Fanart by mftfernandez on Instagram

Request: “(Y/N) is Rhys’ sister/Azriel’s mate and she barely survives the attack from Tamlin’s family and her wings have been taken from her and it’s just Azriel’s reaction to it and him helping her”

Tags:@milllionthingsihaventdone​@akingdomofswordsandstories​

Warnings: gore, death, reader getting her wings cut off and almost dying, swearing

Word Count: 3,000

A/N: Always a pleasure to write for Az. This one’s a bit darker, definitely labeled angst for a reason. Has a fluffy ending though! <3

It was the middle of the night when they attacked.

You and your mother had never been sound sleepers, and since it was just the two of you traveling on foot to meet your brother, you’d decided to continue walking into the night.

You reached the place you’d planned to meet at before him, but that wasn’t a surprise. Rhys was many things, but timely wasn’t typically one of them (unless your father was involved). So you’d set a fire and hunkered down to wait, knowing you could be there anywhere from half an hour to half a day.

You were humming softly, admiring the view of the river in the moonlight, the silvery mist rolling up onto the banks. It was beautiful, but almost ominous. 

You had heard a twig snap somewhere in the forest behind you. You should have been more alert.

It took them all of thirty seconds to have you beaten and tied up, backs pressed tightly against the bark of trees and rope pricking your skin. You weren’t weak, not by any means. Your father had insisted you had proper training, that you knew how to fight, but there were so many of them.

You recognized the High Lord of the Spring Court and his many sons. In fact, you knew them. You’d even found one or two of the younger fae attractive at different points of the last century, though all that was irrelevant now. The unsheathed weapons in their hands confirmed your deepest fears.

“Your son, he was supposed to be here?” the High Lord asked. Neither of you said anything. Your focus was entirely on the determined and almost amused looks on the faces of the Spring Court nobility, the sneer their father wore, and the slight shake of your mother’s hand holding yours.

“Will he be joining us soon?” he tried again. You shrugged, trying to seem less terrified than you were.

“He’s not a timely sort,” you said, as nonchalantly as possible. As if you weren’t bound to a tree in the middle of the woods. “It’s a possibility.”

The High Lord snickered. “That’s a real shame. We were hoping he’d be here to join in on the fun.”

“You’re sick,” your mother whispered, voice shaky. You gave your mother’s hand a squeeze.

“Where is Rhysand now?”

“Why would I tell you that?” she spat incredulously.

“Because,” he drawled, gazing lustfully at his knife, “perhaps I’ll spare your lives if you do.”

You gasped, your mother tensing up beside you.

“You know what will happen to you if you kill us,” she said menacingly. “What Rhys will do, what my mate will do.”

“Pity that I don’t care,” he grinned. You felt like you were going to throw up.

“Please,” you whispered, tears beginning to spill out of your eyes. “Please.”

You could’ve sworn you saw a look of pity flash over some of their faces, but the High Lord only laughed. “Seize them.”

What happened next was a blur - the ropes were slashed and you were grabbed by two of the sons, pulled away from each other to opposite ends of the grove. Forced to kneel and watch by the light of the fire as the High Lord carved your mother’s wings off her back, screaming and thrashing and pleading up until the moment he sliced her head off at the neck.

You watched her body loll over to the side, her head - still bearing the comforting look she’d tried to give you in her last moments - feet away on the ground, eyes dull, next to her wings. You collapsed against the son who’d been holding you back, fell to your knees on the ground defeated.

There was no use in fighting back, you realized, as the High Lord turned to face you. Your mother’s blood was painted over him. There was no way for you to escape.

Winnow.

Your eyes widened, your mother’s voice clear as day in your head.

Winnow away.

From your place on the ground you could see the High Lord’s boots coming closer. You began to panic - you’d never winnowed before. That was Rhys’s thing, and you’d never bothered the practice.

You felt a hand grab the back of your tunic and pull you up, dragging you across the clearing towards your mother’s decapitated corpse.

You felt your stomach churn as he threw you down in front of the same stump he’d just used as a chopping block. He placed his palm on your back and pushed you flush against it, easily overpowering you as you struggled against it.

“Please,” you gasped, begging him to stop, begging the Cauldron to give you the strength to winnow just this once. “Please, please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut furiously, picturing the camp down the river, the camp where Rhys probably was right now. And your father. And maybe Cassian and Azriel.

Your family. You just wanted to see your family.

And then there was pain. Searing pain, at that sensitive, delicate point where your wings sprouted from your back. You screamed. Your wings, the bastard was taking your wings.

A great weight fell off the side of you, and you tipped over, overwhelmed with the imbalance of just one wing and the feeling of blood spilling down your back. A second hand reached out to grab your shoulder and pull you back up. You gritted your teeth.

Winnow away, winnow away.

Pain again, and more screaming, and another great loss. You collapsed against the stump in front of you, and threw up. One of them laughed, but you were too light headed to tell which one of them it was.

They were talking. Your head spun, trying to make out what they were saying.

“Maybe we shouldn’t kill her.”

“We could ask for a ransom, she’s already too weak to try and escape.”

“She’s seen too much for that.”

Rhys, you thought. Rhys, my father, Cassian, Azriel. Azriel.

The picture of the camp in your mind was bright. Please, you begged wordlessly. Please, I need to go there.

And when the High Lord turned towards where you’d been to finish the job, you were gone.

— — —

When you woke up, it was morning. You could hear the birds before you even opened your eyes, recognized the soft songs they only sang before the rest of the world was awake.

The second thing you noticed was the dull throb of your back pressed completely against the mattress under you. No wings. Your stomach dropped.

Rhys and Azriel were sitting on crates next to your bed. Your eyes had been open for maybe five seconds before they were up, rushing to crouch next to you.

“(Y/n),” Rhys started, voice full of emotion. He grabbed your hand, and you could feel him shaking.

“Rhys,” you croaked, squeezing his hand. “I sound fucking awful.”

The two of them laughed, maybe the saddest laugh you’d ever heard, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Do…do you remember what happened?” Rhys asked, voice trailing off. You grimaced and nodded, the memories of your mother’s body and the High Lord’s sneer burning in your mind.

“I remember all of it.”

You watched Azriel’s face fall, watch the conflict in his eyes as he looked over you and finally rested his hand softly on top of your high, thumb rubbing small circles against the blanket. His shadows followed suit, twisting around your legs in slow patterns. You found it oddly soothing, watching them weave between each other like little wisps of smoke.

“Where’s dad?” you asked, drawing your attention from Az and his shadows to Rhys. It was then you noticed the bandage on his forehead, the bruises on his forearms. Rhys hung his head.

“After you winnowed here, and after we made sure you were going to live through the night, we went to find mom.” He let out a shaky breath, whole body tense as if reliving whatever hell he also experienced that night. You noticed Azriel grab his shoulder with his free hand, supporting your brother as he tried to calm down.

“And then we went to the Spring Court. Dad and I killed all of them, all of them except Tamlin.” He paused. “And then Tamlin killed dad.”

You let out a choked sob, looking up at the ceiling defeatedly. Azriel’s hand on your thigh stilled, and then gave you a soft squeeze.

“It was all Tamlin,” Rhys continued softly. “Tamlin told his dad where to find you. Tamlin killed mom, killed dad-”

“And he almost killed me,” you finished, blinking back tears. You pushed yourself up slowly, sitting on the bed while Rhysand and Azriel watched you carefully. You went to stretch, to stretch your wings, the first thing you always did when you got up out of bed, but they weren’t there. You let out a strangled sob, and Rhys and Az jumped up.

“(Y/n), what is it?” your brother asked, resting a hand on your lower back tentatively.

“Rhys,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Rhys, he took my wings.”

And then you cried. Cried for your parents, for your wings. Rhys was sitting next to you in an instant, one hand still on your back and the other holding yours, whispering to you that it would all be okay. And Azriel was on your other side, cradling your shoulders in his hands as you hunched forward and sobbed until you couldn’t anymore. 

The sobs turned to muffled crying, to whimpers, to sniffles, and then you were resting your head against Azriel’s chest, breathing thickly, him and Rhys each holding one of your hands.

“We’re orphans now,” you said bluntly. “What the fuck.”

Rhys let out a singular dry laugh and shook his head.

“And you’re High Lord!” you continued, looking at him incredulously. “Terrible circumstances, but congrats. Hope you don’t fuck up too badly.”

“Thank you for that, really,” Rhys said sarcastically. You could feel Azriel laughing silently against you.

“What’s your first like, decree, going to be?” you asked curiously.

“I’ve already made it,” he replied. “Guess what it is.”
“Monetary reward for Tamlin’s dead body,” you said. Rhys shook his head.

“A ban on wing clipping,” he said softly. You gasped, tears pricking your eyes.

“Rhys-”

“Followed by a temporary ban on trading with the Spring Court.”

“Mom would’ve loved that,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. He gave you a tight-lipped grin and nodded.

“It’ll take a while to get all the different camps to accept it, and I’m sure it’ll never be stopped completely, but-”

“It’s a start,” you finished. “And a damn good start at that.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said, pushing himself off the bed quietly. Azriel helped you move so that you were sitting on the edge of the mattress, legs dangling off the side.

“How long will the trading ban last?” you inquired. Rhys shrugged.

“A while,” he said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“At least ten years,” you said with a small grin. Azriel chuckled from behind you, the sound deep and warm. Rhys gave you an odd look.

“I was thinking more like a century or two, but yea, at least ten years,” he said. He looked at the entrance to the tent and back at you regretfully.
“I don’t want to leave, but I-”
“You have your fancy High Lord business now,” you said, waving a hand at him dismissively. “Go, be free.”

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he said quietly.

“Don’t make me get emotional,” you warned. He chuckled.

“I love you, (Y/n).”

“Love you, too,” you replied, giving him a small wave as he exited. You looked up at Az, his arm now wrapped delicately around your midsection to help support you. His other hand was resting lightly on your knee.

“Thank you, Az,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest.

“Of course.”

You relished in the soft rumble of his chest as he spoke, grinning as his shadows began to circle in front of you.

“Do you ever name them?” you asked softly.

“What?” he asked, looking down at you curiously. You gave him a sheepish smile.

“The shadows,” you clarified. He grinned, and your heart skipped a beat.

“No,” he said, “but I can tell them apart sometimes. It’s almost like they have their own personalities, if that makes sense.”

You nodded, shifting against him slightly and wincing. You felt him tense up.

“Are you alright?” he asked hesitantly, lifting his hand off your knee slowly as if to brace you, then dropping it again. “Is there anything I can do?”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m doing alright considering,” you said. “I mean, at least I’m not dead.”

Silence from Azriel. You sighed.

“Not that this situation is ideal, either,” you continued. Azriel’s grip on you tightened.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” he said finally, his voice shaking slightly with an emotion you couldn’t identify. “I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

“Az-”

“It’s not fair.” His voice was a deadly whisper.

“It’ll be okay,” you said soothingly, reaching out for his hand and giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll be okay.”

Another pause. The two wounds in your back throbbed, the empty space hurting you more than any amount of pain.

“Azriel, it hurt so bad,” you whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as he wrapped an arm under your knees and lifted you into his lap.

He hugged you then, perhaps for the first time ever, and you buried your face into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, cradling the back of your head with one hand and rubbing your back with the other. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Oh Az,” you sniffled, “there was nothing you could’ve done. The only other person who knew we were there was Rhys, and I don’t blame him.”

“Still-”

“It’s not your fault,” you insisted softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “But thank you.”
He nodded. “I’m still sorry it happened.” A whisper.

“It just-” you trailed off, trying to put into words what you were feeling. “It’s so weird, you know? My whole life I’ve had this weight on my back, that was just a part of me, and now it’s gone and I feel so light and empty at the same time.”

Azriel nodded, continuing to rub your back carefully, avoiding the bandages covering your cuts.

“They took a part of you,” he said finally, “but only one. And you, your kindness, the way you can light up any room you’re in, none of that came from your wings. You still have everything that makes you, you.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes and squeezed him a little tighter in your arms. “Az, thank you.”

Azriel rested his head against the side of yours, pulled you into him just a little bit more.

There was something he still wanted to say, you could feel it in the air around you. You were just about to ask him what he was thinking when he began to speak.

“(Y/n),” he said, nerves seeping into his voice, “there’s something I need to tell you, about when you winnowed to camp and we found you.”

“We?” you asked, pulling back to look at him curiously. He nodded.

“Rhys and I,” he clarified. “He was just leaving to meet up with you and…and then you just appeared, in the distance, and dropped to the ground.” His nostrils flared and he glanced downwards. “You were unconscious by the time we got to you, but Rhys ran to get the healers and I carried you here, and…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked up at you hesitantly. You urged him to continue.

“And when they had you in that bed, I couldn’t leave.” His voice trembled as he spoke, and you grabbed his hands to give them a comforting squeeze. “You looked so small, and helpless, and they told me I could go and that they’d call me when they were done stitching you up, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone.”

He bit his lip, as if debating whether or not to keep going.

“Azriel,” you said softly, still holding his hands. “Say it. Whatever it is.” He glanced up at you and nodded.

“Something clicked, when you were lying here and they told us you were going to live.”

Your breath hitched, realizing what he meant. Azriel breathed deeply, then looked you straight in the eyes.

“(Y/n), you’re my mate.”

And as you truly looked back into his eyes for the first time since waking up, you felt something snap into place within yourself. Your eyes widened, and suddenly all you could feel and think about was him.

“Azriel,” you breathed, clutching his hands tighter. He perked up instantly, face hopeful as he reached up and cradled your face in his hands delicately.

“(Y/n)-”

“Holy fuck,” you breathed incredulously, giving him a small grin, “you’re my mate.”

“And…and you’re okay with that?” he asked cautiously, gaze boring into yours as you leaned closer to him.

“Yes,” you whispered, heart racing. “Yes.”

His lips were on yours in an instant, gently kissing you as he moved one hand to the back of your head, holding you gently as he trailed the other down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his back, ignoring the painful sting of your back that seemed absolutely unimportant compared to kissing Azriel, and pulled yourself closer to him.

He moaned softly as your fingertip brushed against his wing and your heart lurched, dizzy at the surge of feelings that washed over you.

You pulled back and laughed once, smiling as he tilted his head and gave you a lopsided grin.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, resting his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m just realizing I have no clue how to cook anything,” you giggled, shaking your head against his as he began to laugh with you.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” he rasped, moving forward to capture your lips with his once again.

Fanart by talia.nobel on Twitter

Request: “Could you do a Cassian x reader that has some tension and some fluff because the reader wants to train and gets hurt?”

Tags:@acourtofbooksandfantasy​

Warnings: mentions of scrapes, reader falls and hurts themselves (nothing serious)

Word Count: 1,700

A/N: We’re back in business, folks. Happy Christmas if you celebrate! Here’s a Cassian fic to help make your holiday season even merrier :) Like and reblog if you enjoy <3

The sun was high in the sky, and you could actually see the heat radiating off the top of the House of Wind. Sweat trickled down your forehead as you sparred with Azriel…well, sparred was a bit of an exaggeration.

Really you’d just been practicing punches on him for an hour or so. The most he’d done was block a few of your poorly aimed strikes that went flying towards his face.

You genuinely sucked at fighting. It wasn’t necessarily your fault, you’d never had a reason to. Your “role” in the Inner Circle was essentially an over-glorified research position, reading up on all the history and threats and legends everyone else was too busy or lazy to do. It was completely unnecessary, but you were one of Mor’s only friends in the Court of Nightmares, and she’d insisted that Rhys give you some sort of job once he became High Lord.

You spent your days reading and interviewing and explaining, and with three Illyrians and Amren around, there’d never been any need to learn how to fight properly yourself. But threats had increased recently, and Rhys had decided you’d gone one decade too many without a real self-defense lesson.

“You’re not following through on any of these strikes,” Azriel stated bluntly. You huffed.

“I’m trying.”

“Well, you’re still not doing it,” he snorted. “Try envisioning yourself continuing the motion of the punch even after you hit me.”

You closed your eyes and did as he said, imagining your fist flying through Azriel’s face.

“Better,” he said.

Rhys and Cassian had been sword fighting on the other side of the roof when you’d come up, and the distant clang of metal let you know they were still here. You felt a twinge of jealousy knowing Mor was probably still asleep.

“Focus,” Azriel growled. You rolled your eyes.

“I am focused.”

A lie, you realized, as you misstepped and your foot slid out from under you. You yelped, noting the look of shock on Az’s face as you fell flat on your back, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Ouch.

“Holy shit, are you ok?” Azriel asked with wide eyes, kneeling down next to you and scanning you over quickly. You nodded slowly and blinked as he helped you sit up, not quite able to form words.

“What the fuck did you do to her, Azriel?”

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes bulging at the sight of Cassian barreling towards you with Rhys hot on his heels yelling for him to slow down. Azriel groaned loudly.

“I didn’t do anything, she slipped-”

“(Y/n) are you okay?” Cassian asked, dropping to his knees on the other side of you. He placed a large hand on your back, supporting you as he inspected you for any hidden injuries.

“I think so,” you replied, voice slightly shaky. “Just a little surprised is all.”

Cassian glared as Azriel accusingly. “You have to be more careful with her.”

“It was an accident,” Azriel replied dryly. “And she’s fine.”

“You were pushing her too hard!”

“Hello, I’m right here,” you interrupted, waving a hand in front of Cassian’s face. He looked down at you, irritation obvious on his face.

“You also need to be more careful,” he practically yelled. “You’re going to get yourself hurt!”

“I fell down, Cass, big deal,” you said defensively. “As if you three haven’t done much worse training before.”

“So? We’re talking about you, not us.”

“What the fuck kind of logic is that!” you retaliated.

“Cass, maybe you’re overreacting,” Rhys started, placing a hand on Cassian’s shoulder. The long-haired Illyrian rolled his eyes.

“Yea, Cass,” you said snarkily, pushing yourself off the ground. Azriel and Cassian stood up with you, arms outstretched slightly around you. You groaned, reaching out and pushing a very confused looking Cassian back a few steps.

“I’m not made of glass, guys!” you shouted as you grabbed Azriel and walked away. Az looked down at you and then back at Rhys and Cassian.

“That was…interesting,” he said finally as you walked down the steps leading back into the House of Wind.

“Cassian’s a prick,” you muttered. Azriel chuckled.

“Your hands are all scraped up, need any help patching them up?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Okay, let me know if you need anything else,” Azriel said as you walked into the nearest bathroom. “I’ll be in my room.”

“We’re still on to train tomorrow?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at him as you opened the medicine cabinet.

“Of course,” he replied.

“Thank you, Az.”

He nodded and gave you a small smile before continuing down the hallway, trails of shadows following after him.

You redirected your attention to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a roll of bandages and wincing slightly as the pain in your hands.

You dropped the bandages on the edge of the sink, brows furrowing as you realized there was no easy way for you to wrap them around your own hands. You sighed and turned to go find Azriel, and walked straight into Cassian’s chest.

You yelped in surprise, jumping a little as two hands grabbed your arms to steady you.

“You alright?” Cassian asked genuinely. You gulped, looking up at him and nodding quickly.

“You just scared me, is all,” you said smally. It was hard not to feel tiny when standing so close to him.

He glanced behind you at the open medicine cabinet. “Need any help?”

You bit your lip, considering your options, and then nodded.

He gave you a small smile and let his arms drop back to his sides. He gestured towards the vanity next to you with a fancy looking stool in front of it.

“Have a seat.” He paused, reconsidering. “Um, if you want to, of course. Or you can stand, up to you.” You chuckled, sitting down tentatively and looking back at him.

He grabbed the bandages in one hand and began rummaging around the medicine cabinet. “You need disinfectant, too, can’t have those scrapes getting all nasty.”

“Won’t that hurt?” you asked a little nervously. He gave you a reassuring glance.

“Not much, I promise.”

He finally found the bottle he’d been looking for, giving you a bright smile before walking over and dropping to his knees in front of you. Your face flushed, thinking of a million other situations you could be in with him in this position.

“What’s on your mind, gorgeous?” Cassian asked with a hint of a drawl. You glared at him, face heating up even more.

“Shut up,” you muttered, glancing down at your hands, the floor- anywhere but him.

He unscrewed the bottle, pouring some of the liquid inside onto a cloth he’d also found. He took one of your hands in his tentatively, his absolutely dwarfing yours.

You bit your lip nervously and let out a shaky breath. The scrapes were pretty big, you knew it would hurt a decent amount.

“Hey,” Cassian said gently, setting the cloth down on his knee and reaching up, resting a finger under your chin and tilting your face up. You met his eyes reluctantly, sucking in a breath at the genuine look in his eyes. “It won’t hurt that much, I promise.”

“Okay,” you practically whispered, watching as he gently grabbed the cloth again and began cleaning your hands.

You winced at the stinging sensation. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Cassian said apologetically, giving your hand a slight squeeze as he continued his motions. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

You could only nod, blinking back tears as he moved to your other hands.

“So, so good for me,” he repeated soothingly. “Such a great job.”

Before you knew it, he was finishing wrapping the bandages around your palms, securing each with a tight knot and then resting your hands in your lap softly.

“All done,” he said with a small smile, sitting back on his heels and looking at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” you said genuinely, raising your hands to inspect them. “This is much better than anything I could’ve done myself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” Cassian chuckled.

“Seriously, though, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Consider it reparations for me yelling at you earlier.” He paused and looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

“Well, I yelled, too,” you shrugged. “I’m also sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “And I also didn’t mean it. Just got nervous when I looked over and you were flat on the ground.”

“Yea, I can see how that would look precarious,” you laughed softly. Cassian shifted his weight forward and grabbed your hands gingerly, helping you to your feet as you stood up.

“I just get nervous,” he said. “The fact you have to train at all means Az and I might not be enough to keep you safe anymore.”

You shook your head. “It would be burdensome if you had to stay back to protect me every time there was a fight. At least this way I’ll be able to fend for myself, and you and Az might be able to help more people.”

“I’d rather protect you,” Cassian murmured lowly, reaching up to cup your face. You found yourself leaning into his touch, relishing in the warmth of it. “I’d rather keep you safe.”

“You’ll always keep me safe, Cass,” you whispered, looking up at him. “I just want to be able to keep myself safe, too.”

You paused, gazing softly at each other. You could’ve sworn he was leaning closer to you when you heard a dry cough from the doorway.

You screeched, the two of you jumping away from each other to see Azriel leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smirk on his face.

“I was coming back to make sure (Y/n) was alright, but I see she had some help bandaging her wounds.”

“Yea, just here to help, you know,” Cassian said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. You would’ve laughed at his look of embarrassment if your own face hadn’t been redder than Mor’s lipstick.

“Well, this was great, guys,” you said quickly, clasping your hands together in front of you. “Cassian, thanks for the help. Azriel, see you tomorrow!” And with that you sped past Azriel and down the hallway towards your room, trying not to think about how badly you wanted to kiss Cassian.

Fanart by rosalynnart on DeviantArt

Summary: As a member of the Inner Circle, Rhys has requested you accompany them for their routine visit to the Court of Nightmares. You’re terrified - enter protective Azriel.

Warnings: crappy parents, brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 5,000

A/N: I love Azriel, that’s all. Requests are still open, and my request guidelines are linked on my masterlist. I hope you enjoy, please consider liking/following and all those things! :)

You hated the Court of Nightmares.

It was the place you’d been born and raised, tormented by your greedy parents and their fake friends. It hadn’t taken long for you to become disillusioned and disgusted by life in the Hewn City; you hated the way everyone was watched and judged, the way any and all relationships could be sabotaged in a matter of seconds all for a little bit of power.

You ran away when you turned 18, right as the War began. Everyone important (including your parents) was preoccupied with funding and logistics, and so no one chased after you. You weren’t surprised, you hadn’t expected them to send a cavalry after you. Of course you were a little hurt by their lack of interest in you, but it only reminded you why you were leaving in the first place.

You walked for days with hardly any food or water, until you were so exhausted you thought you might collapse in the woods and die. So be it, you had thought, I’d prefer death to living in that Cauldron-forsaken city, anyways. 

It was pure luck that you stumbled upon a camp of Night Court soldiers, all of whom were shocked by the appearance of your starving, disheveled self. None of them had jumped to help you, save for one Illyrian soldier with long hair and bright red siphons. He’d caught you as you all but collapsed onto him, carrying you to the healers’ tent and then to his own, where he fed you a really disgusting, genuinely awful stew.

“At least it’s warm,” he said with a shrug, handing you a bowl of steaming grayish slop.

You frowned, prodding a particularly chunky bit with your spoon. “What’s this supposed to be?” you asked, pointing to one of the lumps.

“Rabbit? Maybe deer?” he tried. “I have no idea, I’ve stopped asking.” You sighed, shaking your head as you brought the spoon to your mouth.

And that was how you met Cassian. Though it took all your effort not to throw up whatever it was he’d given you, you were still grateful for the meal, learning a little while later he’d given you his only dinner ration for that night. You were being honest when you told him that was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for you.

Cassian convinced his commander to let you stay with the legion. You were more than happy to help the healers tend to the many wounded, often collecting herbs for them since they had very little time to do so.

After a few months you began to befriend the seemingly brute soldiers, all of whom were actually quite funny and caring in their own way. You had assumed wrongly that they were only fighting out of obligation to the Night Court - on the contrary, many of them genuinely cared about freeing the humans, and were willing to fight and die for such a cause.

You began helping them advocate for themselves, acting as a messenger between them and their superiors whenever they needed anything. They’d been moved when you convinced the commander to get them waterproof bedding. You were just happy to help your new friends.

As the war progressed your legion became quite well known for its strength and enthusiasm in battle. Eventually, they caught the attention of the High Lord, who was eager to know how your commander kept them all so motivated. Your commander never told you that in his response, he attributed the soldiers’ high morale to you.

You didn’t find out about it until the High Lord himself summoned you to his encampment, wanting to meet you for himself.

“Y/N, is it?” he asked. You gulped and nodded, hating the way all the High Lord’s advisors were just staring at you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, walking over to you and clasping your hand. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself.”

“Oh, not really,” you replied dismissively.

“On the contrary, your commander attributed most of your legion’s success to you,” the High Lord said. Your eyes widened.

“He did?” you asked meekly.

“Yes, he did.” The High Lord led you over to the large table in the middle of the tent, covered in various maps and reports. You quickly recognized the different markings noting the enemy’s various armies in relation to your own.

“Their reinforcements are closer than I thought they were,” you said, pointing to an enemy group only half a day’s travel away from the front lines.

“Straight to the point, eh?” he chucked. You shrugged.

“Their proximity is worrying since our own reinforcements are two days away,” he continued. “I’m hoping my son will be able to urge them faster.”

“Your son?” you inquired. The High Lord nodded.

“My son Rhysand is the commander of this legion,” he said, pointing to one of the markers on the map. “He does a good job, though his troops are not as eager to fight as yours are.”

“Our soldiers want to see the humans freed,” you said. “Many of them have told me they would willingly die to win this war. I believe that has helped them stay strong when the fighting gets rough.”

“Very admirable of them,” the High Lord said thoughtfully. “I wish all our troops thought similarly.”

You nodded, still looking down at the table. “This map is very impressive, sir.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s the most accurate information we have.”

“How often do you update it?” you asked, looking up at him.

“We track the enemy’s movements down to the hour. Every shift, every change is reflected here.”

“Down to the hour?” you exclaimed, eyes wide. “How do you accomplish such a thing?”

“You’d have to ask him,” the High Lord replied, gesturing behind you.

You turned around, eyes landing on an Illyrian man clad in black leather. His hair was shorter than Cassian’s, wielding blue siphons instead of red. The biggest difference between the two, however, were the dark shadows that circled around him slowly. Your cheeks flushed as his gaze met yours, hazel eyes piercing. You smiled and gave him a small wave, but his face remained the same.

“That’s Azriel, the official shadowsinger of the Night Court,” explained the High Lord. You nodded slowly, turning back towards the table.

“Go introduce yourself, if you’d like,” he added. “He’s quiet, but perhaps he’ll enjoy some conversation.”

“Yes sir,” you said with a nod, looking again at the shadowsinger and walking in his direction, pushing through the swarm of advisors and generals.

“Hello,” you said softly as you stopped in front of him, craning your neck upwards a bit to meet his eyes. “I’m Y/N.” His eyes widened as he looked down at you.

You bit your lip nervously and offered him your hand, though he kept his clasped firmly behind his back. You dropped your arm awkwardly, grabbing at the bottom of your shirt.

“I’m from the western legion,” you added, trying to make conversation. His eyes softened somewhat at that.

“Do you know a Cassian?” he asked quietly, voice deep and rumbling.
“Yes!” you replied brightly, trying to ignore the way your stomach had flip-flopped when he spoke. “He was the one who rescued me, actually, and convinced our commander to let me stay. He’s a close friend of mine.”

“Rescue?” he inquired. You nodded, not really wanting to elaborate.

“Well, any friend of Cassian’s a friend of mine,” he said, giving you a small smile. “I’m Azriel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Azriel,” you said with a grin.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

You met Rhysand a little while after as he’d been giving a report to his father. When you returned to your legion and asked Cassian about both of them, he told you the story of how they’d met and became friends. You were shocked by all the horrors they’d endured, and a little mad at the High Lord for separating them.

“We probably could’ve won this war months ago if he let you all fight together,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Damn right, Y/N,” Cassian replied.

When the war ended, you were there to watch their reunion. You’d become a little emotional at the sight of them together, all smiling brighter than you’d ever seen before (even Azriel). You had tried to hide your teary eyes from them, only to start bawling when they grabbed you and pulled you into the group hug.

Rhysand had left soon after for the Court of Nightmares with his father. You’d urged Cassian and Azriel to go with him, insisting they needed some time to catch up with each other. You had opted to stay with the soldiers, helping them sort through their belongings and figure out where to go next. Like you, not all of them wanted to return to where they were from. You’d ended up in a small Illyrian camp with several of the soldiers from your legion, where you helped them settle in and begin navigating the ins and outs of running what was essentially a small town.

