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prythianpages · 8 months ago

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Beautiful Stranger | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.

warnings: mentions injuries and blood; other than that, this is light & fluff

word count: 4,342

a/n: I love Halsey's Finally//Beautiful Stranger & when it came on my shuffle while driving, this fic played out in my mind.

Humming quietly to yourself to keep your thoughts occupied, you allow the glow of the moon and fireflies to guide you back to the village. Dawn Court was your home, but after the fall of Spring, you had volunteered to help its fae, creatures, and land heal from the devastation left by Hybern’s attacks.

Though the damage to Spring was immense, its beauty still endured. The air still held a lingering heaviness but the flowers had begun to bloom once more with promise and hope of a better future. Your task today had been to gather healing herbs, yet when you stumbled upon a field of dandelions in full bloom, you couldn’t resist the urge to stop and admire the scenery. It was why you were returning late at night, long past the sunset you had promised to return by.

As you made your way along the path, the gentle breeze grew colder and sharper. It rustled the leaves on the trees and made the branches creak, its eerie sound halting your steps and silencing your humming. A chill of unease prickled your skin and your muscles tensed in alarm.

Then you saw them.

Shadows, darker than the night itself, swirling around you.

These were not the shadows you were used to seeing at night. No, these shadows felt alive and with purpose.

You should’ve turned back. But there was something in the way they moved, fluid and insistent, that made you follow. With every step, they guided you away from the familiar moonlit path and deeper into the forest, pulling you toward the river that ran through the heart of the woods.

A flicker of blue light was coming from just beyond the tree line, catching your eye. Curiosity tugged at you, drawing you closer. The shadows slithered toward the faint glow, vanishing into the darkness by the water’s edge.

When you finally reached the riverbank, your breath hitched at the sight before you.

A male lay sprawled on the shore, half-submerged in the water, his blood mingling with the river’s water. Blinking your eyes, you saw the shadows that led you to him, clinging to his battered form and limp wings. They pulsed in a protective manner. It’s then that you recognized the source of the blue light. It was coming from the gems attached to the leathers he wore.

Siphons. He must be Illyrian…but what was an Illyrian from the Night Court doing in Spring? Alone?

It didn’t matter. You immediately rushed and knelt beside him, your healer’s instincts snapping into action. Your finger’s pressed against his neck, mind racing with worry and dread as his skin felt cold against yours. He must’ve been out for awhile now. The nerves eased slightly when you felt a pulse.

Weak but present.

You slipped your arms beneath him, the shadows aiding you as they wrapped around his arms, helping you turn him over to his side. His dark hair clung to his face, your hand reaching up to brush it back.

Your eyes finally met the face of the fallen warrior and something snapped.

So piercing and electrifying, it had your heart fluttering from the intensity. All at once, the golden threads of the bond you’d only heard stories about unraveled in your chest. They weaved between your rib cage, pulling you tight toward him. A pull so strong it left you breathless and in shock.

Fate and shadows had brought him to you. Your mate.

But the exhilaration of it all was soon smothered by panic, the golden threads beginning to quiver. His blood, too much of it, stained the riverbank. His body was limp in your arms, his breathing shallow.

You had found your mate and already, you were on the verge of losing him before you could even learn his name.

Azriel wakes to the sound of singing, a nice and sweet sound, and he catches faintly to the words. He’s never felt so warm, so relaxed. His senses are dulled by grogginess, his body sluggish, but something feels… different. Lighter, somehow.

Beside him, his shadows stir, the familiar weight of their presence grounding him. But there's also something else— different from the cool and light caresses of his shadows. Firmer. Warmer. The pressure is foreign but comforting.

As his senses slowly return, the scent of herbs and incense reach him before his eyes flutter open. Where am I? He thinks, finally blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

The first thing he sees is you, the source of the beautiful singing.

Light streams into the room, casting a golden halo around you. It strikes him hard, stealing his breath and sending a shock through his chest. He doesn’t know who you are, what you are. But you’re beautiful, so beautiful that his brows furrow in bewildered awe. There’s no way, he thinks. I don’t belong here…

He wills his dry lips to part, his voice is rough and barely audible. “Am I…dead?”

Your eyes widen and your singing comes to a sudden stop, startled by his sudden words. The warmth he felt vanishes as you pull your hand back, and only then does he realize it had been your touch on his face earlier. Your hand hovers between you, glowing faintly with a bronze light, like the first rays of dawn, before you settle it into your lap.

“No,” you finally answer. “You’re not dead.”

Azriel tears his gaze from your face, even though some part of him protests. His eyes wander around the small room, taking in the sparse furniture, the wooden desk cluttered with jars and vials. The sunlight continues to stream through the single window, the curtain hanging doing little to dull the brightness thanks to the Spring breeze. It blinds him when it catches his eyes and he winces, looking away.

His attention is inevitably drawn back to you. You’re seated beside him, perched on a small stool that does not look comfortable by the bed. His shadows, the loyal dark tendrils that always remain by his side, are dancing around you. Their movement is playful, loving almost and you don’t seem bothered by it. As if they’ve done this before.

The sight stirs an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

The flutter is cut short when one of his wings, too big for the bed he’s in, twitches and knocks into the bedside table. A vial tumbles to the floor, the sound of shattering glass jerking his body forward, and in an instant, the memories come rushing back.

He remembers the mission. Rhysand had sent him to the wall separating the mortal lands from Prythian. He had met with Jurian, the encounter brief, and then he was on his way back—flying over the Spring Court when he was ambushed. His mind aches as he tries to remember more but all he remembers is being struck by poisoned arrows and falling through trees. Multiple trees.

Hot, searing pain stabs through him at the sudden movement and your hands fly to his bandaged chest, gently urging him to sit back. “You’re safe,” you reassure him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Azriel shouldn’t feel comforted by your words, not when he barely knows you. However, he finds your voice soothing. He listens, allowing himself to slowly lean back against the pillows, despite his mind screaming at him that you’re a stranger. Your hands remain on his chest, glowing again with that soft bronze light, and the sharp pain in his body begins to ebb away, fading into a dull ache. Much more bearable.

His shadows return to him, sighing with relief as they nestle close. Azriel watches you, keen hazel eyes taking in more of your features. The curve of your lips, the softness of your eyes. They draw him in, and he finds himself unable to look away. Had it not been for the pain that shot through him moments ago, he would’ve thought you lied to him about not being dead. Because surely you weren’t from this world to have him in a daze like this…

“Who are you?”

“I’m…,” you hesitate, uncertainty crossing your features. He watches with bated breath, waiting but the words seem to catch in your throat. You swallow, clearing your throat before speaking again. “I’m just a healer.”

“And here I thought you were an angel from above.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and the tension in your posture melts away. The corner of your lips tug up into a faint smile, one that Azriel surprisingly finds himself mirroring. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He doesn’t think. The words spill from him before he can stop them. “I didn’t say I was disappointed.”

The flush that dawns across your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn your head, trying to hide the reaction. It’s too late. Azriel already saw it and even if he hadn’t, his shadows are happily gushing over it. Some, the ones not distracted by your beauty, curled around his ear and whispered about the emotion lingering on your face, in your eyes.

There was more you meant to say. Words left unsaid and he wants to know, the curiosity and yearning bordering on desperate. His gaze assesses you again, searching for an answer. For a hint. His shadows continue to whisper. Good, they say reassuringly, sensing no danger or malintent in you. We found her for you!

She saved master's life. Master was out for three days and she stayed by master’s side. She’s–

“What’s your name?” You ask, pulling him from the silent conversation with his shadows.

Azriel is not one to give his name so easily, often going by what he was–a Shadowsinger– rather than who he was. He’s also not one to dwell in places he’s unfamiliar with longer than necessary. But you saved his life and for some strange reason, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you. They seem to trust you and therefore, so does he.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeat and his shadows shudder in response, as though they, too, are captivated by the sound of it on your lips. His stomach flutters in time with their movement.

“What about yours?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he says, repeating your name the same way you had his. His shadows dance in the air around you both.

It’s late morning, as you pick up the empty plate from him, that he feels the familiar sensation of talons scraping against his mind. Azriel?? Rhysand’s voice is urgent, the frantic panic of it making him wince. Your head immediately turns in concern and Azriel brushes it off with a small shake of his head.

I’m alive. Azriel responds, his answer curt as he’s once again distracted by your presence.

Thank The Mother, Rhysand breathes a sigh of relief. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe? Do you need me to–

I’m fine. I was attacked while flying through Spring.

Who? Rhysand demands.

Given the fact that whoever ambushed me has made no move to find me and finish the job, I’d say no one of importance. Azriel replies, lips curving into a small frown at the thought of being caught off guard and attacked. It rarely happened, his shadows always keeping him one step ahead of anyone and anything. Had they been distracted…?

He turns his head, searching for the shadows in question. Some remained with him, choosing to burrow under the blankets. The others, however, were hovering at your side and helping you clean up from breakfast. One even opens the door for you and he hears you murmur a small thanks as you leave the room.

Azriel had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. He didn’t want to, not liking the idea of being in such a vulnerable state with someone he barely knew. It’s not that he suspected you’d harm him or had bad intentions–you literally saved his life for Cauldron’s sake! It was just a feeling he was not used to. To be able to sleep safe and sound.

When he woke up again, it was a brand new day. He realized the bandages on his chest and arm had been changed. He was slowly gathering his strength back. One of his shadows must’ve given him away because shortly after he woke, you had walked in with a friend.

“Wow,” the dark haired fae murmured, her steps faltering. Her eyes had widened in wonder, taking in the large expanse of his wings that made the bed look ridiculously small. “The Cauldron truly favors you.”

Azriel’s gaze couldn’t help but narrow. Those words had been directed at you, not him.

You’d introduced her as Poppy, explaining she was your friend, another healer whose family had taken you in. Poppy had left shortly after setting a steaming bowl of stew on the table right next to the bed. She had been adamant on letting him know her mother had made it and not you, which he found odd.

Azriel was surprised to learn this was your room and you’d given it up for him. He tried to protest, offering to sleep on the couch or floor. Of course, you had refused and he was even more surprised to learn you were more stubborn than he was.

Where are you in Spring? Rhysand’s presence in his mind pulls him back to the present. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally projected his memory to his friend, wanting to keep it to himself for now. I can send Cassian, if you’re unable to fly.

No. Azriel responds immediately and he can feel Rhysand’s confusion. I’m alive and safe. I just need more time to recover.

And without waiting for a response, Azriel brings up his mental shields again, shutting Rhysand out. He can only hope he doesn’t send Feyre knocking on his mind next. Or worse, actually send Cassian to Spring, despite him saying not to.

He should’ve said yes, and accepted the help. The Spring Court was among the least favorite of his courts, in tie with the Autumn Court. He had a strong distaste for the High Lord, who remained wandering through his forests like a beast.

As you return to the room, Azriel catches sight of a faint glow wrapped around your wrist. He hadn’t seen it before, the glow of your magic outshining the gold ink etched there. A sun, cradled by a crescent moon, and below the moon, a fine lined star glimmers, connecting the two celestial bodies with its ray of starshine.

“You’re far from home.” Azriel comments, nodding toward the tattoo.

