and he had decided he didn’t need to know anymore- didn’t want to.
But even after you had gotten so used to running, the instinct carved so deep into your blood not even The Mother could undo it, he still had a small pit of anxiety sitting in his stomach that never quite went away. It was out of love, out of an uncontainable fear that history would repeat itself that he swished his hand over towards you, a shadow stirring to life, swirling around your waist and anchoring itself to you.
You watched how it swam and twirled around you, scurrying up your hand and over your arm. “Really?” You had asked, a light, barely there hint of amusement twinged your tone, and he rolled his eyes in response. But when he turned to you, his expression was deadly serious, almost concerned. This man, who had cared for a scared, young Illyrian girl who had somehow crawled her way to the border. Who had taught her how to fly, how to live, how to control the magic that wanted to burst out of her as if it was overflowing. He looked up at you, lips pursed. “You might see her again, you know.” He said, barely a murmur, almost scared that the words he spoke would conjure them to life.
Your eyes flickered to him as you shoved the last dagger into your boot at your heel. “That’s the plan.”
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itsswritten · 7 months ago
Text
Threads of Hazel
Pairing: Azriel x fem reader
Word Count: 3.6K
Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.
Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?
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All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.
Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.
No one was coming.
Why had you dared to hope? 
It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.
But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 
No one was coming. No one ever would.
Maybe it was time to give up.
Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.
You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 
Night-chilled mist and cedar. 
It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.
Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.
No one was coming.
It was time to let go.
***
This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 
Finally.
Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.
Azriel was utterly exhausted.
Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 
He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.
But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 
The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.
For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 
But that is all that would linger.
A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 
It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.
So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.
In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.
And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.
Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.
Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.
They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 
"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.
"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.
Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 
Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.
He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.
Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.
“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 
Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 
They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 
The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.
Blood.
They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.
Faebane. 
Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.
There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.
As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.
He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 
A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.
Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.
Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.
Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.
He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.
Alive.
They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.
Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 
Alive, alive, alive.
They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.
Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.
Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.
How? How were you still alive?
He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.
But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.
He remembered. 
The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 
It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.
Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.
Begging him to come save you.
How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.
A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.
That thread.
That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.
It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.
The mating bond.
You were his mate.
Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.
He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.
He had a mate, finally.
And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.
Maybe he was too late.
***
A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.
It was time. You were ready.
But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.
Not now, not yet. It spoke.
You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.
Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.
The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.
I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 
You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.
I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.
Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.
You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.
You would hold onto it one last time.
***
Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.
They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 
Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.
Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.
Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 
Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.
“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 
He remembered it all now.
Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 
“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.
Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.
“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”
Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.
Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.
Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 
It was then they had all realised.
He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.
Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.
Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.
Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.
You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.
“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.
“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 
Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.
Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”
With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.
You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 
“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 
“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.
"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.
Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.
You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.
"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.
Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.
"You came for me..."
"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.
With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.
A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.
Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.
"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."
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a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria
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pretzel-box · 3 months ago
Note
I love you writing! Could you do something with jealous Sebastian?
A joke too much
words: 1,3k
status: non-proof read
tags: established relationship, sebastian is jealous, random nameless guy to fill in for the plot, comfort & bad diving suit jokes
sebastian might be a bit ooc but that's nothing new lol
Despite all the horrible things that had happened so far in the drastic depths of the Hadal Blackside, you were more certain than ever that hardships are easier to overcome with a group of co-workers—or, in this case, familiar victims of the expendable project that Urbanshade had set up to retrieve a simple crystal.
One of those people was a fellow inmate who shared a punishment similar to yours, which made it easier to bond over the shared misery. Their sarcastic way of lightening up every dark situation was a refreshing change of pace amid all the horrors and violence that usually surrounded your group.
"I would have worked harder on my bikini body if I knew I’d end up here," the fellow prisoner joked, gesturing to the basic diving suit Urbanshade had issued as minimal equipment. The ill-fitting suit clung awkwardly to his frame, adding a touch of absurdity to an otherwise grim situation.
"Ah yes, these diving suits definitely highlight all the right curves," you hummed back in amusement, trying to suppress a grin.
The lighthearted banter continued as you both navigated the dim, foreboding corridors. The small, wholesome moments of connection were a welcome reprieve from the relentless tension. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep the growing dread at bay, if only for a little while.