The next time you saw Rhysand, he was High Lord.

With his father dead, Rhysand was appointing a new Inner Circle with different values and morals than the one before it. He had asked you to be his advisor for social affairs, and you’d very emotionally accepted (“Do you cry at everything?” he teased, wrapping you in a hug as you nodded dramatically).

You were thrilled to learn Cassian and Azriel were also a part of the Inner Circle, as well as Rhysand’s cousin Morrigan and friend Amren. You were thrilled to have female friends for the first time in your entire life.

You also loved your job. As social advisor, you helped the various camps and smaller settlements throughout the court communicate with the High Lord, negotiating financial agreements and the like. It also meant you got to visit all your old friends, many of whom were starting families and working to change social standards in their towns.

The only part you did not like were the mandatory visits to the Hewn City once every few months, just to make sure everything there was running smoothly. For the many years you’d been working for Rhysand you’d managed to get out of every single visit, claiming you had scheduled trips to check up on camps and emergency meetings with different war-lords.

You had, however, run out of excuses.

“Y/N, I cannot allow you to miss another one of these trips,” Rhysand said sternly over breakfast. You glared pointedly at the plate of eggs in front of you, refusing to make eye contact with Rhys. Azriel and Cassian were sitting silently at the table, watching the two of you argue.

“Don’t you think,” you seethed, “that after years of trying to avoid this, I might have some reason not to go?”

“All of us have reasons not to go,” Rhysand said plainly. “No one enjoys these visits, but they’re mandatory. And you’re the only member of the Inner Circle who’s never visited. People have started talking.”

“Let them talk,” you scoffed, stuffing a forkful of eggs in your mouth.
“I don’t want to let them talk,” Rhys countered. “I don’t like them calling members of my Inner Circle weak, or negligent, or cowardly.”

“Well, I don’t care what they think of me,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. “Amren hasn’t gone on the last few trips, either. I hope you’re planning on having this conversation with her as well.”

“First of all, I’d be a damn fool to try and tell Amren what to do,” Rhys stated, Cassian and Azriel nodding in agreement. “Second, she’s been to the Court of Nightmares before. Like I said, you’re the only one who hasn’t gone.”

You sat in silence, staring blankly in front of you. Rhys sighed.

“Y/N, I’m going to have to remove you from the Inner Circle if you don’t make this next trip,” he said finally. Your head snapped up, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t,” you hissed.

“Rhys,” Azriel warned softly, glancing between the two of you.

“I won’t have anyone thinking my Inner Circle is weak,” Rhys said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t want to remove you, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

You sat back in your chair in defeat, thoughts of your childhood and parents racing through your mind. Your breaths became faster, the three Illyrians at the table looked at you in concern.

“Y/N-” Cassian started, but you stood up abruptly, hoping they wouldn’t notice the tears forming in your eyes.
“Fine,” you choked. “Fuck you, Rhys.” You stormed out of the room, racing up the stairs, leaving the three of them staring after you in alarmed confusion.

You didn’t talk to anyone until the day of the trip, when you met them downstairs to leave. You were wearing a tight black dress that draped down to the floor, hair and makeup done nicely. You would be able to fit in without calling too much attention to yourself.

“Hi,” Rhysand started hopefully, but you just stared at the ground in front of you, refusing to acknowledge him. He sighed.

“I’m sure you know already, but you’ll have to play the part when we get there. Acting all cunning and ruthless, bowing to me, those sorts of things.”

“I’ll behave,” you replied numbly. Azriel moved next to you, grabbing your hand as you prepared to winnow. You didn’t miss the slight rub of his thumb against the back of your hand, the slight squeeze as you closed your eyes.

When you opened them, you were standing in a dimly lit room, stone walls covered in black banners, no windows to be seen. You breathed heavily, hoping Azriel hadn’t noticed how much your hands were shaking.

“Mor will send for us when the Court’s assembled in the throne area,” Rhysand said, taking a seat in a large plush chair.

“Y/N are you alright?” Cassian asked, concern evident in his voice. You hadn’t once looked up from your feet.

You shook your head, no you were not alright. In fact, you were far from alright, seeing as you were back in the one place you’d never wanted to return to.

You stiffened as Azriel wrapped his arm behind you, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly. You relaxed immediately, leaning into his side.

The room remained silent for a few minutes, Azriel trying his best to comfort you. You were almost sad when he pulled away as Mor walked into the room. You could’ve stayed nestled against him for hours.

“They’re ready for us,” Mor started. “Y/N, your parents are waiting outside. They want to talk to you.”

You felt Azriel tense up next to you as Rhys and Cass looked at you with wide eyes. You felt like breaking something, rage quickly replacing your fear. How dare they want to speak with you, after letting you walk out of their lives into a war?

“I’m going to wring their necks,” you muttered, stalking past Mor with Azriel following closely behind you. You didn’t need her to lead you to the throne room, you knew well enough where everything was in this damned city yourself.

You kept your eyes focused in front of you as you walked through the doorway, shoulders pushed back, features neutral. You ignored the figures waiting by the wall, ignored the calls of your name.

“You filthy runaway!” you heard your mother shriek from behind you. You ground your teeth, refusing to acknowledge her. Azriel caught up to you within a few strides, moving beside you as you continued forward.

“I didn’t know you had family here,” he said, eyes fixed forward just as yours were. Everything was a careful performance here.

“I was born here,” you said coldly. Azriel was silent next to you.

“I had no idea,” he replied finally.

“I never told anyone.”. The entrance to the throne room was now in sight. You could sense Cassian coming up behind you, moving to flank your other side.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel added. He glanced at you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it before dropping it quickly. “I would’ve argued with Rhys about you coming if I had known.”

“I know you would’ve,” you said, watching him adopt the emotionless soldier persona once again. “Thank you.”

The three of you entered the throne room together, walking in sync past the crowds of Hewn City residents to the opposite wall. They fell silent as you approached. It almost made you smile, them at least pretending to respect you for the first time ever. You almost hoped someone would dare to say something out of line, just to see what Rhys and Cassian and Azriel might do. At the same time, you wanted to curl up into a ball in your bed and never see anyone again. Your confidence, as convincing as it was, was still an act.

You stood between them, waiting for Rhys to enter. You watched Mor saunter past her parents, giving them a taunting smirk. Maybe one day you’d be able to do the same.

You straightened as Rhys walked in behind her, purple eyes gleaming despite the terrible lighting of Hewn City.

“Your High Lord, ladies and gentlemen,” Mor announced, dropping to one knee as he sauntered into the room. You did the same, admiring the way Rhys emanated power and control. A quick glance to your left and you made brief eye contact with Azriel, whose muscular thighs were only accentuated by his kneeling. Your eyes widened, gulping as you looked back towards Rhys.

“My subjects,” he drawled with a grin, making his way up to the throne and sitting down casually. He scanned the room for a moment, then nodded. “Rise.”

You stood up slowly, watching Mor’s father step forward to deliver his report on city happenings. You weren’t really paying attention, choosing instead to let your gaze wander over to Azriel again. He was wearing all of his siphons, wings folded behind his back neatly. He looked somewhat relaxed, though his hands were positioned to draw his weapons if needed.

You loved Az’s hands, the hands he had tried to hide from you for months. When you finally asked him why he hid his scars, he’d reluctantly told you about his childhood. He’d been surprised when your reaction was not one of pity, but rather one of immense anger. How dare anyone do that to him? Azriel, who was so selfless and giving, did not deserve such pain.

“You’re staring,” Az muttered, a small smirk on his face.

“Am not,” you replied with a glare, fixing your eyes in front of you as your face heated up.

“Are too,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, hoping he didn’t notice the blush tinging your cheeks.

Kier was just finishing up his dull speech. Rhys looked beyond bored, though you knew it was all just a front. He would probably spend hours reviewing whatever information Kier had told him when you returned home.

“My Lord,” Mor’s father drawled. “I noticed the sixth member of your Inner Circle has joined you today.”

You stiffened as the whole room glanced in your direction.

“Y/N?” Rhys said, gesturing to you. You took a step forward and bowed, quickly returning to your place between Az and Cass.

“Welcome home, Y/N,” Kier said, a twisted grin on his face. “We missed you.”

“I’m sure,” you replied cooly, voice echoing off the stone walls. You picked out your parents rather quickly in the crowd, almost shuddering at the way they were glaring at you. You raised your eyebrows, taunting them to say something. They remained silent.

“If there is nothing more to discuss, I’ll be going now,” Rhys announced, pushing himself up from his seat and making his way towards the door. “Thank you for this, truly. You’re all dismissed.”

You waited until him and Mor had left to follow, making your way through the crowd with Azriel and Cassian on your heels. You failed to see your mother stalking towards you as you approached the doorway, failed to see her until she was right beside you. She grabbed your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks and turning you to face her forcefully.

Your heart skidded to a stop, face palling at the furious look on her face.

“You ungrateful child,” she hissed, nails digging into the skin on your shoulder.

“Let go of me,” you whispered. “Let go.” The whole room had stopped to watch the two of you.

“Howdareyou align yourself with him,” she screeched. You pulled away from her, heart pounding as she continued moving towards you.

“You’re pathetic,” you spat defensively, wanting nothing more than to push her away from you. She only cackled, eyes blazing as she lunged at you.

You gritted your teeth, bracing yourself for impact, but a leather-clad arm reached out from beside you before she could reach you.

Azriel, who you’d almost forgotten was with you, had grabbed your mother mid-air, pinning her to his side as she struggled in his grip.

He looked more furious than you’d ever seen him, a rarity for the shadowsinger who hid his emotions like secrets. His massive wings were unfurled, jaw clenched as he looked down at her like she was a criminal Rhys had asked him to torture. You almost smiled at how fearful she looked as she glanced up at him, powerless.

“If you touch her,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper, “I will gut you, and throw you off the mountain again and again until you stop screaming.”

Her face blanched, looking around nervously as she tried to get away. Azriel did not let her budge.

“Let me go,” she asked, voice shaking. “Please, let-”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t break every bone in your body right here in front of everyone,” he said, voice calm despite the rage so clear on his face.

“Please,” she begged again. “Please.”

He looked back at you and you nodded, watching as he threw her to the ground in front of you. She let out a shaky breath, carefully drawing herself up from the floor…

She was not expecting your punch, eyes widening as your fist connected with the side of your face. Neither was Azriel, if his look of pleasant shock was anything to go by. You admired the way her body crumpled back onto the ground, grinned openly at the frightened look she gave you.

“I hope you die a painful death,” you said, almost cheerily. You turned, seeking out your father in the crowd and pointing to him. “You too,” you shouted, watching as he paled.

You turned on your heel and stalked out of the room, giving Mor a thumbs up as you passed her in the doorway. She gave you a small smile and an approving nod.

You waited until Rhys winnowed you all back to Velaris to let yourself relax, your shoulders slumping as you collapsed into a chair. You were exhausted.

“I’m fucking starving,” Cassian grumbled, lumbering out of the room just as quickly as you arrived. You smiled a bit, opening your eyes to see Rhys watching you intently.

“Y/N,” he started, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” you said flatly.

“I had no idea,” he continued anyway. “I would have let you stay…”

“What’s done is done,” you sighed. “Besides, if I hadn’t gone I never would’ve gotten to punch the shit out of my mom.” He chuckled and you gave him a sick grin.

“I can arrange to have Azriel torture them, if you’d like,” Rhys offered, the same option he’d given Mor when she’d returned to the Court of Nightmares. Azriel nodded earnestly, as if he’d be happy to do it.

“Thanks, but I’d like to do it myself, when the time is right,” you replied. The two of them nodded in understanding. Rhys gave you a small smile and disappeared from view, probably to join Cassian.

Azriel walked over towards you carefully, sitting down in a chair next to yours. He reached his hand out, slowly brushing a stray hair out of your face. You hummed and leaned into his touch, so soft and caring despite the scars.

“I wasn’t expecting you to punch her,” he said quietly. You chucked.

“I wasn’t either, but I’m glad I did,” you replied, opening your eyes and finding his hazel ones gazing at you fondly.

“You’re staring,” you teased lightly, quoting him. He smiled but didn’t look away. You blushed, biting your lip and looking down at your lap.

“Thank you for keeping her away from me,” you almost whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had she actually, you know…” You trailed off, remembering the fear you had felt when she grabbed at you. “It was like I was frozen, I couldn’t move.”

“I think I would’ve actually killed her if she had gotten to you,” he said. You glanced up at him, his face carefully neutral as he thought about his words. “I was just…so mad at her, for calling you filthy and ungrateful, for insulting you in front of everyone.” He met your gaze and his face softened.

“Az,” you said gently, reaching out and gently taking his hands in your own.

“I’m sorry if it was out of line-”

“No,” you interrupted, “no, thank you for doing it. It gave me enough time to remember how little I care about her opinion of me.”

“She still shouldn’t call you such things,” he said, jaw clenching. “You’re one of the bravest people I know, running away from home and joining an Illyrian war camp, of all places.” You laughed, giving his hands a small squeeze.

“That place wasn’t home,” you said with a shake of your head. “That’s why I ran away, I wanted to find a place where people actually cared about me.”

“Did you?” he asked softly, eyes darting nervously between your face and your hands, still intertwined with his.

“Yes,” you whispered, heart surging as he smiled at you.

“You don’t have to go back, ever,” he said, looking at you intently. “I won’t let him force you again. I promise.”

“Thank you, Az,” you said gratefully.

“And I swear,” he continued, “if either of your parents steps one toe out of line I’ll make them regret every minute of their lives.” You grinned.

“Well, if that happens let me know,” you said, “I wouldn’t want to miss any of the fun.”

He laughed then, truly laughed, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“I won’t let anyone touch you,” he murmured, your heart almost stopping as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Az,” you breathed, stomach fluttering.

“Y/N,” he replied, voice husky with some emotion that made your head swirl.

“Az,” you giggled, sticking your tongue out, licking the tip of his nose.

His eyes widened, a smile spreading across his face. “Gross,” he joked, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His eyes became serious, searching your face for any hesitation.

You leaned forward, closing your eyes as you pressed your lips against his. You could’ve sworn you felt his heart leap as he began to kiss you back, reaching around you to pull your body onto his lap. You couldn’t ignore the sparks of joy you felt as his hands roamed your back, nose pressed against your cheek as his lips molded against yours again and again.

You were the first one to pull away, needing air, heart melting as you opened your eyes and saw Azriel watching you with such obvious adoration. You admired the small smile on his face, the flush of his cheeks and his tousled hair, the quickened rising and falling of his chest…

And then something clicked, something deep inside you, and your eyes widened with immediate realization.

“It’s…it’s you,” you gasped, overcome with emotion. He gulped and nodded, looking at you hopefully.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes.” He paused, panting heavily. “Is that…okay?” he asked, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him before.

“It’s perfect,” you choked out, grabbing his face and pulling him in again. He groaned, your stomach doing flip flops as his hands came up to cradle the back of your head. He tucked his thumbs under your ears, claiming your mouth as his own.

“How…how long have you known?” you asked between kisses, your hands exploring the firm expanse of his chest.

“Since the first day I met you,” he mumbled against your lips, breathing heavily as you pulled back again.

“You’ve known for that long?” you asked incredulously, eyes wide. He nodded, grinning like he was the happiest man alive. “And you still waited for me?” You were touched.

“I would’ve waited until the end of time for you,” he said, ducking his head down and nuzzling your neck with his nose. “Though, I will say, it took you forever to realize.”

You swatted his shoulder playfully, resting your chin on the top of his head and closing your eyes. “I’ll cook dinner tonight, okay?” you said softly. You felt his whole body tense.

“Are…are you sure?” he asked thickly, as if you still might reject the mating bond.

But how could you ever think of such a thing, when you were sitting in the lap of the most protecting and caring person you’d ever met?

“I’m positive,” you murmured, tilting his head upwards and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Well in that case, I’m quite fond of chicken,” he teased.

“You’ll get whatever I feel like making,” you huffed, relishing in the way his whole body vibrated as he laughed.

“And I will happily eat whatever that is,” he replied lovingly.

“Even toast?” you asked.

“Even toast,” he grinned, capturing your lips in another kiss.

Fanart by jessdraw.s on Instagram

Request: “(Y/N) is the youngest Archeron sister and Azriel knows that she’s his mate when he first meets her in the human lands (but obviously she doesn’t feel it bc she’s only human at that point) and then maybe continue to when she’s kidnapped/turned into fae in Hybern/she realizes he’s her mate as well??”

Tags: @milllionthingsihaventdone

Warnings: depictions of violence and pain, swearing

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: One of my favorite Azriel requests ever. Very fun to write! As a small life update, I am safe and enjoying Spain very much. Love you all and hope you enjoy reading :)

Feyre had been gone for nearly a year when she returned to the estate from beyond The Wall. Of course, you hadn’t been home when she arrived, and had learned from Nesta later that afternoon.

You were the youngest Archeron sister - a year younger than Feyre - and had focused all your energy on school after your father regained his fortune. Not knowing how to read or write or do basic math had been your largest shame during your years in the cottage. There was no way for you to help other than helping skin the animals Feyre brought back, and even then you lacked the skills necessary to help her sell them at the market. You were determined not to let your family fall into such a situation again, and saw your education as the only way to guarantee that. You’d caught up rather quickly, and hoped that one day you’d be able to go to school in Neva and become a clerk or a banker.

That was where you’d been when Feyre had arrived. You could tell something had happened when you returned - there was a heavy tension in the air. Nesta was sitting on your bed waiting for you, her face set in stone, her shoulders stiff. You gave her a quizzical look as you closed the door behind you.

“You alright?” you asked, dropping your bag on the ground.

“Feyre’s here.” She spoke as if it were some common fact.

Your eyes widened as you turned around again, reaching for the doorknob “Why didn’t you say so-”

“Y/Ndon’t!” Nesta commanded, standing up from the bed and ignoring the bewildered expression on your face. “Do not open that door-”

“Why the fuck not?” you half-shouted, scoffing when Nesta stiffened at your words. “We haven’t seen her in months, you don’t get to keep me from seeing her.”

“She’s a faerie now.”

A pause.

“What?” you asked slowly.

“Feyre has been…changed, into a Fae. And she’s brought three of them with her.” There was an underlying pain in Nesta’s voice. “I thought you should know before you saw her.”

You could practically hear your heart pounding. “Are you sure?” you asked finally. “Are you positive?” Nesta nodded.

You gulped, brows furrowing. “Well, she’s still our sister,” you started, “and I’d like to say hi.”

“I swear, Y/N, if you walk out of this room-”

You rolled your eyes at Nesta, pushed the door open and stalked into the hallway.

“Y/N!”

“Please shut up, Nesta!” you called over your shoulder, heading in the direction of the guest room.

You knocked once, twice on the door, rocking back and forth on your feet as you waited. “Feyre?” you called. “Nesta said you were here…”

Your voice trailed off as the door opened slowly and Feyre’s head popped out from behind it. Your eyes widened, taking in the pointed ears, the tattoo on her hand, the nervous look on her face…

“Y/N, I-”

You pulled her into a tight embrace, your sister’s words dying on her lips. She let out a relieved sigh and wrapped her arms around you. “I missed you,” you whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be,” Feyre murmured. “Nesta sure isn’t.”

“Sucks to be her,” you replied, grinning when Feyre giggled. You pulled back, inspecting her carefully. “You look healthy,” you noted. “And the ears look fabulous.”

“You really think so?” Feyre asked with a small grin. You nodded eagerly.

“Very cool.”

Your gaze trailed to the room behind Feyre, eyes widening at the sight of three very tall, very intimidating men with…

“Are those wings?” you asked incredulously, staring at the two donning bat-like wings and dark armor. Feyre chuckled nervously as the one with longer hair gave you a charming grin.

“They are indeed,” he said, spreading his wings out behind him to show you better. The red jewels on his armor gleamed.

“Feyre, who is this?” asked the third man. This one didn’t have wings, but instead a pair of intense purple eyes.

“My younger sister, Y/N.”

You waved hesitantly. “I’m assuming you’re all faeries, too?” They nodded. You cast a glance at the other winged man leaning against the bed frame. His hair was shorter, and the jewels on his armor were blue instead of red. He was also shrouded in a dark, twisting haze.

“I didn’t know you had a younger sister,” the one with longer hair said. He looked a little offended.

“Well, I didn’t know you existed either,” you shrugged. “Rather unfortunate.”
Feyre rolled her eyes as the man chuckled. “Feyre, I like her.”

“Y/N, this is Cassian,” your sister said. The man gave you a quick wave. “And that’s Rhysand…” (another wave from the man with purple eyes) “…and Azriel.” Azriel gave you a faint smile before looking back down at the carpet.

“Well, hello,” you said shyly. “Welcome to our home.”

Rhysand chuckled. “That’s the first nice thing we’ve heard since coming here.”

“My sisters are a little less…fondof faeries,” you explained apologetically. “I’m sorry if Nesta was a lot to deal with.”

“No need for apologies,” Rhysand said dismissively.

You turned to your sister. “Will the four of you be joining us for dinner?”

“Yes, as long as Nesta doesn’t throw us out before then,” Feyre joked. You grinned.

“That’s bound to be entertaining.”

—◯—◯—

At dinner you sat next to Azriel, cautiously eating your soup as you watched the drama between your older sisters with wide eyes. Every once in a while Cassian would interject with something funny and you would laugh, only for Nesta to silence you with a pointed glare. You thought the tension between him and your eldest sister was quite comical.

“So, you don’t have a problem with us?”

You looked over at Azriel and shook your head. “No, not really. I was afraid of you all when I was growing up, but once Feyre came back the first time I figured you couldn’t be all bad. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so desperate to leave again.” You bit your lip, remembering the day she’d left again for Prythian. Azriel seemed to notice the change in your mood.

“Did you miss her?” he asked. You nodded.

“I love her, more than anything,” you said. “But it hurt. It felt like she was choosing another life over us…” You shook your head. “But there was nothing left for her here. And I’m happy she found you all.”

Azriel nodded, chewing a forkful of potatoes thoughtfully. “We’re happy to have her.”

Your attention was drawn once more to Nesta, whose face had turned a furious shade of red at Cassian’s incessant remarks.

“Butshehates us?” Azriel asked again.

“Oh, yes,” you said with a nod. “Completely.”

“Noted.” A beat. “And your other sister?”

“Elain doesn’t hate,” you explained, glancing at your other sister sitting quietly next to Nesta. “But she definitely isn’t a huge fan. And her fiancé, well, he’s like Nesta but ten times worse.”

“I’ll avoid him then,” Azriel said, pushing his empty plate forward and turning slightly to look at you. “And you…Feyre doesn’t talk about any of you much, but she hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

You shrugged. “She’s always been protective of me. I think she’s just doing what she wishes Nesta had done for her.”

Azriel nodded, understanding. “She’s been through some tough situations, I understand why she’d make an effort to keep you out of it.”
You spared Feyre a glance. “She’s the strongest of all of us.”

“Well, definitely of her, Nesta, and Elain,” Azriel remarked. “But I know nothing of you, so I can’t judge entirely.”

You grinned shyly. “There’s not really much to know.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I’m sure that’s not true. What do you like to do?”

“I like to read, I guess,” you said with a shrug.

“You can read?” Azriel asked, a confused look on his face. “But Feyre…”

“I didn’t learn until after she left,” you explained. “I used the money to get a tutor, and then I started going to school when I caught up to the people my age.”

He looked surprised. “That’s a lot to accomplish in a year.”

“Well, it’s kind of a necessary skill, you know? When we were starving in the woods, all I could think was that if I knew how to write or do math I could get a job and help Feyre provide for us all, but I couldn’t.” You scratched the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. “All I do now is study. I never want to be in a position like that again.”

“I understand,” Azriel said, giving you a small smile. “I know what it’s like to be forced into a compromising situation. And now you have the ability to keep yourself out of it, and so you’re working as hard as you can for that.”

You blinked, a little shocked by how well he understood you, and nodded. “Yes, exactly,” you whispered.

“What do you like to study?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and taking a drink of his water.

You cleared your throat, rubbing your hands together nervously. “I like math a lot. I want to go study it more in one of the big cities, where they have whole institutions for it and stuff.”

“What do you want to do with that?” Azriel asked, genuinely interested.

“Well, I’ll probably become a banker or something, but I think I’d really love to study astronomy.”

Azriel bit back a grin. “I think you’d enjoy watching the sky at night in the city where I live.”

“Really?” you asked.

He nodded. “If Nesta ever lets you come visit, I’d love to show you.”

“I think I’d really like that,” you replied with a hopeful grin.

—◯—◯—

There was something about the Mortal Queens that left you completely unnerved. The way they seemed more than willing to sacrifice the Mortal Lands in Prythian, the way they seemed rooted in their decision before Rhysand and Morrigan had even begun speaking. It was like their visit was performative - like they wanted you all to think they cared, but really they only valued their own power and wellbeing. They could care less how you all fared in a fight with Hybern.

And these realizations left you shaking. You were terrified, scared for your family and your home, scared for the faerie folk north of The Wall that you’d just begun caring for. Your hands had begun to tremble in the middle of the meeting, and you hadn’t been able to stop it. You’d clasped them behind your back, gripped the chair in front of you, all to no avail.

Azriel had noticed. He’d been standing behind you, and moved up to your side when he noticed how anxious you were getting. He gave you a look that asked Are you alright?, to which you gave a dismissive shake of your head. But the Spymaster saw right through you, and took one of your hands in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

This had worked, for a little while. You allowed yourself to become distracted by the hand that held yours, which you were now seeing ungloved for the first time. You were taken aback by the scars, and wondered what awful things he’d had to endure to get them, but thought they made him seem more strong and beautiful than before.

Unfortunately, even with Azriel holding your hand, by the end of the meeting you were shaking again. The minute the Mortal Queens vanished into thin air you rushed out of the living room, hurrying off to your room as tears welled in your eyes and slamming the door behind you before anyone could hear you cry.

You collapsed against the wall, sobbing and shaking in defeat. Feyre would be the first lost to Hybern if they attacked, but in the end all of you would be killed in this war that seemed so sure to happen.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?”

Azriel.

“Y/N, please can I come in?”

“It’s unlocked,” you tried to say, voice wavering more than you wished it would. You wished you could be like Feyre, you wished you could be strong.

Azriel was in your room in an instant, crouching in front of you and clasping your shoulders. “Y/N, look at me.”

You brought your eyes up to his and inhaled sharply, transfixed by the emotion on his face.

“Az-”

“You are going to be fine,” he said, his voice deep and smooth and comforting.

“You and Nesta and Elain are going to be fine. And Feyre is going to be fine. Cassian and Rhysand and I would face Hybern ourselves and die before letting anything happen to the four of you.”

You let out a strangled, desperate noise, and Azriel’s face broke.

“But I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” you sobbed.

“Y/N.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

And then Azriel was holding you to him, your face pressed into his shoulder and his into your hair as you clung to him wildly.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, relishing in the warmth of him and the feel of his hands caressing your back. You feared you’d never see him again, that you’d never feelhim again. And more than anything, you feared you’d never get the chance to figure out what these feelings meant.

“You won’t,” he said, “I promise you won’t.” And you almost wanted to believe him.

—◯—◯—

When you regained consciousness, Elain was being dragged towards a cauldron in the middle of the room. And there was screaming, so much screaming…

There were your sisters, and Feyreand Rhys and the members of the Night Court, and the blonde woman who had showed up at your house and-

Nesta was screaming, clawing and thrashing and shouting for Elain. You went to stand up, only to be held down by a man with yellow hair and green eyes.

“Ah, the youngest is awake.” A cold, sinister voice. And then Feyre shouting, and someone else shouting, and oh god there was Azriel’s body, limp on the floor.

You shrieked, struggling as you tried to free yourself.

“Tamlin, make sure the girl is watching. She’ll be next, after all.”

The man wrestled you into an upright position, his hand on your jaw forcing your head forward. You watched as Elain was dunked in the Cauldron, tears streaming down your face, and gasped when she emerged completely different.

And then you realized, they were turning you into High Fae.

You screamed as Tamlin pushed you forward, digging your heels into the ground to try and push back.

“You’re so tedious.” The cold voice again. You scanned the room, eyes settling on a crowned man with the darkest eyes you’d ever seen. “The struggle isn’t worth it, you might as well go with some dignity.”

Feyre screamed, and you grimaced, pushing back again. It was no use.

You began to sob as Tamlin dragged you closer to the cauldron, begging for him to stop. You could’ve sworn you saw Azriel twitch where he lay on the ground.

And then Tamlin was hoisting you up, ignoring your screams as he pitched you into the Cauldron. You closed your eyes, hoping whatever would happen would be done quickly.

Cold. The first thing you noticed, and then searing pain. You cried out, pushing yourself up from the bottom of the Cauldron only for someone’s hand to push you back down.

The cold liquid turned blazing hot around you, energy coursing through your body as you changed, limbs stretching and heart pounding and skin searing.

And then someone was pulling you up, hoisting you out of the water.

You felt dizzy, and everything was blurry. You could make out Nesta’s face, fire in her eyes and she screamed, but you couldn’t hear her. And there was Feyre, face dreadfully pale. And Azriel, who was trying to push himself up off the floor, face twisting with pain as his eyes met yours. The first thing you heard was his strangled cry as he tried to reach out for you.

Tamlin let go of you, and you stood on your own for a moment, swaying, before collapsing onto the floor. Nesta roared.

“Well, that took longer than expected,” the cruel man laughed. “The Cauldron took more time with you than your sister, huh?”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to scream, blinking in confusion as you looked down at your own hands, suddenly so unfamiliar. You felt so defeated, sitting there on the ground as Nesta was dragged kicking and screaming to her fate.

Silence. Nesta was in the Cauldron. You slumped forward in defeat, head reeling as the Inner Circle struggled to reach you and your sisters. The last thing you saw before losing consciousness again was Azriel’s panic-stricken face.