“So are you,” you answer, lips turning up at the slight flush that takes over Azriel. You then glance down at the tattoo on your wrist. The insignia of your Court with the added touch of your healing gift. The tattoo was an honor, a testimony of the oath you had taken after mastering your magic. “I came to Spring to help after the war.”

“Will you go back home after?” He asks, a little too quickly, then clears his throat. His shadows snicker beside him in a knowing manner. “Or will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed.”

He doesn’t understand why but a part of him feels relieved that you’re not attached to this court.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” you then add.

He feels an odd sense of relief, and his shadows give a little wiggle in excitement. He sends them a glare, and they sheepishly return to hiding under the covers. Though one brave shadow lingers by his side long enough to whisper, you'll find out soon Master.

“They’re cute," your voice pulls him from questioning his teasing shadow.

Azriel lets out a snort, the effort making his chest and stomach ache. Cute. His shadows had been called many things—strange, unnerving, even unsettling—but never cute. They typically clung to him, weaving around his form quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Unless he sent them on a mission of their own or they had a mission of their own.

Occasionally, they’d make an exception for Cassian, creeping up behind him just to tap his shoulder and bask in his exasperation when he turned to find nothing there. They’d even tried their luck with Rhysand once, though he was never fooled. Yet, for reasons Azriel couldn’t fathom, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you, drifting toward you whenever they could.

The said shadows peek out from under the covers, almost shyly. If they could blush, he’s sure they would be at this moment. They're never going to forget this moment.

“I wouldn’t call them cute,” Azriel replies, ignoring their indignant hisses.

Conversation flows easily between you two from there, Azriel giving into his curiosity to know and learn more about you. Much to his surprise, Azriel indulged you in your questions, telling you about his shadows and things about himself he rarely told others. They were small, trivial things such as his exact favorite shade of blue and his biggest pet peeve. Yet you held onto every word, every detail and it felt strangely comforting.

Two more days passed, Azriel’s body still healing. Slowly but surely. You had been able to recover one of the arrows that had shot him. Not that it mattered. Azriel was now, unfortunately, familiar with the effects of faebane. It hindered his healing and though it was frustrating, there was one upside to it all–the friendship blossoming between you and Azriel.

There’s a knock on the door as you mix Azriel’s concoction for pain. “Yes?” You call out.

Poppy peeks her head in. “I was just checking to see if I had given you enough spearmint for the pain tonic and also to let you know that we’ll be out most of the day. If you wanted to take out your ma—male for a walk or something without being bothered by the little ones.”

You freeze and a sheepish look takes over your features, tainting your cheeks. “Poppy,” you say her name again in what sounds like a warning. “He has a name, you know. And he doesn’t need to be taken on a walk.”

“Oh, right, Azriel,” she says, giving him a cheery wave. “Hello again!”

“Hello,” Azriel replies, shifting in the bed, despite the protests of his muscles. He’s not at all offended by Poppy, her aura too bright and cheery to be bothered. He flashes you a grin that has your grasp on the mixer faltering. “I think a walk would be nice actually.”

“Told you!” Poppy replies. “Anyway, we’ll see you for dinner. Send a butterfly if you need me.”

When the door closes, you let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a small, sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Azriel brushes off your concern, his eyes shining bright when he looks back at you. “How about that walk?”

Azriel grunts as he pushes to stand, his wings trembling as he shifts his weight, unused to bearing himself after days of bedrest. He stumbles right into your arms, his usually steady form swaying. You quickly catch him, your arms coming around one of his sides. His shadows dart toward his other side, helping you hold him upright.

“I’ve got you,” you say softly, your hold surprisingly firm.

He can't help it. He lets out a low, amused breath.

“What?” You ask.

“Usually, I’m the one saying that.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, a gleam in your eye, as you help him find his balance. “Well, even the best need someone to lean on sometimes, right?”

Azriel stares at you. Something in his chest tightens–a weird but comforting sensation. It’s similar, if not the same, to what he had felt when he first saw you. Warm and painfully sweet. The feeling reassures him that, though you were strangers mere days ago, you’re someone he can lean on.

“Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the door.

Azriel lets you guide him through the house and out onto the porch. You settle there together, cutting the walk very short. You're mindful not to push him too far when he's still recovering. Azriel doesn't mind, the fresh air enough for him. He knows he isn’t at full strength to protect you should anything arise. Even though you most likely know these forests better than himself.

His hands drift to the porch railing as he leans forward for support, fingers curling around the edge. The sunlight glances off his scarred hands, each ridge and mark stark against his skin. He’d kept them hidden beneath the covers and out of your view while bedridden, hiding them instinctively, unable to forget the pitying glances they’d drawn in the past. Though he’s sure you must've seen them when you rescued him.

Now, as he feels your gaze slide toward them, a familiar discomfort tugs at him. He starts to withdraw his hands, wanting to tuck them closer to himself.

But you reach out. Your hand hovers, brushing slightly over his. There’s a slight hesitation—an uncertainty in whether to bridge the space or leave it. In the end, you let your hand rest gently beside his.

Azriel hesitates, unused to this vulnerability, yet unable to move away. He glances up to meet your eyes and his guarded expression softens slightly. “They’re… not easy to look at,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know they’re not.”

“I’m familiar with scars, you know. They don’t make you less of who you are.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping where your hands are barely brushing against one another. His throat feels tight, an ache he’s kept buried resurfacing.

“Not to me,” you continue. “I don’t see you any differently because of them.”

He searches your face and he sees something in your eyes that helps him slowly relax. His gaze returns to your hand, fingers hovering now over his. This time, there’s no hesitation as you gently lay your hand over his, holding it as if the scars didn’t exist at all.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes.

His shadows slither down his arm and toward where your hands connect. For the first time, Azriel feels no urge to hide, no shame from the past that has long haunted him.

A silence drifts down between the two of you, settling like a blanket over the conversation. There’s no need to fill it, no awkwardness there. Just a gentle, shared peace, stretching softly around you both. He turns his head, shifting his gaze forward and takes a deep breath.

He closes his eyes and a breeze rolls in, brushing against his skin and stirring his hair. His shadows begin to whisper excitedly. He basks in the sun’s warmth, and lets the scent of spring fill his senses from the fresh earth to the blooming flowers and the faint sweetness of pollen. It brings forth a tickle in his nose, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. His body groans in response, wings shuddering.

“Bless you,” you say, but he notices the way your mouth quirks as if you’re holding back a laugh.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle, your free hand rising to stifle it. “It’s just… you have such a fatherly sneeze.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, a rare, amused smile creeping onto his face. “Fatherly sneeze?” He echoes. He has never heard the expression before yet he somehow understands it. If you thought his sneeze was “fatherly,” he’s curious to see your reaction to one of Cassian’s sneezes. That thought is enough to make him laugh outright.

It's so silly but the sound is so contagious that you laugh too. His shadows began to flutter around you, as if joining in on the laughter. Azriel’s gaze then drifts down, watching the way your lips curve in laughter, how your eyes crinkle at the corners, how effortlessly you draw light into his heart.

And there it is again—that rush of warmth. It’s mixed in with joy, so pure and intense it has to be coming from you. His heart stirs, his pulse quickens, his mind clears, and in a single, life-altering instant, he knows.

“You’re my mate.”

Your smile falters, replaced by a moment of hesitation. Some shadows travel to you, brushing softly against your arms as if in a reassuring manner. He can't help but watch them, realization dawning on him.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit quietly.

“How—when…” His voice catches, unable to form the words.

“I was walking through the forest when your shadows came to me. They led me to you, by the river. You were unconscious and bleeding. And then… the bond snapped for me the moment I saw your face. You were so cold and--and…,” your face tightens, eyes glistening at the memory and Azriel can feel the panic you must’ve felt then. “I’d just found what so many only dream of and you were already slipping away...I thought I’d never get to know your name…”

Azriel feels a pang deep in his chest as he absorbs every word. His chest feels tight again and he swallows thickly. “And when I woke up, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze falls, fingers twisting together. “I wanted you to heal, to feel better. That’s all that mattered.”

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I would’ve saved you, mate or not.”

Azriel searches your face, touched beyond words at the sincerity in your tone. It made sense why he felt so drawn to you since the moment he saw you, why his shadows took a sudden liking to you and kept whispering "we found her, we found her!" They had known all this time, been able to sense it before he even could.

Looking back, Poppy being the one to bring him food and water and not you was not as strange as he originally thought. You were being mindful, not wanting to accidentally accept the bond without his knowledge. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for how gentle and considerate you've been with him all along. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky to be bound to someone like you.

“And would you have sung to me, mate or not?” Azriel asks, his mind drifting back to the exact moment he'd first woken up.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away toward the gardens, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “What?” You let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What did I hear?” Azriel’s tone borders on teasing, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated contemplation. “Something like… ‘Beautiful stranger, here you are…’”

“That’s enough!” You interrupt, your face turning into an even deeper shade of pink, caught somewhere between mortification and laughter.

This time, it’s Azriel holding back a chuckle. His lips curl into a small smirk, seeing the blush that lights up your face. He quite likes that shade on you—likes being the one to bring it out even more. “So…”

You keep your gaze straight ahead. “So…?”

Azriel leans in, his voice low and warm, making your stomach flutter. “Do you sing that song for just anyone too?”

“No,” you let out a laugh, your hands cup your face but there’s no hiding the blush there. “I’m afraid that song was just for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn to look at him, realizing his gaze had never left you. Your hands drop back to the porch railing. “Yeah?” you whisper, your own heart pounding, not sure what it was you were asking.

But Azriel seems to understand anyway. He can feel what you’re feeling, now fully aware and attentive to the bond humming between you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his smirk softening into a genuine smile, his heart finally at ease.

A gentle warmth surges through the bond, reaching every shadowed corner of his heart and wrapping around his soul. It’s a feeling he could get used to, one he’s spent centuries longing and yearning for. It’s a feeling he’s searched for in all the wrong places, enduring the heavy weight of heartbreak after heartbreak.

But now, with you, he feels the weight begin to lift. After all the empty falls and broken promises, it’s finally, finally safe for him to fall.

a/n: you can't tell me Az & Cas don't have dad sneezes lol. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic where Az finally feels safe with someone because he deserves to. I hope you enjoyed this <3

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n

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lifeasadorkwithnolife · 4 months ago

Text

Concussed (Azriel x Reader)

Cassian accidentally gives you a concussion, his only request is that you give him time to get away before Az gets home.

------

“Your heads not in the game,” Cassian teased, nudging your feet apart as he examined your form. “Come on, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing is on my mind.” You mumbled, dropping your fist and turning to him with a pout. “We’ve been out here for hours, can we please be done?”

It was an unusually hot day, and you and Cassian had stripped down to the bare minimum, and it still wasn’t cool enough. His torso was coated in sweat, and you could see the defined lines of muscle lining his abdomen and arms. You, on the other hand, had only joined the inner circle recently, and you couldn’t see any muscle in your abdomen, hence the vigorous training sessions with Cassian.

“Do you think Hybern is going to wait until it’s nice and cool outside to attack us?” Cassian asked, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms.

“I don’t know… maybe?” You shrugged, he shook his head, laughing. “Spar with me one more time.”

