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surielstea · 3 months ago

Text

First Impressions

Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rhys is a bumbling buffoon when it comes to meeting his mate for the first time.

Warnings: awkward tension, reader lives in the hewn city

A.Note: not totally proud of this one since it’s hard for me to write first meeting stories with a concluding ending, but I hope you guys enjoy :)

Word count: 4.8k words

The scratching at my door had me sitting up in an instant, my back pressing against the cold stone wall as my hand slid beneath my pillow, fingers curling around the worn hilt of my dagger. My breath came shallow, controlled, as I listened—waiting for another sound, another shift in the air that might give away whoever had decided to test their luck tonight.

Life in the Hewn City never allowed for restful sleep. Not when shadows slithered in every alley when cruelty pulsed like a second heartbeat through its streets. And especially not now that Morrigan was gone.

Her father's estate had been far from a sanctuary, but at least the sheer power Keir wielded had kept the worst of the monsters at bay. Here, in my apartment on the outskirts of town, I had no such protection. Only thin walls, shattered locks, and neighbors who wouldn't need a reason to break into a young female's bedroom—who wouldn't care that I was High Fae, not when my magic was little more than a flickering candle in the wind.

A shiver danced down my spine as I gripped my dagger tighter, pulling it free just as the handle of my door twisted. My breath stilled.

Wards should have held. I'd watched Mor herself etch them into the worn wood, her golden power laced with every careful stroke. And yet the door creaked open, the darkness beyond bleeding into my already shadowed room.

I made myself as small as possible, the blanket of night cloaking me enough to fool a drunk—most in this wretched place were—but if they stepped inside if they came closer...

A head popped through the gap.

Gold hair caught the dim light.

My breath punched from my lungs. "Morrigan."

I tumbled out of bed, my dagger forgotten as I all but threw myself at her. She caught me effortlessly, her arms wrapping tight around my waist, solid and real, her familiar scent washing over me.

"Oh, I've missed you," she murmured, holding me as if she'd been gone for years rather than two unbearable weeks.

I pulled back just enough to take her in, my hands framing her face, my eyes darting over her features, searching for any sign of injury. My stomach knotted at the gauze wrapped around her waist, but otherwise, she seemed unharmed.

"I thought you got out safe?" I whispered.

She smirked. "Forgot some things."

There was something reckless in her eyes, something sharp and unyielding.

My stomach tightened further. "Mor—"

"I'm getting you out of here."

Her grin was edged with mischief, with certainty.

—

I had heard the rumors—the hushed whispers exchanged between patrons in dimly lit taverns, drunken murmurs of a secret city our High Lord kept hidden from the rest of us. A place untouched by the cruelty of the Hewn City, a myth spun to keep fools hopeful.

I never believed a word of it.

But Velaris was real.

"The City of Starlight," Morrigan had said, her voice breathless with something I hadn't seen in her since we were reckless, ignorant children. She'd smiled then—wild, unguarded. And I had known, in that moment, that every whispered legend had been true.

The city thrived even in the late hour. Laughter and music curled through the streets, golden lights casting soft glows against dark stone. I had never dreamed a place like this could exist, not outside of bedtime stories and half-formed wishes. And yet, Mor guided me through its winding paths as if it were the most natural thing in the world, showing me pieces of the Night Court I had never dared to imagine.

Until, finally, she led me to a small cabin at the edge of a quiet clearing.

Warm light spilled from its windows, shadows dancing against the wood as the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter leaked into the night. It was a thrilling sound—carefree, safe.

Mor stepped onto the porch, her fingers curling around my wrist as she turned back to me with a smirk. "I've been living here for the past few weeks," she hummed, as if it were no great thing. "And I decided I missed my roommate."

Her words barely registered over the clatter of voices inside. I could hear the easy teasing, the playful shouts.

I hesitated.

"It's Rhysand's cabin, but—"

"The High Lord's?" I whirled on her, my stomach clenching.

Mor blinked, as if I'd said something absurd. "He's my cousin, you know?"

I did know that. Of course I did. But the knowledge didn't stop the shiver that traced my spine.

I had seen Rhysand twice in my life—twice was enough.

Both times, I had been convinced I would die right there on the spot, crushed beneath the weight of his power. It exuded from him like a second set of wings, dark and monstrous. The ground itself seemed to quake beneath his steps. To say he was powerful was an insult to the very meaning of the word. He was terror incarnate, the nightmare that lived in the dark corners of every court.

I had heard the stories—of him reaching into minds and shattering them from the inside out, twisting their own fears into weapons sharper than any blade. He did not need to lift a hand to kill.

My throat went dry. "He's not in there, is he?"

The words were barely a whisper, but Mor only shrugged, far too casual. "Sure he is."

I nearly choked. What?

"Mor—"

She didn't give me a chance to protest.

Her fingers curled around mine, firm and unwavering, and before I could think to dig in my heels, she had pulled me forward—up the steps, through the doorway, past the foyer—until I was standing in the heart of the house.

The moment we entered, the conversation stopped.

Four sets of eyes locked onto me.

Hazel. Silver.

And then—

A violet gaze, piercing and unrelenting, dilated with something unreadable.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Rhysand.

The High Lord of Night. The male who could level entire armies with a flick of his wrist, who could peel apart minds like flower petals and leave nothing behind. The nightmare whispered about in every corner of the Hewn City.

And he was staring at me.

His lips parted slightly, as if words had caught in his throat.

Mor, of course, was entirely unaffected. "Gentlemen," she said, grinning as she strode deeper into the sitting room. "And Amren."

The silver-eyed female merely flicked a gaze over Mor before cutting straight to me, a sharp, assessing glance that made my stomach twist.

I was still trying to school my expression into something other than imminent death panic when Mor gave my wrist a final squeeze and released me.

"I'd like you all to meet—"

"She's my mate."

Silence.

Utter, perfect silence.

Then—

A choked sound came from the male lounging in an armchair, wings draped lazily over its sides. He had dark hair, hazel eyes gleaming with delight, and an unmistakable aura of shit-eating amusement. That one must be Cassian.

Next to him, another male, shadows curled at his feet like living things, merely blinked—slowly, deliberately—before glancing at Rhys and murmuring, "That was subtle." And there's Azriel.

Rhys, for all his legendary cunning, looked like he wanted to launch himself into the Sidra.

"Mate?" I rasped, my stomach flipping over itself.

No. No, surely not. That was—impossible. I would've felt something.

Or have I all along?

"You must forgive our dear High Lord," Amren drawled, sipping from a glass of something dark. "He usually has more tact when announcing these things."

Rhys finally seemed to snap back into his body, straightening his spine with something like composed horror.

"What I meant to say," he amended, his voice dropping into something far smoother, far silkier—too smooth as if he were compensating, "is that it's a pleasure to meet you."

Cassian snorted. "You just said she was your mate."

"Yes, thank you, Cassian."

Azriel's lips twitched. "I think she got the message."

My head was spinning, my throat tight. But my body had stilled—not from fear, exactly, but from something else. Something coiling in my chest, something aware.

Rhys's gaze flicked to mine, and his expression softened instantly, all humor melting into something devastatingly gentle.

"It's late. You must be exhausted." His voice had dipped, his usual charm tempered with something achingly sincere. "Let me get you something to eat. Or drink. Or—are you warm enough? I can get you a blanket—"

Cassian was shaking with silent laughter. Azriel merely watched, like he was filing this away for later use.

Amren, however, had no such patience. "Oh, for Cauldron's sake," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "She's not a wounded animal, Rhysand, stop circling her like a mother hen."

"I just want her to be comfortable," he argued, flashing her a glare before turning back to me with something so devastatingly earnest that I nearly forgot who he was. What he was.

He liked me.

No—he wanted me to like him.

Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord in history, was tripping over himself to win my favor.