—◯—◯—

You woke up in an unfamiliar room, in perhaps the comfiest bed you’d ever been in. You moved to sit up, grimacing at the pounding in your head, and inhaled sharply as memories flooded you. You looked down at your hands, noticing the slight differences in the way they looked and in the way you were seeing them, and realized it hadn’t been a dream.

You blinked again, trying to adjust to the heightened details your senses were picking up, the textures of furniture and sounds of birds chirping outside your window. It was all very overwhelming.

As if on cue, the door opened and in stepped Azriel, looking a bit worse for wear. His eyes, underlined by dark circles, widened upon seeing you sitting upright, and he rushed over to the bed.

“Y/N,” he breathed, sitting down next to you carefully and cradling your face in his hands. You let yourself fall into him, allowed yourself to relax in his touch as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Hi,” you squeaked, nuzzling into his chest. He pulled back, brown eyes darting up and down as he inspected you.

“When did you wake up?” he asked softly.

“Just now,” you replied, twisting your head to stretch your neck. “How…how long was I asleep?”

“A couple of days,” he answered, a grimace on his face. You nodded, not quite knowing what to say.

“Where’s Feyre?” you asked finally.

“In the Spring Court,” Azriel answered, shoulders slumping slightly. “With Tamlin.”

You scoffed. “The asshole who dragged me into the Cauldron.”

“That’s the one,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle. You scowled.

“What’s she doing there?” you asked. “I thought she was, you know, with Rhys.”

“She is,” Azriel said, looking up at you. “Feyre is not only Rhysand’s mate, but the High Lady of the Night Court. She’s alive and well, and spying on Tamlin for us.”

Your eyes widened, nodding slowly. “That’s certainly a promotion,” you stated, trying to process what Azriel had just told you. “Good for her.”
Azriel laughed, an exhausted and relieved laugh, and pulled you in for another hug.

“Gods, Y/N,” he breathed into your hair. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to hold you again.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as you snaked your arms around his torso.

“What happened to me?” you asked, voice no more than a whisper.

“Ianthe…the priestess who works with Tamlin, she kidnapped you from your home.” Azriel’s voice was thick with emotion, and you bit your lip as he pulled you closer to him. “And then she brought you to Hybern, where we were ambushed trying to remove the Cauldron’s power.”

“That’s why you were unconscious?”

Azriel nodded and gulped. You realized he was crying. “And then they turned the three of you into High Fae, and Feyre distracted them so we could get you all out.”
You pulled back, heart breaking at the misty look in his eyes. “Where are we now?” you asked, glancing around the room.

“You’re in the House of Wind, in Velaris,” he answered, a small smile on his face. “The City of Starlight.”

Your eyes lit up. “The Night Court?” you asked, trying to contain your budding excitement. Azriel nodded. “Holy shit.”

He chuckled, shifting backwards slightly and looking down at where your hands rested on the comforter. He swallowed, then reached out and gently took them in his own. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it before. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?” you said softly.

“I promised to protect you.” His voice was a whisper now. “I promised you I wouldn’t let any harm come to your family and I failed, I-”

“Absolutely not,” you interrupted. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, and you shook your head. “You did not fail. You were literally unconscious when Tamlin put me in the cauldron. They had to knock you out to get to us, and that still didn’t keep you away. Don’t you dare say you failed.”

“But-”

“And we’re all here now, and we’re all alive.” You paused, frowned. “We are all alive, right? Nesta and Elain…”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly, hands squeezing yours. “Nesta…well she’s not doing well emotionally, but they’ve both been up for a few days.”

You nodded once, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his. “Please don’t blame yourself. I don’t think I could stand it.”

“I’m still sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” you begged. “You got me out of there, while you were injured yourself. You’ve done more to keep me safe than anyone.”

He gave you a small smile. “Don’t forget Feyre,” he said. You grinned.

“I’ll consider you tied with Feyre.”

You pulled back slightly, glancing around at the room and taking in the lavish furniture, the rich purple color of the walls. “Rhys really has a lot of money, huh?” you said, looking back at Azriel. Azriel shook his head, smiling.

“He has more money than he knows what to do with,” he replied, eyes full of adoration as he gazed at you.

“Do you think I could…borrow some of it?” you suggested. “It’s not that I don’t love the decor, but if I’m going to be staying here for a while I think I’d like to buy a painting or something.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” he chuckled. “Maybe we could go into the city, and look at some art shops?” 

“I’d enjoy that,” you said, nodding eagerly. “You could show me around, you know?”

Azriel grinned, ducking his head and looking down at his hands. “Do you remember when we met, and I told you I’d take you stargazing if you were ever here?”

You nodded. A beat.

“Would you like to do that, tonight?” he asked tentatively. “Just you and me?”

“Yes,” you replied quickly, a smile blossoming on your face. “Yes, please.” Something about the hopeful look Azriel was giving you, the way his eyes shone at you with adoration, left your heart stuttering in your chest.

—◯—◯—

“So, it isn’t always nighttime in…the Night Court?” you asked hesitantly. You were on top of the House of Wind with Azriel, the two of you lying down on a blanket he’d brought up with him. Azriel chuckled and shook his head.

“Rats,” you said. “Got that one wrong, I guess.”

“We do, however, have the most beautiful nights in all of Prythian,” Azriel pointed out. You grinned.

“Yea, Az, it’s gorgeous.”

Never in your whole life had the stars seemed so close. You reveled under them, picking out constellations as Azriel told you about Velaris. Every once in a while you glanced over at him and were rendered absolutely speechless, admiring the sharp angles of his face and the curve of his nose. He looked beautiful in the starlight.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Anything.”

He bit his lip. “You have to promise not to get mad.” He paused, reconsidering. “I’m nervous that you will.”

Your brows furrowed and you shifted next to him, resting on your side so you could look at his face. “What is it?”

You watched him swallow, close his eyes as if whatever he was thinking about physically pained him. “You understand how the whole…mate thing works, right?”

“Kind of,” you replied slowly. “Like Feyre and Rhys?”

Azriel nodded. “Exactly like Feyre and Rhys.”

“Well what’s that got to do with-” You stopped, eyes widening in sudden realization. “Azriel,” you whispered, voice deadly quiet. “Are we…?”

You trailed off as he nodded, an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Oh.”

He sighed. “I understand if you need time, or if you don’t want anything with me. I just want you to know I’m here for you-”

You climbed on top of him, effectively cutting him off as you buried your face in his neck and hugged him tightly. He inhaled sharply, clasped his arms around your midsection tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.

“Azriel it’s okay,” you said softly, “You’re fantastic, I could never be mad at you, especially for something like this.”

He let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer to him still. “Thank you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, recalling all the times you’d felt an indescribable pull towards Azriel, all the times he’d been the only person who could calm you down or understand you.

“How did you know?” you mumbled against him.

“I think I’ve always known,” he said quietly, one hand rubbing your back. “There’s always been something so special about you, something that made me want to keep you safe. And then the minute you changed in the Cauldron…”

Azriel took a deep breath, and you remembered the desperate look on his face when Tamlin had pulled you out of the Cauldron, remembered the way he’d been so injured but still tried to reach you.

“Something just snapped,” he whispered. “And I think I had been unconscious, but suddenly you were coming out of the Cauldron and all I could think about was you and how scared you looked.”

“Azriel,” you murmured, pushing yourself up to look in his eyes. You felt your resolve crumble at the tears running down his face, and reached up gently to brush them away.

“How-” you started, brows furrowing as you searched for the right words. “How does one…agreeto a situation like this. What am I supposed to do?”

Azriel’s voice was slow and unsteady as he answered. “If you were to accept the mating bond, the female typically makes something for the male to eat.”

“You sound like you’re reading from a textbook,” you teased, giggling when Azriel rolled his eyes. “So, what do you like to eat?”

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Y/N-”

“I know you had potatoes when you came over that one time-”

“Y/N, you don’t have to accept it,” he said hurriedly. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, and I’m perfectly happy to wait.”

“I think I’m going to make us cookies,” you hummed, resting your nose against his. Azriel gasped softly, his eyes fluttering shut. “Would you eat them with me?”

“Yes,” Azriel strained. “Gods, yes.” He brought his hands up to hold your face, and your eyes shut as he kissed you reverently. And you stayed there for hours, holding each other under the starlight, whispering soft I love you’s between kisses, before heading down to the kitchens hand in hand.

Young Love - Lucien x Reader (fluff)

Fanart by janarunneck on Instagram

Summary: Reader is Tamlin’s younger cousin and realizes they’re Lucien’s mate after he flees from the Autumn Court

Warnings: mentions of violence (when Lucien/Tamlin kill Lucien’s brothers)

Word Count: 1,500

A/N: Something shorter and fluffy for all the Lucien fans :) Enjoy!

You knew Lucien was your mate the day you met him, from that first moment when he stumbled into the manor of the Spring Court seeking your older cousin after fleeing from his sadistic family. You’d known he was your mate as you and Tamlin consoled him, grief-stricken with the loss of Jesminda, and welcomed him into your home. The mating bond had snapped into place almost instantaneously for you, leaving you reeling in place as Tamlin tried his best to console his frantic friend.

But it was too soon, far too soon for talk of such things with Lucien, who was aching with the loss of his lover, family, and home. And so you kept it to yourself, offering Lucien a shoulder to cry on or an ear to vent to, accompanying him on walks and occasionally leaving baked goods and fruits outside his door. But you never dared to go farther than that, resigning yourself to a century or so of longing.

That century was cut short, however, when the bond clicked for him a few months later.

When Lucien’s brothers came to kill him you’d wasted no time helping Tamlin and Lucien, going so far as to hold one of the brothers down while your older cousin slit his throat.

“Are you watching?” Tamlin sneered to the one brother you kept alive. He was gagged and tied to a chair - it was Tamlin’s idea to force him into watching the mess you made of his siblings.

“He’d better be,” you replied for him, stepping over a body on the floor to help a bloodied Lucien to his feet.

“What do you want us to do with him?” Tamlin asked, gesturing to your terrified hostage.

“Let him go,” Lucien replied, in a voice much darker than you’d ever heard from him. “I want him to tell my father what we did.”

In the morning, after Tamlin had left to get rid of Lucien’s brother, you had tasked yourself with cleaning up the mess left in your cousin’s study. Blood and broken furniture were rather off putting, and you didn’t want Alis to have to deal with that.

Lucien had appeared in the doorway a few hours later.

“How are you feeling?” you asked him from your place on the floor. You’d spent the last ten minutes trying to scrub a particularly large stain out of the carpet, with no avail.

“Have you been in here alone this whole morning?” Lucien asked, ignoring your question completely.

“The room needs to be cleaned, and I told the housemaids to let me take care of it,” you said with a shrug. “They don’t handle stuff like this well.”

“You still shouldn’t have to clean it by yourself,” he frowned, stepping into the room and grabbing a spare rag from the stack you’d brought in with you.

“Oh, Lucien, really there’s no need-”

“I’m helping,” he stated dismissively, kneeling down next to you. “I’m responsible for this mess, anyways.”
You shook your head. “It was your brothers’ faults, not yours. They came and sought you out.”

“I still…killed them,” Lucien said softly, as if he was still processing what had happened. You nodded slowly, placed your hand gently over his and patted it comfortingly.

“Well, I hate to be that person, but they deserved it,” you said. “But the fact that you’re feeling upset about it, after everything they did to you, tells a lot about your character.”
“Does it?” Lucien asked, turning to you with glossy eyes. “What does it tell?”

You gulped, trying to think of the right words to reassure him without giving away too much of yourself. “Lucien, you’re one of the kindest and most selfless beings I’ve ever met. You’re always doing things for others, you’re always coming with Tamlin and I to help the lesser fae in the forest. You think the best of everyone and only harbor ill feelings towards those who deserve them, I mean, really you’re just fantastic-”

In your rambling you failed to notice the way Lucien’s eyes widened, the way his breath hitched as something became clear to him that you already knew.

“-and you shouldn’t even think for one second that last night makes you any less good, or less kind, because this is the one time you’ve ever fought back or sought any semblance of revenge after all the things they’ve done for you. And you deserved none of it-”

Lucien wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him in a crushing hug. You gasped, shocked, and wordlessly moved your arms to his shoulders, holding him against you.

“Thank you,” he managed, and you realized he was crying. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” you said gently, resting your forehead against him. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Can I tell you something I just realized?” he mumbled, resting his head against the top of yours. You nodded. “I think you’re my mate.”

Your eyes widened, and you pulled back to look up at him. “Lucien, I-”
“Y/n,” he whispered, taking your hands in his. His brow furrowed. “Did…did you already know?”

You looked down, bit your lip, and nodded slowly. “I’ve known since the first day you were here.”

“Y/n-”

“I’m no Jesminda,” you interrupted, looking back up at him. “And I know you might want nothing romantically right now, and that’s fine, but I will always, always be here for you in whatever role you need-”
Lucien cupped your face in his hands softly, and your words died on your lips.

“I am honored,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “honored to be your mate.”

And as those things typically go, the next few days were spent tucked away in Lucien’s room, exploring each other’s lips and bodies and talking about every little piece of your lives you could think of in between the incessant fucking brought on by the acceptance of a mating bond. It was inspiring, really, how little you’d managed to get done in the past week and a half.

“We should do something,” you said, rolling over to gaze at a naked Lucien, basking in the sunlight on top of the bed. He opened his eyes, turning his head to give you a lazy smile.

“Yea?” he replied. “What should we do, my love?”

You grinned, closing your eyes and relishing in the sound of his endearment. “I dunno, maybe just a walk around? See if anything has changed in the last week?”

“Can’t we just stay here?” Lucien whined, scooting closer to you. He trailed one hand up your arm slowly, rubbing small circles as he went.

“Lucien, we’ve been here for days,” you giggled. He smiled, bit his lip and closed his eyes, as if he were committing the sound to memory. His hair was a brilliant shade of red in the sunlight streaming through the window. It was around noon, you realized, though you had no idea what day of the week it was.

“Please,” you drawled, half-begging. Lucien sighed, smile still on his lips.

“Fine,” he relinquished. “But let’s make it snappy, I want to be back in this bed in an hour, tops.”

You giggled, thanking him before launching yourself off the bed to find some clothes to wear. You slipped on one of Lucien’s shirts and the pair of pants you’d discarded on the ground a week ago, turning back to Lucien and giving him a thumbs up.

His gaze darkened as he looked you over, a lustful look taking over his face. Your eyes widened and you turned around again. “Oh no you don’t, I know what that look means and I don’t want it compromising our walk!”

“But you look so hot in my clothes,” Lucien huffed.

“Not my problem,” you teased, waltzing into the bathroom and leaving a very frustrated Lucien splayed out on the bed.

It took you two hours to get down to the gardens, detained slightly by a trip to the kitchens and what Lucien deemed an “unavoidable quickie.” But you’d finally reached your destination, setting a blanket down on the grass for you to lie on.

“This is nice,” Lucien murmured, playing with your hair while your head rested in his lap.

You hummed, eyes closed, enjoying the slight breeze. “I told you so.”

Lucien chuckled and bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Y/n,” he murmured.

“That’s the fifth time you’d said that in the last ten minutes,” you teased, opening your eyes and tapping his nose lightly.

“I don’t think I could stop saying it if I wanted to,” Lucien replied, grinning down at you adoringly. “And I don’t want to.”

“Well, lucky for you, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say it,” you replied, reaching up and pulling him down for a kiss.

To Love Herself

Helloooo acotar fandom. Or just Nessian fandom. 

I have gone back and forth loving and hating acosf, but finally pinpointed the breaking point for me. I hated how the story played out after Nesta told Feyre about the baby. There was so much potential with how that whole situation could be handled. Instead Nesta was blamed for everything, with no one else ever taking responsibility. 

Because of that I have decided to try my hand at writing a fanfic starting from that point in acosf. Below is what I would call the prologue and the beginning of the first chapter. 

I have never posted anything I have written before, so please be kind. I would love feedback on it and if people are curious I will continue it. 

Prologue

Nesta didn’t care. Couldn’t think around the roaring. “Have any of them told you, their respected high lady, that the baby in your womb will kill you?”

It broke something in Nesta—broke that rage, that roaring—- seeing those tears begin to fall, the fear crumpling Feyre’s painted-smeared face.

She had gone too far. She… Oh gods.

Amren said, “I think it is best, girl, if you speak to Rhysand about this.”

Nesta couldn’t bear it—the pain and fear and love on Feyre’s face as she caressed her stomach.

Amren growled at Nesta, “I hope you’re content now.”

Nesta didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say or do with herself. She simply turned on her heel and ran from the apartment.

Nesta ran into the streets, escaping down side alleys, not caring where she went, as long as it was away. Away from Feyre and her pain, the pain Nesta had just so cruelly added to. Away from Amran, the first friend Nesta had once thought she was. Away from the rest of her sister’s new family.

Nesta had thought she was getting better. She had been trying, with Gwyn and Emerie. With Cassian. She had searched for the Dread Trove, to protect Elain. She had initially followed Rhysand’s order not to tell Feyre about the risk of the baby…

But standing in that apartment, Nesta had realized none of it mattered. Not while Feyre cried and Amran looked at her with such hatred and disgust. For all her efforts, Feyre and her Inner Circle would never like Nesta.

As she ran Nesta couldn’t entirely blame them. She didn’t like who she was either. Didn’t like the things she said, or what she did, or how she felt. She didn’t like her powers either, not when they were a manifestation of all the worst things about her. They were all better off without her.

The realization slammed into Nesta. It was not the first time she had thought it. She had lived in her rundown apartment for exactly that reason, to put space between her and her sister’s family. But they had always dragged her back in with parties and dinners, insisting Nesta be there. They only ever resulted in her once again feeling out of place and giving them all more reasons to loathe her. Until finally they had forced her to the House Of Wind

Nesta came to a halt in an ally that opened up to the Sidra and the setting sun. Her red hot anger from earlier was gone, replaced with that numb feeling that she had lived with for so long, the feeling she had been beginning to forget. How quickly it returned.

Feyre’s crumpled face flashed in her mind. Nesta knew they would be coming for her. Feyre deserved to know the truth about her baby, her body. Everyone had the right to the truth. But Rhysand, Amren, and the rest of them didn’t care about that. They only cared how Nesta made Feyre feel, so they would blame her. Including Cassian.

Cassian who she trusted, who she had let in despite knowing better. No one had ever tried as much as he had with her, but in the end he would always choose Feyre and the Inner Circle. He had continued to talk to them about her and keep things from her because of them.

No matter what he was to her, he was also better off without her. She was a burden he had been handling, but today proved it was all pointless. Nothing and nobody could fix her.

Her powers curled in her gut as she stared at the sparking water. She wanted to disappear.

So do it A voice whispered.

Silver flames sparked at the tips of Nesta’s fingers.

Disappear

Nesta hugged her hands to her chest, letting the cold flames sparkle across her body. Amren has been right. Nesta hadn’t had any interest in her powers. But now they were all she had left. They were the only thing that had made her worth anything to the others. But maybe now they were her answer. Nesta closed her eyes and let her leash slip, let the magic decide. Disappear.

“NESTA!” a distant voice shouted.

A voice Nesta knew in her soul.

As the world twisted in flicking silver, Nesta turned and glanced at the sky. Hazel eyes locked onto hers, and Nesta felt his anger and alarm. His horror. All about her. But not anymore. Nesta felt a single tear escape down her cheek as she allowed her magic to consume her, and let go.

•••••

Chapter 1 (1st part)

Do you plan on coming home soon Feyre darling?

Feyre sent a huff of a laugh back at Rhys. Why? Does somebody miss me?

Two somebodies actually. Rhys replied, Nyx wants to show you how he has improved his flying with Uncle Azriel today.

Feyre smiled at the image of her son jumping off couches to fly around the room played in her mind. She currently sat in her studio, working on a painting of Nyx flying with his father. She planned on saving it for his eighth birthday present in a couple months.

Feyre glanced out the window, where the streets were only illuminated by streetlight on the moonless night. She hasn’t realized how late it had become.

I’ll be home soon, I just have to clean up.

Don’t keep me waiting too long, Rhys rumbled back. A shiver went down Feyre’s spin as she cut off the connection with her mate to concentrate on cleaning.

She walked around the room, turning off most of the lights before going to the back to wash her brushes and pallet. As she stood at the sink, she suddenly felt a cold breeze at the back of her neck.

Feyre froze. She raised her head to look at the paint splattered mirror above the sinks. Through the smudged glass she could see a dark cloaked figure standing behind her.

Slowly, Feyre turned. “Who are you?” She demanded. “It’s not wise to sneak up on a High Lady.”

The figure stood perfectly still. As they stared at each other the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Finally the figure tilted their head to the side slightly. “Well? What do you want?”

An indignant huff came from beneath the cloak before reaching up to pull back their hood.

Feyre’s mind went blank as she took in her sister, whom she hadn’t seen or heard from in over 8 years.

“Hello Feyre.” Was all Nesta said.

Feyre stared at her older sister. Not a day had gone by since that terrible day in Amren’s apartment that Feyre hadn’t thought of Nesta. Not a day she hadn’t wondered, worried. They had searched for her. Had even reached out to the other courts when they became desperate for answers. But there had been no trace of her since Cassian had seen her consumed by silver flames.

Now standing before her, the first thing Feyre noticed was how healthy she looked. Nesta had slowly begun to look better after living in the House and training with Cassian for a few weeks. She had been gaining a little weight and some color back then.

But stepping in to the light cast from lanterns on the back counter, Nesta seemed to glow with health. Her hair was braided in its classic crown, but her face was full and tanned from being in the sun. Her eyes still held the same stormy intensity they always had, but the haunted look she had had was now replaced with a silver gleam.

Although most of her body was covered in a dark cloak, Feyre could see she was wearing fighting leathers— not Illyarian leathers. And peaking out over her right shoulder, was the pommel of a great sword. The Great Sword, the one she had accidentally Made. The sword that, along with the two other Made weapons, had been stolen from where they had been locked in the river house. The same night several priestess disappeared from the Library.

•••••

don’t know where to post this BUT if anyone likes ACOTAR… i published the first chapter to a Lucien x female OC fic on both wattpad and ao3. it takes place during ACOWAR, she’s Cassian’s twin sister but he’s still mated to Elain sooo….. go check it out if you’re interested <3

*5 years later*

Azriel is sitting out on the back porch of the cottage style home that him and Elain moved into right after they got married three years ago. The backyard is currently filled with kids running around and chasing each other, well all but one child that is.

Next to Az on the porch is his four year old nephew, Emerson who’s the oldest of Cassian and Nesta’s children. He’s a lot like his mom and isn’t much for people or social events. So he just watches the three families gathered at Az’s house with his uncle.

It’s the last weekend of the summer before sending the kids back to preschool and kindergarten for Emerson. Elain had decided to host a cookout as a last little get to getter before all their lives got crazy again. Not that Elain’s business hasn’t been keeping her very busy.

When Elain finally opened her shop a few years ago she already had a waiting list of orders and the business has only grown since. Last year she opened a second location in another part of Velaris and now she’s working on another location in the capital of Winter, where Vivianne moved two years ago to be with her boyfriend recently turned husband.

Due to the growth Azriel decided to step back from Rhy’s law firm and focus on new goals that he started to grow passionate about alongside Elain. Now he runs a non-profit Rhys helped him build from the ground up and at the beginning of the year they finally were able to open up the office.

The charity focuses on helping victims of abuse whether it’s with a partner, parent, or even a stranger. Az even hosted the first event for the charity in the spring where they held an auction and donated the proceeds to several women’s shelters in Velaris. In October he’ll host a Halloween party filled with rides and haunted houses and games for all ages. Then in December he’ll partner with Rhys at the Starlight ball as well.

On top of all the success Elain and Az have both accomplished in their work lives there’s also been rewards in their personal lives. A few months after they got married Elain discovered she was pregnant with their daughter, Hope. Then six months ago they welcomed their second little girl, June.

Currently Hope is running around playing with Rhys and Feyre’s oldest, Hunter. The two were born three weeks apart, Hunter being the older one and since then they’ve been inseparable. As for June she’s currently playing with the other babies by their mother’s.

Feyre is pulling a car toy out of her daughter, Rose’s mouth while Nesta is yelling at her third child who takes after her father. Marley is currently two years old and in the middle of her first prank war of many with Cassian. Oliver, Nesta and Cassian’s youngest is laughing as he watches his troublesome sister.

Azriel chuckles as he watches the failed prank Marley attempts on Cassian who likes to call himself the King of Pranks. When he catches his daughter she shrieks and runs away only to have her father race after her. Those two are going to be trouble, Az thinks as he takes a sip of the mixed drink Feyre had made for all of them.

“Mom’s going to lose her voice again,” Emerson says, watching his little sister be caught by their dad. “She just got it back too.” Nesta had always been the one to yell when she gets mad and ever since Marley learned to crawl Nesta’s been losing her voice every few weeks.

“Yeah but it’ll only get worse if Oliver takes after those two,” Az responds. He can only imagine how much Nesta will start drinking if she ends up with two meddlesome kids, especially considering Cassian is trying to convince her to have another baby within the next year.

“That’s why Marley won’t be allowed to influence my brother,” Emerson says sternly. He’s definitely like his mom, Az thinks as he watches the young boy next to him. Emerson may act like his mother but he looks just like his father. He has the say dark hair, skin tone, and grin as Cassian the only difference is the eyes, those are grey like Nesta’s.

Rhys, who’s been manning the grill calls out that the burgers and hot dogs are done. The kids rush to their seats, even Emerson who has the same love for food as Cassian. Azriel walks over to his wife and takes June from her so she can run into the house and grab the side dishes.

There’s already potatoes and corn out on the table but Elain had made a salad and chopped up some fruit before everyone came over. Az puts June in her high chair they had set in between him and Elain’s seats. Strapping her in putting a bib around her neck Az shakes out a bag of cereal for her to snack on.

His wife comes back out and adds some fruit to June’s tray as well before sitting down and grabbing her own food. Bowls and trays of food get passed around the table as they all make their plates for themselves and their children.

Once everyone is settled the conversations start. There’s talk of the kids which is everyone’s favorite topic. Then there’s talk of work and some charity events Az hopes to do throughout the next year. They also talk about the little things that have taken place throughout their lives.

“Sometimes I wish we took a page out of Amren’s book and waited to have kids,” Nesta tells her husband as the conversation switches topics once again. Amren who is Nesta’s closest friend has spent the past year travelling the world with her fiance, Varian before getting married and settling down.

“If you went the Amren route you probably would never have kids,” Rhys comments knowing his former partner. When Amren got back together with Varian she decided to leave Rhys’s firm and work at a different one in Adriata.

“That’s very true and why would you want to miss out on this cuteness?” Cassian says as he bounces Oliver on his lap, their son having scarfed down his dinner. Oliver realizing that people are looking at him, smiles and babbles as he looks up at his mother.

Nesta smiles widely at her youngest. “Yeah I guess you’re right for once,” she tells her husband as she takes Oliver from him. Hugging her son close. Elain is smiling just like everyone around the table who all know what Nesta went through to get where she is now.

“So does that mean we can have another?” Cassian says hoping he’s finally broken through to his wife.

“Ask me when he’s one,” Nesta responds, rocking Oliver who’s starting to doze off.

“Deal,” Cassian says lovingly watching his wife and son. Az knows his friend is also thinking about what he did in a past life to deserve this.

“Anyone else want more kids?” Feyre asks curiously.

“Maybe in another couple of years,” Elain says looking over at Azriel.

“Sounds good to me,” he tells his wife with a smile. Back when they had first started talking about a family Azriel had told her he didn’t care how many kids they had as long as she wanted them.

“You want another baby darling?” Rhys asks his wife using her nickname.

“I don’t know,” Feyre says honestly. Rhys nods, smiling.

“Well whatever you decide I’ll support you all the way,” Rhys reaches down into Feyre’s lap for her hand bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. Feyre smiles.

“Even if she asks you to get a vasectomy?” Cassian asks with a shudder.

“Yes because I actually listen to my wife,” Rhys combats.

“Hey I listen to Nesta!” Cassian argues.

“Rarely,” Nesta mumbles, causing Cassian to huff in annoyance mostly because he knows it’s true.

Az laughs as he watches his friends, his family and appreciating that this is his life. It’s a life he never thought he would get to hold. Then a woman with the kindest soul moved into his building and made him crave a life like this one.

Looking over at the woman that changed everything for him, his love, his wife, his Elain Az can’t hold back his smile. It’s a smile she reads easily and returns knowing that he changed her life just as much as she did his.

“I love you,” Elain whispers to her husband, all the unsaid feelings and emotions wrapped in those three words and he’s hit with it all as he grasps and squeezes her hand.

“I love you,” Azriel whispers right back with the same impact as Elain’s own whispered words.

They both hang on to each other as the banter between their family continues until it starts to grow dark and the children grow restless along with the dimming light. Saying goodbye they watch as Nesta and Cassian drive back to their home as well as Feyre and Rhys.

Elain and Azriel walked back into the house, hand in hand with Hope running ahead and June knocked out on her father’s shoulder.

Laughing Elain follows her oldest into Hope’s room while Az puts June in her crib. With the girls in bed they head to their own bed together.

“I still can’t believe I get to do this every night forever,” Az whispers into the darkness as he pulls his wife into his arms. She rests a hand on his chest and smiles at her husband.

“I can’t either,” Elain says, pressing kisses onto Az’s bare chest.

“We have to be up early,” Azriel tells her as she continues down his body.

“I don’t care,” Az chuckles before pulling his wife back up and flipping her onto her back.

“Well then I guess it’s about to be a long night,” he whispers in Elain’s ear, rocking his erection against her sensitive core. Elain moans into a searing kiss.

This is the dream, Azriel thinks as he kisses his wife and pours all the love he feels for her and all the love she’s given him into one beginning kiss.

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a new light | chapter fourteen (Elriel)

Elain woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and what could only be homemade waffles. Stretching herself out she threw herself out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The kitchen she now officially owned with Azriel.