“I always lose!” the grumble left you before you could stop yourself. Cassian laughed again, and you got into position on the mat, and he stood across from you. Past Cassian, you could see the landscape of Velaris, the mountains in the background with the sun high above. Clouds littered the sky but provided almost no shadow.

Speaking of shadows, you wonder what Azriel had been up to. You hadn’t seen him today, where usually you two spoke before breakfast. Seeing him was one of your favorite parts of the day, whilst he was quiet and refined with everyone else, you made him smile and laugh. Your friendship was full of inside jokes, occasional hugs and a lot of pining for him. You wish you were able to move on, and in an effort to, you told Cassian- but that was a huge mistake.

Cassian teased both of you, constantly, and you could tell Azriel was embarrassed. You two would be eating breakfast together in the morning, and Cassian would come in and call you two lovebirds, or a nice couple, or even ask if he was interrupting something with a wink. Azriel would always snap some retort back at Cassian, something along the lines of ‘Not us’, “Not gonna happen”, or, the one that hurt your heart the most, “Not in a million years.”

Sure, Cassian’s teasing was embarrassing, but you never understood why Azriel felt like he had to shut it down so harshly, Cassian was only joking after all.

“You’re not focused!” Cassian snapped his fingers in front of you, and your eyes moved quickly from the mountains to him. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Of course I did!” You snap back.

“Lets see about that.” Cassian replied, his fist came at you in the combination you guys had been working on. You ducked to the right and you heard the whoosh of his hand past your ear. You blocked his right knee with your forearm, turning quickly to throw a punch into his unshielded face.

Instead of watching your fist land a satisfying blow to his chin, you instead watched as his fist came right towards you and land an unforgiving blow to your right temple. You flew back on the mat, landing in a heap and losing the air in your lungs.

“Y/N!” Cassian shouted, quickly getting on his knees and standing above you. You saw his shadowed blurried face above yours. After a few moments, you were able to gasp, your lungs finally allowing air in. Cassian’s one face turned into two, then four. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You whispered, you reached up for his face to see if there was really four of him. You cupped his cheek. “Cassian, I am literally seeing like- eight of you right now.”

“Fuck Y/N!” Cassian groaned, turning his head away and looking around. “I thought you said you heard what I said, I told you that after the first combination, we were skipping the second and doing the third.”

“I think I lied.” You groaned, your arm falling back down to your side. You reached up to feel your head and could feel that your eye area was swelling already. “The sun is so bright.”

“I’m going to take you to madja Y/N, but please, do not tell Azriel.”

------

Hours passed, and Madja diagnosed you with a slight concussion. She was able to give you something for the pain, but the bruising and eventual black eye was unavoidable. Cassian had tucked you into your chair in the library, making sure you had a snack, a couple of books and a tall glass of water within reach. “Cassian- I’m not helpless you know.”

“Y/N- trust me, this is the least I can do.” Cassian handed you your book, then moved the table even closer to you. “Is this close enough?”

“Yes! I’m fine, you guys get punched around all the time, I can handle it.” You tried to raise your eyebrows in a teasing manner but felt a surge of pain through the right side of your face. Cassian’s face fell, “I’m serious, don’t feel bad. It was my fault for not paying attention.”

“He’s not going to see it that way.” Cassian retorted, and you shook his head.

“Why are so worried about what Azriel will think?”

“I just do not want to be anywhere near here when he comes home, speaking of which, I best be on my way.” He leaned down, giving you a light hug before backing up. “Again, I’m sorry, but I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling as he walked from the door. You looked around the now empty room, the fire was roaring in the fireplace, the light leaving shadows against the dark shelves filled with books in varying condition. You nestled into your chair, opening the book and continuing where you left off.

------

The door opened to the library with a groan, and you smiled to yourself, noticing the new shadows flowing around you that were not caused by the fire. “Hey Az.” You hummed, not turning towards him.

“Hey, how was your day?” His low voice reverberated through the small space, making you smile. He sat in the chair next to you. You were sure he looked handsome, like he does every night, but you didn’t turn your head, instead leaving your hair to frame the ugly bruise.

“It was uneventful.” You flipped the page, “What about yours?”

“Just uneventful?” Azriel reached his hand over, grabbing your arm. “What was uneventful?”

“Just did a little sparing with…. Cassian.” You hesitated, “It was hot, very hot, and very uneventful.”

“I feel like you’re not telling me something.” Azriel said, and your felt him get up and go to kneel in front of you. You looked down even further, you probably looked ridiculous. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“No reason Az, my eyes are…tried of looking at stuff.” You cringed at your bad excuse. “I mean- I think its time to get to bed. You walk out first- I’ll be right behind you.”

Azriel slowly placed his hand on your chin, and gently forced your head up, causing your eyes to meet his. His teasing smile immediately dissolved into concern, then anger. “Y/N!” Azriel’s voice was sharp, but his hands were still gentle as he cradled his face. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t Cassian’s fault!” You pushed your hair behind your ear, “I was distracted and then his fist just came out of nowhere-“

Azriel stood up, walking out of the room. You got up to follow, trotting behind him as he went to Cassian’s door. He swung it open, not knocking, and stormed into his empty room. “Where is he?” Azriel growled, turning back to you.

“Azriel calm down!’ You replied, coming over and grabbing his arm. His shadows dispersed, probably looking for Cassian somewhere in the house. “He left- I don’t know where.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Azriel looked down at your face, but instead of meeting your eyes he stared at the huge bruise.

You understood why Cassian left in this moment, but couldn’t exactly figure out why Azriel was losing his cool. “Azriel please-“

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know! I just said that!” You replied, you turned your head back towards the door and winced, the quick motion causing your head to throb. Azriel’s hand immediately fell to your cheek again. “I’m sorry, it just hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “lets go back.”

His hand hovered over your lower back as you walked. “Do you have a concussion?”

“A slight one, yeah.” You replied, deciding that instead of the library, your room was definitely a better destination.

“I’m sorry to cut tonight short Az, but I’m really tired.” You looked up at him, opening your door. He nodded, following you in and sitting in the chair next to the bed as you laid down, getting under the covers. As you settled into your pillow, you expected him to move, or leave, but he stayed put. “What are you doing Az?”

“I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” Azriel stated, leaning back in the chair, his wings awkwardly crunched between him and the wall.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company, you know I do, but what?”

“Concussions are serious Y/N, even if Madja says you’re okay I’m not taking the chance that you’re not, so I’m staying here.”

“all night?” You retorted, and he nodded.

“Yep.”

“Az please, go to bed. You look uncomfortable.”

“Nope.”

You glared at him, and he sighed, leaning forward and clasping his scarred hands on his knees. “You want the truth?” You nodded, “I would sit here, all night, and watch you sleep just to make sure you woke up. The fact that Cassian hurt you…. Makes me want to tear him limb from limb, even if he is my brother.”

“Az-“ You started, leaning up on one arm and taking a good look at him. His eyes bore in to yours, no trace of humor left in them. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious.” He replied, “so don’t ask me to leave again, because I won’t, I physically- I physically can’t leave.”

“Then at least climb in with me.” You whispered, patting the spot next to you. He froze. “Please, you look uncomfortable.”

“That’s the concussion talking.” Az mused, and you shook your head.

“I swear it’s not.” You whispered, earnestly looking at him. “If you were ever hurt, I don’t know what I would do. Do you want the truth?” he nodded, and you sighed. “I didn’t see the punch coming because I was thinking about you, and about…how you would never feel the same way as I do.”

“And how is that?” Azriel dropped to his knees, coming to the edge of the bed.

“I…care about you, deeply. I want to spend every day with you, and…” You felt tears prick your eyes and you turned away, your face flushing in embarrassment. “Honestly it really hurts my feelings when you say you could never see us happening, because I’ve always seen us happening.”

He stared at you, hands falling to his side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m concussed.” You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes, turning away and plopping on the bed. “Forget I said anything, goodnight, Az.”

After a few moments, the bed creaked and you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, slightly pulling you. You turned, and Az was above you on his side, staring at the non-bruised side of your face.

“I have always thought that you would not be able to love me, for the things that I have done.” He whispered, cupping your face. “I never wanted to offend you with the… insinuation that we could ever be a match.”

“My chest physically hurts when I’m away from you, and my shadows would rather be with you than with me at this point, you are so kind, so beautiful, the thought of us together, the thought of you caring about me, and possibly loving me, just seemed too much like a dream rather than reality.” Tears burned your eyes again as he spoke, “I love you, I’m sorry I ever made you think differently.”

“I love you too.” You whispered, and he wiped the tear from your cheek. “All those comments Cassian made- it was because I told him how I felt about you, he was just teasing me.”

Azriel barked a laugh, turning away from you on his back. You looked at him in concern, and he just shook his head. “I had told him about my feelings for you, I thought he was…I thought those comments were aimed at me.”

You shook your head, laughing as well. “ Az, I won’t stop you if you still want to kill him.”

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger

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lunarxcity · 4 months ago

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You just couldn’t believe it that out of everyone it would be Azriel.

Azriel who picks you up and carries you home from Rita’s when the alcohol and tiredness turn you into a force not to be reckoned with.

Azriel who has listened to everything you said for as long as you had known him. This was very nice on birthdays and special occasions and very bad when he’d use it against you in a fight. Centuries pass and he still remember details about you when you can’t even remember them about yourself.

Azriel who is always the first to come to your Defense and the last to leave your side.

Azriel whose shadows swirled around you in glee every time you acknowledge the little smokey tendrils that you had to name in secret because he didn’t like the idea of you naming them (he said it made them less intimidating).

Azriel who flew straight from the battlefield or a dangerous mission to wherever you were, sometimes forgetting to even check in with anyone letting them know he completed his mission or he was even alive because the first thing he needed to know was that you were alive and well.

Azriel who had to physically be held down by Cassian and sedated by Madja after he found out you were taken by Hybern.

Azriel who still sends his shadows to your room just to check on you and make sure you’re alive and well in the middle of the night.

Azriel who tells you you’re the only one he feels like he can tell anything to.

Azriel that brings you fresh baked treats whenever you’re down.

Azriel that always takes care of you when you’re sick, always leaving you with a shadow that constantly dotes after you making sure you take your medicine and drink liquids.

Azriel who cried the one time you came back from a mission on the brink of death, who felt the mating bond snap as you were desperately trying to hold onto life. Azriel who desperately tried to bargain with the mother to let you live at whatever cost.

Azriel who had to physically be held down by Cassian and Rhys when you woke up to not overwhelm you.

Azriel who didn’t tell you about the mating bond because he wanted to give you space to feel it on your own, not knowing you’ve felt the same way for centuries.

Azriel who finally breaks in the middle of a late night conversation because he can’t handle the way you’re looking at him and needed to know if you feel the same.

Azriel who trips over his words telling the other side of the same story that you’ve been experiencing for centuries.

Azriel who’s so excited you feel the same that he accidentally wakes up the whole house celebrating.

In hindsight it made sense that it’s always been Azriel you were both just too blinded by each other to see it.