And somehow, that was more terrifying than any of the rumors I'd ever heard.

—

I wasn't entirely sure how I ended up sitting on a plush couch in the middle of the High Lord's cabin, wrapped in a ridiculously soft blanket that I didn't remember agreeing to. A cup of tea—also not requested—was placed carefully in my hands, steam curling in the dim candlelight.

Rhysand hovered nearby.

And I meant hovered.

He was standing at an awkward, not-quite-close, not-quite-far distance, shifting slightly as if debating whether he should sit or stand or vanish into the floor. His normally easy, fluid grace had been utterly abandoned, leaving him looking... well. Uncertain.

Cassian, sprawled in the armchair across from me, was barely keeping it together. His wings twitched every few seconds, his lips pressed tightly as if physically holding in his laughter.

Azriel, seated beside him, was far more composed—but the slight upward tilt of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

I took a sip of my tea, trying to make sense of all this.

The High Lord of the Night Court—the terror of the Hewn City, the most powerful male in existence—had declared me his mate. And then proceeded to fall apart before my very eyes.

I was still trying to process it when Rhys spoke.

"Would you like more pillows?"

I blinked. "What?"

His violet eyes were very, very wide. "You look like you could use more pillows."

Cassian made a strangled noise.

Azriel coughed into his fist.

"I—I'm fine," I said slowly, watching as Rhys's shoulders sagged in relief.

Too fast. All of this was happening too fast, I couldn't keep up.

"Are you sure? Because I can get more."

Cassian let out a wheezing breath, eyes shining with unrestrained delight. "Yes, Rhys. More pillows. That's definitely what she needs."

Rhys shot him a withering glare before turning back to me, smoothing his expression into something intended to be charming, but coming across as deeply, deeply desperate.

"Or food!" he blurted. "Have you eaten? I can make you something. Or, well, I can't make you something, but I can get someone to—"

"She has tea, Rhys," Amren cut in dryly. "You shoved it into her hands two minutes ago."

"I did not shove—"

"You definitely shoved," Cassian confirmed, barely containing his cackle. "I thought you were going to spill boiling tea all over your mate."

I flinch slightly at the term as Rhys shoots back with, "I was being thoughtful."

Azriel hummed, taking a slow sip of his own drink, the amber color telling me it was something much stronger than tea. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I had absolutely no idea what to do with any of this.

Rhysand—the charmer, the schemer, the legend—was unraveling at the seams in front of me.

Because of me.

"I can make my own food," I finally said, mostly just to say something.

Rhys visibly straightened. "Of course! Yes, I knew that. I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, his usual ease nowhere to be found. "I want you to feel at home."

Cassian grinned. "I think she'd feel more at home if you stopped looming over her like a lovesick bat."

Rhys's glare could have melted stone.

Azriel just leaned back in his chair, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this," he mused.

Rhys turned his attention back to me, clearly trying to regain some dignity. He attempted one of his infamous smirks. "You must forgive them. They're not used to seeing me flustered."

Cassian clapped a hand to his chest, eyes sparkling. "Oh, it's a gift, truly."

Azriel nodded solemnly. "We should savor this moment."

Rhys looked seconds away from throttling them both.

I just stared at him, still gripping the cup of tea like it was the only solid thing in the world. "Are you okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His breath caught.

And for a moment, the amusement, the chaos—it all faded. His eyes softened, something raw flickering behind them.

"I'm fine," he said, voice lower now, steadier. "I just... I wasn't expecting this."

Neither was I. But still, something shifted in my chest at the way he looked at me—like I was something precious.

I wasn't ready to name that feeling.

But for the first time since I'd arrived, I didn't feel like running.

Slowly—mercifully—Rhys seemed to remember how to function again.

He settled into the chair across from me, still watching me with those impossibly violet eyes, but at least he wasn't hovering like I might vanish if he so much as blinked.

Not that he'd relaxed entirely.

No, because the moment I so much as shifted—adjusting the blanket, setting my tea down—he twitched as if preparing to leap to his feet and fix something.

If I asked for anything, I had no doubt he'd be up and fetching it before I could even finish the sentence.

But at least he was sitting.

Amren, on the other hand, was done with the entire situation.

With a long-suffering sigh, she stood and stretched. "Alright. That's enough of this."

Cassian perked up. "Of what?"

She shot him a withering look. "The two of you sitting here, watching this disaster unfold like it's a theatrical event."

Cassian grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Oh, but it is."

Azriel just sipped his whiskey, but the small smirk on his lips said everything.

Amren turned her glare to them both, then pointed at the door. "Out."

Cassian gaped. "But—"

"Out," she repeated, already making her way toward him.

Cassian barely had time to dodge before she grabbed his arm, yanking him up with surprising strength for someone so small. "Azriel, move," she barked.

Azriel, for all his shadows and lethal grace, barely managed to stifle a chuckle before obeying.

Rhys, looking very much like a male clinging to the last shred of his dignity, just sighed. "Amren, I hardly think—"

"Oh, please." She shot him a knowing look. "You want them gone."

Rhys opened his mouth. Closed it. Then glanced—too quickly—at me.

Cassian cackled. "Oh, this is so good."

"I hate all of you," Rhys muttered.

Cassian just grinned, throwing an arm over Azriel's shoulder as Amren shoved them both toward the door. "Love you too, brother!"

The door shut behind them then silence settled.

I exhaled slowly, my mind still spinning from all of this—this place, these people, Rhysand, sitting before me and looking as though he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

Mor, still seated beside me, gave a soft, reassuring smile. "Ignore them," she said. "They're menaces, but they mean well."

I nodded, unsure what to say.

She nudged me gently. "You doing okay?"

I hesitated.

Then, quietly, "I think so."

Mor's smile warmed. "Good." She stood, stretching. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything, okay?"

I nodded again. "Thanks, Mor."

She winked. "Get some rest."

And then, just like that, I was alone. With Rhysand.

Who, despite his best attempts to seem relaxed, looked about two seconds away from combusting.

The silence stretched for a beat too long before Rhys cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "So," he started, voice smoother now, steadier, "what do you think of Velaris?"

I exhaled, my grip loosening on the blanket around my shoulders as I glanced toward the window. The city lights still twinkled beyond the glass, mirroring the stars above.

"It's..." I searched for the right word. Magnificent."

His lips curved. "It is." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Not what you expected?"

A soft huff of breath left me. "In all honesty, I didn't even expect it to be real."

Rhys chuckled, low and warm. "Most don't."

I looked back at him. "How long has it been hidden?"

His expression turned thoughtful. "Since the war." His gaze flickered to the window, a distant look in his eyes. "My family—my court—has fought to protect it for centuries. It's the one place in all of Prythian untouched by war, by cruelty." He met my gaze again, and this time, there was something softer there. "Now it's yours, too."

Something shifted in my chest at that. The way he said it like I belonged here. I swallowed. "And the court?"

His smile returned, easy and knowing. "You've already met the worst of them."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "I don't believe that."

"Oh, you should." He smirked. "Cassian and Azriel? Winged buffoons. Mor? Chaos incarnate." He placed a hand on his chest, feigning solemnity. "And me? Well, the stories you've heard don't paint me in the best light, do they?"

A teasing edge now, that sharp, clever humor creeping into his voice.

I tilted my head. "No, they don't."

He grinned, but it softened as he glanced back outside. "You'll see for yourself, though." He hesitated, then added, "You'll be here for Starfall."

"Starfall?"

His eyes lit up, and suddenly, it was as if the shadows in the room no longer existed.

"You've never heard of it?"

I shook my head.

Rhys leaned closer, his voice dropping to something conspiratorial, enticing. "Once a year, the sky does something extraordinary."

I raised a brow, peering out the large arched window to look at the galaxy of stars just outside. "More extraordinary than usual?"