After they had unpacked some last night once their friends and her sisters had left Az had gone down to turn in the papers he had previously signed. Technically he was supposed to sign them this morning but he hadn’t wanted to wait so he went down to their landlord after they moved all of Elain’s stuff into his place.

Heading down the hallway that leads to their now shared bedroom Elain finds Az holding a bowl of batter that he’s pouring into the griddle. Smiling at her boyfriend she leans against the wall, arms folded and relaxed. It’s hard to believe that just within a week their lives have taken a complete turn for the better.

There was a time when Elain believed she would never get to feel this happiness with her best friend let alone anyone else. Yet here she stands watching Azriel as he makes them breakfast and there’s no doubt in her mind that he’s as much hers as she is his.

“You just want to stare at me all morning?” Azriel askss, smirking at her as he closes the waffle maker and let’s it cook. “I mean I don’t blame I’m a very attractive view.”

“And a very cocky one as well it seems,” Elain responds with a smile that Az returns. Pushing off the wall she makes her way around the counter and to his side where he tucks her in under his arm.

“How was your first night in our apartment?” Azriel asks as he plays with a strand of her messy hair.

“Very restful,” Elain responds, her fingers trailing the band of his grey sweatpants.

“I see you’ve also found my side of the closet,” Az says as he tugs on the shirt Elain had pulled on in the middle of the night when she got up to use the bathroom. It’s one of her favorites he notices as well. Most of his closet is made up of dark and plain t-shirts but this is one of the few graphic shirts he owns. It’s also the one Elain had talked him into buying when they went to a music festival last summer with a few friends.

“Well it is our closet,” Elain smirks, looking up at him with her innocent little face.

“So does that mean I can wear your dresses?” Azriel asks, teasing her. Elain laughs, still smiling up at him. The look fills him with warmth and happiness, something he hasn’t felt since before his mom passed.

“If you really want to,” Elain says just before the timer dings. She moves to the other side of the island as Az takes the waffle out and sets it on a plate. He pushes the plate in front of her along with the syrup, a fork, and a glass of fruit punch because it’s the only type of juice she will drink.

With a smile Elain starts cutting up her waffle as Azriel pours more batter to make his own. Once it’s done he sits next to his girlfriend and they enjoy a peaceful breakfast together. Elain cleans up breakfast once the waffles are consumed and Az goes to get dressed.

They’re planning on having dinner with some friends tonight but until then they have the day to themselves. Azriel pulls up the website for the local drive-in theater to see what they might be showing this afternoon.

Turns out today is a flashback theater today where there’s a showing of Gone with the Wind, which Elain hates. Then there’s The Wizard of Oz which is a favorite of his, and lastly Dirty Dancing.

“Feel like going to the drive-in theater for a showing of The Wizard of Oz?” Azriel asks, taking a seat on a barstool and watching his girlfriend in the kitchen. He can’t get enough of calling her that even if it’s only in his head.

“That sounds like fun,” Elain says as she hangs the towel she used to dry her hands once again. “You grab snacks and drinks while I go get dressed.”

“Deal,” Azriel says. With a bright smile on her face Elain runs off into their bedroom while Az grabs a couple of bags for snacks and drinks. Starting with the cooler bag he grabs some water and a few of the lemonade flavored sparkling waters that he knows Elain loves. He also adds some fruit from the fridge and an energy drink or two for himself.

Zipping that bag up Azriel heads for the small pantry in the corner of the kitchen. He tends to keep the pantry fairly stocked with a variety of snacks considering how Cassian is always radding his food supply. There’s a few snack sized caramel corn popcorn bags which Az grabs because how could they go to a movie without popcorn.

There’s also sour gummy worms that he adds to the bag. It’s a big bag but Azriel always finds himself craving the candy in the middle of the night. Lastly, he adds a couple big bags of unopened chips from a party he had gone to a couple weeks ago.

“Got everything?” Elain asks, walking out of the bedroom in one of her many sundresses. This one is yellow and white in a plaid pattern, which is her second favorite right after floral. She’s pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she walks back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, ready?” Azriel asks, shouldering both the bags onto his shoulders. Elain smiles with a nod before heading to the small entrance hall where a pair of brown sandals wait for her to slip on her feet. Elain then grabs her purse off the hook Az had installed on the back of the front door.

Opening the door they head out and down to the parking garage where they decide to take Azriel’s truck, having more room for them to lay out the blankets and pillows they had grabbed from Elain’s car beforehand.

It’s quiet for a bit as Azriel drives. The theater is on the outskirts of the city in the more rural area of Velaris. It’s a place he knows Elain is very familiar with as she gets antsy when she’s in the city too long.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Elain says, breaking the silence. Az turns down the music he had put on so he can hear her better. “Since I know longer have to pay full rent and with the bonus I’m expecting soon it might be time to start my business.”

“Really?” Az asked, a little surprised. Elain had been saying that she wanted to wait another year before looking into renting out a space in downtown Velaris for her floral arrangements shop. “You don’t want to wait any longer?”

“Some events have taken place recently in my life that are causing me to rethink things,” Elain says, smiling over at him. He knows she’s talking about their recent relationship status. “I don’t want to wait any longer and I plan on starting small.”

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked. He’s smiling, feeling the joy and happiness along with her at finally being able to kickstart her dream.

“I’ll start as an assistant with a local floral shop in order to learn everything else I don’t already know,” Elain says. “The owner wants to help me so she’ll help create my website and even let me start independent orders as I learn.”

“That sounds amazing,” Azriel says, taking the exit ramp that’ll lead to the drive-in theater. “What about after that?”

“Well I’m thinking I’ll do this through the winter and look for my own space to rent and hopefully by spring I’ll be set up in said space and ready for the summer season,” Elain explains.

“Also known as wedding season,” Elain smiles at him, loving that he knows that little tidbit.

“It’ll be the perfect time to start,” she says.

“Well I can’t wait to watch you succeed.” They’re both smiling as Azriel pulls into the drive-in and pays for the movie. Pulling into the lot where the movie is set up he finds a space right in the center of the lot.

Elain sets up the bed of his truck with the pillows and blankets while he unpacks the snacks and drinks. Settling down together Az kisses the top of her head as he tucks her into his side.

The movie starts and Elain’s focus is on the black and white opening scene while Az watches her intently. A part of him still doesn’t believe that she is his and yet here they are finally in each other’s arms. And all he can think is that he can’t wait for more moments like this throughout the rest of his life.

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This is a little project I’ve been working on as an acotar/tog crossover. I thought I’d give you guys a sneak peek for if I ever decide to post the full thing. Anyway, you’ll never guess who Fenrys’ lover is. (Don’t tell me I’m weird if you figure it out)

*****

Whimpering, Fenrys put a shield around himself that he knew would do no good, his body shivering as the house shivered. His ears rung with every crash, the grumble bouncing around in his head.

The bedroom door opened. He should have locked it. Should have left before this city of light was torn apart, cast into eternal darkness along with all the people within it. 

“Fenrys?” 

Fenrys squeezed his eyes shut as thunder sent the windows rattling.

Someone was in front of him. Kneeling there. She was using his lover’s voice, coaxing him out only to go for the throat in the next. He knew it. She’d done it before.

“Hey, what’s going on? Fenrys. Look at me.”

No. Because when he opened his eyes, it would be real. She’d take him, thrust him back into a nightmare of her own making.

“Puppy.Look at me.”

The pure command in that voice called to him, a shout in the dark. And that name. She didn’t know that name. Only those here, those in the City of Starlight, had ever called that name and only to one would he listen for it.

Quaking, he peeled open his eyes to find a man before him, hands hovering over his body. No. Not hovering. The faint glimmer of gold in the air told Fenrys his shield had worked. 

“There you are,” his lover breathed and the shadows around Fenrys tightened. “Can you put down this shield for me?”

*****

Anyway, let me know if you’re interested and if you have any guesses to who Fenrys’ lover is.

Part 4

Fanfiction Masterlist

Part 1Part 2Part 3

*I want to preface this by saying I know absolutely nothing about medical stuff sooo

*Also this chapter contains some content that might not be suitable for young readers. Read at your own risk**

The surgery lasted hours. Shvan wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm and called Madja over.

“I need you to reconnect a few nerves. Your hands are steadier than mine.”

“I’ll do my best.” Madja took up the tools. “What about the tendons?”

“I have the left wing almost done.”

She paused. “Do you… will this really work?”

Shvan smiled. “I have done this once before, on a young girl. She still flies to this day. But…” Her smile faded. “She fled the camps before they could clip them again, or worse. I’m afraid that dear Marlee may have to do the same.”

“Ares will keep her safe. I will keep her safe.”

“I know.”

It was three more hours before they were finished. Madja was so exhausted, she wasn’t sure she could see straight, but she bathed in the wealth of knowledge she had learned. She gave Marlee careful instructions to not move the wings for several weeks, as they need to heal. The girl cried through it all after the anesthesia faded. 

Heavy on her feet, Madja returned to the dining hall to find it empty, save for servants cleaning up dinner. One paused. “I can send a plate up for you so you can rest,” he said.

“Thank you,” Madja murmured, and braved the stairs.

Once she reached the top, exhaustion took over. She collapsed onto the bed, too lazy to change from her blood stained clothes. When she opened her eyes again, the room was lit by candles, and a plate of steaming stew lay on the nightstand. She dove into it hungrily, grateful that someone had kept it hot.

As she scraped the bottom of the bowl, the door opened, bringing Ares with it. She set the bowl aside, chewing a bit of potato slowly. 

He wordlessly passed her a nightgown that she quickly changed into before climbing back into bed.

“How’d it go?” he asked her. 

“Pretty well, I hope. Only time will tell.” 

Ares put a knee on the bed, leaning in to give her a swift kiss. “I’ll never get to thank you enough for what you did.”

“I would do it for anyone.” She cupped his face. “Plus, Illyrian wings are absolutely fascinating.”

“Really? How so?”

“Well.” She sat up, reaching a hand towards his wing. “There’s a tendon right here.” She traced just along the inner top edge. “It leads directly into the back of your thigh. And here, that goes up your shoulder.”

He shuddered as she traced that one too.

“Really, most of your wing movement comes directly from the muscles of your back and legs. Are you… are you okay?”

His face was flushed, eyes closed. “Yeah. Just… um.”

Her brows furrowed. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No. Er. I don’t know if you know this, but Illyrian wings are very sensitive.”

“Of course they are. There are so many nerve endings, especially along the inside.” She flattened her hand over the thin skin. “I assume it helps in sensing airflow and temperature.”

“Yes, but not that kind of sensitive.” He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning.”

He leaned his brow against her wrist, letting out a low laugh. “How do I say this? Many males can… find completion just from having their wings touched.”

“Completion? You mean…” She trailed off as her cheeks began to burn. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Come; you need to rest.” He tugged her down onto the bed, drawing her against his chest, and whispered, “You can touch my wings anytime you like.”

*****

Madja awoke the next morning to the impression of Ares laying on the center of her chest. The position made it a little difficult to breathe, but she relished his weight. His head was pillowed on her breasts, his wings splayed across the bed and dipping off the sides.

Madja lifted a hand slowly, careful not to jostle him. She ran her fingertips lightly over the top edge of his wing, feeling the texture of the bone beneath paper-thin skin.

Ares shifted at that, nuzzling his face into her breast. “Mmm, don’t stop.”

She smiled, brushing her fingertips back down to the joint between wing and back. She traced a vein there, one that feathered out across the expanse of the webbing.  

Ares groaned, his arms tightening around her. “Feels so good.” His voice was rough, his stubble stretching at the sensitive skin on her chest. 

Heat shot through her as she felt his hips shift between her knees. “Are… are you…”

He ground into the mattress again, nodding.

Madja laughed, raising her other hand to run it through the soft locks of his hair. “Shameless.”

“Only for you.” He lifted his head, dragging himself up the bed to kiss her lips lightly. “How does a bath sound before breakfast?”

“Amazing,” she whispered, her body tingling.

Ares grinned, scooping her up in one swift movement, gripping the bottom of her thighs. She reached up as he carried her, dragging her palm up the bone to drag his talon a little closer to her. “These really are fascin—”

Ares pushed her hard against the wall next to the door, cursing. 

Madja ignored him, thumbing at the skin just beneath his talon. “Are these a defensive tool or is it more of a dominance thing? Kind of like an elk’s horns.”

“Fuck, don’t talk science to me.” He kissed her throat, biting softly at the skin there.

She grinned, tightening her legs around his waist. “I think that they’re mostly just an accessory that never evolved out. You don’t use them much.”

Ares let out a series of unintelligible sounds as she wrapped her hand around the bone beside the talon. She blushed as she felt a certain hardness pushing against her center when he ground his hips into hers.

“You’re trying to ruin my plans,” Ares groaned. 

Madja laughed, sliding her hand away from his talon to press against the webbing just beneath. “What plans?”

He gathered himself enough to pull his head back, snatching her hand away from his wing. He breathed hard for a few seconds, leaving her biting her lip to hide a grin. He kissed the inside of her wrist. “I was planning on taking you away for a week or so and going to a mountain retreat so we could be alone.”

“Alone for what?”

Molten gold eyes lifted to hers. “Hopefully for our mating ceremony.”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten about that.

“If that’s something you want to do.”

“Hmm.” She smoothed her hand over his chest. “Do you promise to be a good mate?”

“I promise to be an extraordinary one.”

She gave him a smile. “Then I do too.”

He swung her around, making her squeal. “We’ll leave today after breakfast.”

“Today? What about my responsibilities? Yours?”

Ares shook his head as he walked them into the bathroom. “Shvan won’t mind, and she can watch over Marlee. I couldn’t care less what else I have to do here—they can handle me being gone for a while.” 

“How irresponsible of you.”

“I want to do so many irresponsible things.” He set her on the counter, kissing her softly. “The only thing we have to do now is hold out until we get there.”

“I think you can manage,” she said against his lips. 

“I don’t know. Having you naked in the bath… with me, naked in the bath.”

“Well, I have a solution for that.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. Step back.”

He obeyed as she hopped off of the counter. She took another step, forcing him back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the tub. 

“What are you—”

She planted her hands on his shoulders and shoved him into the tub. Water splashed everywhere as his wings tried and failed to catch his fall. He stared up at her from where he splayed in the tub, the water soaking into his clothes.

Madja caught the gaping look on his face, and laughed.

Ares tried to glare at her but his own lips wouldn’t turn down. “Why you…” He moved too quickly for her to follow, leaning forward to snatch her around the waist.

She squealed, scrambling to get out of his grip, but he was relentless as he dragged her into the water with him.

For good measure, Ares also grabbed the pitcher, filling it all the way before he dumped it on her head. 

She glared at him, wiping the water from her eyes. “That was unnecessary.”

They both stared at each other for a long moment before breaking into laughter. Ares’ laugh was a healthy boom that came from deep within his chest, rumbling through her. His face completely changed— the harsh lines of the warrior she’d met in that tent melting with mirth into the man she’d come to know. 

As the laughter faded, his face remained like that, lines creasing the sides of his eyes as he grinned at her. 

Madja cupped his cheek, drawing him down for a kiss, but paused. “I can’t kiss you properly if you’re smiling like a drunk fool.”

“I can’t help it.” He leaned against the back of the tub, pulling her into his lap. “You make me forget what it’s like to frown.”

Her own smile softened at that. “You got all of the water out of the tub.”

“OhIdid that?” But he switched on the faucet, shaking his head. “You’ve made a massive mess on the floor. The people below us are likely going to think it’s raining.”

“I’ve solved your problem.”

“Yes, because now we are both fully clothed in the bathtub, rather than naked. As I was hoping.” He tugged on her nightgown, giving her a pout.

Seeing her opportunity, she kissed that jutting lip, making him smile again. “Then take them off.”

“More like peel,” he muttered, but indeed lifted the garment over her head. 

She helped him out of his own clothes, tossing them from the tub with a wet slap. “We’ll be gone before they can complain about the mess.”

“How noble of you.” But he was running his hands up and down her waist, his eyes clearly not on her face. He leaned his head back against the tub, humming. “I really don’t want to wait until we get there.”

Madja’s cheeks heated. “You can be patient.” She didn’t want to be patient, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.  “The faster we get clean, the faster we leave.”
She laughed again as he lunged for the soap.

*****

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Fanfiction Masterlist

Just pure, undiluted fluff.

Nesta woke to an empty bed.

Confused, she patted the sheets beside her to find them still warm, as if he’d only just risen. It was hardly dawn, but she supposed it wasn’t abnormal for him to be up this early.

Her sleepy eyes trailed away from the abandoned sheets to the light coming from beneath the bathroom door, where she could hear the sounds of a bath beginning to fill. She slid out of bed, padding on bare feet to the door.

Cassian was washing his face in the sink when she came in, squinting against the lamp light. He smiled at her in the slightly fogged mirror. “Good morning, my love. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She scrubbed her eyes. “What are you… why are you up?”

“I’m just gonna take a bath before heading into Illyria. They need me to speak to some of the camp lords.”

She grumbled and shuffled closer to wrap her arms around him from behind. “‘Ts cold.”

He ran loving hands up and down her forearms as she rested her head between his wings. “You can go back to bed, my love. I’ll be back later today.”

She let out a low whine and squeezed him tighter.

“Nesta,” he sighed, unwrapping her from him so he could turn around. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

She deposited her face in his chest. “Mmm, no.”

“Well, I have to take a bath, so you can either get dressed or go get some more sleep. Aren’t you helping with the young Valkaries today?”

She whined louder.

“Alright.” Cassian bent down to pick her up by her thighs and she hooked her feet behind his back.

Burying her face in his neck, she began to grumble again when he made his way back into the bedroom. 

“What?” he asked, exasperated. 

Her hands lifted to tug at his hair. “Bath,” she mumbled.

“You don’t have to be ready for a few more hours, my love. You can take your bath later.”

“Noooo.” 

“You’re just gonna fall asleep in the tub.”

“Nooooooo.”

He sighed once more before turning to set her on the bathroom counter. “Alright, but no funny business or I’m gonna be late.”

Nesta lifted her arms in signal for him to take off her sweater.

He peeled it off of her effortlessly before discarding his own night clothes and ridding her of the rest of hers.

The bath was thankfully big enough for them both as well as a pair of Illyrian wings. Nesta sighed in content when he set her in the water, blissfully hot. She tugged him insistently down in front of her so she could cling to his back once more.

He huffed but resigned himself to the treatment as he went about washing himself. Nesta laid her head on his shoulder, content to watch until his hands lifted to his hair.

She hissed, wriggling away from him. “Nooo. Let me.”

He looked over his shoulder at her to deliver a single brow raise. “You want to wash my hair?”

She nodded, moving to sit on the far bench. “Pretty hair.”

“Has anyone ever told you how articulate you are in the mornings?”

Her half-lidded eyes lifted to an almost-glare.

He laughed softly, but leaned into her arms. 

She grabbed the pitcher beside the tub, filling it with water to pour over his head until his hair was as soaked as the rest of him. Then she lathered it with shampoo, her long fingers massaging his scalp.

Cassian let out an animal-like purr as he closed his eyes, his wings going limp inside the water. “Mmm. Fuck. So good.”

“Very articulate,” Nesta mumbled as her hands worked the soap in. Once he had almost fully melted, she rinsed it from his hair before reaching for the conditioner.

He turned onto his stomach as she did so, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. She didn’t mind, though. Not as his brow leaned against her sternum, his arms wrapping around her. He hummed while she worked the conditioner in, nuzzling into her. 

She rinsed that too, his hair going silken in her grasp, and grabbed the rag he’d abandoned, filling it with soap. She scrubbed at his shoulders and upper back, down the column of his spine as far as she could reach. When she made to start on his wings, however, he lifted his head to glare at her.

“I said no funny business.”

Nesta pouted but resigned herself to rinsing the rest of the soap from his body. When she was done, he rose and lifted her with him, both of them dripping wet.

“Will you go back to bed now?” Cassian asked as he wrapped her in a fluffy towel and set her on the edge of their bed.

She shook her head, watching him in growing appreciation as he dried himself.

He huffed, grabbing his hair brush from the vanity.

Nesta snatched it from him, arching a brow when he tried to contradict her. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the space between her legs on the floor.

He plopped down at her feet and her legs swung carefully over his shoulders and wings to keep him in place. As she brushed through the dripping tangles of his hair, he massaged her calves, occasionally turning his head to kiss her knee.

“Stay still,” she said as she set the brush aside. 

His hands paused when he felt her beginning to part his hair. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer and he didn’t push, instead surrendering himself once more to her ministrations.

Ten minutes later, she was done, finally allowing him to rise. He went to the vanity mirror to find four braids neatly worked along the left side of his head, stopping just above his ear. His smile was the one reserved only for her as he turned back. “Thank you, my love.”

She gave him a similar smile in return, if a little more sleepy, and let out a yawn, lifting her arms. He obeyed the unspoken command, moving her further onto the bed so she could lay properly on the pillows. “I’m going to cancel your training today,” Cassian said, working the towel out from under her.

Her eyelids fluttered. “Why?”

He tucked the comforter into her sides with expert care. “Because I want you just like this when I get home.”

She didn’t have the energy to fight, instead snuggled into his pillow. “‘Kay.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow, but she had already drifted off. “I love you.”

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theoverlyenthusiasticwriter:

Music

Welcome to my poorly written siren au after binge watching Pirates of the Caribbean.  Feel free to like, comment, and reblog. Feedback feed my weary soul.

After getting in trouble with their captain, Cassian and his brothers get their punishment in the form of a small, lonely boat trailing after their ship. Hours pass and day turns to night. When Rhys and Azriel are sound asleep, Cassian is greeted by a beauty in the waves with such a lovely voice.

Next Chapter

Cassian listened to the gentle song of the waves, lying on his back to watch the stars up ahead. The boat beneath him rocked gently, tethered to the ship, Velaris, so they wouldn’t be lost at sea.

He and his brothers had pissed off the captain, Amren, for the third time this week, earning them all a toss overboard. Amren liked them enough, however, to also let down one of the boats used to take them to land. Cassian didn’t mind. It was quieter down here. The only thing he wished for now was a bit of rum and a lady in his lap.

His brothers, however, clearly did not have the same opinion.

Rhys kicked the bench Cassian was lying on. “We’ve been stuck out here for hours.”

At the stern, Azriel rolled his eyes. “She’ll reel us back some time.”

“You were the one that got us into this mess,” Rhys snarled at Cassian, who was pretending not to listen.

Indeed, it had been Cassian’s idea to change course while the captain slept, which had brought them within a hundred miles of the British navy. Then, when they pulled starboard to a smaller ship, it had also been Cassian’s idea to leap over the rail and onto the deck. He and his brothers had brought back rum, rather than gold or prisoners. It was only when the British ship was driftwood beneath the waves that Amren noticed the overly flushed faces of her three favorite, yet least favorite, pirates.

Then, like a good drunk lad, Cassian had spilled the reason they’d run into a British ship in the first place.

The alcohol had worn off with his dastardly plunge into the sea before he heaved himself onto the boat to find his brothers glaring at him.

“Man,” Rhys said, slumping down on another bench, “I’d kill to have Feyre with me right now.”

This time, both Az and Cassian rolled their eyes.

Feyre was the girl he’d left at the last port. Cassian had always thought she was a little out there after learning she thought sirens existed. It was the whole reason she and her older sister, Elain, refused to join the crew.

Cassian stood, going to sit at the opposite end from Azriel so he could peer into the dark water. “If Feyre were here, we’d all have to deal with even more creaky hammocks, which is something I can live without.”

“I don’t know, Elain wasn’t bad looking. Maybe you could make some creaking of your own.” He could hear the grin in Rhys’s voice.

Azriel snarled softly. It was no mistake that if Rhysand was in love, Az was so smitten with Elain he wasn’t too far off. 

Cassian faced his brothers, leaning against the bow behind him. “You both can stick with your cheap romances. I’m a pirate, through and through, and now pretty ankle is going to tie me down.”

“What about a pretty thigh?” Az teased.

“Or, help us all, a pretty breast?” Rhys laughed. 

Cassian threw his brothers a middle finger. “You’ll both be laughing when your stuck on land with three kids each to boot and I’m captaining the Velaris.”

“In your dreams, jackass.” 

“You think Amren will outlive me?”

“Oh, I know Amren will outlive you,” Rhys purred.

“Either way, you two will be playing Daddy and not in the fun way.”

Rhys threw a boot at him.

It landed in the water with a splash. Cassian cursed. “Those are expensive, dumbass.” He leaned over the rail, snatching up the boot before it could get swallowed by the sea, and paused. In the water, there was a glimmer of gold. Just a flash.

He blinked and it was gone, likely nothing more than a trick of the light.

More hours passed, the rocking of the waves gently lulling his brothers to sleep.

Cassian hummed out a tune, leaning against the bow to watch the stars above. He closed his eyes and the sea breeze brushed his face.

Then he heard it.

Softly, no more than wind against the waves, came a voice, singing the same song he had been.

He blinked at the sky, trying to decide if he was hallucinating or caught in a dream he hadn’t known he’d slipped into.

But… there. It was louder, coming closer.

He sat up so quickly the boat rocked. His brothers grumbled but neither awoke fully.

The singing… Oh, gods and ocean and sky, it was beautiful. High and sweet, the voice turned a rowdy sailor’s song into something too good for this world.

He scanned the horizon looking for the source. Dark waves greeted him.

The singing stopped, making him nearly sob at the silence. 

It began again right beside him, making him start. He whipped his head around and found himself face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She had her pale arms propped on the rail and was laying her head on them. Framed  by dry, golden brown locks, her face was stunning, perfectly arched brows, high cheekbones, steely blue eyes, and full lips parted in song.

She paused again, lifting herself onto braced arms. “Do you like it?”

With her lifted like that, he could very clearly see that she wore no clothes, her breasts peaked and magnificent.

His pants suddenly became tight. “Yeah. I like it. Please, never stop.”

She smiled a dazzling grin, pushing up even more to sit on the rail. Her legs were long and creamy, the product of every fantasy he’d ever had. 

He must of been drooling as he looked upon the gem between them. She was naked and gorgeous and so… so close.

She stroked his arm, leaning closer and letting out a soft, musical laugh. “What’s your name, sailor?”

“Pirate.”

“What’s your name pirate?”

“Cass–Cassian.” He reached out as if in a daze, putting a hand atop one of those breasts. Gods, it was so soft, fitting perfectly into his palm. Gaping, he squeezed slightly, rubbing a pink nipple.

She laughed again and it was the most harmonic sound he’d ever heard. “I’m a little cold, Cassian, maybe you could warm me up?” He scrambled to strip of his jacket but she stopped him, putting a hand on his chest. “Not like that, silly.”

“Will you sing again?”

“I don’t think I have to,” she whispered, that hand on his chest pulling him towards her.

He shuddered. “Please. Oh gods, I’d kill to hear it.”

She sighed and let go of him. 

He cried out as she slipped back into the water, latching onto her hands. “What–what are you doing? Come back here.”

“Why don’t you swim with me? We can sing together.”

He stood, stripping off his jacket, shirt, and boots faster than he ever had before. With no hesitation, he dived into the water, wrapping his arms around her. “Sing. Sing again.” The water was frozen and she wasn’t much warmer, but he didn’t mind at all.

She smiled and opened her mouth.

Cassian fell into a daze, ignoring the feeling of something wrapping around his legs, binding them together. He leaned in, kissing her throat to feel the vibrations of her voice through his lips. His hand went back to her breast, the other snaking down her back. Soft scales met his fingers where her ass should be, surprising him, but she kept singing, drawing him from his thoughts.

Her nails scratched lightly through his hair as he sucked on her neck, tasting salt water. She tugged his hair lightly, bidding him to pull back.

When he did, her eyes were brighter than the stars, hair fanned around her. She’d closed her mouth but the song was still going, leaving him heavy-lidded with lust.

“Kiss me,” she said over the music.

He leaned in, feeling the muscle binding his legs together contract, keeping him from kicking himself afloat. He didn’t mind, though, as his lips closed over hers–

“Cassian!” someone roared and he was yanked away.

He hadn’t even realized he’d gone under until air hit his face as his brothers grabbed at his shoulders, his hair.

The girl screamed, such a wrenching and ugly sound that it snapped him from his daze. He dared a glance down, finding a golden tail wrapped around his legs.

He thrashed, sputtering as he tried to free himself.

Around them, more sirens were screaming.

The one in front of him smashed his mouth into hers and he felt razor sharp teeth but thoughts flew from his mind at her kiss. He sank beneath the waves.

Another second and he was back up again, Rhysand’s saber cleaving into the flesh of the siren’s arm, while Azriel, appearing in the water beside him, waved a torch to fend off the others.

The siren snarled, her nails–claws–digging into Cassian’s arm. He ripped her hand off him and snatched the saber from Rhys. He plunged it beneath the waves, sinking it deep into her tail.

She unwound herself with a cry and disappeared.

“Get in the boat,” Rhys snarled, helping Az back up. 

Cassian scrambled in after him, panting hard through his teeth. He lay on the deck and tried to shake away the feeling that tasted something like betrayal.

“What,” Az said softly, “the fuck was that?”

Cassian looked down at his chest, finding claw marks where she’d touched him. He cursed vividly. “I thought she was a woman, I swear. She had legs.”

“It was an illusion,” Rhys snapped, dropping his head into his hands. “Shit, I should have believed Feyre.”

Cassian, shaken and soaked, silently agreed.

*****

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 A short story about Cassian and Rhys meeting

Fanfiction Masterlist

Mother’s brow was creased in that way it always did when she was worried. She gripped my hand, tugging me through the endless halls, surprisingly quick despite her growing belly.

We stopped outside of Father’s study and she turned to me, brushing off the shoulders of my new leather jacket she’d insisted I wear. 

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, taking my hand again, and leading me into Father’s study. 

Father rose from his desk, pressing a kiss to Mother’s furrowed brow, then bending to press another to her belly. “Is there a reason for this interruption, my love? Have you settled on a punishment?”