#azriel #azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #acotar fic #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel one shot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader one shot #azriel fluff #azriel x reader fluff

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steveslevis · 8 months ago

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all of you, all of me, intertwined.

azriel x healer!reader

summary: You met your mate during the war and have been obsessed with him–and his dagger–ever since.

warnings: smut!!!!!, improper use of of Truth-Teller (aka object in v), knife kink, dom/sub dynamic (+ hints of R in subspace), praise kink, lots of dirty talk, mentions of war & injuries, mentions of pregnancy

If anyone would’ve told you five years ago that the mating bond snaps for you when your brand new mate pulls a knife from his hip and presses it to your throat, you wouldn’t have believed them. Hell, even five days ago you wouldn’t have believed them.

But here you are, a blade against your throat, back pushed against a wooden support of the tent you accidentally walked into as the most breathtaking male you’ve ever seen holds you in place, eyes narrowed and hands firm on your shoulder and throat as he stares down at you intensely with bright hazel eyes.

You didn’t mean to walk into the wrong tent, exhaustion and confusion has taken over your body hours prior and it was an honest mistake to walk up the wrong row of tents in the middle of the night. So, you truly don’t blame the male for holding a knife to your throat. You would’ve done the same if a random fae waltzed into your tent while you were recuperating after battle, considering this is the middle of a Godsforsaken war with Hybern.

A strained cry breaks from your throat as the bond tugs on your chest for the first time ever, feeling like your heart is about to beat through your ribcage as you stare back at the male in front of you, your mate.

“Who are you?” he insists, blade pressing harder into your throat as he watches emotionlessly as you cry out once more.

You thrash in his grasp once, the blade slipping across your throat as you throw your head to one side. The male grips your chin to force you to look at him, making the blade slip across your throat once more, the tiniest ripples of blood coming to the surface as you lock eyes with him once more.

“M–Mate,” you whimper, voice barely audible as you stare up at him with terrified eyes, hands trembling as you try to reach for his blade.

“Mate?”

Those are the only words you hear before you slip into unconsciousness, collapsing into the male’s grasp as he stands there, dumbfounded at your words.

When you wake, you find yourself slumped in a chair, presumably in the tent that you accidentally entered prior to fainting. You’re faced with a familiar female when you wake, who you slowly realize is the High Lady of the Night Court. She’s standing over you, pressing a damp cloth to the shallow cuts on your throat. Your eyes wander as you process the people you’re currently in the room with, you see two very obviously Illyrian males next to the High Lord of the Night Court on one side of the room along with a tall, beautiful blonde female helping the High Lady with tending to you.

It takes you a moment, but you slowly realize that you definitely wandered into the High Lord and Lady’s tent thanks to the fatigue from battle.

On your final scan of the room, you finally comprehend that one of the Illyrian males on the other side of the room is definitely your mate, and it’s definitely the male that’s pacing back and forth in front of the other two while running his hands through his hair frantically. You finally recognize the two males with the High Lord as his General and Spymaster, the Spymaster being the one who bombarded you as you entered the tent, but you can’t remember either of their names in your haze.

You try to sit up straight as soon as you see him, but Feyre gently guides you back in the chair before you can.

“Azriel,” she calls out, making the male snap his attention towards you.

He’s next to you in an instant, kneeling next to the chair while peering up at you with those cautious hazel eyes.

“H–Hi.” is all he says, voice shaky as he speaks.

“H–Hello.” you stammer, finally sitting up straight in the chair, “My deepest apologies for barging in, I–I promise I thought I walked up the right row of tents, I was just trying to go–”

“It’s alright,” the male in front of you, who you now know to be named Azriel, interjects coolly, shaking his head as he notes the panic in your eyes. “The High Lord knows you mean no harm. He saw what you were trying to do.”

You furrow your brow, unsure what he means by the High Lord seeing what you were trying to do. Before you can question it, Rhysand himself takes a step towards your chair.

“And I saw how much blood you’d lost prior to your walk over to the tents, even before your new-found mate here decided to put a blade to your throat.” Rhysand says, “It’s Y/N, correct?” he asks, and you nod hesitantly, “Would you like to see a healer?”

It’s then that you remember that the High Lord is daemati and definitely infiltrated your mind when you entered the tent, in order to gauge the threat you posed to them.

You shake your head quickly, a frown pulling on your lips as you’re reminded of the blood pooling beneath your leathers at your hip. You don’t want to see another healer, you’re a damn good healer, but you have to remind yourself that they don’t know that yet. Pain ripples through your side as you twist slightly in the chair to look at Rhysand and you have to force back a grimace as you give him a weak smile.

“No, I am quite alright. Thank you very much, High Lord.” you say, nodding formally at him before attempting to stand from the chair. “I have plenty of healing and strength tonics back in my tent. I just n–need to wrap it and get some rest for the morning.”

You barely make it one step before stumbling, your mind going hazy and body going shaky due to the lost blood and lack of food or water throughout the day. Azriel is there to catch you as soon as you stumble, strong hands holding your weight up before settling you back into your chair. You see shadows skitter around you as you take a shuddering breath and you wonder if your vision is clouding again. But you soon notice them around Azriel’s hands as well and make a mental note to ask about them once you’re fully conscious and not feeling delusional.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re fit to go anywhere right now.” Azriel mumbles with a slight growl in his voice, turning away from you immediately after you relax back into the chair.

He walks over to a table on the other side of the room that’s filled with objects you’d find scattered across your own desk on any given day at work. There’s bottles of tonics, gauze, bandages and even some sutures strewn across the table. It makes sense that the High Lord and his Inner Circle would have their own supplies given to them during the war.

Azriel takes his time gathering the supplies he needs, then sets them on a table adjacent to the chair before turning his attention back to you.

“Do you need help, brother?” Rhysand questions, noting Azriel’s furrowed brow as he tries to decide what to do first. “I can call for Madja.”

“No, I can do it.” Azriel grunts insistently, sending a warning glare in Rhysand’s direction.

There’s a tug in the center of your chest as he speaks, as he unintentionally sends his possessiveness and frustration down the bond to you. Without a word, you send a weak but soothing hum of power down the bond back to him, which makes his brows furrow again, his attention snapping to you instead of the High Lord now.

The look in his eyes is wild, one filled with shock and awe as he processes what you just did.

“Did you feel that?” you question softly, eyes wide and watery as your heart feels like it’s going to beat through your chest.

He only nods, his own eyes wide as his hand rests over his heart. You hear the rest of them behind you beginning to exit, hearing the High Lady suggest that they go visit her sisters to give the two of you space. A feeling of relief washes over you as the tent empties, leaving you alone with Azriel, your mate.

“So it is real,” he says breathlessly, a strangled noise of shock falling from his lips as you tug on the bond once more, “you’re really my mate.”

“I am,” you say in reply, a smile playing on your lips as you gaze up at him, you reach a hand up to his cheek to cup it as you grin as you repeat his words back to him, “you’re my mate.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he notices how shaky your hand is against his cheek. He turns his gaze back to the slew of supplies he has in front of him. You hold back from directing him only for a moment before noticing the look of pure confusion on his face as he reaches for one of the tubs of salve that he’d grabbed.

“Did Madja give you any strength tonics?” you ask, eyes scanning the table for the distinct bottle of aquamarine liquid that you have in mind.

You spot it eventually, but can’t reach far enough to grab it, so you point to it for him to hand to you. Azriel does so and watches you closely while you shakily take off the stopper and take a drink from the bottle. You know that you only need to take half of the bottle, because you’d mixed these yourself and the amount in each was enough for male Illyrian warriors, not for an ordinary high fae healer. So you drink half of it and set it back down, noticing the male staring at you with wonder-filled eyes as you do.

There’s a beat of silence in the room as you reach for the healing salve on the table, making quick work of soothing the stinging cuts on your neck from Azriel’s interrogation. He continues to stare as you work on your own wounds, unsure of what he can do to help.

“Are you–”

“A healer?” you interrupt with a smirk, giggling at the dumbfounded male in front of you. “I’m a healer working under Madja.”

“So you really don’t even need me to help with this, do you?” he questions, a small smile on his lips as he stares down at you soothing the cuts on your neck.

“Normally I wouldn’t,” you jokingly hum in return, “but since my healing abilities are stunted and I can’t twist too well right now to see what’s going on, I will need you to dress my wound.”

Azriel’s eyes widen at your words and he nods quickly, dropping to his knees in front of you again. His hands hovered over your waist, taking in the bloodied gash on your side. Your leathers are tattered in that area and there’s a piece of some other cloth shoved in between the holes of the leather, something you did while trying to keep the bleeding at bay while you fought. Truthfully, you can’t fully remember what caused the wound itself, but you’d rather not remember the traumas of the battlefield you endured over the last few days.

“May I?” his voice interrupts your thoughts as his hands still wait for your approval to peel your leathers away from the wound.

You nod silently, inhaling sharply as he pulls the leather away from your waist, tugging it up with your help. There’s blood caked on your skin, so Azriel makes quick work of carefully wiping down the area with a warm washcloth. You wince at the rough feeling of the cloth against your skin, biting back a cry as he continues to clean it. He mumbles apologies to you over and over again, his free hand grabbing for one of yours for you to squeeze.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, his thumb running across the back of your hand as he intently stares at your wound.

He finishes up quickly, pressing some dry gauze to the cut area before turning his gaze to you. Your eyes are watering when they meet his hazel ones, but you still give him a weak smile in return.

“Now you can stitch me up, right?” you question jokingly.

Azriel misses the joke and the half smile on his face falls slowly at the thought. You giggle at his expression, shaking your head as he stares at you blankly.

“I’m only joking,” you tease, watching him finally relax once you start giggling. “I just need you to wrap me up, okay?”

“Yeah, yes of course.” he replies quickly, reaching for the large roll of bandage to his left to start wrapping it around your waist, “Do you harass all your healing trainees like that?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he places the bandage over the gauze on your side, eyes twinkling as he teases you back.

“No, only the ones that interrogate me with a knife right before I find out that they’re my mate.”

______________________________________________________________

Six years later

“Can you believe that it’s been six years since you held me at knife-point with Truth-Teller the first time we met?” you ask your mate, who just emerged from your en-suite bathroom in only a towel.

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your king-sized bed in the middle of your shared bedroom, toying with Truth-Teller that Azriel had left behind on the bedside table.

“Are you ever gonna let that go?” Azriel says as he walks toward the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he pushes Truth-Teller out of your grasp. “I only did it because I thought you were gonna try to kill Rhys, or even worse, kill Feyre.”

You gasp at his statement, throwing your hand over your heart dramatically.

“I would never do such a thing and you know it.” you say with a dramatic frown, propping yourself up on your elbows as he inches closer to you by sitting down next to you.

“I didn’t know that then,” he says matter-of-factly, “but now I know that you would never do such a thing and that you’re a little too fascinated by Truth-Teller after all that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re turned on by it.”

Your eyes widen at his bold statement, your body flushing with embarrassment as he smirks at you before pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hands caress your sides, fingers gently grazing over your scars from that fated night from over your silk nightgown. You grasp for any part of him that you can, your hands shoving their way into his slightly damp hair to pull him closer. He hums against your lips, pulling you onto his lap.