A chuckle. "Much more." He sat back again, watching me with a quiet sort of delight, as if he already knew I'd love it. "The stars don't just shine that night. They fall."

I blinked. "They fall?"

"Mmm." He traced a circle on the arm of his chair. "Not like shooting stars—though it looks similar. The souls of long-lost beings drift across the sky, shimmering trails left in their wake. It's..." He trailed off, searching for the word.

"Magnificent?" I supplied, unable to help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Rhys gave a slow, approving nod. "Very."

Something warm settled in my chest. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

And then, finally, I allowed myself to really look at him.

Not the High Lord. Not the nightmare. Just Rhysand.

And gods, he was handsome.

The kind of handsome that made the room feel smaller, the air feel warmer. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, those impossibly violet eyes that seemed to catch every flicker of candlelight. And the way he looked at me—like I was something precious. Like he already knew me, in some deep, unspoken way.

I cleared my throat, shoving away the thought. "It sounds magical."

He grinned, and for the first time, it wasn't the grin of a High Lord, or a male who held the power of nightmares in his hands.

It was just a smile. For me.

A slight yawn slipped from me, Rhys was instantly moving.

"Mother above, I've kept you up too late—" He was already leading me toward the hall, his steps brisk, his hands half-lifted as if he wanted to guide me but thought better of it.

I barely had time to keep up as he strode toward a door across from Mor's, gesturing to it like it was some grand reveal. "This is yours—of course, if you don't like it, we can find you another room, or a different house entirely, or—"

"Rhys—"

"I really should have let you rest earlier, I can be insufferable when I ramble, and—"

"Rhys."

"I hope you find everything comfortable, but if you need anything—extra pillows, a softer mattress, a different view—"

I pressed my palm to his chest. He froze.

His breath hitched, just barely—but I felt it beneath my hand, the sharp inhale, the slight stutter of his heartbeat.

His eyes locked onto mine, the violet darkening, blazing.

I had only meant to stop his spiraling apologies, but now... Now the air between us was thick with tension.

Something unseen curled and tightened, coiling like a living thing beneath my skin.

Rhys exhaled sharply through his nose. Slowly—reverently—his hand lifted, covering mine where it lay over his chest. His fingers curled just enough to hold me there, as if... as if he couldn't bear to let go.

Something between us shifted and I didn't have time to decide if it was for the better or not.

A pull, deep in my ribs. An ache that hadn't been there before.

Rhys went completely still.

Like he was waging some great internal war, fighting against a force that neither of us had yet spoken aloud. But I felt it.

The way his fingers tightened just slightly over mine. The way his lips parted like he was about to say something, only to think better of it.

The way his eyes—those star-flecked, devastatingly beautiful eyes—searched mine like they held the answer to something he'd been waiting for.

I should have stepped back.

I should have moved.

Instead, I stood there, heart pounding, fingers twitching against the soft fabric of his tunic.

Rhys swallowed, his throat working around the motion, but he said nothing. Did nothing. Just stood there, his chest rising and falling beneath my palm, his fingers flexing ever so slightly over mine like he was grounding himself—like he needed to hold on. I knew I should step back.

We had only just met.

Yet that fact seemed irrelevant, insignificant compared to the weight of the moment curling between us, thick as smoke.

Because I could feel it—something pulling me toward him, that bond deeper than attraction, sharper than longing. It was in the way his breath came uneven, in the way his gaze dropped, just briefly, to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes, a flicker of something raw, something wanting, breaking through his carefully placed walls.

His lips parted, like he might say something. Like he might stop this before it went too far.

I didn't let him. Didn't give myself the chance to second-guess, to think, to reason.

I surged forward.

Rhys barely had time to exhale before my lips met his. Soft. That was my first thought—how soft his lips were, warm and parting against mine as if in stunned surrender.

And then he was kissing me back.

A sharp inhale, his hand sliding up my wrist, curling around it like he couldn't quite believe this was happening—but wouldn't dare let go, either.

His other hand found my waist, light, hesitant, his fingers pressing in just enough to ground me, to anchor us both in the storm of whatever this was.

It wasn't desperate. It wasn't hurried. It was slow, tentative, a gentle exploration.

His nose brushed mine as he tilted his head, his lips parting wider, and I felt the way he breathed me in—like I was something to be savored, something he hadn't known he was starving for until now.

A small sound left me—something between a sigh and a whimper—and Rhys shuddered, his grip tightening ever so slightly, his fingertips pressing into my skin like he needed to remind himself this was real.

We lingered there, caught in something we didn't have a name for, something neither of us had expected but couldn't seem to pull away from.

His thumb brushed along my wrist, slow, reverent, as our lips moved together in a rhythm that felt achingly natural.

Like we had done this a thousand times before. Like we would do it a thousand times more.

When we finally parted, it was only enough to breathe, our foreheads pressing together, breaths mingling.

Rhys's fingers flexed at my waist.

"I—" His voice was hoarse, rough with something unspoken. He swallowed. "We should stop."

I exhaled shakily, my hands still fisting the fabric of his tunic.

"We should," I admitted.

His thumb traced slow, lazy circles along my wrist, like he was memorizing the shape of me, the feel of me.

And then, softer—softer than I'd ever heard anyone speak my name—

"But I don't want to."

I barely had time to whisper, "Neither do I," before he kissed me again.

His lips were still on mine, still moving, still taking, even as he rasped against my mouth, "We can't."

But he didn't stop. Didn't pull away.

If anything, his hands tightened at my waist, fingers pressing into my skin like he was anchoring himself—like he was fighting a losing battle against whatever force was unraveling between us.

I gasped as his tongue slid against mine, slow and thorough, like he was trying to memorize me, like he was desperate to learn every piece of me with nothing more than his lips, his hands, his breath.

"Rhys," I whispered, not knowing if it was meant to be a plea or a warning.

He groaned, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath coming out in short, uneven pants.

"I want to know you," he said, his voice so raw, so gutted that it sent a shiver down my spine.

Then his lips were on mine again, harder, deeper, like he was proving it, like he needed me to believe him.

"I want to know everything," he murmured against my mouth, between kisses that left me gasping, left me trembling, my fingers still tangled in his hair. Another kiss, this one rougher, hungrier. "Everything."

I whimpered against his lips, barely able to think, barely able to breathe with the way he was consuming me, the way his words were carving themselves into my ribs.

He groaned, like the sound was being ripped from him. "I—" He shuddered. "Tell me to stop."

I froze beneath him, blinking up at him, my head spinning, my lips swollen from his kisses.

He swallowed hard, his breathing uneven, his hands flexing at my sides.

"Tell me to stop," he repeated, voice ragged, "because I don't think I can on my own."

His words hung between us, raw and trembling, his breath fanning against my lips. I could still taste him, still feel the imprint of his hands at my sides, as if he had branded himself into my very skin. My heart pounded against my ribs, my body warring between the pull of the bond and the sliver of hesitation curling in my chest.

I slipped my hands from his hair, brushing my fingers along his jaw, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. "Rhys," I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

His eyes, dark and blazing with emotion, searched mine. I saw the restraint there, the war he was fighting within himself, the way his hands trembled against my sides.

I swallowed, forcing myself to find the words through the haze of want clouding my mind. "I'll accept the bond," I murmured. His breath hitched, his entire body going utterly still. "I just need some time."

A heartbeat passed. Then another. And then—he exhaled, his forehead pressing against mine, his entire frame shuddering. His hands skimmed up my sides, gentle now, reverent, like he was memorizing every inch of me before letting go.

"You could take centuries," he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple, featherlight. "Beyond that, if you wanted. I'd wait for you, always."

Something in my chest ached, something too big to name. I closed my eyes, breathing him in, the warmth of him, the endless patience laced in every word.

I tilted my head up, pressing the softest of kisses against his lips—nothing like the desperate, fevered ones from before. Just a promise. Just a thank you.