I cringed. A week ago, Mother had caught me and Mor sliding down the oiled ramps of the library, bringing scholars and priestesses tumbling after us. My parents still hadn’t decided on a good punishment.

Mother fluttered a hand. “That doesn’t matter. I’m taking Rhysand, now.”

Father arched a groomed brow. “What do you mean?”

“He’s coming with me to the Illyian camp. I want him to learn of my people.”

“And when was this decided?”

“I decided it. Our belongings are already there.”

“Who said you could go?”

“I am the Lady of the Night Court. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

I could almost see Father’s temper start to rise. He had been in a good mood until the word Illyrian slipped from Mother’s mouth. “You have to answer to me. You are no High Lady.”

“I am your mate and I will be doing what’s best for our child.” Her hand tightened around mine. “We’ll be leaving now. You are free to visit.”

“Ellie–”

She set me on her hip, marching to the large window in the back of the study.

Father started shouting, “Don’t you take one more step. Ellisya–”

She took off in a gust of wind.

The last thing I saw was Father, raking his hands through his hair, his desk thrown on its side.

*****

“Why is it so muddy?” I asked Mother as we strode towards the camp, kicking the squelching dirt beneath my new boots. Everything I wore today was new–boots, leather pants, and a jacket to go with it.

“Because when the snow melts, it wets the dirt.” She stopped so suddenly I almost slipped. Just outside of the line of tents and buildings, she knelt in front of me.

“Mama, you’ll get the mud on your knees–”

“Hush, Rhysand, I need you to listen to me very closely.” She combed my hair with her fingers. “You will go into this camp and you will train as the other boys your age do. You’re not special here. You will get spat on, beaten, and dirtied and you will learn. I will not be able to help you.” She cupped my face in her hands as I felt myself tensing. “I will be in the biggest house on the south side. Find me once you’re done.” With that, she stood, looking down at me. “Summon your wings.”

“But, Mama–”

“Summon your wings, Rhysand.”

My lip wobbled at the harshness of her tone but I did as she said.

She let go of me completely. “Wipe your tears away and hurry along. I’ll have supper ready when you get back.”

I indeed wiped at my eyes, taking in a shaky breath. Mother didn’t say anything else as I turned away.

I hoped my face was clean when I strode into the camp. There, a tall man found me, his greying beard doing nothing to make him look friendlier. He stared down his crooked nose at me. “What’s your name, soldier?”

I had never been called soldier before. “Rhysand.”

His thin lips nearly disappeared. “And why aren’t you with the other boys, Rhysand?”

“I–”

“Go before I give you the lashing you deserve.”

I scrambled away, running towards where I saw a few boys around my age.

They were on some sort of lunch break, chatting noisily with each other. I hovered between two tables, looking for possibly someone to sit with.

A hand tapped my shoulder.

I turned and the first thing I saw was the grin that could cut steel. The boy looked no different than all the others except for that and the feral thing that danced in his hazel eyes.

“You’re new,” he said, eyeing me.

I shifted on my feet, not enjoying the way he was looking at me. “So?”

“I challenge you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I challenge you to a fight. If I win, I get those fancy clothes.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Oh, don’t be a bore.”

I frowned, but my father had taught me never to back down from a challenge. “What about if I win? What do I get?”

The boy winked. “All the riches in the world.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I know. Come on.”

We squared off in one of the rings for the older boys. I set my feet as I assumed was right, but the boy’s were in a different position. In fact, they were lifting from the ground and–

He slammed his fist into my jaw. Pain, like I’d never felt before, shattered through my skull as I collapsed. I barely registered the other blows the boy rained, barely reminded myself to put my hands up.

The world went black for a moment but a swift punch to my ribs had me back up again. My face was wet. I didn’t know if I was sobbing, or if it was blood.

Then, as swiftly as it began, it was over, one of the warriors yanking the boy off of me. I blinked the black spots from my vision as I, too, was hauled to my feet.

“What the hell did I say about fighting?” shouted the man that had called me soldier.

“Devlon–” the boy started to say but he had no pity.

“Ten lashes, each of you. To the posts, now!”

I stumbled after the boy as he sulked over to a large wooden post. I stood awkwardly next to him, not quite sure what was going on. 

“What are you staring at?” he snapped. “Go to your post.”

I saw then the twin post beside his and went to it, looking at the warriors who had gathered with frowning faces. 

“Take off your shirt and jacket,” one of them said.

The boy beside me already moved to the task but I hesitated. “What?”

“Did I stutter, boy? Take ‘em off.”

I obeyed, finally understanding when a warrior grabbed my wrists, yanking them to hug the pole.

They were going to whip us.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Wait, no! You can’t do this!”

“And why not?” Devlon purred, walking around the post so I could see him. 

Beside me, I heard the boy scream in pain. “Because I’m Rhysand! My father is the High Lord!”

Devlon laughed, a deep, cruel sound. “You think that matters here, boy? You are nothing but a halfbreed.”

I screamed at the first strike of the whip.

*****

Mother tended to the wounds on my back while I cried.

“I don’t wanna go back, Mama,” I sobbed. “I want to go home.”

“I know, my love. Today was bad, but it will get easier.”

My face, luckily, had mostly healed on its own. Mother hadn’t liked it one bit when I told her about the boy, but I never did get to give him my clothes.

Mother made dinner for us, or rather, it appeared on the table. I shovelled the food eagerly into my mouth but when I reached for seconds, Mother slapped my hand away. “You’ve had enough. Go get your books.”

I grumbled, sliding out of the chair to fetch them. I joined her by the window, the camp bustling below us. I was just about to start reading aloud to her when something outside caught my eye.

The boy who’d beaten me was trudging through the snow to a line of shabby tents.

“What is he doing?” I asked Mother.

She shrugged. “Bastards are given nothing. They are to find their own food and their own shelter. If he ever gets to the war bands, he’ll have those but he’ll be bottom ranking forever. Until then, he’ll stay out in the cold.”

Unease settled in my stomach but I stayed quiet. I went through my lesson with Mother until we’d finished the chapter. She tucked me into bed, pressing a kiss to my brow before slipping out.

I tossed and turned for what could have been hours. I had food; I had shelter. I’d never grow hungry or cold. Comfort sat at the edge of my fingertips and yet that boy didn’t have a glimpse of it. 

Before I could consider the consequences, I slipped out of bed, tugging on my breeches. Then I levered open the window and dropped into the mud. I found the tent I’d watched the boy wonder into, teeth chattering.

The boy was awake with a dagger in hand when I flung open the flap. “Come on,” I whispered, rubbing my arms. “You’re going to live with me.”

“What?”

“You’re going to live with me. Do you have anything you want to bring?” It didn’t look like he had anything at all.

He mutely shook his head. “Why?”

I hissed through my teeth, “Just shut it and hurry up.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

He was right. “Well… what is it?”

“Cassian.”

“Let’s go, Cassian.” I grabbed his wrist, pulling him along with me. He stumbled, bare feet slipping in the mud outside.

I found my window had closed in my absence so the only way left was the front door. Mother would be asleep by now, thankfully.

I eased the door open, motioning him through after me. We tiptoed through the living room but then a light flicked on.

Cassian and I froze like two deer caught before a bow as Mother stared us down.

“What’s this, Rhysand?”

I winced. It was always bad when she said my full name. “This–this is Cassian. I told him he could live with us.”

She looked positively furious, glaring down at me, her huge wings spreading slightly, but her face softened as her gaze settled on Cassian. “There’s a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.”

Cassian disappeared instantly down the hall she indicated like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Mother turned back to me. “You cannot go bringing every bastard out there into this house.”

I fiddled with my fingers. “He was the one that beat me.”

She rolled her violet eyes. “No more surprises like this or I’ll be the one beating you. Back to bed, now.”

I was almost asleep when the door opened, Mother ushering Cassian in. “Into bed, now.”

Indeed, another bed had appeared across the room, twin to mine.

Cassian balked, bumping into the wall. “I–but–”

“I understand. I’ve been in your shoes,” she said, kneeling in front of him as she had for me. “It will feel like you’re being swallowed up but it’s here for as long as you need it.”

He looked at her like she was an alien. “But–I’m a bastard.”

She shook her head. “The circumstances of your birth do not matter to me.”

His lower lip wobbled but he climbed into bed. Mother pressed a kiss to his brow and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

In the leftover silence, I was barely able to hear the quiet of Cassian’s weeping.

*****

The next morning, I caught Cassian halfway through the window, about to slip out.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sitting up. It was barely dawn. “You’re letting cold air in.”

“I’m going back to my tent,” he snapped.

“Why?”

“Because!”

That’s when Mother came in, taking in the scene with pursed lips. “Cassian, darling, what are you doing?”

“I don’t want your help!” he shouted. “I don’t want your kindness!”

She took a step forward, holding out her hand. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

There were tears streaming down his boyish face. “I’m a bastard,” he sobbed, “I’m supposed to sleep on the floor.”

I rose from bed, pausing when he flinched. “Please don’t go. I don’t care if you’re a bastard.”

He shook his head, angrily wiping away his tears, but stayed quiet.

Mother wrapped her fingers around his, guiding him gently back from the window. “Let’s get some breakfast, shall we?”

I trailed after them, jealousy sparking that Mother was holding Cassian’s hand over mine. We were all quiet at the breakfast table, Mother having set out plates of bacon and eggs.

Cassian started shovelling the food into his mouth with his bare hands, much to my horror.

Mother quietly set down her fork. “Cassian, darling, use your silverware.”

“My what?” he asked around a mouthful.

She pointed to the fork.

He wiped his hands on his pajamas and picked up the fork, looking at it skeptically.

I daintily demonstrated how to use a fork while he scowled at me.

We ate in silence.

*****

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Alone with Lucien, Elain has to set her feelings straight. When an innocent hike, turns to something a little more meaningful, she finds it hard to breath.

Fanfiction Masterlist

(Hi, so I haven’t exactly decided who I ship Elain or Lucien or anyone with, but I was toying with the idea and that’s where this fic came from.)

Warning: Contains mature content not suitable for some readers. Read at your own risk.

*****

Elain wrung her fingers as she watched Lucien approach. The house was empty for once, even baby Nyx had gone with his parents to the theater. So it was just her and Lucien tonight.

She didn’t know why that made her nervous.

He passed by her on the way to the kitchen. giving her a small smile that barely lifted his lips.

He didn’t smile around her.

“Do you want anything? I think Feyre left some cake for us.”

“No, thank you,” Elain chirped, searching for a way to leave without being rude. “I’m full from dinner, so I’m just gonna head to bed.”

His expression flickered, but it was too fast for her to read. “Alright. Sleep well.”

She nodded absently as she retreated to her room, her heart hammering. She wasn’t sure why. Desperately needing to cool down, she opened the window to her room, glancing over the edge to see the night-blooming flowers she’d planted earlier in the season. They were just barely opening as the sun made its descent, having flourished well in this land of moonlight.

Elain tugged her hair from its braid, smoothing a hand through it. She sighed as a tingling started at the base of her spine. It did that whenever Lucien was near, warning her of his presence.

A moment later, a soft rap sounded at her door. 

“Yes?”

The knob turned, revealing that golden face. He’d cut his hair in the past months so it was now short as most males preferred. She would never admit it aloud, but it made him more handsome, showing off the sharp angles of his face. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a hike. I know it’s late, but the view is better at night.”

Elain hesitated. Walking alone with any high Fae through the woods already sounded like a trap, but him… being alone was already miserable enough.

Lucien watched her face carefully, the pupil of his metal eye narrowing slightly. “You don’t have to say yes. I was going to go anyway— I just thought you’d like the fresh air.”

She glanced back to her window, where the flowers rose just beyond the pane. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“Brilliant. You’re gonna need better shoes.”

She looked at her slippers and chewed her bottom lip. “Alright.”

*****

In Feyre’s ill-fitting boots, Elain panted as she climbed after Lucien. Of all the things being high Fae had given her, stamina wasn’t one of them.

“You alright back there?” he asked over his shoulder, face washed in patches of moonlight coming through the leaves.

“I’m fine,” she rasped, catching up to him. The ground leveled finally, allowing her a bit of reprise. Thankfully, her wheezing breath had made talking difficult for the past mile or so they’d walked, but that advantage was quickly fading.

“You know,” Lucien said, eyes fixed on the trail, “your father talked about you a lot.”

She nearly tripped. She often forgot that Lucian had met her father, traveled with him. It was a fact that she buried deep with all the other uncomfortable knowledge of this world.

“What kind of things?” she made herself ask. She could be pleasant, even if she was craving the next slope and the asphyxiation it brought her.

Lucien kicked a rock out of the way, his boots torn and dusty. “He talked about how you used to collect wildflowers for your sisters when you were younger, and horrify your mother whenever you braided them into your hair.”

Elain chewed on her lip. She remembered those moments, before they’d installed a garden on the estate. The village girls would often help her, creating giant bundles to leave on people’s doorsteps. It was when she returned home with mud on her hands and in her hair that her mother would curl her lip and call a maid to bathe her until her skin was pink. Of all the things her mother did, that was one of the lighter punishments.

“I never understood why she didn’t like them.” 

Lucien let out a small laugh. “He also talked about you finding a fruit from a poisonous tree and then puking for a week straight.”

Her nose crinkled. “Yes. That was a punishment in and of itself.”

She looked up, finding another hill for them to scale.

“We’re almost there,” Lucien said, shouldering the pack he’d brought with. She wasn’t sure what was in it, only that it bulged at the seams with cargo.

As they crested the hill, Elain finally caught sight of what they’d been hiking to. A small stream rushed through the trees, barely a dozen feet from a cliff. Beyond that, the lights of Velaris twinkled and winked at her, as if they were sharing a secret. From here, she could see the House of Wind, crowned in gold above the city that only really lived at night.

“This is stunning,” she said, stepping over a root. “How did you find it?”

Lucien shrugged as he eyed the stream. “I like exploring. I don’t really do much else here.” 

At the tone of his voice, she glanced up. He was balanced between two rocks above the bubbling water, shifting his weight.

“Why don’t you find a hobby? Like painting or reading?”

“Or gardening?” he asked, throwing a wink over his shoulder. “This is my hobby. Besides, of course, lowering Rhysand’s opinion of me and avoiding my brothers.”

“Rhys doesn’t think badly of you.” She approached the bank just as Lucien finished crossing. From this distance, the stream was starting to look more like a river. A very fast moving river.

“The stream connects with some more down the mountain and helps feed the Sidra,” Lucien explained, as if trying to fill the silence.

Elain cautiously set her boot on a rock and found it didn’t immediately shift under her weight. As warm as the night was, she didn’t particularly feel like cooling off with a dip in the water.

“Step on this one,” Lucien said. “No. Your right foot.”

She obeyed his instructions and found both sides of the stream beyond her reach. 

“Left foot on the red one. There you go. Good girl.”

She was so distracted by his choice of words that her right foot slipped, sending her forward. Lucien caught her by the elbows, one of his boots submerged in the water. She hadn’t even seen him move.

“Are you alright? Did you twist your ankle?” He guided her to the next rock.

“Is the water cold?” she blurted, then nearly smacked herself. He was still holding onto her, and that tingling in her spine grew to a tickle.

He let out a breathy laugh, not answering until she was safely on the other side. “A bit, but that’s alright.”

“Your sock must be wet.”

He laughed again and Elain found herself enjoying the sound. “Yes. My sock is wet. Is your ankle okay?”

She nodded, biting her lip. He was still touching her, a hand on each elbow, despite both of them being on dry ground. His hands were warm through the sleeves of her shirt.

As she looked up, one of those hands moved, cupping her face. His thumb smoothed over her bottom lip, drawing it out from between her teeth. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, before seeming to catch himself. He let go of her as if she burned, instantly putting space between them. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s alright.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. I’m going to get a fire started. There’s a blanket in my pack if you want to sit down.”

She nodded, blush high on her cheeks as she went for the pack he’d set on the bank. So that was why it looked so big. Inside the blanket, a bundle of cheese and meats were carefully wrapped. She set those aside to lay out the blanket on the sand ground, kicking away a few rocks. 

By the time Lucien had returned, she was munching on a bit of cheese, watching him as he carefully stacked the firewood he gathered. Barely a moment later, the fire sprang to life, sparks flying in the air.

“Why get the firewood at all? Doesn’t your magic just… keep it burning?”

“I don’t want to be focused on the fire,” he answered simply, before sitting beside her, a good foot or two away. He leaned back on his hands, staring at the city below them.

“How often do you come here?” she asked, the silence burning a hole through her brow. 

He shrugged. “Whenever I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“What are you thinking about now?”

He glanced at her, arching a brow as a little smile pulled at his full lips. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Well now I’m actually curious.”

His smile bloomed into a grin. “Small talk not enough for you?”

“You’re my mate,” she said, the words like sandpaper on her tongue. His smile died. “I want to know more about you.”

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“You know why.” Because you don’t want me. Because I am not enough for you.

The words didn’t come from her mind, but from a vision, of perhaps a future between the two of them. In a dark meadow, too much space between their bodies. She wasn’t sure who said it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know at all.

She blinked as the image faded. 

Lucien was still looking at her. “Do you really want to know?”

“What?”

“What I’m thinking.”

She considered him for a moment and realized she didn’t want that vision for them at all. She’d changed the future once before, she was sure she could do it again.

“Yes.”

He rolled his head back to look into the sky. “I’m thinking that after everything I have lost, you are the gift I’d never once thought I’d be given and yet you’re still just out of reach.”

“I’m right here.”

“Are you?” He lowered his chin, face framed in moonlight.

Elain swallowed. “I am.”

“Then come here.”

Eyes widening, her body registered the words before she did. Going molten in all the right places, she found herself shifting so they were knee to knee. 

Lucien said softly, “Lay back.”

She did and didn’t know why. A moment later, Lucien’s face was above her, his hand cradling her cheek. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

More than anything. But she said, “Yes.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as the ghost of his mouth brushed across her cheek. “Like that?” he asked, the words a hot rush across her skin.

“No.” More.

He pressed his lips to her jaw, tilting her head back slight. “That?”

“Please.”

Her eyes were still closed as his mouth finally met hers, softer than she’d expected. He kissed her lips once, twice, before nipping.

She gasped and he used that to his advantage. As his weight settled fully over her, he deepened the kiss, his tongue hot in her mouth. She welcomed it, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer, if such a thing were possible. His chest pressed into hers, his other hand resting on her hip as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

It was over before she wanted it to be. 

He pulled back, lips bruised. “Have you ever… Are you…?”

“A virgin? No.” She laughed. “Though I’m not very experienced.”

“Do you want me to show you?”

The tingling at the base of her spine grew, as if in warning. She said, “Show me.”

He grinned and a moment later she found herself on her stomach, having been flipped faster than she could register. She laughed a little, pushing herself to her elbows as he pulled off her boots, then her pants.

“What about the socks?” she asked breathlessly.

“I can throw one in the water so we’re even,” he said as he pulled those off too.

Elain laughed again, for some reason not at all bothered by the fact that her ass was exposed to the moon and everyone else in the company of two.

Lucien pressed a kiss to her ankle, trailing up the back of her calf. She warmed at the feeling until he bit lightly at the curve of her ass.

She gasped, tempted to turn over to smack him, but before she could make the decision, he pulled her up by her hips, guiding her onto his lap where she could feel the press of his against her backside. 

He ran his hands up her thighs as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder, content to let him touch. He lifted her shirt, guiding it over her head to toss it somewhere with the rest of her clothes. Then his hands met her breasts, squeezing gently. He twisted a nipple between his fingers, earning a sharp breath as the sensation shot to her core. 

His chest rose and fell behind her with breath. “Are you already wet for me, my dear?”

She bit her lip, earning another harsh pinch to her nipple. 

“What did I say about that?” he asked, nipping her ear.

“You said not to do it.”

“Good girl. You remembered.”

She blushed as one of his hands trailed down, gliding across the band of her underwear. 

“Do you want me to touch you here?” he asked hotly.

“Yes.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck as that hand dipped into her panties, trailing down through her core. He hummed at what he found waiting, brushing his thumb over her clit.

She let out a soft sigh, head lulling against his shoulder while he began careful circles, his other hand still working her breasts.

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of you,” he said, guiding a finger inside of her. “How long I’ve craved you.”

She moaned while he pumped that finger in and out, curling slightly to touch that spot she wasn’t sure existed until now. As he added a second, she tucked her face into his neck, arching into his touch.

He worked her slowly, his thumb grinding against her clit. She felt release build in her faster than it ever did with her own hand, fueled by the rough calluses of his hand and the feeling of him hard behind her.

She came with a cry, convulsing around his fingers. He held her while she shook, working her through the throes of it until she was too sensitive to enjoy his touch. She pulled his hand away, but he guided it to her mouth.

“Open up. Taste yourself.”

Her lips parted around his fingers, taking in the salty flavor. Her tongue flattened under the pads, teeth scraping gently at his knuckles. 

“Don’t you want some?” she asked as she pulled her head away, eyes heavy.

“I’d rather taste it from the source.”

Heat shot through her again, making her turn in his arms. His mouth met hers like it was made to be there, hands lifting her slightly so she could properly straddle his lap. She fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt, dimly aware that she was one piece of clothing away from full nudity yet he hadn’t even taken off his wet sock. 

Lucien helped her with a flick of his fingers, the shirt disintegrating from the seams with a small orange flame. Elain stared at his chest. “You didn’t burn yourself.”

He shook his head, leaning forward to kiss her neck.

“But what are you going to wear on the way back?”

“That is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“But—”

“Just touch me. Please.”

It was as close to begging as she thought she’d ever get him. She ran her hands over his chest, dusted with scars and freckles. He was skinnier than the Illyrians, though no less built. His torso was all slim muscle and carefully hidden strength.

Lucien lifted them suddenly, moving forward with a hand braced on her lower back as he lay her back down on the blanket. He glanced appreciatively down her body. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

She didn’t know why, but she blushed. She’d been doing a lot of that recently. Her skin was pink from where he’d squeezed and pinched her breasts, but he didn’t seem to care as he lowered his mouth to them, tongue smoothing over a nipple. She moaned softly, running her fingers through his hair while he sucked and toyed with her breasts. 

He moved on when she began to squirm, lips dancing across her belly. Fingers hooked beneath the straps, he pulled her underwear off before guiding her legs open for him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee as he watched her, his single eye dark as coal.

“You don’t have to,” Elain said, uncomfortable being completely open like this. “I know that men don’t really like—”

“There is nothing I want more in this world than to taste your cunt and see you come from my mouth.”

She choked at the harsh words, more filthy, she hoped, than any of Nesta’s books. 

“So let’s not pretend otherwise,” he purred and lowered his mouth.

The first touch of his tongue set her on fire. She moaned as he licked her clit, hands twisting in the blanket beneath her. He set an easy pace, sucking and drawing whimpers from her lips. She managed to release one hand from the blanket to put it in his hair, the red locks like silk between her fingers.

He growled, sending vibrations straight to her core as his hand slid up her thigh, parting her legs wider. He spread her folds, the next touch making her arch against the ground. 

“So delicious,” he whispered, his thumb circling at her entrance while he sucked her clit. 

She moaned as he pushed that thumb inside of her, his tongue moving in time with it. The sensations had her mind reeling, wondering if his cock was as big as it had felt beneath her.

She came with the image in her mind, fingers twisting in Lucien’s hair while wave after wave washed over her. He lapped it up greedily, drawing her slowly down from the high.

When he rose, Elain was delirious with pleasure. She grabbed the back of his neck, drawing him in to kiss her. He responded in kind and consumed her, hands sliding up and down her bare flesh. His hips lowered, grinding into her sensitive core.

“Elain,” he said. “My Tigerlily.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “What are you waiting for?”

“I— I don’t want to go any further.”

“What?” Her heart raced. He didn’t want her? It made sense. After making him wait so long, maybe he’d lost interest. Maybe—

“Because when we are joined like this,” he said, hips making a slow circle against hers that had fire stirring in her belly. “I don’t think we’ll be able to stop. And as tempting as it is, I don’t want to have you in the middle of the forest for the first time.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

Her face must have looked like a tomato. “Well, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Say that…’’ He drew her hand from his shoulders, studying the lines of her fingers before threading them through his, and kissed the back of her palm. “Say that there is a future for us. No matter how far.”

She swallowed hard, looking into his eyes, one of brass and one of gold. They glowed like sunlight. It was hard to draw breath, her heart in her chest filling up the space her lungs were supposed to occupy. “There is. No matter how far.”

*****

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Fanfiction Masterlist

Madja had never laughed so much in her life. She lay on the giant bed beside Ares, covering her pink cheeks. He had just finished one of the most lewd stories she’d ever heard about a warrior turned launderer. 

She couldn’t draw a deep enough breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “You are… absolutely terrible.”

Ares gave her a shit-eating grin, propped on his elbow beside her. “You love it.”

She rolled her eyes, finally able to lower her hand. “Where do you learn those stories?”

“I’ve been commanding legions for three years now. You start to appreciate the things heard around campfires.”

Her mouth popped open. “Only three years? But so many people know you.”

“It’s less than you’d think, but I’m not that old. I turn ninety-seven this year.”

“Why did you become a commander?”

“Well, it’s one of the most respected things you can be as an Illyrian.” He lay back down, tucking his arms behind his head. “It also pays much better than a librarian.”

It was her turn to move towards him, propping her head on a fist. “You wanted to be a librarian. It explains all the books.”

His smile softened. “Believe it or not, I do know how to read.”

Madja laughed quietly. “I won’t believe it till I see it.”

“Oh?”

“Read something to me,” she ordered, poking his shoulder. 

“I’ll have you know, that I can read in two languages,” he said as he rose from the bed. “Let’s see who looks stupid when you’re trying to understand the ancient language of Illyria.”

“Why would you learn a dead language?”

He examined the books on his shelf. “It’s not entirely dead. Some people still speak it. There are branches of it in the far North. It’s also just a beautiful language and makes me feel closer to my people.”

Madja chewed on her lip, watching his wings shift as he reached for a book off of the top shelf. 

Ares returned to her with another grin, settling carefully onto the bed so he didn’t bend one of his wings the wrong way. “Come here.” He held out an arm, opening up his side.

Madja couldn’t help herself. She snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. His tunic was soft beneath her cheek, but his heart beat wildly. He cleared his throat, propping the book up against his thighs, and began to read.

His voice soothed something deep in her core, washing over her in a wave of prose. Sooner than she’d like her eyes drifted shut, lulled by the sound of him.

His voice lowered a fraction as her body grew heavy. “Tired already?” he whispered.

“Mmm.” He was so warm beneath her.

“You go to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

“M’kay.”

*****

Madja awoke to the feeling of eyes on her. At first, she thought it was Ares, but she could feel his face tucked into her chest, fast asleep.

Her eyes peeled open and saw a little standing at the foot of the bed. She resisted the urge to jump and wake her mate. “Can I help you?”

“What are you doing?” The girl wasn’t fully grown, but well into her teen years. She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Madja. “Get out of his bed.”

Ares finally chose that moment to wake up. He stirred against her chest, lifting his head slowly. His voice was gruff as the first time she’d met him, injured and delirious with pain, as he said, “Get out, Marlee.”

“She needs to get out. This isn’t even her house.”

He turned over finally to glare at the girl. “She is a welcome guest and she is my mate. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Marlee scowled but indeed turned on a heel, stomping away.

Madja sat up and raised a brow at Ares. “Care to explain?”

“My little sister. She’s very over protective.” He traced her collarbone. “She’ll warm up to you.”

Madja hummed. “You never told me about your family.”

He shrugged, his wings rustling. “There’s not much to say. My father was the camp lord here, and my mother was the daughter of a lord in the far North. That’s how Marlee and I learned the language.”

“How did your parents meet?”

He chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t really know. My ma says they met at a camp meeting, but my dad said he met her by chance while exploring. They always thought it was funny to confuse us when the question came up.”

“That’s so mean.”

He grinned. “Where do you think I get it from?”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that where your sister gets it to?”

His eyes darkened a shade. “No. She used to be so bright all the time.”

“What happened?” The question slipped out of her before she could stop it. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to ask such things. 

But Ares answered anyway. “A few months ago, they crippled her wings. It happens to all female Illyrians once they come of age.”

“That’s horrible.”

He wouldn’t meet her eye. “I should have done more to stop it, but… it’s tradition. She loved flying just as much as I do.”

“That tradition is terrible. They cripple all females?”

He nodded solemnly. “I don’t know why. Suicide rates are high for Illyrians who can’t fly. It’s.. our life.” 

“Can they be fixed?”

“Not that I know of.” His eyes widened. “But you could try! You’re already a great healer.”

“I’d— I’d have to take a look.”

He grabbed her hand, hauling her out of bed. “Let’s go.”

*****

Madja chewed on her thumb as she examined the girl’s wings. They’d cut the major nerves and tendons, making moving them nearly impossible. 

“We’ll need Shavan,” she said. “And if it works, a lot of physical therapy.”

Marlee looked over her shoulder, tears shining in her golden eyes. “But it could work?”

“I don’t know.” Madja’s heart strained in her chest. “But, like I said, I’m willing to give it a try.”

Marlee turned and threw her arms around Madja, nearly knocking her off balance. Madja held her tight, and prayed.

Prayed she would be able to help.

*****

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Part 2

Part 1

Fanfiction Masterlist

*So this story might be a little longer than I intended, only because I have some painful plans for Ares and Madja, but not in the way you think. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.*

*****

The house was brilliant. Madja would never admit it, but she worried she’d track mud onto the fine sunstone floors. It was far bigger than most houses in Velaris, reaching nearly three stories high with a balcony on each floor. In fact, the entire house was built for Illyrians. The grand staircase in the center was wide enough to fly up, the doors were all double and at least eight feet high. All the chairs had low backs and everything was just… bigger.

“Take any room you like,” a servant said, bowing to Madja and Shvan as they passed. “They’re all on the third floor.”