He presses your hips down onto his, causing you to moan into the kiss and grind back into him as you feel his half-hard length pressing against your core. His lips trail from your lips, to your cheek, and up to your ear. His breath fans against your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Shadows trail along the hem of your nightgown, pulling the silky fabric up and up and up–

“How would you feel if I used Truth-Teller on you now, huh?” he murmurs against your skin, nibbling on your earlobe as he chuckles, “What if I took the blade and cut this pretty little nightgown off? What if I took the hilt and–”

Azriel’s lewd words are interrupted by a loud banging on your bedroom door, causing you to nearly jump out of his lap as the pounding continues.

“Training in twenty minutes with the Valkyries, asshole.” you hear Cassian’s booming voice call from the other side of the door, “Get your shit done and get out here, I can smell you two from out here.”

“I’ll be there, now fuck off,” Azriel retorts, biting back a smirk as he peers down at you to mumble, “remind me to look into new houses for just us soon.”

A pout pulls your lips down as you make the smallest bit of space between you and your mate, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you become all too aware of your arousal hanging thick in the room.

“Don’t worry, love. We can continue this later,” he hums, bringing his lips to your neck to pepper kisses along the soft skin, “I don’t wanna rush anything today, wanna take my sweet time with my sweet girl.”

The flush of your cheeks deepen as you pull him closer, whining in response to his sensual touch, grinding your hips ever-so-lightly against his as you try to silently convince him to stay with you. He only growls in response, shaking his head at your mischief as he realizes your plan.

“It’s our anniversary, Az.” you whine, a frown on your lips once more as the scent of your arousal continues to linger around you, enticing your mate more and more with each breath.

It’s the anniversary of the mating bond snapping into place along with the anniversary of your mating ceremony today. The two of you decided to wait a year to accept the bond in order to get to know each other, and you’ve been inseparable since.

“I know, love.” he coos gently, hand coming up to your cheek to stroke it gently. “That’s why I wanna take my time with you, wanna make sure my perfect girl is taken care of in every way possible tonight. Can you be a good little mate and hold out until after dinner with the family?”

You continue to frown at your mate, but nod at him slowly. He smiles in return, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before gripping your hips to remove you from his lap and place you back on the bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to training?” Azriel asks as he stands, reaching for his coveted blade as he stands over you. “I could bring Truth-Teller out to play just for you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to ignore the familiar yet strange feeling of dread roiling within your gut as you try to feign annoyance with your mate. You shake your head at him wordlessly, rolling your eyes playfully when he shoots a lighthearted smirk in your direction. He’s only teasing you and you both know it, but the thought of training for battle does not sit right with you anymore, especially after you swore to him five years ago that he’d protect you forever, and that you’d never have to be on the front lines of war again. You could continue your duties as a healer for as long as you pleased, and would never have to worry about defending yourself, as your very own shadowsinger would do so for you.

Ever since sustaining your injury six years prior, your body has never been the same. The injury you sustained was so intense that even the powers of you and Madja combined couldn’t heal the skin of your waist fully, nor could the two of you completely repair the damage to your hip bone that fractured from the impact of whatever took a chunk out of you. You can’t move as freely as you once could, though it doesn’t stop you from many things now aside from training, which you’ve only attempted once.

“I’m only joking, love.” he reassures you, seeing the dimming light in your eyes as you drift off into thought at the idea of training. His hand runs along your side reflexively, as if his own scarred hands can heal the scarred skin of your waist. He plants one soft kiss on your lips before pulling away, taking you in as he smiles, “I love you, happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, Az. I love you so much.” you murmur, watching as your mate continues to get ready for the day.

—

The day flies by quickly, filled mostly with fulfilling orders from Madja for illness tonics and salves in preparation for the coldest months in Prythian. It’s all a blur to you in all honesty, your mate being the only thing on your mind all day as you try to preoccupy yourself with busy work until it’s time to go to the River House for dinner.

It’s only 4:30 in the evening by the time you finish putting the rest of the salves into their tins. But you still decide to head to the River House a little early in order to speak to Feyre regarding an experimental tonic the two of you had brainstormed about a few weeks prior.

She had commissioned you to do some research on non-Illyrian females giving birth to half-Illyrian children if there was any magic that could help to make the process less life-threatening. The High Lady never specifically asked you to make anything, just to research the topic, but you found a mix of tonics that would potentially help with flexibility and strength of a female’s bones during pregnancy in order to prevent major complications with the Illyrian wings and couldn’t help but start experimenting right away.

It was a topic dear to your heart and you were more than grateful for Feyre’s commission, as you’d been told by Madja multiple times that it’s very possible that you’d never be able to mother Azriel’s children, especially due to the injuries you sustained in battle damaging your hip and pelvis. You’d hoped that this could be the cure for your feelings of inadequacy in being able to give your mate a child, but Madja still warns you to be careful and to wait as long as possible before deciding to try for a child in order to make sure you are truly healed.

Despite the ringing thoughts of inadequacy in your brain after finishing the tonic, you nearly floated with excitement over to the River House at the end of your day, feeling beyond excited to tell Feyre the great news about your work-in-progress.

You enter the River House and are greeted with the smell of fresh pastries and a crackling fireplace. One turn into the drawing room and you spot Feyre lounging on the couch while Nesta plays with Nyx in the middle of the floor. Rhysand enters the room from the other direction as you do, three glasses of wine in hand as he strolls toward the couch to sit with his mate. Your chest blooms with warmth at the sight in front of you, admiring your found family that you lucked into becoming part of just a few years ago.

Feyre is the first to notice you enter the room, greeting you with a grin as she motions for you to come in. You sit on the couch that’s facing the one the mates are sitting on, quietly greeting the others in the room as you settle.

Nyx all but abandons Nesta when you come in, waddling over to you to give your legs a hug. You giggle at the boy, grabbing him under his arms to pull him into your lap and give him a proper hug giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You’re here early today,” Rhys notes, summoning a fourth glass of wine for you before handing it to you.

“I finished with my work early today, and had some exciting news to tell the High Lady that I wanted to share before dinner.” you retort with a smile, bouncing the toddler on your knee as you speak.

Feyre’s eyes narrow at you as you call her by her formal title, but it’s so second nature to you that you almost always slip up when referring to her in conversation. You give her an apologetic look but her mood quickly changes once she realizes what you’re referring to.

“Oh, what have you found?” she says excitedly, sitting up straight as if that would help her hear your response any better. “Any good ideas for us to look into?”

“Actually, I have something better than good ideas to look into,” you say, reaching your hand into the bag at your side, pulling out a small vial of a cherry red tonic to show the three in front of you.

“Is that–”

You nod slowly and hum in response, swirling the liquid in the vial before handing it to Feyre. She inspects it with wide, wonder-filled eyes as it sloshes in the tube. Nesta and Rhys crane their necks to look as well, both confused about the content of the vial.

“If it does what it is meant to do, it should be able to widen the pelvis of non-Illyrian females in order to aid in the birth of winged babes and make the process easier on our bodies.” you start, a bittersweet smile on your face as you catch yourself using the word our, referring to yourself as one of the females, though you know how unlikely it is that you’ll be able to. “It is supposed to help with the flexibility of the bone and grow the bone outward in order to accommodate the wings. We–We just need to complete some trials on non-pregnant females to confirm that it does what we want it to do before we can start advertising it to the public–”

“I’ll volunteer,” Nesta says, eyes wide as her own eagerness takes her aback. “I mean–If you need volunteers, I would love to help.”

“Of course, Nes.” you say with a smile, “You’ll be the first person on my list to contact when we’re ready for volunteers.”

“And what about you?” Rhysand interjects, taking a sip of wine as he peers over at you with nothing but pure interest and amusement in his eyes. “Would this be able to help you with childbirth, given your situation?”

Feyre immediately elbows her mate in the ribs, giving him a sidelong glare as she does. You know his curiosity is genuine and he means no harm by asking the question, but the thought alone feels like a knife through the heart.

As you open your mouth to answer him, the doors to the house swing open, a booming voice flowing through the lower level as Cassian and Azriel enter. You thank the Cauldron in that moment for Cassian’s loud mouth, turning your attention to the two males strolling into the drawing room.

Your mate’s eyes meet your own instantly, brow furrowed as he looks down to you, able to feel your discomfort, thanks to the conversation they’d interrupted, through the bond. You give him a weak, but reassuring smile, tugging on the bond lightly as if to tell him that you’re fine.

“We thought we’d find you two here,” Cassian says to you and his mate, pulling Nesta into an embrace when she stands to greet him. “Neither of you can go a full day without seeing your precious Nyx, can you?”

You smile down at the giggling boy in your lap, little wings flapping happily behind him as Cassian comes behind him to poke him teasingly.

“As much as I love this little babe, I know my rightful place,” you laugh, standing from the couch to hand the child over to Nesta. “I know I’m quite far down on the list of favorites, especially since Auntie Nes is 1000% his number one.”

Nesta hums in approval as she holds the little boy close, cooing as he plops his head down on her shoulder.

Azriel makes his way over to you, his shadows immediately greeting you with lingering touches and whispers in your ears. His wing closest to you nearly wraps all the way around you like a protective shield, covering your back as he pulls you to his side to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles against your skin and you nod, feeling better now that your mate is by your side again, especially when he sends a soothing hum down the bond to you.

The rest of the night goes by smoothly, with flowing drinks and a bountiful feast. You told Feyre a thousand times that she did not have to do all of this just to celebrate your five year mating ceremony anniversary, but she insisted. It’s just you, Nesta, Feyre and your mates, and Nyx, present for dinner this time, as the others have other obligations.

You don’t mind, though, since sometimes it’s overwhelming with all of the Inner Circle, including Varian and Lucien following their lovers around like lost puppies, present for dinners. So you’re grateful for the somewhat smaller crowd, meaning there are less people around to ask prying questions about your job, about your life before meeting Azriel, or–your least favorite–about what Azriel is like in bed. Those questions typically come from Mor or Amren after a few too many glasses of fae wine, but you’re grateful for the break from them for the time being.

You don’t miss the way your mate sneaks glances at you all night, sending his shadows to tease you and play with the crushed velvet of your skirts while acting engrossed by conversation with Nesta, using his own strong hand on your thigh to tease you.

By the time desserts roll out, you’re having a hard time sitting still under his touch, ready to head back to the House of Wind to continue whatever you had started with him earlier in the day. You’re shifting back and forth in your seat while trying to focus on the chocolate tart in front of you when you feel a strong hand squeeze your thigh once again, making you snap your attention to your mate.

Azriel smirks down at you, reaching his free hand to your cheek to stroke it gently. Your knee brushes his leg as he massages your thigh gently, pushing your knee against the sheath holding Truth-Teller flush to his outer thigh while a wicked smirk plays on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s damn near driving you insane.

“Are you going to be okay to leave after you finish your dessert, love?” he questions, feigning innocence as he knows at least Nesta and Cassian are listening to him from the seats on the other side of you. “I’m exhausted from training today.”

You nod quietly, keeping a cool and collected expression on your face while you tug on the bond between your souls sensually.

It’s only 8 in the evening by the time Az is shooting into the sky with you in his arms, two hours earlier than the two of you usually are leaving the River House on a family dinner night. He typically has to drag you out of the drawing room after multiple drinks with Feyre and Cassian, but this time you’re the one dragging him out.