His hands lingered on my waist, like he wasn't quite ready to let go, but he didn't stop me as I pulled away. A small smile tugged at my lips. "Goodnight, Rhys."

His eyes softened, something almost wistful in them. "Goodnight, my love."

With a final glance, I turned and slipped into my room, closing the door behind me. And even then, I could still feel him—like a shadow, like a promise—waiting.

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beanbagstab · 9 months ago

Text

No matter when or where 💖

Sonamy week 2024 Day 6: Red Thread of Fate

Amy would totally 100% believe romantic, soulmate stuff like this and Sonic would not.

But he believes in Amy and that’s close enough

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batboysanonymous · 4 months ago

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Shadows Between Us

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Y/N’s world shatters when the mating bond snaps into place with Azriel, her brother Cassian’s best friend, and the one person who doesn’t want her.

Pt. II

Pt. III

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the last strap of her Illyrian training leathers, the leather stiff and worn from years of use. Her reflection in the ornate mirror stared back at her, a hollow version of the confident warrior she once believed herself to be. Her chest tightened as she smoothed the dark fabric. This armor protected her from the elements—but not from him.

Azriel.

The name echoed in her mind, a haunting melody she couldn’t escape. The bond between them was a cruel twist of fate, tying her to someone who didn’t want her. Not like that. Not like a mate.

Her brother, Cassian, was oblivious to the turmoil. She could hear his booming laughter from down the hall, sparring with Nesta in their private suite. Her brother’s bond with Nesta was vibrant and undeniable, like the sun blazing in the sky. Theirs was a bond that had been welcomed, nurtured. Nothing like hers.

“Are you ready?” Nesta’s voice broke through her thoughts. She leaned against the doorway, her sharp features softened by genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” Y/N lied, tightening her armor. “Just another day of training.”

Nesta crossed her arms, skeptical as always. “You don’t have to put yourself through this. If Azriel is going to act like a blind, ungrateful idiot, that’s on him.”

Y/N flinched but didn’t let her expression falter. Nesta had seen too much already, had heard the muffled sobs Y/N tried to hide. It was Nesta, after all, who had been scouring ancient libraries for a way to break the mating bond.

“What if there’s no way to break it?” Y/N had asked one desperate night.

“There’s always a way,” Nesta had replied firmly, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Even if I have to tear it from the Cauldron’s hands myself.”

Nesta’s fierce determination was both a balm and a knife. Y/N wanted to believe her, but the bond’s presence was constant, unyielding, like a second heartbeat she couldn’t escape.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Azriel’s indifference wasn’t new, but it hadn’t always been this unbearable. For years, he had been polite, distant, a quiet presence in her life. That changed the night the bond snapped into place. She had felt it instantly, the overwhelming connection that pulled her toward him like gravity. She thought it would be the start of something beautiful.

It wasn’t.

The memory of that night was etched into her mind:

“I didn’t ask for this,” Azriel had said, his voice a low growl. Shadows curled around him protectively as he paced the room. “This bond—it’s a mistake.”

Cassian had been livid. “How dare you?” he had roared, fists clenched. “She’s your mate. You’re supposed to protect her, cherish her—”

“I didn’t ask for her,” Azriel had interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “And I don’t want her.”

Y/N had been listening from the shadows, her heart shattering with every word. She had fled before either of them noticed her.

That night had marked the beginning of her descent into a quiet, agonizing heartbreak. Azriel didn’t want her. And now, he barely looked at her unless duty required it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The training grounds were alive with the sounds of sparring and laughter when Y/N arrived. Cassian greeted her with a grin, his wings flaring dramatically as he held up his practice sword. Nesta sat on the sidelines, her sharp gaze keeping an eye on everything, especially Y/N.

And then there was Azriel.

He leaned against a stone pillar, his hazel eyes scanning the room. His shadows curled lazily around him, an ever-present reminder of his power. When his gaze landed on Y/N, his expression didn’t change, but she felt the weight of his stare.

“Late again,” Cassian teased, tossing her a wooden sword. “Better be ready. Nesta’s been waiting to knock you on your ass.”

“Like that’s new,” Y/N shot back, forcing a smile.

Azriel said nothing, his shadows whispering secrets she wasn’t privy to. He didn’t look at her again, not as she stepped into the sparring ring with Nesta or as she exchanged blow after blow with her sister-in-law. But she felt him watching all the same, a phantom touch that set her on edge.

“Keep your guard up,” Nesta barked, her blade coming down in a swift arc.

Y/N blocked it, her muscles straining. “I’m trying!”

“Try harder,” Nesta said, her voice sharp but not unkind. She feinted left and landed a glancing blow to Y/N’s ribs. “You’re distracted.”

“Am not,” Y/N muttered, even as her mind screamed at her to stop lying.

“You’re predictable,” Nesta continued, stepping back. “And predictable gets you killed.”

Cassian clapped from the sidelines. “That’s my mate. Brutally honest and brutally effective.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, her gaze flickering to Y/N. “You need to focus, or—”

“I’ve got it,” Y/N snapped, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Let’s go again.”

But even as they resumed, her movements were sluggish, her thoughts fractured. Azriel’s presence was suffocating, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken. When the session ended, Y/N barely waited for Cassian’s critique before heading toward the showers.

“Y/N.”

His voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned to find Azriel standing a few feet away, his shadows coiling around his boots.

“What?” she said, her tone sharper than intended.

He hesitated, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk.”

Her heart twisted painfully, but she forced herself to stand tall. “About?”

“The bond,” he said, his voice low. “I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her throat tightening. “I already know how you feel.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “You don’t.”

“Don’t I?” she snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t want me. You don’t want this bond. What else is there to say?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone.

“It is,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’ve made it perfectly clear.”

His shadows stilled, wrapping tightly around him as if to shield him from her words. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she lied, her voice breaking. “Except maybe honesty. But I guess that’s too much to ask.”

She turned and walked away, ignoring the pain that threatened to consume her.

That night, Y/N lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her room. The bond pulsed faintly, a reminder that no matter how far she ran, she could never escape him. But the tears didn’t come. She was empty, her heart a hollow shell.

In the darkness, she made a decision: If Azriel didn’t want the bond, she wouldn’t force him to accept it.

Even if it killed her.

Taglist: @kathren1sky_blog, @willowpains, masbt1218, antonia002, bookishcait, fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

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lovelymoonflower1 · 7 months ago

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Gwyn and Azriel having a date under the stars painting each other 🌌💖

I love this art so much! Thank you Maju for creating this beautiful amazing art for me 🥰!

Commission by Me @lovelymoonflower1

Art by @majuandrad

|| Repost is allowed with proper credits to me and the artist ||

|| Characters belongs to Sarah J Maas ||

#gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x azriel #pro azriel #pro gwyn #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #sarah j maas #art commisions #azriel #gwynriel supremacy #love #fated mates #mates #art #acotar #gwyn acotar

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girlinthetardis04 · 3 months ago

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"Oh, I'm so addicted to otome games I went from Mystic Messenger to Obey Me! to Love & Deepspace, teehee"

FOOLS

YOU

AMATEURS

YOU SEE THIS?

YOU SEE THIS???

THIS IS 55 GAMES! FIFTY FIVE!!!

AND FOR LIKE 45 OF THOSE I'M THE ONLY PERSON IN THE FANDOM

GET ON MY LEVEL NOOBS

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miseryreads · 2 months ago

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✨ 𝓗𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓬𝓾𝓽𝓮, 𝔀𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 ✨

Happy to share this cute Gwynriel moment by the amazing bbrichs_ !!

Wasn’t going to post this today, but thought we deserved some fun this week in our tags. 🩵🩵

No reposts without permission and do not use this art for anti content please.

Characters belong to SJM.

IG post can be found here.