“Thank you,” the healers said in unison.

Shvan left Madja to check on a few of the injured, telling her she was still a little pale. Madja glared at the back of her dark head as she retreated.

Madja wandered the house for a bit before she settled on a room. Like all the others, the bed was massive, decked in grey sheets. This one had an adjoining bathroom as well as a balcony. She closed the door and curtains before stripping down to wash any lingering blood or mud off of her. 

The bath, to her surprise, didn’t take long to heat at all. She poured some of the scented soaps inside that lined the rim, lavender wafting up to meet her. With a sigh, she sank into the delicious heat, letting it ease the sore muscles that had plagued her for weeks. When was the last time she’d had a proper bath? At the war camp, the best she could do was pour a few buckets of water over her head, with no soap to be found. 

After her bath, she towel dried her hair, wrapping another around her body as she drifted back into the bedroom.

And screamed.

Ares was sprawled across the bed, his wings hanging over the sides, with his arms folded behind his head. He grinned. “I hope you left some hot water for me.”

Madja sputtered. “What— what are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, seeing as you’re nearly naked in my room. After taking a bath in my tub.”

Her eyes widened. “This is your room.”

“This is my house.”

“But I thought it belonged to the camp lord.”

“It does.” He shrugged. “But that’s alright. You can stay in here if it suits your fancy.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Please. I insist.” He sat up, wings slithering along the sheets. 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You love it.” He held out a hand. “Come here.”

“Absolutely not.” She took a step back, clutching the towel. 

He sighed dramatically. “Well, if you don’t want to play, I’m going to take my bath now.”

“What do you mean, ‘play?’”

His grin widened as he stood. “I mean exactly what just went through that pretty head of yours.”

Blush stained her cheeks crimson as he took one step forward, then another. She matched each with a step back until her back hit the wall and he was there, barely a hair’s breadth away. 

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

He reached up, plucking the towel from her hair. “Going to take a bath. You stole all the towels.”

There were more in the bathroom, but she wasn’t thinking about that. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all. 

He leaned closer, his nose brushing hers. “You smell good.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “You smell like sweat.”

He laughed, pushing away from her. “I suppose you’re right.” With towel in hand, he padded to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Madja let out a breath.

*****

She was faced with a new problem— clothes. Hers were all being laundered, and Madja wasn’t about to put on the dirty dress she’s been wearing before. 

She resigned herself to digging through Ares’ dresser, searching for something that would fit. She settled for a shirt and a pair of leggings that she had to roll up thrice at the waist to fit. As she tried to do up the panels in the back, a thought occurred to her.

“Did you fly here?” she blurted as Ares emerged from the bath.

He gave her a weird look. “Of course I did.”

“Your wing isn’t healed yet.”

He’d take off the splint, but she knew it would have to be another week before he was good without it. 

He shrugged, holding a towel around his hips. “I didn’t have a choice.” 

“Yes, you did. You could have had—”

“Someone carry me? Not only would that be mortifying, but it isn’t very easy to fly with another Illyrian. Too much drag.”

“But—”

“But, what, sweetheart? I feel fine. Better than fine.” He gave her that shit eating grin. “You look good in my clothes.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’d rather fuck you instead.”

Her eyes blew wide. “E-excuse me. I am—”

“Shocked? You shouldn’t be.” He inched closer until she was trapped between his chest and the dresser. “I thought I made myself clear earlier.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “But…”

His fingers danced up her arm. “You see, I have a theory.”

“A theory?”

He hummed. “I think you may be my mate.”

“Your mate,” she said stupidly.

“All it would take would be a taste to know for sure. Prove me wrong, sweetheart.”

Her heart was doing somersaults in her chest. “A taste of what?”

“You.”

She put a hand on his bare chest, not knowing if it was to push him further or pull him closer. His heart beat just as wild beneath her fingers. “Why do you think I’m your mate?” She had to do this logically, otherwise she risked losing herself in him. To him.

“Your eyes,” he said, cupping her face to turn it up to him. “I’ve dreamed of them every night since I met you. They’re so dark, I thought I would drown.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re right. Shvan told me something changed in your scent and mine. Something familiar.” His thumb smoothed over her cheekbone. He leaned a tad closer. “Prove me wrong.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. She couldn’t think again, which really wasn’t helping the situation. “Alright.”

With her eyes closed, she didn’t see the flash of the grin that spread across his face, but a moment later his lips fell on her own, his body closing any remaining distance between them. He kissed her like she’d never been kissed before— like she meant something.

Like something lost had come back to him.

She pushed on his chest before the kiss could deepen, unsure she would be able to handle herself if it did.

His eyes were wide as saucers. “You taste… you taste like heaven.”

“Do you have your answer?” she breathed. 

He shuddered so deeply it wracked his entire body. “Yes,” he said, and kissed her again.

She responded in kind, her hand on his chest traveling up to his neck, where his hair brushed her fingertips, feather-soft. He nibbled her bottom lip until she provided him entrance, his tongue brushing hers and leaving electricity in its wake. She sighed softly, unable to help herself as she responded in kind.

He pulled back to press his brow to hers, his lashes fluttering against her cheek. “You are everything I dreamed you would be.”

She opened her eyes to find his still closed, his breath fanning across her mouth. “We should, um, go eat something.”

That pulled him out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into. His eyes opened. “Dinner should be ready down stairs. Just let me get dressed.” 

When he stepped back, her hand trailed him, sliding down his arm before finally letting go. He grabbed it, bringing it up to kiss her fingertips. “Wait in here. I’ll be right back.”

She perched herself on the edge of the bed as he grabbed some clothes from the dresser before retreating back into the bathroom. She watched his back as he walked, the Illyrian tattoos traveling down his spine and across his ribs.

He closed the door with a click.

Madja let out a breath and tried to remember how she had gotten here.

*****

The dinner was far grander than she expected. It was a relief to eat something other than oatmeal and grey mashed potatoes. She was silent between Shvan and Ares, the only sounds the scrape of knives on porcelain and the murmur of some of the other healers that met them here. 

Madja died a little inside as the awkward silence finally ended and she went to find another room.

A moment later, however, there were steps behind her, eating up the distance. She wasn’t sure when she’d learned the sound of his footfalls, but she did now. She turned just as he was there, lifting her chin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Finding a room.”

“You have a room.”

“No. You have a room.” She crossed her arms.

He mimicked her stance. “I told you that you should stay with me.” 

“Thank you, but I still hardly know anything about you.”

“You know that I am your mate.”

“What a fuckload of information that is.”

His lips quirked around a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

Her eyes rolled. “Well, I don’t exactly have a list.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You stay with me and I’ll answer any questions you have with complete honesty.” 

She squinted at him. “Tempting.”

His face lit up like a child opening presents. “Really?”

“No.”

“Madjaaa,” he whined, drawing out her name. “Please?” 

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, before sighing. No one could deny him like that, with his eyes huge and his mouth pushed into a familiar pout. 

When had he become familiar?

“Alright, but I chose what side of the bed.”

*****

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The Healer and the Soldier

This is probably only going to be a few parts. It’s about a much younger Madja, helping out Illyrians for the first time.

Masterlist

*****

Madja didn’t know how she ended up here.

At only eighty years old, she’d been Velaris’ most famous healer’s apprentice for just over forty of those years, dealing mostly with the sick and dazed among the beautiful city.

But this place was much different than Velaris.

Mud squelching beneath her boots, she followed Shvan to the tent— the largest on the field.

“I know you haven’t done a lot of this kind of work,” the healer was saying, “but these people make up the majority of the High Lord’s army. They are brutish and arrogant, but you must learn.”

Madja nodded, curling her fingers tightly around the leather strap of her medical bag.

“You’ve been studying wing anatomy, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll need it.”

For she had seen Illyrian’s before— with the great and terrible black wings spread behind them. Had seen them in this camp, soaring overhead or lugging their comrades to safety. 

Shvan lifted the tent flap, bidding her forward.

But Madja had never seen so much blood.

*****

Nearly dizzy with exhaustion, Madja moved onto the next patient— and hopefully the last. She’d  been on her feet for eight hours, stitching wounds, setting bones, giving medicine. The Illyrians, she found, were a proud people, and often tried to hide their pain. This made working with many of them extremely difficult. They would turn their brows away from her hands, grit their teeth when she asked them where it hurts. But for them to be in this tent, she knew it had to be fatal, and had already lost nearly eight men who were too far gone to help.

Each death weighed on her soul, even if she knew there was not much she could do.

Her next patient was face down on the bed, his wings spilling out onto the floor beside him. She was careful not to step on them, studying the large tear down one that was hastily patched with red magic and an odd twist that suggested something broken.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked as she came to his bedside.

It was the first question she asked each patient. Some were too far gone to give her a coherent answer. One told her he wished he’d forgotten it. She still didn’t know what to make of that.

The man grunted, his face buried in his arm. “Ares.”

“Well, Ares, your wing is badly injured. Are there any other injuries I should know about?”

“Spear went through m’ shoulder.” He didn’t lift his head, but she lifted hers, spotting the clear puncture wound on his other side, wrapped in someone’s dirty shirt. Likely his.

“Alright. I’ll have a look at that one first, then get to your wing.”

“No,” he grunted, face still hidden by his arm. “Wing first.”

“The shoulder is more pressing. You could get an infection or—”

“Wing first.”

She sighed, rising to step back over said wing so she could get a better look at it. She’d take care of the tear first, then the break. His body shook slightly as the red magic flickered and faded away, providing her a clear view. The wound was at least eight inches wide, traveling up about a foot and a half into his wing. She gently cleaned the remaining dirt and dried blood from the area around it, marking the shivers that wracked his body. If he was shivering, that could be a sign of fever. Fever from infection. That shoulder—

“The most I can do for this is sew it back up, but you won’t be able to fly for a few weeks. I’ll also put your wing in a splint and set the bone. But first—”

“My wing,” he mumbled again.

She sighed again and went to work. The sewing was the easy part, with Illyrian wings being so thin. The bone, thankfully, wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. It was a clean break, but easy to set. The splinting would have to wait till later when she could build something proper for him. His wings were bigger than average, and each had to be custom made anyway.  

She smeared a salve on the area that would numb it and speed along healing. His hiss found her ears, making her look up. “What is it?”

“Tha’s cold.” 

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m going to look at your shoulder now.”

“What about the splint? You said some’in about a splint.”

“That’s going to have to wait until I look at your shoulder.”

He grumbled something she chose not to hear. That was another thing she’d learned about Illyrians. They were always grumbling. She knew by now how much they cared for their wings— clearly more than life itself— but her job was to keep him alive first.

The spear had hit just above his armpit, she found when she unwound the dirty cloth. It went all the way through, but thankfully didn’t hit bone. 

“I need you to sit up so I can see the other side. Can you do that for me?”

He grumbled some more, but shifted, pushing himself up on his good arm.

Madja had to pause.

With him no longer covering his face, she could see him clearer now. 

He was stunning. A long, thin scar trailed just below his eye, all the way down his jaw and part of his neck, but it did nothing to dull his strange etherealness. There was a fine dusting of coarse hair over his jawline, kept well groomed. His chest was a patchwork of the scars and muscles every Illyrian carried, so she didn’t know why she was so shocked. Maybe it was his eyes.

They were gold, where most of his kind had hazel or brown. His were molten gold.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, gaze shooting to the wound on his shoulder. She bent to clean it, earning a soft hiss in her ear. “It’s not infected— thankfully. And didn’t hit anything important. After I wrap it, this arm is going in a sling. You’ll only have to wear it for a day or two, just so your body can remember properly how to heal it.”

“I’m not wearing a damn sling.”

At that, Madja straightened, glaring at him. “It wasn’t a question. You will do as I tell you, or I’ll make you sleep for days so you won’t have to wear one. Oh, you don’t think I will? Want to take a gamble?”

He shut those too-full lips, pouting almost, and looked away. With both sides clean, she wrapped the wound carefully, applying a yarrow salve to the cloth. Then she grabbed a new and wider strip of cloth for the sling.

“So you can make a sling right now, but can’t do a splint.”

When she went to wash her hands, though, he opened that damned mouth again.

“Do you know how to make a splint?” she hissed, then, at his silence, added, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He continued to glare at her as she worked, but thankfully didn’t say anything else. Once she was finished, she took another once over on his body. The legs, she couldn’t see beneath his trousers, but nothing appeared damp with fresh blood or misshapen. His torso was bruised, but nowhere immediately concerning. Good.

“What about my splint?”

“I’m debating not getting you one and letting you heal all wrinkled. Shut your mouth.” With that, she went to find some wood and maybe ask Shvan to put the splint on.

*****

Madja sighed as she collapsed onto the simple cot the camps had provided her. She was tired down to her bones, her movements heavy as she pulled off her boots. It had been nearly two weeks here, patching up soldiers who fought a war she knew nothing about. Few bothered to thank her before hefting up their swords if they were well enough, but she didn’t mind. Seeing them back on their feet was thanks enough.

Laying down, she didn’t know she had fallen asleep until she woke to the sound on mud squelching outside her tent. It had rained yesterday, leaving more infections to deal with, and trying to pull mud from a drowning soldier’s lungs.

She sat up, eying her oil lamp, which was about to go out. She hadn’t meant to leave it on. Where would she even find more oil? Who could she ask—

The tent flap lifted and Madja shot her eyes towards it, snatching the knife from beneath the pillow. She had no real fighting experience, and the knife was a small surgical one, but she hoped it would be better than nothing.

Just when she was about to stand, a dark head ducked inside. “Shvan told me I could find you here.”

“Are you injured?” She lowered the knife, but only slightly. The man stood just beyond the light of the lamp, his features cloaked in darkness.

He laughed slightly. “Not anymore.”

“Who am I speaking to? Step forward.”

He did and the dim light fell on his features. Ares. 

“What do you want?”

“To thank you.”

That threw her off. She’d begun to think that those words simply weren’t in many Illyrian vocabularies. 

“Your thanks is accepted. You may leave.”

He didn’t. Instead, he stood there. Awkwardly.

She sighed, setting her knife down. “What do you want?”

He cleared his throat. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry for being an ass when you were just trying to help. And I’m sorry for waking you up just now.”

She waved him away. “Your apology is accepted too.”

And he still stood there. Still awkwardly.

“Get out of my tent.”

“Right.” He bowed, seemed to stop half-way and correct himself, then turned on his heel and left.

*****

“Your studies paid off,” Shvan told her almost a week later, looking over the room of slowly healing soldiers.

Madja bristled with pride. Compliments from Shvan were few and far between, each one coveted like gold. “Thank you. You taught me well.”

“Nonsense. I never hinted that we would be working with Illyrian. More importantly, however, you seem to have caught someone’s eye.”

“What?” She turned to her mentor, a single brow raised.

“Ares is a good friend of mine. I remember when he was just a child, coming to represent his camp when his camp lord died.”

A child? She knew Shvan was old, but how old was Ares? And why would they send a child?

“He’s asked after you several times,” the healer went on.

“I’ve only seen him twice.”

She snorted. “What a coward.”

Madja pushed the thoughts of Ares from her mind. “When do we leave for Velaris?”

“When the work is done,” Shvan answered, which was her answer to all questions like that.

“And when will that be?” Madja always asked, but didn’t this time. 

She had a feeling it was going to be a long while.

*****

A new rush of soldiers hit that night after a bomb went off somewhere in one of the camps. Madja found herself busier than she liked, wobbling on her feet from the effort of working endlessly with food or rest.

Black spots swarmed her vision as she stood from a soldier’s bedside to meet the new ones coming in, pointing to empty beds— only three were left.

Fuck. She really should have gotten something to eat.

She went to help the soldiers but Shvan was already there.

Turning, Madja’s head swam again, but she shoved it down— made her steps straight as she checked on a soldier that had had his leg amputated just a few hours earlier.

She braced her hand on the bed, cataloging that he was thankfully still asleep.

“Madja?” A voice came from behind her.

She turned— too quickly.

Taking a lurching step, her vision went black for a moment before she found herself being help up— two strong hands at her elbows, flecked in mud and blood.

“I’m so sorry—” she started to say.

“What are you doing? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

She lifted her head, the face before her taking a moment to come into focus. Ares. She pushed away from him. “I’m fine. I just—”

But before she could finish the sentence, she was being swept up, her head lulling against his muscular chest. “You’re done for the day.”

Then Shvan was there, a hand on her brow as she tried to rid herself of the hulking Illyrian. “Madja, why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”

“Not ill,” she mumbled, kicking her legs slightly. “I need to help—”

“You’re of no use to me on the verge of passing out. Take her to her tent, Ares. Make sure she drinks water and eats something useful.”

“Shvan—” Madja struggled some more, but Ares held her tighter, guiding her face into his neck.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Madja gave up. If Shvan said so, maybe she really did need some rest. And she wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. She had a nice view of the strong column of his throat, his pulse pounding just beneath the golden skin.

Ares carried her from the tent, crossing the camp unperturbed despite the stares from the people around them. Her eyelids fluttered, and grew heavy.

Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep in his arms.

*****

Madja blinked against the light that had woken her, letting out a hiss as she turned her face into her pillow.

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.”

The tent flap dropped behind Ares, cutting off the band of sunlight.

She blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I got you breakfast, since you slept through dinner.” He set a tray at her feet before handing her a glass of water. “Drink this. All of it.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly not if you didn’t recognize your body’s own limits. Drink.”

She glared at him, but indeed tipped the glass, taking a long swallow. The water was cold and welcome, waking her up fully. “What time is it?”

“I’ll answer questions after you finish that glass.” 

Blowing air sharply through her nose, she resisted the urge to spit the water at him. After she finished the glass, she asked again.

“Just after ten.” He sat on the bed beside her. Unwelcome. “A truce was signed this morning. We’ll all be going home soon.”

He said it in a way that interested her. “Me and Shvan too?”

“Shvan and I,” he corrected. “But I have other news.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense.”

He glanced at her, then quickly away. “Shvan would like to stay with our camp. She said it would be good for you to learn other things about Illyrians, besides battlefield healing.”

“And why haven’t I heard about this yet?”

“We only spoke last night.”

“That’s rather convenient.” She glared at the space in front of her. 

Ares shifted, drawing her eyes to him. He put the tray on his lap, holding up a spoon of oatmeal that was just a tad too thick.

Madja balked. “I can feed myself, thank you very much.”

He pursed his lips. “Just eat it. You’re wasting my time.”

“I’mwastingyour—”

He shoved the spoon into her mouth.

She sputtered, nearly gagging as she pushed his hand away. “Excuse me? What the hell—”

Then his other hand was on her chin, cradling as he wiped away a bit of oatmeal on her lip. For a moment, she forgot she was angry.

“You need to eat,” he said, voice dropping.

“That doesn’t mean you need to feed me.”

His hand was still on her face. That was all she could think about.

“Are you going to fight me, or am I going to have to make you eat.”

“I was going to!”

“You’re taking too long.” He held up another spoonful. “Don’t make a mess this time.”

“I swear to—”

“Madja.”

“What?” she snapped.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

She gaped, and therefore gave him the ability to shove more in her mouth. This time, she took it easier, but still considered spitting it on him. “I’m serious. I’m not an invalid. I can feed myself.”

“I like feeding you.” He offered another spoon.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, waving the spoon a bit in warning. A thick glob fell off and landed with a splat on the tray.

She sighed and took the bite. It was dry and tasteless on her tongue, making her regret drinking all that water at once. “Have you eaten anything today?”

He rolled his eyes. “Really? I’m not as stupid as you are.”

“I’m not—”

Another spoon in her mouth.

She seethed. If he wasn’t so damn pretty, she’d have covered him in the dish by now. Probably.

“You need to keep up your strength today,” he said, still feeding her like she was a damned baby. “Shvan needs your help getting the soldiers ready who are too injured to move themselves. Open.”

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“Open.”

She opened her mouth.

“Good girl.”

Her eyes widened and she nearly choked.

*****

“Do Illyrians bathe in mud?” Madja asked Shvan.

The healer gave her a skeptical look. “What?”

“There’s mud everywhere and I haven’t seen a drop of naturally clean water. I’ve also never seen one bathe.”

“As bold as that observation is, no, they don’t bathe in mud. That defeats the purpose of bathing.” Shvan smoothed a hand down the front of her healer’s gown. “Why are you thinking about Illyrians bathing?”

“Because they’re always disgusting. Please tell me we’re not staying in a tent anymore?”

Shvan gave a rare smile. “No tent. There’s a house that belongs to the camp lord. We’ll be staying there.”

“Brilliant.” 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“About that.” Madja kicked a rock as they awaited the last of the Illyrians’ preparations to leave. “Why did you have that damned man come to my tent and feed me as if I couldn’t myself.”

Shvan choked, eyes shooting to hers. “He what?”

“He fed me. It was mortifying.”

She seemed to be suppressing a smile. “I didn’t tell him to do that. I told him to make sure you ate— I suppose he thought he had to go to extremes. Is he why you’re thinking about Illyrians bathing?”

Madja’s nose crinkled. “Absolutely not.”

“Mhmm.”

*****

Tags: @a-trifling-matter@vanilla28@texas-shaped-waffle-maker@illyrianwitchling13@feyrheart@sarahjmaasslave@h-a-p-p-i-e-s@sadb1tch3000 @samuelcasera-blog @wanderlustlastsforever @catita09 @ @madie-max@gendryaforthemasses@nestaarxheron@imlumpingamazingstuff@silver-flames@awesomelena555@ribhinnog@sannelovesreading@over300books@sayosdreams@illyrian-bookworm@perseusannabeth@ireallyshouldsleeprn@thalia-2-rose@my-fan-side@skychild29@superspiritfestival@nahthanks@duskandstarlight@julemmaes@darkshadowqueensrule@illyrianshadowhunter@maastrash

Music Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Sorry about the wait and the short chapter, but I hope you enjoy.

Land, when she came to it, was welcome. Nesta climbed from the water on two legs and collapsed onto the sand until the tides rose and threatened to take her again. Then, under the cover of night, she slipped into the nearest village, snatching clothes from some poor woman’s home. She also managed to find some stale bread and sweaty cheese, gnawing on the food as she tried to figure out where she was. 

And so her journey began. 

Traveling across Asia, then Europe, it was months before she heard word of the Velaris. 

“It was rescued by Hybern’s men,” a man said, wiping grease from his hands. “But that was months ago. No one has heard anything since.”

So she went to Hybern.

He was a busy man, living at the tip of Italy. It took her a week of pestering to get an audience.

Nesta didn’t bother to straighten her ragged clothes, to make herself look anything more than a beggar on the streets as she entered the ostentatious office.

“Where are they?” she demanded.

“Where are who?”

“They people of the Velaris. There had to be survivors.” 

“Ah. I was wondering when someone would come asking about that.” He scribbled something on a paper before folding it and handing it off to a trembling servant. “Most survived. Casualties were few and far between thanks to my men.” 

“What happened?” she breathed, trying not to let her relief show.

“Ship caught fire. Tragic, really. But… you don’t believe that, do you?” His cold eyes finally lifted to hers. “If I tell you where they are, what will you give me, little siren?” 

“What do you want?” 

He rubbed a hand across his beard, a smirk playing on his lips. “Would you give up that last hope? That last chance of being human? What about your memories? Would you give me those?” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, sirens only remember when they have given up their heart. A heart for a mind. Who has your heart, little siren? I want it.”

She didn’t answer and, carefully, pushed Cassian from her mind.

“I will tell you where your friends are if you will meet me on the cove at midnight tonight. I have an experiment I’d like to perform.”

“Done.”
“Brilliant.” His wicked smile gleamed. “The people you are looking for have been imprisoned by the Navy for piracy. They were granted pardon on the condition that they work their sentences building houses for the homeless. Their workshop is three blocks to the East.”

She didn’t thank him as she rushed from the room.

Those three blocks were the furthest she’d traveled. She ran as fast as she could, finding the building instantly amongst the others. It was a large warehouse, nearly falling apart at the seams. From inside, she could hear the sound of hammers and drills.

Many men heaved and sweated the day away, driving cars to the build sites, stacked full of lumber. Nesta found Rhysand first, wiping moisture from his brow as he fed a length of wood through a saw, a black P branded onto his wrists.

He looked up when he felt her gaze, eyes widening as he realized just who stood before him.

Nesta could bring herself to say anything.

Rhys roared and launched himself at her.

She braced herself for the beating, but Feyre was there first, her arms thrown around her sister. Then it was Elain. Nesta thought her legs might have given out, but their embrace held her up. 

Distantly, she heard Rhys yelling, but it was muffled, as if she were underwater. Elain pulled back, cradling her face like she was a child. “I can’t believe you’re okay. We didn’t know what to think when you both disappeared.”

“Where’s Cassian?” Azriela asked cooly from behind her. “If he’s dead, tell us now.”

Nesta wiped at her face, detangling herself from her sisters. “He’s alive.”

“Then where is he?” Rhysand snarled.

She swallowed. “I… I think we should all sit down.”

*****

Nesta stared at her hands in the silence.

Rhys was the first to speak up, his voice breaking. “This is all your fault. You did—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Azriel snapped. “We just… we need to find a way to fix this.” 

“There’s no way,” Nesta whispered. “There’s no way to reverse the curse.”

“No way that anyone has found.” Elain glanced at her, eyes wide with hope. “According to the books, sirens have been around for hundreds of years. I’m sure… I’m sure we could find something.”

Nesta’s eyes burned, but she swallowed thickly as she said, “We can look.”

Feyre shook her head. “We’re not allowed to leave.”

“What? Why?”

She turned her wrist, revealing the dark P branded there. “It’s the law. It was either this or death row.”

Nesta’s upper lip curled and a bit of the siren surfaced. “I’m going to kill them all. Slowly.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She turned, finding Amren wiping her dirty hands on a rag as she approached.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re leaving. Today. And we’re going to find him.”

*****

Nesta couldn’t help but gape.

Because before her, balancing between beams thicker than her, was a pirate ship.

“This… you built this?” She looked at them all, caught a hint of pride on Rhysand’s face beneath all the fury.

“At night, when everyone was asleep.” Amren was dwarfed by the ship. “That’s what we’ve been doing all these months.”

“How… how did you hide it?”

“Nobody comes into this part of the warehouse. And those that wandered in, we offered a seat. Everyone wants out of here.”

The fact that such a large section of the building could go empty this long was astonishing in and of itself. “How do we get it into the water?”

“Connections,” Azriel said and that was all.

She didn’t dare to ask if she’d be welcome on the ship. She’d swim beside it if need be. “What did you name her?”

“Dreamer,” Feyre said, reaching up to run her hand across the boards. “We’ll leave tomorrow night if everything goes as planned.”

Nesta nodded even as her heart sank a bit. How long had it already been? Weeks? Months? Could they even convince him to come with them, or had he already… had he…

She pushed the thought away. She’d already crossed continents for him.

The ocean would be nothing.

*****

He stared at the girl beneath him as he ripped her heart from her chest. It was warm in his hand, a slight weight that he’d grown used to.

He left the corpse just above the drop off, strings of blood still drifting up from her body. The animals would get to her if the sea didn’t sweep her to shore first.

He didn’t know her name.

But his… What was it again? He’s heard it once, lifetimes ago, but it had been swallowed by the sea as all things were.

He backed away from the drop off, the endless ocean opening up beneath him.

And prayed it would swallow him whole.

*****

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thewayshedreamed:

Nessian OS— canon

A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration. 

This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy

——————————————————————————

Her bones ached.

The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.

The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.

Keep reading

Open Invitation— Nessian canon OS

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Nessian OS— canon

A/N: This Nessian one-shot wouldn’t leave me alone and effectively blocked my progress on any of my other WIPs, so I gave in and followed the inspiration. 

This is set in canon, during the war but prior to the final battle with Hybern. It’s full of Nessian longing/ pining, so enjoy

——————————————————————————

Her bones ached.

The night’s cool air added to the discomfort, another meager annoyance that had the potential to break them all.

The cries of battle had been fierce and electrifying. Too quickly they had given way to cries of pain; anguish both physical and emotional. Nesta wondered how many Illyrian soldiers had lost family during the day’s fight; biological or found. She hadn’t allowed herself much time to dwell on it. Injuries were plentiful in various degrees of severity, and she was running ragged already trying to keep up.

The evening passed in a blur of experiences, some arbitrary and innocuous, yet seemingly loaded all the same. Each bucket of water she hauled into a tent held a value she’d never known before it meant a wound could be properly cleaned. The sound of linen ripping into strips was rhythmic and comforting because it meant enough resources remained to treat the wounded. The crunch of earth beneath her feet was a reminder of purpose.

She was alive, albeit exhausted. Being uninjured and fully able-bodied, she found the motivation to keep moving. She had to keep moving.

And she had. She’d walked until blisters rubbed beneath her shoes, and her clothes were torn in various places. Dirt was smudged over her hands, the exposed skin of her arms. Pieces of her hair had long since fallen from her coronet, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. The wind had kept it out of her face well enough.

A certain trance had fallen over Nesta over the course of the day, and the sun had descended behind the rolling mountains before she finally relented and decided to rest. The healers within the camp had badgered her on it throughout the day, and none had been overly impressed with her stubbornness. They’d been grateful, of course, but they couldn’t afford another convalescent.

Nesta rubbed at her tired eyes, pausing before the canvas of her tent to press her fingers into her temples. Her eyes squeezed shut against the tension and ache she felt, and she loosed a heavy breath to ease what she could. Her arm moved the canvas flap aside clumsily, and she dragged her too tired body over the threshold.

She startled, and her steps came to an abrupt halt. It had happened so quickly that the tent flap brushed against her back when it eased closed, causing her to flinch once more. Seconds passed before anything began to make any sense.

Cassian stood over an expansive round table with a large piece of parchment held in place by weights at each corner. Some of his siphons, she realized, upon further examination. She watched as he studied the map, extending his arm to push several small pawns across a strip of land.