He doesn’t even bother entering the House of Wind through the front, just flies straight onto the balcony outside your bedroom, pushing the door open quickly as he sets you down gently.

Before you can pounce, he turns away from you and walks over to his desk on the other side of the room, rummaging through the top drawer. He pulls out a black rectangular box that’s a little longer than his hand, adorned with a golden ribbon. You frown as he turns back around, shaking your head at him.

“Az, we said no gifts.” you say, brows furrowing as he runs his hand along the edges of the box nervously. “I–I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know, I didn’t want you to get me anything,” he says firmly, hazel eyes flaring with love and intensity as he stares down at you. “I–I just wanted to give you this, it’s something I’ve had for a long time and haven’t really known what to do with, until now.”

He’s firm in his movements as he places the box into your hands, not letting go until you accept the gift. You eventually grab it, a frown crossing your face as you look down at the box.

You choose not to argue with him anymore, giving in to his intense gaze as you tug on the golden ribbon to free the lid for the box. In all honesty, you’re expecting some kind of jewelry, some delicate and historic necklace that he’s had for centuries. What you’re not expecting to find on the other side of the black lid is a dagger.

Lying within a blanket of velvet inside of the box is a silver dagger, one with a braided silver and gold hilt adorned with large white and golden-yellow gemstones in an intricate pattern imitating starlight all the way from the pommel down to the cross-guard. A gasp falls from your lips as you take in the beauty of the weapon in the box, unsure of what to say.

“I was given this dagger centuries ago by my mother. She told me she knew I would never use it myself because my hands had nearly outgrown it by the time she gave it to me, but she knew that I would find the perfect person to give it to.” Azriel says, unsheathing Truth-Teller to place it next to the box in your hand. “I think deep down she knew that I would meet you, love.”

The dagger within the box is almost an exact replica of Truth-Teller in shape and form but not size, only the color of the gemstones embedded in the metal and the gold-adorned hilt of the smaller one setting the two apart.

The two blades seem to hum when set next to each other, as if they were Made together, as if they were twin flames, as if they were mates. You can feel the vibration in your hands along with in your own soul as you stare down at the gift in wonder.

“Az, I–I can’t take this from you,” you say, finally looking back up at him with teary eyes, “I know how much your daggers mean to you, I don’t want to take one from you.”

“My lightsinger,” Azriel nearly whispers to you, his free hand coming up to brush through your hair, “my beautiful mate, can’t you see?”

You smile gently at the nickname, one he’d given you shortly after the two of you had met. He’d told you that he thought you were a lightsingerwhen you walked into the tent that evening, joking that you were just like the faeries living in the Bog of Oorid in the way that you lured him in immediately. The nickname stuck, especially after the first time he’d watched you heal Nyx, seeing the bright light flowing from your fingers as you healed the boy’s scraped knee to ease his pitiful sobs.

“Can’t you feel it, love? This dagger was made for you, it took me so long to realize it, but I just know this was made for you. It sings to Truth-Teller, just like your soul sings to mine. You are the light to my shadows, I–I really never thought I would find you in this lifetime, but then you just stumbled into that damn tent six years ago and my life has been so much better since. I was stuck in a constant state of darkness with no real purpose in sight until this bond snapped into place, but now I can see what my life is meant to be spent with you.” he continues, cupping your cheek.

For a man of few words, Azriel always knows how to make you melt. Without a word, you pull him down for a gentle kiss, feeling the two daggers hum in rhythm with your bond between your bodies. You pull away from the kiss to peer up at him, eyes glowing with love and warmth.

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, pulling him close as his shadows skitter over your hand that’s touching his cheek. “My shadowsinger, my mate.”

He doesn’t say anything as he wraps one arm around your waist, the other pulling the daggers from your grasp. He sets you and the blades onto the edge of the bed, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you deeply.

“Can we finally finish what we started earlier today?” you tease against his lips, earning a chuckle from the shadowsinger.

“I think we need to finish the conversation we were having earlier before we continue anything else, yeah?” he murmurs, trailing kisses along the smooth skin of your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum innocently, grinding your hips up into his eagerly.

“Hmm, you don’t?” he questions, blindly searching for the blade he’d strewn onto the bed next to you with his free hand before running it along your arm. You gasp at the contact, the coolness of the blade making your skin erupt in goosebumps, “Does this jog your memory at all, love?”

You open your mouth to make a teasing comment to your mate, but he trails the blade from your arm and up to your chest, stopping at the hem of your shirt laying between your breasts.

“Do you want me to use my blade on you?” he questions, voice low and sultry as he speaks, “I see the way you watch when I train with Truth-Teller, I can feel the way it makes your heart race every time I pull it out. I see how disappointed you get when I take it off my hip when I come into the bedroom, love.” he continues, the tip of the blade drawing tiny circles on your chest as your breathing grows heavy. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

You stare up at him with lust-filled eyes, pupils blown as you think about what’s about to happen. He gives you an encouraging yet lustful look in return, tugging on the bond between your souls to tell you how much he needs you. His shadows trail around you as well, tendrils swirling by your ears and down near your breasts excitedly to spur you on.

“I–I want you to use Truth-Teller on me, Az.” you admit finally, a blush spreading over your cheeks at the confession.

“How would you like me to use it, love? You gotta use your words or I won’t know what you want.” he coaxes, a smirk playing on his lips as he tries to get you to elaborate, since it always took much encouragement from the foul-mouthed shadowsinger to get you to talk dirty with him.

“Want you t–to fuck me with it, u–use the hilt to fuck me.” you murmur, eyes falling to avoid his as the words fall from your lips. “Want you to cut my clothes off with it and–and then fuck me, mark me as yours, Az.”

He hums happily at your confession, one hand coming up to grip your chin. Your eyes meet his and you notice that something’s changed, something dark and lustful taking over his gaze as he trails the blade from the exposed skin of your chest towards the ruffled neckline of your pale marigold dress. Your breath catches as the blade digs into the velvet, easily creating a small nick in the fabric.

“This dress is one of my favorites on you,” Azriel states in an almost disappointed tone as he watches the blade slowly separating the bust of the dress, “but I guess I’ll just have to find a really good seamstress to make you a new one because I need to get this off of you, right now.”

Before you can process the scene unfolding, Azriel uses one swift flick of Truth-Teller to split the velvet all the way down to your navel, and one more to separate the skirt. His eyes are wide as he shoves the fabric from your body, helping you as you tug your arms out of the sleeves, leaving you in only a glittering navy blue bralette and thong, picked out specially for him.

“You’re incredible,” the shadowsinger breathes out, feverishly pressing his lips to yours again once he takes in your figure below him.

Your heart races as you raise your hips up, grinding against his clothed cock while he trails Truth-Teller over your bare hip. He groans into your mouth before pulling away from the kiss, gently removing your legs from around his hips to spread them for you. Shadows work on your bralette as he moves the blade, unbuttoning the back of it so you can quickly toss it off, leaving you in only the glittering navy thong.

Truth-Teller is in Azriel’s hand as he takes a half-step away from you in order to trail the blade down to your core, the cool metal against your heat causing you to squirm slightly. He smirks at you as he flips the dagger around, hand on the blade as he presses the hilt against your clit.

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” he questions seriously, watching you closely for any signs of hesitation. He finds none as you shake your head firmly.

“Yes, Az.” you nearly whine as it takes everything in you to keep your hips on the bed, feeling like you’re going to implode if he waits another minute to touch you. “I need you..need Truth-Teller, please.”

“Nuh-uh, love. I gotta hear what you want.” he purrs, a smirk playing on his lips as he holds your hips in place with one hand while pressing the dagger against your clit with the other, “Gotta tell me what you need from me and Truth-Teller.”

It takes everything in you not to scream as he urges you to beg for him, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at your mate. His hazel eyes are blown with lust as he continues his relentless teasing, getting pleasure from you begging for him.

“P–Please,” is all you can say as your mind becomes fogged by desire, eyes glassy as you beg.

“Use your words, love.” he prods again, a wild smirk on his face as he watches you becoming a mess beneath him. He knows you love submitting to him like this, and loves watching you give in to his every desire, loves watching you give up all control in order to please him.

“I don’t know what you want when you just sit there and whine at me,” he teases, removing Truth-Teller from your core to move it towards your lips. “For all I know, you could want me to fuck your face with it.”

He catches the way your eyes flare slightly with interest at his suggestion, the way your lips part slightly as if you’re ready to take the hilt in your mouth instead. He knows you’re close to giving in again just from the way you can’t take your eyes off of him, the look in your eyes showing him that you’ll do anything for him.

A low chuckle falls from his lips as your mouth falls open when the pommel presses against your plump lips, allowing him to slide the hilt into your mouth with ease. Your lips close around the metal and he presses it to the back of your throat, slowly pumping it in and out as you whine around it.

“This isn’t what you really want, is it?” he questions and you hum around the hilt and shake your head slowly. “That’s what I thought. Once I take this out of your mouth, you have five seconds to tell me what you want, or you don’t get to cum at all tonight, got it?”

You nod obediently up at him, heart swelling with pride as he smiles sweetly down at you.

“Good girl.” he whispers, finally pulling Truth-Teller out of your mouth for you to speak.

“Want you to fuck me with Truth-Teller, Sir.” you beg almost immediately, “Please, I–I need to feel it, wanna cum on your dagger, wanna be your good girl.”

“Oh, I can’t say no when you ask so sweetly, can I?” he coos at you as he pulls your panties away from your core, making room for his fingers on your clit and the hilt of the dagger against your entrance. “Now, be a good girl for me and stay still, sweetheart.”

He presses the pommel into your cunt, groaning as he watches your heat swallow the metal so well. A cry of pleasure falls from your lips as the hilt is pushed deeper into you, mouth falling open as you squeeze your eyes shut. That familiar feeling coils in your core as the hilt reaches your cervix, pent up from all the teasing you endured leading up to this moment.

“Look at you, already ready to fall apart on my dagger. Such a good slut for me,” he remarks, pumping the blade into you at a steady pace. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say so, alright?”

“Yes, Sir!” you whine, nodding feverishly as you squirm.

Azriel watches in wonder as you take the entire hilt of the blade, your hips bouncing in rhythm with his thrusts. He can tell you’re fighting hard to hold back your orgasm, getting even more turned on by the tears of pleasure and frustration pricking the corners of your eyes as you bite your lip harshly.

“Love when you take what I give you and listen so well,” he praises, increasing the speed of his thrusts as you begin to chant his name mindlessly, “My beautiful little mate.”

“P–Please, Sir.” you beg, eyes opening quickly and hips snapping roughly as you feel the shadows begin to work on your clit when Azriel takes his hand away to palm himself through his pants. “I wanna cum for you, please!”

“That’s it, love.” he coaxes as you don’t dare to look away from him, watching as he smirks down at you approvingly, “C’mon, cum on my blade.”

You don’t have to be told twice, your release immediately washing over your whole body as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. Azriel wraps an arm around your waist as you squirm beneath him, pumping Truth-Teller into you at an unforgiving pace to fuck you through your orgasm. He kisses your neck gently, whispering praises in your ear that you can’t hear over the shout that falls from your lips. He doesn’t stop moving until you’re almost begging him to, squirming beneath him to get away from his relentless touches.