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howi99 · 2 months ago

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The "King" of Teachers 1

(a crack fic)

Yang: I heard we are getting a new Prof for Grimm studies.

Ruby: *curious* What happened to professor Port?

Yang: *shrug* Maybe he took his retreat?

_ meanwhile _

Port: *beating up a bunch of grimm with his fist, reaping and tearing until it's done* AHAHAHAH!! I FEEL ALIVE!!!

_ _ _

Weiss: *pensive* He was kinda old...

Jaune: *sweating profusely* Please be my dad, please be my dad-

Pyrrha: *worried* Jaune? What's wrong?

Jaune: *panicking* The new professor is one of my parents and i don't know which- *feeling a sense of dread overwhelming him* ... *Gulp* H-hi mom...

Everyone: *look at the woman who "appeared" next to Jaune* !?!

Mama Arc: *sigh* I see, this is how low this school has fallen. *Looking down at her son* Not even noticing my presence until you pointed it out. *Shake her head, a look of contempt adorning her face* Truly, how deplorable.

Weiss: *frown* Now lis- *register who is in front of her* -ten... *Blink, look at Jaune then at the woman then back at Jaune* D-did you say mom?

Jaune: *slowly nodding his head, trying to make himself as small as possible* Y-yes?

Weiss: *blink again* But that's-

Mama Arc: *glaring at Weiss* Have i given you the permission to talk?

Weiss: *sitting back down, looking straight towards the blackboard* S-sorry!

Mama Arc: ... Good.

*pick up Jaune in her arm*

*walk towards the blackboard, Jaune still in her arms*

*sit on her chair, Jaune now sitting on her lap*

Artoria: *in a booming voice* I AM THE KING OF STORMS, LEADER OF THE KNIGHT OF THE ROUND TABLE. MY NAME IS ARTORIA PENDRAGON AND HE *hug Jaune with a gentle smile* Is my pride and joy~!

Jaune: *Hiding his face in pure embarrassment* This is the end, my punishment...!

Yang: ... *Whispering to Weiss* She's kinda intense.... *Frown, looking at Blake* Blak-

Blake: *Blushing madly* Sh-she's so h-hot~

Ruby: Knight of the round table? Who's that?

Weiss: *nervously* They are Vale's best huntsmen and huntresses.

Artoria: *glaring towards team RWBY's group* I don't remember giving you the permission to talk, did i?

Team RWBY: *stop talking, all scared for their-*

Jaune: *stammering his words* M-mom, S-stop being mean to m-my friends!

Artoria: ... *Beaming hugging her son even more* Of course darling~! But i still need them to listen if they don't want to end up *censored for brutal depictions of death* or *censored for even worse depiction of death* during missions!

Everyone: *completely horrified*

Cardin: *vomiting in the trash can*

Weiss: *consoling a crying Ruby* There there...

Nora: *confused by everyone's reaction* ... I mean, that's pretty standard stuff on the field, right Ren?

Ren: *also not understanding everyone's shock* That's not even as bad as what we lived through.

Nora: Right? *Turning to Pyrrha* What about- *sees the invincible girl on the ground, having lost consciousness* ... oh.

#jaune arc #yang xiao long #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #nora valkyrie #lie ren #pyrrha nikos #cardin winchester #artoria pendragon #rwby #rwby au #rwby shitpost #the king of teachers au #rwby x fate

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jigsawpluciuss · 1 year ago

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Draw Lancelot with a rocket launcher lmao

Roses are just for hitting some poor guys’ head.

#lancelot #lancelot du lac #zerkerlot #fate grand order #fgo #fate series #lancelot fate #fate zero #fanart #my art #ROCKET LAUNCHER!!!#roses are ABSOLUTELY weapons

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alyslittlehaven · 4 months ago

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In What We Keep -

Azriel x DragonBorn!Reader

One fateful night after a mission, the three bat brothers need to seek refuge from the cruel winds past the mountains of Illyria, after a little of debating, Azriel decided to take his brothers to the slice of life he took for himself.

These chapters are short and to the point. (And written horribly.)

(Secret relationship, pregnant!reader, tension, happy loving relationships, mentions of NSFW, short series.)

Chapter One - A Fires Warmth

Chapter Two - A slice of Life

Chapter three - WIP

Chapter four - WIP

—- one shots will come with this series; please do requests! —-

#acotar #azriel x reader #fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #original character #fiction #azriel x oc #azriel supremacy #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #pregnancy #pre established relationship #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #fated mates #secret relationship #dragon reader #x reader

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celaenaeiln · 2 years ago

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I love how Deathstroke was literally created for Dick.

Deathstroke was created by Marv Wolfman and George Pérez (Teen Titans creators) in December of 1980- making his first appearance in the New Teen Titans Comic #2.

They realized quickly that as Dick was becoming a new person with a new identity, increasingly stepping out from Batman’s shadows to take on novel responsibilities with increased stature, he needed to have a continuous villain to call his own. Like how Batman has the Joker, Nightwing needed someone and-Boom. Slade Wilson, the sole terrorizer of Dick Grayson, was brought into existence.

Like how the Joker is obsessed with Batman, Deathstroke is obsessed with Nightwing. Actually, no. That would be wrong. Slade Wilson is obsessed with Dick Grayson. Even when they’re not in costume.

It’s wild how Deathstroke is viewed as Nightwing’s exclusive nemesis decades later till now and will remain that till the end.

Can he make it any fruitier? It’s been 43 years, dude. He sorta killed your first, was bestfriends with your second, a parent figure to your third, and a trusted friend of your ex-wife’s. He’s met the family.

Put a ring on it already.

#sladick #dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #they’re a fated pair #according to Deathstroke atleast #rose wilson #ravager #sladin

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nina-buveur-dencre · 3 months ago

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Elain and Lucien

Share with credit. I also included my black and white sketch which is what I typically do. I’m dabbling in color.

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jacksdreams · 26 days ago

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It’s the legends, the lies, they spin us when we’re children. About the glory and wonder of the mating bond. I thought it was all bullshit. Then you two came along.

Art Credit : laaraklein

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stormhearty · 1 year ago

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Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Triggers: obsessive/toxic Azriel, indications of sex (but not explicit), blood, familial and character death, self-hurt

Summary: Azriel never thought he would become obsessed with anything. He was the stoic and cold Spymaster of Night Court. For centuries he never had anyone grow close to him — not until you, his mate. However, something lurks underneath those bright-colored eyes, and for Azriel… he couldn’t be anywhere else but near you.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this! It took a bit to understand the song and its musicality, but I was able to hopefully reach something that would tug the heartstrings but also have the same feeling as the song — Azriel falling for the reader, being addicted, and… Well, continue to find out. Also, I wanted it to be a Dark!Azriel, but I’m not sure if he is as dark as people may interpret, do let me know what you think of this! I wanted this to mimic “Notions of Devotion” but with a darker twist, basing it off the prequel chapters of “Secret Lady”. And also, an AU of my Seer!Reader! 👀👀👀

Temptation is such a fickle thing.

Before you even stepped through those grand doors, Azriel smelt you — that familiar aroma of jasmine and sage wafted through those doors. He was already addicted before even seeing you. He felt his shadows vibrate and shuffle underneath his feet, too excited to bask in your presence and your light.

And when you stepped through those doors, it was as if the Gods and Mother above had graced you in his presence.

You were beautiful.

You were a literal ray of sunshine as if the clouds above parted and you descended from the Havens. He watched as your skirts fluttered beneath you, the white gown — embedded with sparkles of silver and stars — made you ethereal, a Goddess walking in mortal lands.

He had heard of you through his shadows — a Seer within Prythian’s borders.

The first known Seer in millennials.

The Seer that the High Lord of Day Court had kept secret for centuries — the rumored daughter figure of High Lord Helion.