The fact that he hadn’t whirled on her, a weapon to her throat before she could blink, meant he knew no threat was present. Whether he knew it was Nesta in his tent remained a mystery.

“I—”she stuttered, unsure what to say. She blinked, damning the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Wrong tent.”

Cassian rested his fingers against the table top, his keen eyes continuing their path over the map. His wings twitched, relaxed. Nesta was fascinated by them. Studying their details, imagining the stories of every scar, was a welcome distraction from the compulsion she’d felt toward her destination.

“You’re welcome to visit anytime, Sweetheart,” he replied, mirth laced through the words. “Consider it an open invitation.”

The temper he stoked so artfully rose to the surface, even in spite of her exhaustion. Cassian didn’t deign to look in her direction, but she rolled her eyes at his comment anyway.

Nesta scoffed. “How gracious,” she deadpanned.

Why she hadn’t made any moves to leave was lost on her. Cassian had won the upper hand in antagonizing her, by insinuating she’d purposely shown up in search of his company. Nesta wondered why he needed such validations considering the high opinion he clearly held of himself.

Cassian made another adjustment to his formations. “If not for my stellar company, why’d you come in?”

The barb was loaded at the tip of her tongue, ready to cut into his arrogance and insufferable teasing— how each step had been a mistake, how her exhaustion had made her desperate enough to overlook details of the various tents. It dissolved when Cassian turned to address her fully, his features crumpling when he realized her state.

“Nesta,” he murmured, taking several slow steps in her direction. ”Are you alright? What happened?”

Whatever he’d been working on was forgotten. He scanned the space around them, gesturing to a small seating area near the table. When Nesta didn’t make any moves to take him up on the offer, his brow pulled together in a frown. She had no doubt that the same expression had compelled many others to comply with his every whim before, but unfortunately for Cassian, Nesta wasn’t much like them.

She held up a slender hand. “Don’t starting fussing. I’m fine.”

His wings rustled, pulled in tight. He crossed his arms and balanced his stance, settling into a form Nesta was all too familiar with from their many verbal spars.

“I asked you a question.”

“I answered it.”

Cassian’s eyes slid closed while he took a long, deep breath. The underlying sentiment was shared entirely, Nesta thought.

“The second part— what happened to you?”

His expression shifted with the question. It was something foreign, yet Nesta felt her body relax at seeing it. Even their sparring was comforting in its own way and gave her some semblance of solid ground, but she wouldn’t dare reveal such a thing. She squeezed her eyes shut against the burning and fluttered them open again.

“Nothing happened. I helped the healers today. I’m tired.”

Her spine bowed marginally at the admission, and as if that tiny change in her posture pained him, Cassian closed the distance.

“I should have known,” he said, his voice like warm rain. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’d have to be exhausted to end up here.”

His throat bobbed, and Nesta fought the urge to touch the skin below his jaw and trail her fingers over it. Blissful heat radiated off his body, warming her skin against the night’s chill, and she steadied her body against the urge to sag against him. Cassian fixed his gaze over her shoulder, ran a callused hand through his black hair.

“Thank you. I know they appreciated the help.”

Nesta nodded, her voice temporarily lost in favor of taking his intoxicating scent into her lungs.

“Come sit. I have tea. Have a cup, and you can be on your way if you want.”

“No need,” Nesta rasped, her throat tightening when his hazel eyes found hers. “I won’t keep you.”

Cassian huffed a sardonic laugh and reached out to wrap her hand in his. The touch sent a rush of sensation up her arm and through her chest; something she was all too willing to ignore. Without a word, he tugged gently and led her to the pile of pillows and furs nearby.

His scarred eyebrow lifted in challenge. “Sit,” he ordered.

The fight left Nesta entirely. The soft furs brushed the delicate skin at her ankles, and the promise of warmth was all it took to lower herself against several pillows. She arranged them to prop herself in a seated position, and by the time she got situated, Cassian was holding out a cup of steaming tea.

“I interrupted your work.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I could use a break,” he admitted, pouring his own cup of tea.

“If you need to get back to it, I won’t bother you. There’s no need to entertain me.”

Cassian’s mouth ticked up in a small smile. He turned toward her and traveled the short distance to where Nesta was seated. He lay down on his side atop the palette of furs, allowing Nesta as much space as possible. He adjusted his weight to prop on an elbow, his other arm draped over his waist.

“Maybe it’s me that needs to be entertained.”

Nesta bit her cheek against the smile that threatened to emerge. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Certainly, there’s someone in this camp better equipped to do so.”

Cassian’s chuckle raked over her spine, sending gooseflesh over her body. “You’re closest.”

With a wink, he lifted his mug to his mouth, a smile still evident in the crinkle around his eyes. Nesta wanted to return the smile and throttle him in equal measure.

“It terrifies me to think of what would entertain you,” she quipped, taking a sip of her own tea to mask her amusement. It was harder to accomplish with Cassian’s responding laugh.

“I can imagine,” he answered, before trailing off in favor of the calming quiet around them.

Nesta closed her eyes, allowing herself the indulgence of such vulnerability in the middle of a war zone. She guessed she was safer doing so in the General Commander’s tent than anywhere else. The issue came when the quiet allowed too many of the day’s thoughts to wreak havoc on her mind. Before things could spiral, she heaved a breath, feeling an eerie and unexpected sort of calm tugging at the space between her ribs. She was thankful for the blessing to avoid such a display in Cassian’s tent.

His voice, raspy from the day’s battle, permeated her thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

She shook her head, blinking to orient herself back to the present. A part of her felt compelled to withhold the truth, but she couldn’t muster the energy.

“Today. So many people injured and in pain. It makes me feel ridiculous for daring to feel tired after a day of caring for them. It’s negligible by comparison.”

“I disagree,” Cassian replied, adamant. “What you did today was just as necessary as fighting to protect our people. Don’t underestimate it.”

Nesta nodded, running her index finger around the lip of her mug. She decided to bite her tongue rather than point out that they weren’t “their people” at all. Cassian was quiet for a moment until his eyes flitted to her face, a softness in his expression that she wanted to hold onto forever. It made him look younger somehow, like the deeply etched weariness of loss and pain disappeared entirely.

“I found myself wondering,” he began, pausing to find his words. “At times, while the fighting was happening, I wondered where you were. Hoped you were safe.”

Her throat constricted. They had lived habitually at each others’ throats when they bothered with one another in the first place. Cassian’s confession was equal parts confusing and frustratingly relatable. The brute managed to occupy far too many of her thoughts. It wasn’t for lack of Nesta trying to prevent it.

“I did, too,” she murmured, surprising herself with the truth. She cleared her throat, forced a surety she didn’t feel. “Every time someone was carried into the tent, I wondered if it would be you.”

Cassian nodded, considered her words. He allowed her a small mercy and chose not to dwell on them. They finished their tea in quiet contemplation, and Cassian got up to put their mugs away. Before he returned to his previous spot, he stopped near a large iron pot and lifted the lid. Nesta watched curiously as he grabbed a rolled towel and carried it over to her.

“Madja warmed these earlier. They’ve been soaked in water and a blend of healing oils. They’re good for soreness.”

Rather than hand it over, he lowered himself onto a knee in front of Nesta. He unrolled it from its original shape and worked it until he had it twisted the way he wanted. His features were schooled in concentration as he lifted it over Nesta’s head and rested it around the back of her neck.

She nearly moaned at the warmth of it, at the gentle brush of his fingers against her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she swore she heard Cassian’s breath hitch each time he freed a rogue piece of her hair from beneath the towel’s weight. Too soon, he was pulling his hands away and settling into his original position across from her.

“Why do you fight?”

The question surprised him if his rapid blinking was any indication. He bit the inside of his cheek and traced an idle path over the furs in front of him.

“It’s what I know. It’s how I serve my court.”

Nesta wasn’t satisfied with his answer. She indulged in a quick glance over his form, how the loose ties of his tunic allowed a glimpse at his tattooed chest. He seemed so humble, so ordinary in that tent with her. As ordinary as a towering Fae male, strong as if he was carved from stone, could be, anyway. The image didn’t align with the Cassian she’d seen far more often. General Commander of the Night Court’s Armies. Member of the High Lord’s inner circle. War legend.

She got the impression he didn’t readily acknowledge his status or how important his survival would be to the Night Court.

“It seems it would make more sense to ensure you’re protected. If something happened to you, who would lead in your stead?”

“Rhysand,” he answered quickly, casually. “He’s made aware of all plans and strategies, and in the event he couldn’t, Azriel could do it.”

Nesta swallowed, trying and failing to mute the sound of his steady heartbeat. It felt too big for the space and fought to derail her focus, but it soothed her all the same.

“I don’t think that’s true. You realize you’re not so readily replaced, surely.”

Cassian’s gaze met hers for a split second and dropped to the space between them. “Careful, Sweetheart. That was almost a compliment.”

He huffed a laugh, and Nesta joined him for a brief moment. Easing onto his stomach, he rested his cheek atop his forearms and allowed his wings the barest stretch.

“There’s no point in arguing over it,” he continued. “For all we know, Hybern could use the Cauldron to obliterate the world tomorrow. It wouldn’t matter if I stood on the front line or in Velaris.”

The concept made Nesta’s stomach lurch. He’d said it in jest, she knew, but the mere possibility had her power threatening to rise to the surface. She closed her eyes and forced it under. What she’d stolen that day wasn’t inclined to go quietly; a prize she’d won and a curse altogether. Cassian studied her, and the action forced her back to the present.

“And to think, you would have spent your last hours with someone who stumbled uninvited into your tent and proceeded to drink your tea and use your things.”

His responding chuckle felt like he’d dragged the pads of his fingers over the knots of Nesta’s spine. He eased his eyes closed while he recovered and blinked them open lazily.

“We’re unlikely company, but we’ve done alright, I think.”

Nesta crossed her arms, feeling strangely exposed by his words. The walls she’d spent so much time carefully crafting had eroded without her notice, but they would slide back into place readily. They always did.

“What would you do— assuming you knew the Cauldron was going to dissolve everything— if you got to choose?”

She needed the deflection, to shift Cassian’s focus elsewhere. He’d be the first to point out how she began to withdraw, and she’d rather he didn’t. He thought a while on his answer; long enough for Nesta’s attention to get lost tracing patterns over his wings. They rested within reach, and her fingers twitched to physically trace those patterns against the thin membrane. As if he’d felt her intent, they retracted toward the center of his back.

“I’d fly. I would take my time appreciating Velaris and the Night Court, travel up to Illyria to visit all my favorite spots. It can be cold and brutal, but it’s beautiful if you know where to look.”

Nesta considered his answer. She hadn’t expected Cassian, of all people, to spend his final hours on his own.

“I thought you would say ‘with your family’ or something. It’s hard to imagine that you wouldn’t ride it out with them.”

His defined shoulders tensed in an approximation of a shrug. “Of course I’d stop by,” he teased. “But, I don’t want anyone to feel obligated to me. They all have others they would want to see and spend their time with— mates, family. I wouldn’t want to be yet another person they worried about.”

It was the genuine self-sacrifice that chipped away at Nesta’s defenses. His response had been so earnest that she knew he meant every word, and it inspired a sadness on his behalf and her own circumstances. She had no aversions to solitude, but she didn’t think she would need to excuse anyone of any obligation to her. She’d be alone by choice, first and foremost, but if she decided on the reciprocal, would anyone be there anyway?

“What about you?” he murmured. “How would you spend your time?”

Nesta took a moment to think. If the Cauldron obliterated their existence effective the following day, how would she truly spend her time? A weighted veil descended over her mood. She had barely settled into her immortality, so entertaining yet another endless death felt heavier than she cared to entertain.

“I don’t know,” she nearly whispered. Cassian’s brow pulled together in concentration, and he moved to sit up in front of her, as if hanging on her every word. “I’ve spent all these months trying to make peace with this version of my life. That hasn’t left much time to entertain my last days.”

He hummed, and the low tone of his voice floated over her skin like a phantom touch. A barrage of possibilities assaulted her— the roughness of his calluses, the taste of his skin, the fascinating texture of his wings beneath her fingers. Nesta shook her head to re-focus.

“I think I would spend it somewhere quiet with my favorite books. I’d surround myself in nothing but warm linens and keep a kettle of hot tea nearby. I would leave this world comfortable, I think.”

The words poured from her, and it wasn’t until she finished that she realized how true they were. Her human existence had included its fair share of pain, not to mention Hybern’s kidnapping and the bone-deep chill of the Cauldron. She wouldn’t go out that way again. She refused.

Cassian blinked, and Nesta wished she knew why his gaze felt so loaded. He recognized something in her, something in her pain and her past. Learning of his pain felt unbearable somehow, but she wanted so badly to understand. That conversation could wait for another time.

“No family for you either?”

He had found her sore spot efficiently, flawlessly. She shook her head to buy herself some time.

“I guess the more appropriate answer would be that I’d be mated to some Fae male by then, and we would spend it together.”

Cassian’s eyes snapped shut, but he opened them just as quickly. His expression seemed neutral enough, but something unidentifiable was off about it. Nesta studied him in the time between their words, trying to decipher what left her feeling hollow as he looked at her.

“I don’t know how it all works, but I doubt that’s in the Cauldron’s plans for me. I’d be satisfied enough with having a say in my death this time around.”

Pain flashed across Cassian’s handsome face, both at her words and something deeper. It was already gone by the time he spoke.

“I hear you. If it’s any consolation, it took over 500 years for me to believe that I have a mate, so I think it’s fair that you don’t quite have your mind around it.”

His words were acid dripping within her ribcage, but she forced the pain down with the same vigor she did her unwelcome powers. She would no sooner touch what the discomfort meant.

“You have a mate?”

She watched his hand lift to the back of his neck and traced the movement in his forearm when he squeezed his tense muscles. “No, not that I’m aware. I just meant I assumed I wouldn’t have one for a long time.”

The acidic burn was relentless.

“What changed your mind?”

Nesta held her breath while she waited for his response. She wasn’t sure why she’d asked at all, but she had the sense that his next words belonged to something much bigger than either of them.

Finally, he shrugged. “Maybe I started to want it more than I did in the past, or maybe it’s just a hunch. I wonder what it’s like, you know— what it feels like when it snaps into place.”

She swallowed against the sand in her throat, trying once more to avoid choking on her reply. “I wouldn’t have a clue to even speculate.”

Her words felt disingenuous, though that idea was absurd. They were as honest as she could manage, but they remained unpalatable. The combination of hers and Cassian’s thoughts on the matter intensified her discontent, and she brushed it off in favor stretching her legs in front of her.

“I suppose I’ve kept you long enough.”

She stood, soreness already roaring through her tired muscles. Cassian rose swiftly and held his hands out as if to brace her at the shoulders, but Nesta took a subtle step back. She couldn’t bear the contact; not if she intended to return to her tent with those walls still resolutely in place.

Cassian dropped his hands and nodded toward his abandoned map. “I should get back to it, anyway.”

“Alright. Thank you for the tea.”

She straightened her spine by sheer will. Turning for the tent’s opening, she focused to keep her pace productive without too much urgency. She eased it open and ducked her head in preparation to brave the cold air in search of her own tent. Cassian’s husky voice brought her to a halt and rooted her to the spot.

“Nesta?”

She paused, turning to him with the tent flap still within her grasp.

“Despite it all—“ he paused, fixing his eyes on the ground near his feet. His steps were silent as he traveled across the tent, stopping barely two feet away from her. Close enough to touch, to breathe in his distinct scent yet again. She’d know him by any of her senses, down to the nuanced sound of his twitching wings . “If the Cauldron were to level our world tomorrow, I’d be right here.”

Nesta swallowed, anything to buy her time to formulate a coherent response. The forgotten cloth around her neck has grown cold, sending a shiver down her spine. She slid it free and held it out, her breath hitching as his warm hand wrapped around the towel and her fingers. Without a second thought, she dropped the tent flap in favor of draping her free hand over the back of his palm.

Cassian’s throat bobbed, but the characteristic intensity of his focus remained on her face. His eyes scanned every plane, as intense as the chaotic beating of his heart.

“I like to think I’d find myself here, too.”

He gave a tight nod and pulled his hand slowly— so slowly— from between hers. At the break in connection, reality faded back into the fringes of Nesta’s attention. It poured over her like rain, leaving an unwelcome chill over her skin.

Cassian tossed the towel over his shoulder and turned back toward his work. With his back to her, those magnificent wings balanced behind him, he was every bit the warrior the legends made of his name.

Nesta allowed herself another second to take him in before turning to lift the canvas flap. She’d traveled a single step before his quiet voice stopped her once more.

“Goodnight, Nesta.”

She looked over her shoulder to find his attention fixed resolutely on his task, as if his parting words left him vulnerable in a way he wouldn’t allow her to see.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, stepping out into the frigid darkness.

——————————————————————————

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Shadows & Daggers

Az and Gwyn share a moment during a private dagger lesson.

Warnings: None | WC: 1,432 | Read on AO3|Gwynriel Masterlist

a/n: Based on a fanart by Lucielart, commissioned by @booknerd87 on tumblr. Part of her “A Picture and the Story Behind” collection. Happy Birthday, lovely!

The cool of the blade spread across his skin. It was pressed hard enough to be felt, but not so hard it would leave a mark. 

Az almost wished it would. 

“Do you yield, Shadowsinger?”

He couldn’t help but flash a half-smile to the redhead. “I never yield, Berdara.” She pressed the flat side of the blade harder against his neck, bringing her body nearer to his. 

This close, he was overtaken by water lilies and a river rushing through the forest. The scent so strong, he felt as if they’d been transported to a clearing by a small brook. 

“Cassian says otherwise,” Gwyn challenged, not easing up on her hold of Az. 

“Cassian says a lot of things." 

Her lips twitched upward, as if she wanted to laugh in agreement but wouldn’t let herself. "He also says there’s no dishonor in yielding to the better fighter.”

“Yeah,” Az chuckled. “I’ll believe him when I see him yield.”

Adding more pressure to the blade, Gwyn watched Az carefully, her eyes scanning his face, looking for something. Likely insight into what he’d do next. 

He lifted his hands and rested them on hers, wrapping them around her fingers and the dagger’s hilt. His callouses wouldn’t let him appreciate the smooth backside of her hand, but they didn’t stop the tingling sensation that buzzed up his arms from the point of contact. “A knife to the neck is a good power play, but if you’ve left both of your opponent’s arms free, they’ve got far more room to fight back, even if you do have their legs pinned.” His shadows danced up his wrists until they were swirling around their joined hands. 

Swimming in deep pools of teal, Az couldn’t look away from her eyes as he pushed the dagger away from him. Gwyn attempted to hold it where it was, but he was stronger. And once it was far enough from his skin, he managed to wrangle it out of her hand. The metal clanged against the floor of the training ring, the sound drawing Gwyn’s gaze away for a minute. 

His shadows retreated slightly, back to their perch on his shoulders, watching Gwyn. Marking every tiny move in case Azriel missed one.

He never did.

“I guess I still need more lessons,” Gwyn breathed, slowly looking back toward Az. His hands were still holding hers. She didn’t pull away. 

“Whenever you want, Priestess.” Az could feel his chest expanding and contracting with each breath he took. Gwyn was so close to him, her eyes bright and contemplative. A faint blush spread across her cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to lift a hand and brush the color softly. But he dare not. 

Gwyn had recently become more comfortable with his touch. Letting him direct and guide her, to take her hand when necessary. All for teaching purposes. Their touches were no more than a mentor helping a student learn a proper stance or move. That’s all they could be. It didn’t matter how much more they might mean to Az, how much more he wanted. Gwyn’s comfort came first. 

Still, this close, it would be so easy to lean in. To just ghost his lips across hers, to chance a quick taste, knowing it would likely be his only one. 

Azriel would never disrespect Gwyn like that. It was just a dream, another fantasy. That’s all he was ever granted: fantasies. He tried to shut them off, to keep his mind occupied with other thoughts. Consciously, he refused to think about Gwyn in that way. But in his dreams, on the nights he actually managed to sleep, there was no stopping them. 

Picture after picture of a possible life flooded his mind. Picnics by the Sidra. Getting a small house together. Private game nights at the House. Spying together on various missions. Stolen kisses in the garden. Secret moments in hidden alcoves that only the House would witness. 

He would wake smiling every time they came. And it would quickly fade when he remembered it was a dream he’d never have.

Gwyn’s eyes flicked down to the hands that were still holding hers.

Idiot. This touch was far beyond that of a teacher helping a student. 

He moved to slide his hands away, but she turned her palm and linked her fingers with one of them as the other fell away.

It was as if his entire body had expanded, only so that he could feel even more hollow. And yet, it was warm and welcome, and entirely daunting. 

He swallowed as she locked her stare with his again. 

Everything was pounding. Everything was silent as a grave.

Gwyn leaned in slightly, her movement slow, cautious. Az was frozen in place. And even if he could move, he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what was going through Gwyn’s mind. What she was thinking or doing. But whatever it was, he would give her the control. He would always give her the control in such a close proximity. Whenever she wanted it. 

She stilled, her face a few inches from his, her breathing as heavy and ragged as his had become. 

“Az,” she whispered, her eyes flicking between his and his mouth. In five hundred years, his self-control had never been so tested as it was in that moment. He was practically shaking with restraint, only he couldn’t do that either. Not as Gwyn sat on top of him, able to feel his every heartbeat. 

Drums started to sound in his distant corners, announcing an army that would march through his entire body. He could feel the vibrations of the footsteps in the depths of his chest. 

Gwyn’s eyes never left his. They held his stare and wouldn’t let it go. Not that Az wanted them, too. No, he would gladly stare into that sea of teal all day if Gwyn would let him. 

He felt a nudge at the back of his head, something cool and not entirely corporeal. One of his shadows, pushing him closer. 

Az let it, bringing his face closer to Gwyn’s. From this distance he could easily find shapes and images in the freckles across her nose and cheeks, like constellations in the stars. His hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing through her hair and pushing it out of her face. 

Images from his dreams flashed across his mind, more determined than ever before. He attempted to shut them down, to quell the hope that was building. 

“Gwyn?” he breathed, barely making a sound. Something was on her mind. He could see it in her stare, in the tension in her lips. 

The corners of her mouth ticked upward and then she was leaning in again. 

His shadows began to swirl around them, shrouding them, as if trying to offer some privacy. As if that were possible at the House in any sense. Especially out in the open in the training ring. 

Az couldn’t breath as Gwyn inched closer. He’d dreamed of her getting this close for months. Of her smile and lips, her laugh, her bright eyes. And now it was happening. She leaned her face into his hand, even as she moved toward him, tilting her head. 

It was her choice. He stayed still to ensure it remained that way, but Cauldron did he want this, for her lips to reach his, to brush them, press against them. 

“Don’t even think about it!" 

The cry sounded through the air, making Az’s shadows retreat as Gwyn jolted away. 

"Don’t think about what?” a deeper voice chuckled. 

Az groaned as he recognized the voices. As he heard the footsteps on the stairs coming from the House to the ring. 

Gwyn stood, straightening herself. Az followed her lead, moving slower than her as he mentally cursed his brother. Cassian would find a way to chase Nesta up to the ring at the worst possible moment.

Az held out the dagger to Gwyn. She accepted it and muttered, “Thanks, again. For the lesson and…yeah." 

He nodded and watched as Gwyn put the dagger back in its place and then rushed through the door just as Nesta and Cassian got there. His eyes remained on the emptying stairwell behind the two idiots who were now staring at him with shit eating grins. 

"Did we walk in on something, brother?” Cassian wondered, his words full of amusement. 

Az rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dagger lessons.” He shot a quick glare at Cassian and then spread his wings, taking off for a much needed flight to expel some pent-up energy.

@live-the-fangirl-life@boredserpent@moodymelanist@sv0430@gwynrielsupremacy@katekatpattywack@moonstoneriver77@deedz-thrillerkilller16@nesquik-arccheron@imsointobooks@sayosdreams@lejlathecutie@feyretales@almosttenaciousmoon@amb3rpanda@shinya-hiiragi@a-court-of-milkandhoney

Casual Ruin Pt. 5 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation series.

Last part! I know I said this would be 6/7 parts, but I realized I have no idea what the fuck I had planned to write in those parts, so it’s 5 instead hahah. didn’t edit the ending whoops

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4

__________________________________________

~Elain~

It’s three in the morning when I hear it.

We’re laying in bed, and even though I should asleep like the man next to me, I can’t stop thinking about how little time we have left.

How has the past month gone by so fast?

It feels like yesterday I was standing on my stoop, watching Azriel open up and tell me things he’s since admitted he’s never told another person.

It feels like yesterday since I decided that I care for him more than I care about what he does.

But it wasn’t yesterday; it was a month ago.

A month that’s been filled with dinner dates, soft smiles, laughter, and enough tender moments my heart feels full. He’s a

The plane ticket hidden in the bottom of my purse is a constant reminder that this is just a summer fling, that it isn’t supposed to mean anything. Two weeks from now, I’m supposed to get on that flight and never look back.

Except it feels impossible.

It broke my heart when I walked away from him a month ago, and that was before he told me the details of his life.

Now I know him.

I know about the way he smiles in the morning and how he shakes his head when he laughs, like he can’t believe he’s doing so. I’ve learned how ticklish his ribs are, how he likes his coffee, his favorite type of cigarettes.

I know about his family, how his mother died giving birth to him and his father resented him from the day it happened. I know about the first man he killed, how it made him sick. I know what his tattoos really mean.

And what I never could’ve expected is that everything I’ve learned,the good andthe bad, have tied me to him in a way that feels permanent.

How am I supposed to just walk away from that?

The thought of never seeing his smile, never feeling his rough hands cup my face with a gentleness he doesn’t show the world… it feels like missing a part of me.

And it worries me enough I haven’t been able to sleep for the past two nights. Like I’m incapable of wasting a minute, I spend the nights watching him sleep.

Which is why I’m perfectly awake when he pulls me close in his sleep and whispers two words that ruin me.

Ti amo.

Tears well in my eyes as I stay perfectly still, replaying the moment over and over.

He loves me.

It’s something I knew–something we both probably knew–ever since that day in the rain, but I think we both never said it because we knew our time is limited.

It’s been in every touch, every kiss, every moment where we get caught up just staring at each other.

But I want to tell him, I haveto tell him, because however good it makes me feel to hear that from him… I know he needs it more.

He’s never been loved–never been anyone’s first choice, but he’s mine, and I want him to know. And I don’t want to be just one more person that leaves him and makes him wondering if he’ll ever be enough.

So I start to plan.

~A week later, Azriel~

Well, the worst has happened.

I love the fucking woman.

Now my biggest weakness now walks outside my body, with soft brown eyes and dirty blonde hair and bright smiles that light up the world.

And she’s leaving in a week.

It scares the shit out of me.

Shescares the shit out of me.

Honestly, I hadn’t even realized I was in so deep until she said the words “We’re done.”

All I remember about that day is feeling I’d been stabbed in the chest and looking down to find the blade but not seeing anything but my own hands.

One moment I was convinced I was dying, the next I was in front of her on her stoop, telling her shit I’ve never told a living soul.

It wasn’t then that I realized I love her, but that was when I realized something maybe even more important. I trust her.

Rule 3’s been thrown out the window, and I don’t even remember when it happened. Was it when she told me I’m not a monster? Or the first time I noticed the way her lips turn up every time I tell her she’s beautiful?

Or maybe it was the first time I laid eyes on her as she stumbled into that opera booth, looking like everything I never knew I wanted.

Either way, I’m about a mile up shit’s creek with no fucking paddle.

I trust her, loveher, and I’ve only known her ten weeks. Which reminds me, she’s leaving.

Which is irritating, because while the mere thought of watching her leave makes me want to level a building, she’s currently acting like nothing’s wrong.

She’s in the bathroom, putting on red lipstick in a slow, taunting way that makes me want to mess it up. I’m sitting in the chair next to my bed, trying to stay calm.

She’s watching me watch her in the mirror, and her eyes meet mine for a split second before she looks away, making me suspicious.

That look… I’ve seen that look before, more times than I can count.

But never from her.

It’s a secret.

She looks like she’s hiding something.

“Something you need to tell me?” I ask, putting a hand behind my head to prop it up.

Nodding, she comes to stand at the foot of the bed. “Yep.”

I raise a brow. “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you tonight if you meet me for dinner.”

Suspicion and curiosity make me ask, “Where?”

“La Rosa,” she responds casually, making me narrow my eyes. It’s outside of the city a bit, a small place on the coast I’ve never had an interest in owning or visiting.

“I’ve never been there.”

“New experiences are good for the soul,” she quips, sliding on her sandals. “Just say you’ll meet me.”

There’s a hint of nerves in her voice, so I say, “Of course, dolce mia.”

She smiles, victorious. Then she’s bounding over, taking my face between her palms, and pressing her mouth to mine.

Before I can ask what she’s up to, she’s out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Seven o'clock! I’ll meet you there.”

I get up and slide my jacket on, slipping my hand in the pocket and toying with the piece of metal I’ve been carrying around for a month.

Sighing, I take it out and throw it on the counter, knowing that if this life has taught me one thing, it’s that it won’t make a difference.

~

When seven o'clock rolls around, I’m seated at a table, frowning at my surroundings.

I’ve definitely never been here.

No man has, I’m willing to bet. At least not on his own volition.

There are flowers everywhere. Spilling out of vases, growing on the vines surrounding the open windows, lining the doors that are open to the patio out back.

Besides that, I guess the place isn’t too bad, actually. The lights are soft, the weather’s nice, and by the smells coming from tables around me, the food will be good.

Elain’s running a few minutes late, but she called and told me to go ahead and order.

Apparently, she’s come here before, because she told me what to order her. Odd.

A few minutes after I relay the information to the waitress, I spot her coming in the front door and wave her over.

She’s a little flushed, her eyes are bright, and the smile on her face gives no doubt she’s excited.

I stand up when she reaches me, kiss her, then ask, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly. “Did you order?”

“Yeah. Have you been here before or something?”