“Did so good for me.” he murmurs against your skin, planting one last kiss against your neck before pulling away from you completely and placing Truth-Teller next to you on the bed. “Think you can give me another?”

You watch in a daze as he strips, discarding his clothes quickly before returning to the foot of the bed. In his own lustful daze, he begins to sheath himself into you immediately upon stripping, but stops himself when he looks down to see you blinking up at him slowly. He relaxes for a moment, reaching to stroke your cheek gently to bring you back to him.

“Need your color, love.” he coos, smiling down at you sweetly.

“Green, Az.” you say confidently as you nuzzle against his hand, “Need you so bad, Az, please.”

He hums in response, leaning down to kiss you gently as he pushes into you, one hand toying with your clit as he does. You both groan at the feeling, his cock filling you to the brim, unlike the hilt of Truth-Teller that didn’t have the same thickness.

“F–Fuck,” he groans, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “You feel so good, love. Don’t know how long I’ll last.”

He couldn’t lie, watching you get off on Truth-Teller turned him on so much more than it should have. It turned him on so much that he’d almost cum in his pants at the sight of you, so he’s on the brink of cumming just from being inside your warmth for a few strokes.

“Want you to cum in me, Az.” you whine, desperate to feel him, in love with the sight of your mate marking you as his. “Please, cum inside me. I’m close again too. Make me yours all over again.”

He nods wordlessly, speeding up his thrusts as you coax him now, the feeling of you clenching around him spurring him on even more. You wrap your legs around his waist, digging your fingers into his shoulder while you moan, his name falling from your lips like a chant.

It isn’t long before his hips are stuttering, thrusts becoming erratic as he reaches his own climax. You’re not far behind, feeling his cum coating your walls making you cum quickly as you hold onto him tightly.

“Gods,” he mumbles as he collapses against you, your sweat-slick bodies flush against each other as you feel your heart beating in time with his. “You’re unbelievable.”

You hum tiredly in response, trying to fight your weariness for long enough to get ready for bed. Azriel can tell that you’re exhausted as he pulls away, and he knows what he has to do. He plants a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulls his half-hard cock from your cunt, making you whine at the loss of contact.

Before you can protest, he’s walking towards the en-suite bathroom to draw you a bath, though the House is already one step ahead of him. There’s already a steaming bath running, along with a bottle of fae wine and two glasses sitting next to the tub, ready for the two of you to clean off.

Azriel quietly thanks the House and returns to where you’re sprawled out on the bed. You give him a tired smile as he reaches for you, stroking your hair to get your attention.

“Let’s take a bath before you fall asleep, alright?” he suggests and you nod, willingly letting him pick you up bridal-style to carry you to the bathroom.

You wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling against his bare chest as he carries you effortlessly, “I love you, my shadowsinger.” “And I love you, my lightsinger.”

taglist: @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout

#azriel smut #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel x you #azriel fanfic

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moonlitstoriess · 4 months ago

Text

You Were Mine First- Lucien x fem!reader (1/2)

Summary: For one hundred years, Y/N carried the weight of a bond Lucien never felt. Then, one day, it was gone—severed, rewritten, given to another. She thought she could endure it. Thought she could live unseen, unnoticed. Until the day Lucien walked into her shop… and fate forced them face to face.

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Next part

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, miscommunication, elain is quite the character in this one😟 also, not proofread but will be soon

The bond had been a quiet thing.

Not gentle, not kind, but quiet—woven into her like the steady hum of the ocean, like the distant whisper of a song she was never meant to hear in full. It had been there for as long as she could remember, a presence just beneath her skin, a pulse separate from her own heartbeat.

She had felt it for a hundred years. Lived with the knowledge that somewhere out there, Lucien Vanserra existed, and he was hers.

Except he wasn’t.

Because one day, the bond was gone.

It wasn’t like cutting a thread. It wasn’t like a slow, fraying unraveling.

It was a severing.

Sharp. Sudden. Irreversible.

One moment, it was there, humming in her chest like it always had, and the next, it collapsed in on itself. The connection that had been a constant presence in her life, the tether that had stretched across time and space, binding her to a male she had never even met—vanished.

And it hurt.

Gods, it hurt.

She had collapsed to the floor of her shop, fingers clutching at her ribs, nails digging into her skin as if she could physically hold in the ache of something that was never tangible to begin with. Her breath had come in sharp, shallow gasps, her vision swimming as she tried to comprehend the loss of something she had never even gotten to have.

It was like being gutted from the inside out. Like some cruel hand had reached into her soul and ripped away a part of her she’d never even touched.

She had thought—he knows.

Lucien must have found out about the bond.

And he cut it off.

She had sat there for hours. Just sat there, staring at the floor, willing herself to breathe through the crushing weight of something she could never prove, never explain.

Because it was his choice.

He must have felt it, realized it, and rejected it.

Maybe he had seen her in a vision. Maybe the Mother herself had whispered it in his ear. Maybe he had sensed the invisible tether and recoiled in disgust.

Maybe—maybe he had simply decided she was not what he wanted.

The thought lodged itself into her ribs like a rusted dagger.

But Y/N had not cried that night.

She had cleaned the broken glass from where she’d knocked over a display, locked up her shop, and gone home to an empty bed.

The next morning, she had continued on.

A hundred years of knowing.

Three years of silence.

Y/N had not spoken a word of it to anyone, had never once whispered her secret into the smoke-filled air of her shop, had never let it become real outside of herself.

It was over.

Lucien Vanserra had made his choice.

And she had made hers: to let him go.

Her life had not changed much in the three years since the bond had disappeared.

She still ran her shop, still worked until her fingers ached, still sold perfumes and oils and delicate trinkets to the people of Velaris without them ever knowing that once, her entire world had unraveled between her ribs.

She told herself that she was fine.

That she had never needed him.

That the pain had dulled, the ache had numbed, that she had sewn herself back together without him.

And maybe she had believed it.

Until—

The door to her shop swung open.

The world had cracked open beneath him.

One moment, he had been standing in that damned throne room in Hybern, his heart hammering in his chest, watching in horror as Elain Archeron was dragged toward the Cauldron. The next—

Mate.

The word slammed into him, rattling through his bones like a death knell.

It was instant. It was overwhelming.

Lucien had felt his soul lurch, had felt something snap into place deep in his chest, an unyielding chain that wrapped around his ribs and locked there. He swayed on his feet, unable to do anything but watch—watch as Elain, wide-eyed and fragile, disappeared beneath that inky black water.

A distant, roaring sound filled his ears. No. No. No.

His instincts had screamed at him to move, to shove past the guards, to do something—but he stood frozen. Because even as his body begged him to lunge forward, another force—a deeper, ancient force—held him back.

The Cauldron. The bond.

It pulsed through him like a second heartbeat.

And gods above, it hurt.

He had known pain before. Had lived through agony that most would crumble under. He had felt flesh burn and bones snap, had known the deep, rotting ache of grief and loss.

But this—

This was something else.

This was a tether being forged in real time, a connection being branded onto his very soul.

Elain surfaced.

Lucien barely breathed.

The world had shrunk down to the space between them, to the droplets clinging to her lashes as she gasped for air, to the tremor in her small hands as she tried to steady herself.

His mate.

The pull was instantaneous.

A sharp, visceral need that made his fingers twitch at his sides, that sent fire licking down his spine. He had heard of it—of the way the mating bond could ignite in an instant, how it could take hold of a male so suddenly, so violently, that it rewrote the very fabric of his being.

But knowing it in theory was nothing like��feeling it.

Lucien had spent centuries believing he had already been shattered into all the pieces he could possibly break into. That he had already endured the worst of it, that he had already lost everything.

And then the Cauldron had given him this. Her.

It had given him something new to ache for.

He tried to breathe. To think.

The rational part of him, the part that still had some grasp on reality, knew this was not the time. Not the place.

But none of that mattered.

Not when Elain was staring straight ahead, unfocused, dazed. Not when she looked like a baby deer standing on shaking legs, not when that first sharp pang of emotion raked through him—

Protect.

It whispered through his bones, through his blood.

He had to get to her.

Had to take her away from this cursed place, had to make sure she was safe. That was all that had mattered.

Lucien had taken half a step forward—

And then the Cauldron roared again.

His breath punched from his lungs as Nesta was dragged forward, as she thrashed and fought and screamed.

Lucien had felt his own body seize at the sound of it, but his attention remained locked on Elain.

He could barely focus on anything else. The King of Hybern had spoken, someone else had shouted, Cassian was bleeding out on the floor, but Elain.

She was trembling.

He wanted to go to her. Wanted to pick her up and carry her far, far away from all of this.

But he couldn’t move.

His muscles were stone, his mind had fogged with a haze he had no hope of piercing through.

Because this bond, this thing now tying him to Elain, was stronger than anything he had ever known.

And it would never go away.

Not now. Not ever.

The thought had nearly brought him to his knees.

Lucien had learned something in these past few years.

A bond could exist. It could pull and ache and whisper in the quiet of the night.

But it meant nothing if it was not accepted.

For three years, he had come and gone from Velaris, carried there on nothing but a fragile, flickering hope. A hope that dulled a little more with every visit, every unanswered offering, every polite but distant gaze.

He had tried.

Tried to be patient. Tried to be gentle. Tried to show her, in every small way he could, that he would never demand anything from her. That he would never ask her to give more than she was willing.

He had brought her gifts—small things, thoughtful things. A book of poetry, its words as soft and delicate as the way she watched the garden in the early morning light. A delicate necklace of woven gold and pearl, handcrafted by a skilled artisan in the Dawn Court, because he thought she might like something beautiful, something made with care.

He had spent hours searching for the perfect flowers before learning, with no small amount of embarrassment, that she preferred to grow them herself. That she took joy in nurturing life rather than simply receiving it.

So he adjusted. Adapted.

He spent time in the greenhouse, learning the names of each bloom, the way their roots intertwined in the soil, the seasons in which they thrived. He let his fingers brush over petals and stems and thought—this. This is what I must do.

Not pluck something whole from the ground and place it in her hands, expecting her to take it with a smile.

But tend to it.

Let it grow. Let it reach for the sunlight at its own pace.

Let her bloom in whatever direction she wished, without trying to steer her toward him.

And yet—

Nothing.

Each time he left Velaris, he did so with nothing but a quiet, polite smile from her and a new weight pressing against his ribs.

She did not reject him.

But she did not accept him, either.

And gods, it was worse.

Lucien could handle rage. He could handle being turned away, shouted at, hated.

But the silence.

The hesitation.

The careful, measured distance she always kept between them.

It killed him.

Because he had seen, once, what an accepted bond looked like.

He had watched as Rhysand and Feyre moved through the world with an ease, a certainty, that left no room for question.

He had seen the way Azriel looked at Mor, the quiet longing buried beneath years of silence, the way he endured and endured because there was nothing else to do.

Lucien had sworn he would not be like that.

That he would never allow himself to become a shadow lingering at the edges of her world.

And yet—

Yet he still came back. Like a fool.

Like a male who still believed in something that had never truly belonged to him.