The whispers of your power were not foreign in Night Court. You had used your powers of foresight to bring forth change throughout all of Prythian — you had used your powers for the greater good — all the while keeping your identity a secret.

Azriel had only heard of your name — (Y/N). The whispers of your name and beauty from Day Court spread like wildfire throughout Prythian and many had wanted to meet you, even glance your way to see your beauty.

Even Azriel had grown curious.

When he was sent as an emissary along with Mor to Day Court soil, he hoped and wished to see you pass by. Your aroma of jasmine and sage echoed throughout all the halls he walked through, his shadows scurrying around hoping to find the source of such captivating fragrance.

But he never got even a glance at you.

He had heard the light shuffling of feet, every time he passed a hallway or a room, his head perking up at the scent of you. Every time he felt your presence, heard your feet, smelled you, he scent his shadows on a hunt — to find you, to bring you to him.

He was already addicted — all he wanted was you near him, to bask in your scent and presence.

But every time his shadows came back, it was for naught. He watched them whisper that they couldn’t find you — that as if by magic, you would vanish in midair. Azriel didn’t know if you were avoiding him… but you had no reason to — there was no connection between the two of you, no reason for you to avoid him.

Azriel had grown frustrated at that thought — you were a temptation. You filled his thoughts every waking moment for days on end while he was at Day Court; and even when he arrived back to Night Court, your lingering scent stained his clothes to the point he almost burned them to rid the thought of you. But in the end, he couldn’t.

It would erase everything he had felt for you — of that he yearned for you. That his whole time in Day Court was nothing but a fleeting hallucination, that you would become nothing but a lucid dream.

And it felt like you were nothing but that.

He would lie at night, dreaming of you — you haunted him, awake and asleep. Azriel could reach out and grasp you, hold you close to him — he could practically taste you, but every time he thought he would be able to see your face in his dreams, he would awake — as if the Gods tried to stop him from knowing you completely.

And so when he heard that you would be coming to Night Court as an emissary from Day, his heart picked up a beat at the thought of you again.

Azriel felt the tap against his mental shields that shook him from his thoughts. Hazel hues glanced at his High Lord, seeing that playful smirk that tugged on his lips and he heard the snicker from the General.

“Oh shut it, the both of you…” he hissed in his head at them before he straightened his composure, focusing back on you and the two guards that flanked your side from Day Court.

You were more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His thoughts of how you could have looked never matched the beauty that you radiated as you walked towards the dias where the Inner Court had sat.

You elegantly bowed in front of his High Lord and Lady, and he just watched you — mesmerized by every little action that you did. He watched you straighten up, fixing your locks behind your ears and over your shoulders; he watched those delicate hands fiddle with each other in nervousness that you couldn’t help but emit.

It was so adorable and endearing on how you looked.

He was absolutely in love with you already.

And when you looked towards his way, your eyes staring into his own hazel — he felt his chest burst with color. His usual world of black and white beamed with color he never thought he would see. His chest warmed, ached, and called out to you — he felt that golden string that he only heard of from his brothers — one that tied your soul to his.

Azriel stumbled backward, clutching his leathers at his chest, his breath taken away from him. He heard your gasp — it was such a lovely sound — as he watched from the corner of his eyes, you stumbling as well, the guards holding your shoulders to stead you, all the while his High Lord and Cassian rushed to his side.

“What happened, Azriel?” his High Lord asked him — commanded him.

Despite the command rushing through his body, his mind rejected it, all his focus on you and those hands on your shoulders. The sight of other hands besides his own, made Azriel feel territorial. He felt the bond in his chest vibrate in anger, and his shadows swirl around him, waiting for their master to let them loose to attack. He let them loose, watching those tendrils of darkness whisk forward to wrap around your pure form, watching them slither up your legs, up your arms, pushing those hands away from you.

The sight of his shadows, his darkness, curling around your form made the bond sing, and a dark satisfaction curled around his heart.

All he wanted to do was cover you in his darkness, making you all his.

He watched as you looked at those shadows before your gaze shifted to his own once again. His body thrummed with happiness and satisfaction as you looked at him with wide eyes, and the only thing that slipped from his lips was:

“Mate."

“How do I look, Azriel?”

He watched those eyes beam up at him, cheeks flushing a beautiful shade of pink, and his ears perking up at the laugh that escaped your lips as he placed the flower crown on top of your head.

His heart rattled in his chest at the way you looked up at him. How your eyes sparkled with happiness and how your laugh was so pure and unabashed. You glowed with so much pureness and happiness, that all he hoped was that he could be the only person that could make you feel like this.

“Stunning,” he affirmed, his words blowing with the wind, “I picked them in particular because I knew they would suit you well…”

Hazel hues watched your features absorb his words for a moment, eyes shifting before looking back up at his own — eyes wide and bright staring up at him — unguarded and so vulnerable. He felt the bond sing… but a darker voice resonated behind that elation — how beautiful would it be to have everything about you just be his. To watch your pureness, your light, your beauty be drowned in his shadows… in his darkness.

“Yes…” he whispered, leaning into your features, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, sliding slightly so that the tips of his fingers grazed the base of your neck, his other hand coming up to gently wrap around your waist, tugging you closer, “Look at me, just like that…”

Azriel brought your face closer to his own, your scent overwhelming his senses — how addicted he was to your smell and he couldn’t help but wonder if you tasted delicious as well as you smelled. Hazel hues watched that baby pink shade turn darker on your cheeks and his heart swelled with pride.

“Keep looking at me just like you are, (Y/N). Is it too selfish for me to ask you, to just look at me… and only me?”

He leaned down and pressed his lips against your own and he was right — you tasted divine. His lips moved against yours, and he felt your hesitance in the kiss, your hands hovering over his chest, a feeble attempt to push him away. He gently bit your lower lip, feeling you gasp against his lips and he delved in, tasting your mouth to his heart’s content. Azriel brought you closer to him, feeling you slump against his form before gently bringing you down to the soft grass underneath both of your feet.

Azriel pulled away from the kiss, his large form hovering over your own. He watched as your chest heaved, those lips parted in a gentle ‘o’ shape, dark red from his kiss. You looked ravished, not so pure anymore — and it made his body pulse. He felt his shadows, swirl around you, clinging onto the strands of hair that spread around your pretty head, onto your shoulders and upper arms; he watched them move over your dress, tugging onto fabric until they loosened over your body.

His eyes darkened, watching inches of skin be revealed to him and you having no attempt to cover up or hide from him. A coo escaped his lips as he leaned down once again, lips attaching themselves to the crook of your neck as he felt your hands slide up his arms to cradle his head against you.

“Why would I look at anyone else, Azriel?” you mused, your voice out of breath, “When you are my mate? When the first time I saw you, you already filled my world with so much hope and light…”

Azriel felt himself growl, his kisses becoming more and more desperate against your skin. Teeth scraped against flesh and hands grasped at anything that was you. Your gasps and moans filled his ears, and he felt the darkness in his heart grow more and more.

He wanted to cover you in him, cover you in that darkness that grew inside of him. He wanted your light that radiated from your soul to darken, to taint it with his essence.

It was funny indeed — how you saw him with such pureness in your eyes, in your heart, in your soul. When in all reality, he was the opposite of that.

He was dark — there was nothing pure about him.

Not when it came to you.

Drip… Drip… drip

Azriel ran his blood-stained hands through dark tussled locks, as he stepped into the foyer of the River House. Dark red blood stained the marble floors of the home, dripping down from his leathers, the undeniable squish from underneath his boots.

He tilted his head up, staring at the night-kissed ceiling — a painting done by his High Lady’s hands.

I’m tired.

He pondered as he continued to walk the quiet halls of the house, all too quiet except for the thump of his blood-covered boots. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, hazel hues stared at his hands — one maimed and disfigured, one that was covered in blood. Azriel felt like it seeped into his very skin, touching his very soul. A frown tugged onto his features as he wiped it on the marble railing of the stairs, watching it streak — tainting the white color with red.