Eventually, you found yourselves standing before Sebastian's signature vent—a crude entrance that had become all too familiar. With a quick push, the piece of metal flew across the dark floor, clattering noisily. From the other side, Sebastian's disinterested voice echoed in the narrow passage.
"Welcome back, you... and you," he muttered, his tone flat as his ear fins twitched slightly, betraying his annoyance. His gaze flicked to the person next to you, clearly sizing them up. "Another day, another poor selection of team members, huh? Shame I don’t sell good ones either."
His joke, dripping with sarcasm, didn’t go unnoticed, but it didn’t have the desired effect either. You could see the faint lines of irritation on his face when he noticed your unimpressed expression. His usual wit seemed to fall flat in the current circumstances, and even he seemed to sense it.
"Really, Sebastian?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your new companion stifled a chuckle, but you could tell they were a bit wary of the sea-serpent’s mood.
Sebastian sighed, leaning back slightly as if trying to shake off the tension. "What can I say? The company down here isn’t exactly what I’d call inspiring," he retorted, though there was a hint of resignation in his voice. He glanced between you and your new friend, his irritation giving way to something softer, almost like concern and you didn't missed the way his tail moved, showing how bothered he actually is without speaking it out loud.
“Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to send us down here with nothing but these glorified wetsuits?” Your team mate joked trying to get the comfortable atmosphere from earlier back by continuing his joke, shaking his head in disbelief. “If I knew I’d be stuck in a metal box at the bottom of the ocean, I might’ve packed something a little more comfortable.”
You chuckled, trying to ease the palpable tension. “At least you’re making it work,” you said, playfully nudging him with your foot.
Sebastian’s ear fins twitched at the sound of your laughter, and own claw-like fingers digged themself uncomfortably into his own palm. Without a care, he spoke, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of laughing at this situation.”
Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on Sebastian’s mood. He pushed off the wall and took a step closer to you, a lighthearted smile still on his face. “Hey, we’re all just trying to make the best of it, right? No harm in keeping things a little less... bleak.”
Sebastian finally faced him directly, his eyes locking onto your friend with an intensity that made the room feel even smaller. “If you’re so focused on keeping things light, maybe you should find somewhere else to do it.”
The words were laced with a possessiveness that took both you and your friend by surprise. The room fell into a heavy silence as Sebastian’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “Or is this how you’d rather spend your time?”
You swallowed hard, sensing the unspoken conflict. “Sebastian, we’re all stuck in this together. We don’t have to turn on each other.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stuck together, sure. But don’t pretend like this is just another day at the office. We’re not exactly a team, are we?”
Your friend cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing he was caught in the middle of something much deeper than he’d anticipated. “Look, maybe I should just... give you two some space,” he suggested, glancing between you and Sebastian.
Before you could respond, Sebastian stood up and slithered across the room, positioning himself between you and your friend, his tall frame blocking the view. “Yeah, maybe you should,” he said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument.
The air in the room was thick with tension as your friend hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Right. I’ll, uh, catch up with you later,” he mumbled before slipping out of the room by crawling back throug the vent behind him.
Once the two of you were alone, Sebastian didn’t move, standing with his back to you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could feel the cold emanating from his body, but there was also something else—a vulnerability he rarely showed.
“Sebastian,” you started softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”
He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn around either. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “Because I’m tired of watching someone else take care of you when I’ve been the one keeping you alive all this time.”
His words hit you like a wave, and you suddenly understood the depth of his jealousy. It wasn’t just about the other guy—it was about everything you’d been through together, everything he’d done to protect you. He was scared of losing you, of not being enough and being replaced with someone you just met.
You stood up and stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. “I know, Sebastian. I know you’ve always been there for me. And I’m grateful for that. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension drained from his body. Slowly, he turned in your arms, his cool hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you, his expression softening. “I just... I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here.”
Sebastian’s gaze searched yours, and after a moment, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms and tail around you in a protective embrace. The coldness of his body was no longer unsettling; instead, it was a familiar comfort.
For a while, you just stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the room, the earlier tension dissolving into a peaceful silence. Finally, Sebastian pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath cool against your skin. “I didn’t mean to get so... possessive.”
You smiled gently, your hands resting on his chest. “It’s okay. Just... remember that we’re in this together. Both of us.“
Sebastian nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you, Sweetheart."
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