She nods, diverting her eyes down and to the right in the classic tell of a lie.

I sigh, frustration getting the better of me. “Elain, what are you hiding from me?”

Before she can answer, the food comes. Two plates of pasta are set in front of us, and I know instantly I was right about the food being good.

But no matter how good it looks, there’s only one thing on my mind.

“Elain.”

She waves a hand. “Just eat, Azriel. I promise I’ll tell you in like five minutes.”

“Why not just tell me now?”

“It’s more dramatic this way,” she explains, making me sigh again.

Women.

She’s going to give me a fucking heart attack with her drama.

A little aggressively, I stab the fork in the pasta, taking a huge bite.

I feel her eyes on me, watching me eat, but I act like I don’t notice, mentally counting down the seconds until five minutes is up.

I’m at 263 when she asks, “Do you like it?”

“What?”

Rolling her eyes, she gestures to the plate in front of me. “Do you like it?”

“It’s good,” I reply honestly, a little surprised. I’ve lived here long enough to know the best places to eat, and I’ve never heard more than a decent review about this place.

“I’m glad,” she says, full lips tilting up. “Since I made it.”

I don’t get it. Did she bring it with her? Is that why she was late?

Also, why did we come to a restaurant if she was going to cook?

“What? Why?”

She tilts her head, smile growing.

Right as my still-counting subconscious gets to five minutes, she explains, “Because I work here.”

~Elain~

He stares at me, bite of pasta halfway between his mouth and the plate.

I’ve been almost bursting at the seems the past four days trying to keep the secret.

I mean, given what the man does for a living, I didn’t think I’d make it more than an hour. And while he’s definitely been suspicious, I made it.

“What?” he finally asks, dark brows furrowing as he leans in.

“I have a lot to say,” I tell him. “So don’t interrupt me.”

His eyes narrow like they always do when I tell him what to do, but I ignore it and start listing off the different secrets I’ve been keeping.

I start with the most important.

“First, I love you.”

The fork clangs against the plate as he drops it.

I smile, biting my lip and trying not to cry at the look on his face.

“I think I have since that first night when we danced in the bar. Or maybe when you took me to the beach. I don’t know.” Taking a deep breath, I say, “I tried to stop, when I found out… everything. But it was useless, because I was as in love with you then as I am now.”

He shakes his head, almost like he’s panicked, but I keep going.

“I love you, Azriel. I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I can’t bear the thought of leaving you. I don’t want to.”

Gesturing around us, I say, “I got a job here, and my landlord said she can draw up a lease. And before you say anything, I’m not giving anything up. The past months have felt like paradise, and I love it here. I liked my job in New York, but it wasn’t anything I’ll miss.”

His eyes are so wide, it’d be a little funny if I wasn’t so serious.

I take a sip of wine and try to puta brave face on. A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to say, “But we never talked about anything long term, so if this isn’t what you want… I’ll go. I promise. I just wanted you to know that you’re… it for me. You’re everything to me. I choose you.”

He shudders, closing his eyes, and I take in how tight his jaw is, how close he seems to coming unraveled.

Is he freaking out? I definitely am.

After a few moments, I realize he’s still waiting on me, so I laugh and say, “You can talk now.”

He doesn’t.

He just opens his eyes and stares at me, the shock in his gaze clear to read.

Nerves blossom. I was so sure he’d be happy, but maybe he isn’t ready. Voice turning shaky, I ask, “Is this what you want?”

Slowly, he shakes his head, but before I can panic, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, holding it out between us. “I want you to live with me, not at the townhouse.”

All the nerves fly out the door, and I laugh, not quite able to believe it.

How long has he been carrying this around?

The tears finally spilling over as I take the key from him. “Okay.”

He brushes my cheeks off with his thumb, looking at me like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

Azriel’s quiet for a moment, and I give him time, knowing that whatever he wants to say is hard for him.

“Ti amo. Mi spaventa così tanto.”

I love you. So much is scares me.

“You? Scared? I don’t believe it.”

I’m trying to joke and lighten the mood, but he’s completely serious as he shakes his head, cupping my jaw with his hand. “You scare the shit out of me, Elain.”

My heart clenches, and I fight a fresh wave of tears as I lean into his touch. “You scare me, too.”

“But you’re not leaving.”

It’s said like a hopeful promise, like something he needs to hear again and again to accept it’s true.

I shake my head. “I’m not leaving,” I whisper.

He finally smiles, that big smile I’m positive he only gives me, and leans over the table to kiss me softly. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He kisses me again, and I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him back, feeling like everything before now has led up to this. He’s the grand finale, the one I didn’t know I was waiting for.

I pull back a little, just far enough to see his reaction as I whisper, “Meet me in the bathroom.”

His eyes flare and his mouth drops open, and I laugh as I get up from my seat and try to walk nonchalantly towards the back.

This hadn’t been part of the plan, but I’ve told him I love him, and now… I want to prove it.

Plus, I don’t know what it is about him, but he feeds the adventurous side of me like nothing else.

I can feel him watching me from the table as I make my way across the restaurant.

Thankfully, the place is busy tonight, so I don’t think anyone notices when, as soon as I shut the bathroom door, he rises to follow me.

A moment later, he slips in with me, taking in the dim lights, closed stall, low music. He flips the lock, and it’s like it snaps the thread between us, descending us into chaos.

He’s on me in a second, arms wrapping around me and lifting me. My legs bracket his hips as he pushes me up against the wall and traps my hands above my head.

“Say it again,” he demands breathlessly, eyes bright and full of heat.

I nip his lower lip, then kiss it softly. “I love you, Azriel.”

His mouth crashes into mine, unrestrained and demanding and deep enough I lose myself in him.

My hands are in his hair, his are pushing up the hem of my dress.

There’s a brief moment of adjusting, and then he’s easing into me. His eyes are on me, his lips are parted, and as I tighten around him, he makes a deep rumbling sound. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re mine,” I tell him, tilting my hips to take him deeper. “And I’m yours.”

He shudders, eyes going black. “You’re mine.”

His hips claim mine, then, pulling out and thrusting back in, moving me up the wall. I tighten my fingers in his hair as he hits a spot deep inside me, and he groans.

Moving his hands to my hips, he brings me down as he thrusts up, and I moan, then slap a hand over my mouth.

Iworkhere, for God’s sake.

“This is not very professional,” I mutter, smiling when his lips twitch.

“No,” he agrees, thrusting into me harder. “And it’s definitely inappropriate.”

I clamp my lips together, pressing my hand to my mouth again to stifle the involuntary whimper I let out.

Azriel grins, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth and whispering, “You might need to go to confessional again.”

Rolling my eyes, I move my hands to his shoulders, then lean in to lick up the column of his neck. “Between the two of us, I’d say you’re more likely to end up on your knees tonight.”

He laughs, tugging my head back to kiss me again. His tongue meets mine in a wet, deep slide that makes me shiver. His hips brush mine. His hands hold me just right, keeping me against him.

Pulling back, he brushes his lips over mine and whispers, “I love you.”

The easy, conversational pace is abandoned, and we’re moving harder against each other, the only sounds our labored breathing and muffled moans.

He brings a hand to cover my mouth, and I cover his with mine, and we’re in tandem, both of us lost in the other.

He comes when I do, driving deeply into me and stilling, his head buried in my neck.

We spend a while like that, and when I eventually slide down the wall, we take our time adjusting our clothes. He keeps stopping me to kiss my shoulder or brow, and I waste too much time just looking at him.

When we’re both ready, he extends a hand and grins. “Let’s go home.”

I smile, unable to help it. “Let’s go home.”

_____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! This is the last part, although I might do an epilogue one day (don’t hold your breath lol).

Send me asks if you have em :)

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Elain’s part of the Damnation Series

~Elain~

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” 

That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? That’s what they say in movies, I think. Does it count if it isn’t in Italian?

I rub a hand across my forehead, shaking my head at myself. I’m not even religious. I haven’t been to church since I grew out of the pastel pink Easter dress my mother used to love forcing me into.

Yet here I am, sitting in a dark, hot box, attempting to confess my sins.

I think I’m losing it. 

Five days with no Azriel, and I’m turning to religion.

The dark shadow on the other side of the confessional doesn’t help me in the slightest or even tell me if I’m doing this right. He just sits in silence and waits for me to pour my heart and soul out.

So I say, in an embarrassingly shaky tone, “Well, I… I’ve been sleeping with someone.”

That gets me a low hm.

“Someone I shouldn’t have.” Before he can get the wrong idea, I blurt, “He’s not married or anything. At least, I don’t think so. God, what if he’s married? Oh, I probably shouldn’t say God’s name in vain in church. Sorry.”

Father gives a deep sigh, and I take that to mean I should hurry up. “Anyway, he’s just… not a good guy. I won’t confess his sins for him, but believe me, he’s committed his fair share.”

Still nothing. 

I think he’s waiting for the actual confessionpart of this thing.

So I say the words I’ve been trying to fight for the last five days. “I told him I don’t want to see him anymore, but I don’t think… I don’t think that’s really true.”

Anotherhm, this time more thoughtful. 

“I keep thinking about him, all the time. Even though I know it’s wrong. He’s like a tumor.”

There’s a huff, like he’s amused. 

“I’m worried I’m not a good enough person to say away from him,” I murmur quietly, which is the understatement of the century. 

IknowI’m not, which is why I’m here. 

I’m pre-confessing, because if the way Azriel’s been on my mind the past couple of days is any indication, it’s only a matter of time before I get desperate enough to call him and tell him his… occupation doesn’t change things.

There’s a bit of a pause, like he doesn’t know how to reply, and then for the first time, I get an actual response. In a very thick, very German accent, the… priest? replies, “His sins are not yours.”

He’s taking the stance opposite of what I thought he would, but that’s a good point. Good enough I don’t bother asking myself why a German priest is in an Italian church.

“True, but if I stay with him, aren’t I condoning them? Don’t they become mine?”

“His sins are not yours,” he repeats.

Helpful.

I’m about to ask for a little bit of actual advice when he asks, “Do you regret it?”

“No,” I answer almost immediately, knowing that no matter how much I hate what Azriel does, I could never regret the time I spent with him.

He’s silent, probably thinking of my punishment for being such a scheming harlot.

I’ll likely have to do a million hail Mary’s once this conversation is over.

But instead of telling me I’m going to hell, he surprises me by asking, “So you plan to sleep with him again?”

There was something familiar about the tone of his voice, but I don’t know anyone German, so I don’t ponder it for long. His question doesn’t require pondering, either.

“No,” I answered with fake certainty, even though the thought of never having Azriel’s calloused hands all over me makes me unspeakably sad.

“Are you sure? Forgiveness from the Lord requires… repentance.”

I sigh at that, hesitating even though I shouldn’t. “I’m sure. No matter how much I want to or think about it, I can’t.”

“I think you should.”

My mouth drops open, not only because the words he just said or the sudden disappearance of his accent, but because the screen separating me from the man on the other side of the confessional drops, revealing the bane of all my problems.

Azriel sticks a cigarette between his full lips, lights it casually, and smiles the devil’s smile. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demand, barely resisting the urge to fling myself over to his side and strangle him.

“Listening to a very insincere confession.” Even though I narrow my eyes in the most threatening gesture I can make, he continues, “You know, if you feel like you need punishing, I can always take you over my knee.”

A strange tingle shoots through me and makes my spin straighten, but I ignore it and glare at him harder.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I look him over, ignoring how good it is to see him and asking, “Aren’t you worried you’re going to catch on fire?”

He grins, blowing smoke around him. “If I’m the devil, does that make you my angel?”

“I’m not your anything.”

He just watches me and smokes his cigarette, something I’m sure is frowned upon in church. Probably right beneath sneaking into a private confessional. 

“Are you even religious?”

My lips twitch as I lie and say, “Recently converted.”

Azriel braces his arms in the small hole of the wall between us, looking unconvinced. “Yeah? What are the Ten Commandments?”

My head tilts as my eyes narrow. “I don’t know them all, but I have to believe one is about not killing people.”

“Number six,” he tells me, surprising me with the fact that he knows that. “You know, there’s also one about not stealing. And I happen to know for a fact you stole my sunglasses that day we were on the beach.”

Comparing those two sins is so ridiculous, a laugh bubbles out of me. He killed someone, yet by his logic I’m just as bad a sinner.

I knew this religion thing wasn’t for me.

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I ask, trying to get back to normal footing.

He takes so long to respond, I’m almost convinced he isn’t even going to bother. He runs a hand across his jaw, through his hair. Looks around at the plain little booth. Smokes some more.

When I’m about to give up and just leave, he says quietly, “I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

My heart starts to pick up pace. “Yeah?”

I know I shouldn’t encourage this conversation, but hearing that he thinks about me the way I think about him… it means something to me.

“Yeah,” he agrees after a few moments, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. 

It falls silent, and something grows in the silence, building between us until all I’m aware of are the small sweeps of his thumb against my cheekbone. 

I don’t know if he pulls me forward or if I take the step myself, but suddenly I’m right in front of him, our faces lined up through the small hole in the wall.

There’s a Bible in a little cubby that’s pressing into my stomach, and I’m sure there’s no better sign to resist sin than literal scripture digging into you, but I can’t bring myself to care.

It’s been less than a week without him, but it’s like my body is touched starved. The single inch where we’re connected is a live wire, and I close my eyes, trying to figure out what we were even talking about.

Releasing a tense breath that sounds a whole lot like relief, he slides his hand to the nape of my neck and leans his head to rest against mine. 

“Fuck,” he says, like it’s an all-encompassing statement and not a single word. “Come back to me, carro.”

He smells like rain and smoke and something dangerous I never understood until now, and it’s so intoxicating I almost lose myself. Brushing my nose against his, I breathe him in over and over, never getting used to it. “You want me?”

A nod, so small it’s almost imperceptible. But it’s there, and we both know it. 

Making sure my lips brush his, I lean in and whisper, “Then begfor me.”

He goes still, tension coming to rest in the hands still gripping my nape.

See, I realized something in the five days since I last saw him. 

He wants me to say that him being in the mafia doesn’t change anything, confess to lying about it in the first place, and beg him to fuck me, yet hasn’t even apologized for lying to me in the first place.

Sure, I lied, but hegot us in this mess, not me.

So he gets to beg.

Azriel pulls back, and there’s such dark depths in his eyes that I shiver. “What did you just say?”

I don’t respond, because I don’t need to. We both know he heard me. 

He releases me with a huff, stepping back and practically growling, “No.”

Raising an eyebrow, I challenge, “Why is it different? You want me to confess to lying about saying that what you do changes things? Fine. I confess, Azriel. I have feelings for you that, whether or not I like it, outweigh the moral part of me that tells me to run in the opposite direction.”

Despite how casually I say it, that realization almost breaks me to admit. 

I realized it when he popped up in this booth, looking every bit the villain and completely making my day. Wrong or not, he makes me happy.

“You have my confession, but you know what? I want yours.”

He shakes his head, seeming to not understand, so I elaborate. “I want you to actually apologize for lying to me. I want you to admit that you put me in an impossiblesituation, then acted like it wasn’t a big deal. And I want you to begfor my forgiveness.”

The muscles in his jaw are clenched so hard I don’t think he can even open his mouth, but he manages to say, “That will never happen.”

Something inside my chest collapses, so suddenly and painfully I can’t hardly breathe. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until now, how much it actually meant to me. 

The fact that he won’t make that compromise for me threatens to send my emotions scattering, so I stiffen my spine and force the words out.

“Then we’re done.”

He smacks a hand against the wall of the booth but doesn’t say anything, not even as I fling open the door and flee. 

I rush through the thankfully empty pews and outside, right into a downpour. 

The urge to laugh rises as I become instantly soaked, my dress sticking to me and my hair flattening to my head. It isn’t funny, and would be considered normal any other time or place, but we’ve had a month of paradise without a single rainy day. 

Until right now. It’s almost like the sky’s mood matches mine. 

Practically running, I make my way towards the townhouse. At least it’s close, I think as I hurry. If it was far away I’d probably collapse in a side alley and just let the rain wash me away. 

When I reach the door, unlocking it in a hurry, I feel someone walk up behind me. Stepping inside, I turn to see Azriel staring down at me.

Rain washes over the planes of his face, and while I probably look like a wet rat, he looks like something out of a movie.

“Why do you need this?” he asks, the anger thick in his voice. 

“Why do you?”

He doesn’t make a move to come in, practically ignoring the rain as he asks in a dry tone, “You mean why do I need to hear that what I do and have done–that this fucking life I was forced into–doesn’t make me a monster?”

“Azriel-”

“Because you’re the one person in this entire goddamn world who knows me.”

I give him a look that conveys how little I believe that. 

I don’t know anything about him. That’s the problem.

He shakes his head. “You know who I could’vebeen, Elain.” 

It’s my turn to shake my head, because I don’t understand.

He seems to make the decision of whether or not to tell me at once, saying, “Who I could’ve been if I hadn’t been born into a sadistic fucking family who beat the shit out of me for existing.”

Raw anguish lines his voice, and I stop breathing, stop thinking. 

“You know who I wanted to be, who I dreamed of being, when I was in the hospital with a fractured skull or in lockup for stealing a car to run away.” He throws a hand out, yelling, “I didn’t ask for this shit! I wanted to be who I am with you. But when someone came and said they could get me out of the life I knew would kill me, I fucking said yes. And I don’t regret it.”

Tears are streaming down my face, mixing with the rain bouncing off the door. I never knew. “Azriel…”

“The day my older brother took a hammer to my hands because I scratched his CD was the last time I apologized. And I haven’t begged for anything since I was old enough to know better.”

There’s a set to his jaw, a hardness in his body I’ve never seen. “But none of this shit even matters, and it isn’t an excuse, because you’re right.”

The rain comes somehow harder, almost drowning us, but I’m rooted to this spot.

Especially as Azriel slowly lowers himself to his knees, right there on the threshold of the door. 

“I’m sorry, Elain. I’m sorry I lied to you and put you in this position and acted like an ass about it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I shake my head again, whispering, “Stop.”

I can’t bear for him to be like this after hearing what he said, can’t bear to be the reason for the strain in his voice.

He doesn’t listen. Just looks up at me with such open, deep eyes I almost choke. “Please.”

A sob escapes me as I make the decision instantly, falling to my knees and throwing myself at him.

He grunts as we collide, but I capture the sound with my mouth, seeming to take him off guard as I kiss him without abandon.

His hair is like wet silk between my fingers, and I realize the door’s still open and that rain is still getting everywhere, but I don’t care about anything but him.

His hands grip my waist, holding me steady, as I kiss him until I’m breathless, until I know he’ll believe me. 

“You’re not a monster,” I tell him, pulling back to palm either side of his face. “I know you, and I know you’re not a monster.”

He leans in again, but I keep going, knowing that he needs to hear this as much as I need to say it.

“I decided before I saw you today that what you do doesn’t change things for me. I just want you.” 

The knowledge of how deep we’re in this settles between us, growing into something undeniable as we stare at each other.

This time, when he kisses me again, I don’t stop him.

We fall over, him landing on top of me, and roll until we’re far enough inside that he can kick the door closed.

It’s silent besides the sound of our breathing, the rain pounding against the windows, and the deep, wet slide of our mouths coming together.

I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pulls back long enough to rip it off. His skin’s hot compared to the cool water all over us, and I’m dizzy on the feel of him. I feel like I can’t get enough, can’t have him fast enough.

His hands are rough against me, tilting my head where he wants it, gripping my hips, putting my arms above my head.

Reaching between us, he fists the thin fabric of my dress, and then there’s a ripping sound I don’t even care to protest because now his skin’s against mine, and I don’t think anything has felt better.

A thumb on my jaw pushes my head to the side, and then his mouth is on my neck and he’s kissing me over the spot where my pulse flutters as proof of my pounding heart. 

I tug his belt open, and he toes his boots off, pulling back to finish getting rid of his jeans then settling back over me.

I tilt my hips up, not able to take the wait anymore, but he has more self control, taking the time to kiss my throat, my jaw, the tip of my nose.

“Please,” I beg. “I need you. Please, Azriel.”

He’s inside me with the next breath, filling me so deeply I can’t think. 

“Merda,” he curses, forehead dropping to mine. “Questa figa e stata fatta per me.”

The dirty words just make me burn hotter. 

Or maybe it’s the fact that I have one of the most dangerous men in the world between my thighs, waxing poetic about sex with me.

His teeth tug on my earlobe, and I arch up into him, making him sink deeper in me. 

“Dimmi- shit,” Azriel chuckles, almost like he didn’t realize he wasn’t speaking English. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Knowing that won’t happen, I nod and open my mouth to ask him to hurry up with it.

But I never get the chance, because the next second, he’s pulling out and slamming into me so hard I slide across the floor. I don’t get far, because one arm goes under my head to grip my shoulder and the other lifts my leg to keep it in place. 

And then he starts to move.

His hips hit mine hard enough to bruise, his mouth is demanding against mine, and his grip on my shoulder is unshakeable. It’s rough and restrictive and something I never knew I needed.

He’s turned me into this wanton, thoughtless thing, and all I can do is burn and burn and pray I survive. 

A moan escapes me with every thrust, almost like he’s pushing them out of me, and I know I’m loud enough the sweet old lady next door will hear, but I can’t stop. 

“You have to be quiet, or this’ll be over before I’m ready,” he warns in a breathy voice that makes it even harder to keep quiet.

It gets worse as he starts to repeatedly hit the spot only he’s been able to find, like he’s in perfect sync with my body. 

“Fuck, Azriel,” I moan, losing my mind at how good he feels against me. 

I try to fight it off, try to prolong this longer, but one of his hands slips to my throat. And as he lightly squeezes the sides, the blood rushes through me in a heady current, I come so hard I almost pass out.

Shaking beneath him, I release a loud moan he covers my mouth to stifle. When he pulls it away, I see slight indentations and realize I must’ve bit him. 

I make a note to apologize later. Even if the way his eyes go almost black tells me he isn’t mad about it. 

I’m almost comatose, but he isn’t even finished. He just grits his teeth, pauses to throw my leg over his shoulder, and keeps going.

My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and trying to keep him exactly where he is, doing exactly what he’s doing.

Thunder breaks outside, but it isn’t loud enough to mask the sound of us coming together or the moans he’s no longer masking.

Despite my body being sensitized and exhaused, when he cups my cheek, kisses me softly, and says, “Come with me,” I do.

He groans, hips churning messily against mine, as release finds us both. My legs shake, squeeze his waist like a vice, then go limp. 

All of me does, actually. I’m boneless and pliant and couldn’t move if I was paid to.

Azriel isn’t much better off, collapsing on top of me and suffocating me with his warm weight. 

“Holy shit,” I whisper after a moment, smiling at the amused huff he lets out. 

Air starts to become hard to find, so he rolls off me, then sits to lean his back against the door.

“We’re on the floor,” he says, almost like he didn’t even notice before now.

I shrug, not caring in the slightest. “I can’t move, so we’re going to have to stay here.”

He chuckles, something entirely male in his eyes as he looks at me. My cheeks grow warm as he looks at the complete mess at apex of my thighs and murmurs, “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

“You are so inappropriate,” I mumble, covering my face with my hands.

Nodding his agreement, he grips my hips and practically drags me on top of him. “You like it, though,” he teases, putting a sweet kiss to my lips. 

“I do,” I admit, kissing him again. 

Something brushes against my thigh, and I look down between us, then raise a brow. I knew he had stamina, but this is…

“Consider it making up for lost time.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and he smiles, one of those full, beautiful smiles I’m helpless to resist. 

I know everything’s complicated now and I know he does horrible things, but when he smiles at me like that, it’s hard to care about anything except how happy he makes me. Right or wrong, good or bad, there’s something between us I’m powerless against. 

“It’s been five days,” I remind him, running my hands up his chest and into his hair. “Better get started.”

~

The floor. The wall. The stairs. The shower.

He gives me a tour of my own house, fucking me on every inch of available space. 

I’m just as much to blame, I guess. Any time he tries to do anything besides me, I tug him back, unable to stop myself. 

He’s the drug I’m happily overdosing on, and fuck, does it feel good.

When we finally end up in bed hours later, I expect to immediately pass out. He definitely looks tired, and I’m sure I’m not much better, considering the amount of… activity my body’s been through tonight.

But despite the lingering exhaustion, we lay there, just looking at each other.

There’s still so much left unsaid, so many unanswered questions and untold stories, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by talking, much less asking questions, so I stay quiet.

His lips twitch, almost like he can see what I’m thinking.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he murmurs a second later, proving that thought correct. “I won’t lie to you again.”

I nod, thinking of what I want to ask first. 

I also think about the pain in his eyes earlier, when he gave me that piece of himself. I don’t ever want to be the cause of that pain, so I ask something I assume is unrelated. 

“Who was the man I hit with the wine bottle?”

The corner of his lips tip up. “That was Luca. I guess you could say he’s my friend, but more officially he’s my Underboss. We worked our way up through the ranks together.”

“You’ve known him a long time then?”

He nods, propping his head up with an arm. “We were in prison together.”

Questions bloom, but I don’t want to pry, so-

“I was sentenced to three years for grand theft auto and another for assaulting the cop who booked me. Luca was in for intent to sell.” 

At my blank look, he says, “Drugs, Elain.”

“Oh.” I feel stupid as hell, so I deflect by asking, “You were cellmates?”

“No,” he laughs, running a hand over his jaw thoughtfully. “But after he saved my ass from getting jumped one day, we stuck together.”

It’s quiet until I ask, “How’d you get out?”

“Well, this was in Chicago-” 

My eyes grow wide as I cut him off. “You’re from Chicago? You’re American?” 

He laughs at the disbelief in my voice, nodding while my brain explodes. He’d never told me, but I’d just assumed he was born in Sicily. 

“Anyway, this was in Chicago. I was seventeen, but got tried as an adult because of my record with juvie. I spent two years inside, then the Capo there just showed up one day and told me he could get me out.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I remember it like it happened yesterday. He’s only three years older than me, but he was wearing a two-thousand dollar suit and had everything I didn’t. He said he needed someone to work for him, to do the shit no one wanted to.”

Sliding closer, I prop my head up with a hand. “And that was you?”

“He said he looked at my records and that I had potential.” He laughs, almost unbelieving. “I was nothing more than an angry fuckup from the south side, and he said I had potential. He said he knew who my father and brothers were and could help me get revenge. I knew it was crazy, but I said yes. On the condition Luca got out, too.”

My eyebrows go up as he says, “We were out the next day.”

“Powerful friends,” I mutter. 

He toys with the ends of my hair, slight smile on his face.

“I worked in Chicago for about a year, then was sent here. He said he needed someone over here he could trust. My family’s Italian, so I knew the language, and with my baggage, I wanted out of the city anyway.” He takes a deep breath, running his hand down my arm. “So I moved here and worked my way up.”

He picks my hand up, measuring the difference between our palms.

“And now you’re Capo.”

“Mmhm.” 

Tugging my hand, he pulls me closer, burying his head in my neck and inhaling. 

“I have the Capo of the Sicilian Mafia in my bed,” I remark almost unbelievingly, making him laugh.

He shifts to lay down, holding me in his arms, and I marvel at how small and delicate I feel with him. My head’s against his chest, and he’s curled around me, making me sigh. 

“The Capo is a snuggler,” I murmur, running my hands across the smooth expanse of his back and smiling when he makes a low sound of contentment.

“I haven’t slept the past five days,” he tells me. “I couldn’t sleep without you in my bed. You have no idea how much it pissed me off at the time.”

Laughing, I snuggle closer. He’s so big and warm, and I’m so tired. 

Eyes struggling to stay open, I realize I never told him something. 

“You’re forgiven,” I whisper. 

I feel his lips on my brow, kissing me so gently my heart clenches. And I swear I hear him say something, but I’m soo tired to stay awake to hear it.

I fall asleep in his arms, and even though he’s dangerous and everything I should hate, it’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.

I’ve said the past month with him has felt like a fairy tale, and that’s true. 

Maybe just not with the knight in shining armor, but with the villaininstead.

______________________________________________

stole a couple lines from Danielle Lori

Part 5

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Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1|Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do. 

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into? 

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feelthe man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even bettermeasure. 

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her. 

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile–the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed. 

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots. 

I pull up the app to track her phone–which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker–and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them notto shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it. 

I’m going after her. 

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face… she looked at me like I’m a monster. 

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to… it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back. 

Because I needher, and damn if I’m going at this alone. 

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her. 

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!” 

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house. 

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack. 

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull. 

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again. 

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt. 

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it. 

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground. 

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her. 

She has to let me explain. She hasto.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. 

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I? 

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes. 

And the weird part is… I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there. 

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to dosomething, need to get out of here. 

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own. 

Come downstairs. 

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.  

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question. 

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something. 

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was lookingfor it. 

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs… I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me. 

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there. 

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man. 

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own. 

And then nothing. 

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry. 

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’splanning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part. 

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless. 

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs. 

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour. 

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief. 

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms. 

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first. 

He stayed because hehas something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him. 

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules. 

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face. 

Because he said that almost like an accusation. 

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturingsomeone. 

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Instead I ask, “Why?” 

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important. 

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you.You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just… couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explainedanything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone. 

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just saythat. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to… investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask. 

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.” 

“It’s not about seeingit! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and… there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killedsomeone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair. 

God,the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being.I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. 

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words. 

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth. 

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me. 

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all. 

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question… why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you. 

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them toyou.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true. 

But it doesn’t, because they aretrue. 

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear. 

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself. 

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home,like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for. 

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream. 

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out.You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment. 

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth. 

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general. 

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting. 

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’sthe vice I can’t quit. 

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burningcigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. 

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me. 

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I doneed him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me. 

And then he says something that changes everything. 

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done. 

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him.This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying–like he needsme. 

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison. 

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just… can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away. 

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monsterwould be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing. 

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro.”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs. 

He tsks, feigning disappointment. 

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice. 

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to begme for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will neverhappen.Helied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

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