Azriel had just come back from his interrogation from Hewn City, his High Lord requested it. They needed information on the looming threat of the Deathless God.

You had been the one to warn about the threat — your powers taking over you to give the prophesized vision of the God in the Lake. All of Prythian took heed of such words that slipped your lips.

He had become busy, more busy as of late, to the point he rarely saw you.

He missed you. Missed the way you looked up at him with such adoration, with such love; missed the way you would feel underneath him; missed the sound of your voice — your gasps, your moans, your laugh.

Azriel blinked hazily when a shadow ran from underneath his grasp and up the stairs. Hazel hues watched that shadow, before noticing a figure on top of the stairs.

He blinked again, adjusting his eyes to the light before seeing that it was you.

However… it wasn’t you.

Those hues weren’t the ones that he loved. They were light, almost white… Unfamiliar… yet familiar at the same time. You looked at him, but one without the familiar feeling of love; you stared at him, as if staring into his soul.

Your powers had taken over you again.

Azriel walked up those steps, towards you, and once he was in front of you he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, the blood that stained his leathers seeping into your pure white clothes. That dark feeling inside him grew once again, seeing such imagery… the pure you, being tainted by him.

He looked into your power-filled eyes, watching them unblinking up at him. A sigh escaped his lips as he lifted you into his arms, your body light as a feather and he continued his path to your shared bedroom.

Stepping beyond the threshold of those grand doors, he kicked them shut and laid you down on the massive bed, pressing himself closer to your form. He did not care that the blood continued to taint your clear skin, he wanted more.

He stained your thighs, your arms, your chest with red, his shadows slipping off your, now, red slip. He brought your hand to his face, pressing blood-stained lips onto the palm of your hand before his fingers drew an eye on the back of your hand — a sign he always drew when you were like this.

An omen, hoping to call the real you back to him.

A giggle escaped your lips, as you took your hand back, head tilting at the image that he drew. A knowing smile tugged on your lips as you leaned up toward Azriel.

“You seem nervous, Shadowsinger…”

Azriel fought back a shudder — it was your voice, but also not your own. Your powers had taken you — mind and body. Your power echoing through your voice, one so ancient and one so powerful, it resonated in the air, all-powerful and all-knowing.

This wasn’t the first time that your power had overtaken you.

The first time was your divine prediction of the Deathless God’s return.

It was a day Azriel could never forget.

He had thought he had lost you to your power, thought that you would never return to being you again. He watched as you writhed in pain, sweat dripping down your forehead and onto the sheets. You were sick with a fever days before that moment, and Azriel had thought you were having a fever dream. But when your eyes opened, and unfamiliar white hues stared at him — he knew it wasn’t a fever dream.

The Bird of Ash and Fire, flying over the dark lake. Power resonating… The Cauldron calling to its like. He will rise and plunder Prythian to destruction. Fire and shadow submerge all of the light.

Fingers touched his face, bringing him out of his thoughts as hazel eyes focused back down at you, that knowing smile still on your features.

“There is another prophecy… you have yet to hear, my dearest Shadowsinger… One that concerns your dearest sons that your wife has borne.”

Brows scrunched on his features, as he pulled away from your body — the first time he has done that. Hazel eyes locked onto omnipotent ones, “What are you talking about, seer…”

Azriel never called your name when you were in this state… he never thought this was you.

This was the all-seeing Seer of Prythian.

This was not his mate, not his wife.

That knowing smile tugged wider as you slid your fingers over his eye, covering it with your palm — as if to blind him from the truth that you were to spill.

“Our sons will, in the near future, rip their own mother to shreds…”

Hazel eyes widened, continuing to stare down at you. A laugh escaped your chest, echoing into the still room.

“Are you afraid, Shadowsinger? Are you afraid that your mate will despise you? You have a choice now…

“Will you follow fate’s string, abide by the course of nature set by the Cauldron and the Mother above, and allow your mate to be brutally die at the hands of your son?”

He watched you lean up, pressing your palm further into his eye before he reached up and grabbed your wrist and pull it away, fingers digging into tender flesh to the point it would bruise.

“Or… will you wish upon the powers of your mate, the Seer… to kill your sons?

“Will you be willing… to kill your kin, one that you had wanted so much to the point you pushed your mate’s body to the brink of breaking. Or do you dare change your mate’s destiny of death?”

Azriel watched as tears cascade down your cheeks, your hues slowly hinting back to their normal color — that your powers were slowly leaving your body alone.

“Even if you are at the end of your wife’s wrath for it?”

The preeminent voice left you and the whimper of his name slipped your lips.

A coo escaped his lips, leaning back down to press his lips against your own, hushing you from your cries. When he pulled away, he watched as your eyes return to your own, staring up at him — tears continued to streak down your cheeks.

“—-Don’t… Azriel… Please —- Not our sons…” you muttered, begged your husband not to listen to your vision.

He pressed another kiss, taking your breath away from you. He felt you relax underneath him, your hands slipping from his hold and back onto the bed, the tension in your body slowly slipping away.

“—- Father…”

He glanced up from the kiss, seeing his two sons — Rhysar and Rian at the threshold of the bedroom. Azriel pulled away from the kiss, glancing back down at you, the even breathing indicating that you had fallen asleep — it happened every time your powers left your body.

Your words echoed in his ears — he had to choose.

The family that he grew with you… his pride and joy — his sons.

Or the love of his life… his mate — you.

He had heard the whispers from his sons, his eldest especially — the ungratefulness that spewed from their lips. That their mother, despite being a Seer, was from unknown origins and that their father was a bastard Illyrian from the depths of war camps.

He did not care about the hatred that spewed from their lips — but to utter ungratefulness about their mother who bore them... Who almost died to bring them into the world.

Azriel would not tolerate that.

Not when you were everything to him.

With one last glance at your sleeping form, he slowly moved away from you, slipping out of the bed as eyes stared at his sons — hazel hues dulling from his decision.

He will choose you all the time.

Even if it meant killing his own flesh and blood.

Azriel stalked towards them, his large figure overpowering the two of them. His shadows whisked out from his own, darting towards them as they turned and attempted to run — their screams filling the hallways.

A frown tugged on his lips, as he closed the door behind him, attempting to silence the screams from reaching your ears. He stayed still, guarding those doors to the bedroom, allowing his shadows to zip through the halls — to bring his sons back.

The scrambling of feet echoed through the hallways, their terrified screams echoing all around him. He knew that the rest of his family would hear it, and would attempt to stop him from taking his sons’ life — he couldn’t let that happen.

Not when your own life was hanging by a string.

His shadows dispersed, blanketing the River House, locking each door, and preventing anyone from leaving their rooms.

He could hear it — the frantic yells of his family, the confusion in their voices at what was happening.

"Azriel what is going on? Why are your shadows everywhere? "

The Spymaster took no need of his High Lord's questions as he silently waited for his shadows to drag his sons back. He placed a dark wall up in his mind, casting aside Rhysand’s questions and even his High Lady’s frantic pleas.

He didn’t need distractions — not when he had a goal in mind.

The screams and cries of his sons grew louder as he watched the spindle of shadows drag them back by their ankles. Hazel eyes looked down his nose at them, watching them shake and plead up to him — his very image staring back up at him.

Azriel never realized on how much his sons took after him, not a tall tell sign of his wife’s features in either of them. And it disgusted him. How can something like that come out of something so pure like you? He couldn’t understand. The only thing that was remotely you was in your second son, Rian — his eyes sparkled the same hue as yours.

Truth-Teller materialized in his hand, and he raised it to the dim lighting, watching it shine, eyes staring at the glint of his dagger before back down at his oldest son.

Without a second thought, the dagger stroked down.

The screams never ended, and Azriel’s skin dripped with blood once again.

“She hasn’t eaten or slept in days — anything she happens to swallow, she always throws it back up. Her condition is deteriorating, Azriel…

“What have you done?”

The Spymaster stepped into the vast room, the quiet sobs echoing through reverend walls. Hazel eyes trained on you as you pressed yourself against the stone casket of Rhysar, mourning over his death. His step echoed as he made his way towards you and he heard your sobbing stop as you looked over your shoulder, and up at him.

His heart tugged a tiny bit, your hallowed cheeks, dark circles underneath your eyes. You were exhausted, the death of your eldest son taking a toll on your mind and health.

Azriel attempted to tug at the golden string that connected the two of you; however, he only felt the hallow feeling on the other side, your heart slowly encompassed by shadow and darkness.

His mind knew he shouldn’t — but he felt pride seeing his mate look so haggard. His sick mind knew that no matter what, you would always look back for him — that your fates have always been intertwined.

“Say something, Azriel…”

Your voice was small, barely reaching his ears.

“Whether it be an excuse or a reason… Just say something, please.”

He watched as tears streamed down your cheeks, onto the dark colors of your mourning gown. It had been weeks since Rhysar’s death and yet you still continue to wear it — it had been gorgeous on you, Azriel’s dark voice revering in his head that you were beautiful in black, and not your usual white.

“Tell me you did it for your love for me… go on. Tell me… anything, on your reasoning for killing our son. Despite my pleading for you to not listen to the vision I spewed.”

Azriel remained quiet and another sob wracked through your body, a thinned hand coming up to press against pale lips, an attempt to hold back throwing everything up from your stomach.

Dull hues stared up at him, “The fates and Mother will continue to scorn me… Despite all of this, I can’t help but still love you. I have loved you for so long… that mating bond was just another thing that had pushed me to love you…”

He watched you move from the casket, dragging your body on marbled floors to where he stood. Azriel felt your hands grab his leathers, grasping onto anything on him as you continued to sob.

“Please… Say anything. At least… it would make me hate you even less…”

Azriel sighed softly as he leaned down and brought you into his arms, carrying you bridal-style as he pressed his lips against your own — once again, silencing your cries.

He felt you shake in his grasp, your hands pushing at his shoulders, tugging on his hair — attempting to pull away from the kiss. He let you, and he heard you gasp, taking in air as you looked at him, brows furrowed and your lower lip wobbling.

“Why!!” you yelled, your voice hoarse and cracking. You continued to push at his shoulders, clawing at his leathers. Azriel held you tight against him, afraid that if you moved too much in his arms, you’d fall and damage yourself.

“Why don’t you say anything?!! Why did you have to kill our son?! Because of the vision? Because of my powers?! Why!!?”

You gasped, pressing a hand against your throat — a tall tell sign of a panic attack seeping into your bones. Azriel brought your face close to his again, pressing his lips onto yours once more, an attempt to bypass the attack that was waiting to happen.

He felt your body calm against his and he sighed in relief into the kiss, pressing you closer to him. Azriel moved towards the wall, pressing you against it. His lips moved from yours to your neck, teeth and tongue scraping against the skin, and felt you relaxed in his hold.

A distraction for you and desire from him fueled his actions. His shadows felt their master’s desire for you and helped, pinning your form against the stone walls as he knelt, hands pushing and tugging layers of clothes.

He whispered devotion against your skin before devouring you in his darkness, in his love. A sinful moan escaped your lips, pressing yourself further into the wall, the silvers of shadow intertwining around your limbs as Azriel devoured you.

You glanced down at familiar scarred fingers as your mate traced the bruise that was on your wrist, one that was not of his making — but one that was made by you.

Your gaze was not focused as your mind was elsewhere — your memories flashing behind your eyes of what had occurred the past few days.

The birth of your High Lord and Lady’s first child — the heir to Night Court was brought to this world. You had loved that child, much like he was your own… you had pampered and spoiled the child rotten, a way to distract your racing mind.

Your power was starting to grow out of control.

There were moments where you were in control of your body and mind, and the next thing you knew, you were watching your powers take over you — as if your soul was pushed out of your body and all you could do was watch in horror of the visions that you decreed.

What had pushed you to the brink of hurting yourself was the day you noticed how Rian’s eyes glowed a familiar eerie color — one similar to yours when your powers overtake you.

Rian had inherited your powers.

And the first vision he ever saw had rattled you to your knees.

You watched as the power took over your child, those eyes glow and all you wanted was to pray to the Gods, to the Mother above to spare your child from such fates of being a Seer. Those all-seeing eyes stared at you as he pointed his small finger at you.

“Skin and bones burned and swallowed in darkness. To the father that has betrayed his kin, killed his own flesh. To the mother who continues to sit in darkness. There will be violence, there will be death. The Seer’s path will always walk in bloodshed. To ensure your kin will live for millennials, only your death will stop the madness.”

You felt fingers caress your cheek, and you blinked your dull eyes staring up at your mate who looked at you with so much softness that it tugged at your heart.

Oh, your mate — your wonderful and beautiful mate.

How much you loved him with your entire being, the entirety of your soul.

You had no idea where it had gone astray — was it the moment he heard of you? The moment your name reached his shadows and ears? Or was it when the bond snapped? That your souls were tired indefinitely that made your husband lose his mind to the darkness in his heart?

“(Y/N)…” he muttered.

Your name sounded beautiful in his voice — his baritone tone that rumbled in his chest, and echoed in your own. You fought back a shudder as you continued to stare up at him, watching those hazel eyes swim with something you were unable to identify.

“I told you to tell me when things get to hard for you. To tug on our bond, to call my shadows, to whisper my name. You shouldn’t have to hurt yourself like this when your powers overwhelm you… I could help…”

The warmth of his hand that cradled your cheek was so powerful that you couldn’t help but lean into it, your hand clutching your mate’s wrist as you snuggled into that warmth you loved.

A chuckle rattled out of Azriel and you felt him pull you closer to him, pressing his lips against your own.

You found that Azriel loved to kiss you, to make love to you at his convenience — to distract you, to distract him, from the world around both of you.

Your body fell back against soft velvet of your bedsheets, your husband’s body hovering over yours as he grounded himself onto you. His hands pressed against your sides, tugging on clothes and flesh to his desire.

“Instead of asking you, my love… I should make it an order — to stop you from hurting yourself.”

His lips slid from your own, sliding down your neck and shoulder, as fingers tugged your dress from your chest. His lips wrapped around the sensitive bud, as those darkened hazel eyes looked up at you.

“If you have no intention of doing what I ask of you —”

“I am doing exactly a you ask, my love.”

You felt him pause in his love making, pulling away from your breast to look at you. You felt your powers slowly take over again, and this time around, you had no intention of stopping them.

“I know how much you love me, to the point you are willing to die, Azriel. I know that any scars on my body hurt you more… than the ones on your own.”

You brought up his marred hand — one that was always covered with blood and scars — to your lips and pressed a kiss on them, one so gentle and soft that he barely would feel it.

“Let us make a wager, Shadowsinger…”

Your hands dropped his and slid up his broad arms, over his shoulders and around his neck, delicate fingers grasping onto black locks tugging enough to tilt his head back from your position. A pleased hum escaped your lips as you leaned up and bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulders.

“Anyone you will love after me… will be punished for it. They will lose their lives, their families, and themselves to the darkness that you have in your heart. And without anyone to love… you will lose your mind and die of madness.”

A cough raked your body, blood spilling out of your lips. You smiled down at your mate — your powers finally at its breaking point. You used the last of your powers, forced your powers to fully take over you, to call upon one last vision. You felt your vision start to blur, the vision of your husband the last thing you’d ever see in this world.

“You have caused this curse upon yourself, Shadowsinger… You should have simply told me you loved me… from the very beginning.”

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