“Not to pry,” Jurian said one evening, propping his feet up on the edge of the low table between them, “but have you ever considered not torturing yourself?”

Lucien, who had been nursing his drink, sighed. “What are you on about now?”

“I mean,” Jurian gestured vaguely, “the whole tragic pining thing. Really, Lucien, it’s getting embarrassing.”

Lucien gave him a flat look. “Remind me again why I agreed to spend time with you?”

Jurian grinned, unapologetic. “Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “What do you want, Jurian?”

“Nothing.” He took a sip of his drink. “Well. Actually, I was going to mention a shop in Velaris that might be of interest to you. Since, you know, you’re so desperately trying to impress a certain Lady of Flowers.”

Lucien arched a brow. “A shop?”

Jurian nodded. “Y/N’s shop. She sells perfumes, oils, little trinkets. Apparently, every female who sets foot in there leaves raving about how perfect it is. If you’re going to keep throwing gifts at Elain in hopes she’ll finally look at you like you’re not some lost puppy, you might as well get something she’d actually want.”

Lucien exhaled sharply. “Your faith in me is astounding.”

Jurian smirked. “Just looking out for you, Vanserra.”

Lucien shook his head, but something about the name—Y/N—stuck in his mind.

Maybe it was because he had spent years grasping at anything, any small hope, that might help bridge the gap between him and Elain. Maybe it was because he was tired. Tired of trying and failing.

Or maybe it was just that he had nothing else left to lose.

So the next time he found himself in Velaris, before making his way to the Archeron estate, he wandered through the city, searching for that shop.

It was easy enough to find.

Tucked between two larger buildings, Y/N’s shop was small but elegant. The glass windows glowed with warm, golden light, and the scent of something rich and enticing drifted through the cracks of the door. The sign above was simple, written in delicate, swirling letters.

There was something… welcoming about it.

Lucien stood outside for a long moment, staring at the entrance.

Then, with a slow, steadying breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The bell above the shop door chimed softly, its familiar, delicate ring signaling the arrival of a new customer. Y/N barely glanced up from the shelf she was organizing, her fingers deftly adjusting the small glass vials of perfume that lined the wooden display. The scent of jasmine and bergamot filled the air, mingling with the rich undertones of amber and cedar.

She had long since learned to temper her expectations—to stop hoping for something, for someone, who would never come.

But then, a voice, warm and smooth, cut through the quiet hum of the shop.

“Excuse me. Is...is this Y/N's shop?"

Her heart stopped.

That voice—his voice.

She turned, slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment hanging between them. And there he was. Lucien Vanserra.

Standing just inside her shop, his tall frame poised with a careful, easy grace, though there was something slightly hesitant in the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t quite sure he belonged here. The golden glow of the lanterns bathed him in soft light, catching the rich red of his hair, the burnished gleam of his eye—his singular russet eye. The other, the golden mechanical one, whirred almost imperceptibly as he scanned the space around him.

Y/N felt the breath she had been holding slip from her lips.

He knows her name?

It had been years since she had seen him up close. Years of watching from afar, of wondering, of aching in silence.

And now, he was here.

She swallowed against the sharp, bitter weight of that realization and forced her voice into something steady, something detached.

“Yes, can I help you?”

Lucien’s gaze landed on her, polite but indifferent, his expression unreadable.

“Yes,” he said, offering a small, formal smile. “I was told this shop might have something I need. A gift, actually. A meaningful one.”

Y/N’s breath hitched—just for a moment, just long enough for hope to bloom wild and reckless in her chest.

A gift.

A meaningful gift.

Had he—could he possibly—?

“For my beloved,” he added casually.

Beloved.

And just like that, hope shriveled and died inside her, shrank into something tight and painful that pressed against her ribs like a knife.

Of course.

Because he hadn’t come here for her. He had come here for another.

She didn’t let the hurt show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, feigning a mild, professional interest.

“I see,” she murmured, turning back toward the counter, forcing her limbs to move, forcing herself to breathe past the tightness in her throat. “What kind of female is she?”

Lucien hesitated for only a moment before responding.

“She’s gentle,” he said, his voice softer now, thoughtful. “Quiet, but… not weak. She sees things in a way others don’t. Notices the details others overlook.”

Y/N forced herself to nod, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

“She enjoys nature,” he continued. “Gardens, especially. She likes to grow things, to tend to them. She has a kindness about her that’s—” He exhaled, a small, distant smile curving his lips. “It’s rare.”

Y/N felt something crack deep inside her.

Every word was another stone added to the weight already crushing her chest.

And yet she couldn’t stop looking at him—the way his features softened, the way his expression grew distant, lost in some memory of the girl, as if she were some delicate, untouchable dream.

Y/N swallowed the bitterness creeping up her throat and forced a smile—polished and pretty, an elegant mask.

“Well,” she said, her voice even, smooth. “It sounds like she would appreciate something soft. Something delicate and thoughtful.”

She moved past him, toward the shelves lined with handcrafted items, her fingers brushing over the carved wooden boxes that housed carefully blended oils and perfumes.

“These,” she said, selecting one of the small, glass bottles. “A floral blend—rose, lilac, and a touch of honeysuckle. Light, natural, and not overpowering.”

Lucien reached for it, his long fingers grazing hers as he took the bottle. Y/N ignored the way the touch burned.

He uncorked the bottle, inhaling lightly.

“It’s nice,” he admitted, nodding in approval. “Subtle.”

She forced a small, knowing smile. “She doesn’t like strong scents, does she?”

Lucien blinked, glancing up at her. “No. She doesn’t.”

Y/N turned away before he could see the way her throat constricted. Instead, she gestured toward another shelf.

“There’s also this,” she said, lifting a small, intricately crafted gold locket. “A piece of jewelry—simple, elegant. You can place a pressed flower inside, something personal.”

Lucien ran his fingers over the delicate engraving. “She’d like that,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat. Of course she would.

She kept moving, kept showing him options—anything to fill the silence, to drown out the aching hollowness expanding in her chest.

And all the while, she drank in the sight of him—the curve of his lips as he considered each item, the quiet, pensive way he studied every detail. She had never been this close to him before.

She never wanted it to end.

But eventually, he made his choice. The locket.

And then, far too soon, he was standing at the counter, waiting.

Y/N wrapped the gift carefully, precisely, her fingers trembling only slightly as she tied the ribbon. She set it before him, forcing herself to meet his gaze as she murmured, “I hope she likes it.”

Lucien’s polite smile returned, easy and effortless. “Thank you.”

He slid a few coins across the counter, and she took them without a word.

And then—just like that—he turned to leave.

Y/N stood frozen, watching as he reached the door, as his fingers brushed the handle.

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then he glanced back at her, offering one last, polite, meaningless smile.

“Have a good evening,” he said.

And then he was gone.

The door shut behind him, the bell chiming its soft, hollow note.

Y/N exhaled shakily, staring at the empty space where he had stood.

The silence in the shop felt suffocating, heavy with something she didn’t have the strength to name.

Her fingers curled against the counter, her breath uneven.

She had spent years imagining what it would be like to finally stand before him.

Never once had she imagined it would feel like this.

It happened two days later.

Y/N was walking home from the market, arms full of bags and bundled goods, weaving through the crowd of busy pedestrians that filled the bustling city street. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the cobblestones, and the energy in the air was high, as if the entire town was preparing for something important. The noise of merchants shouting out their prices, children running past, and carts clattering by made it nearly impossible to focus on anything for too long.

She moved quickly, eager to get home and put her mind at ease after the long day. But just as she rounded a corner, her foot caught on a loose stone, and she stumbled, her bags slipping from her hands.

“Cauldron!” she hissed, barely catching herself before tumbling into the ground.

Her goods scattered everywhere—potatoes rolled away, fabric bundles slid into the street, and small jars tipped over, clinking noisily. She froze for a moment, stunned by her clumsiness, hands scrambling to gather the mess. She was so focused on the spilled items that she didn’t notice the figure approaching.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos.

“Ma'm, are you okay?”

Y/N jumped, looking up quickly, ready to apologize for her mishap and scramble for her things—but she stopped short.

It was him.

Lucien.

He was standing just a few feet away, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and recognition. The shock on his face quickly turned into a grin, that wide, infectious smile that always seemed to make her heart skip a beat. She had no idea how he had gotten so close so quickly—there was too much going on in the street, too much chaos for her to have seen him coming.

“Y/N, hey!” he exclaimed, stepping forward as he crouched down beside her without hesitation. “I didn’t see you there, but I’m glad I did. Here, let me help.”

Before she could even process his presence, he was already gathering her spilled goods with a swift motion, his hands moving with the ease of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

Y/N’s face heated up. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—” She trailed off, the words feeling weak and useless.

“No need to apologize,” Lucien laughed lightly, his voice full of warmth, and he flashed that smile at her again. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry about it.”

She couldn’t help the small, relieved exhale that left her lips as he placed the last of the items back into her arms. His touch was light but firm, like he knew exactly how much to hold and where to place everything. It wasn’t just practical; it was almost… considerate.

But then, as he helped her stand up, the reality of the situation hit her. She took a step back, quickly readjusting the bags in her arms.

“I—thank you,” she stammered, clearly caught off guard. She glanced at him, a little unsure of how to handle this unexpected turn of events. The warmth of his presence lingered, making her feel like maybe this was more than just a simple accident. “I can take it from here. Really.”

Lucien shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Not a chance. I’m walking you home. It’s not a far walk, right? I’ll help you carry everything.”

Y/N hesitated, the idea of someone accompanying her home—not to mention Lucien, who made her feel like her emotions were caught in a whirlwind—wasn’t something she had planned for. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him she was fine, that she didn’t need his help. But the words didn’t come.

His smile, persistent and almost childishly happy, was too bright, too eager for her to deny.

“I insist,” he added, without giving her a chance to respond. He didn’t wait for her permission either, already starting to walk beside her, his pace matching hers effortlessly.

As they walked, his excitement didn’t fade. He babbled on, his voice light and full of joy, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been thinking about the last time I was in your shop. Honestly, it was exactly what I was looking for, Y/N. You’re a true artist. A genius, even. I don’t know how you do it. The way you just know what someone needs? It’s incredible. I’ll be coming back for sure, more than once. My beloved, she...she loved the gift!”

He trailed off for a second, as though realizing how much he was talking, but when he caught her eye, that familiar grin returned. “I guess I just really appreciate what you did. She has finally enjoyed a gift of mine. Truly."

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t used to hearing this kind of praise—especially not from someone who looked at her like she was something extraordinary, like she was special. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it. It was just… so much. Too much.

Her mind was a whirl of confusion, a mess of thoughts she couldn’t quite sort out. On one hand, his words were kind, genuine even, but on the other, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was just being polite. If it was all just a formality, a friendly exchange, one he didn’t mean to be anything more than surface level.

But the way he kept talking, the way he was so genuine about it, made her heart beat a little faster. She felt herself start to soften, to lower the walls she had built around herself.

“I really do mean it,” Lucien continued, oblivious to the internal turmoil she was experiencing. “It’s rare to find someone who actually cares about their work like you do. It’s so rare, and it’s refreshing. My beloved thinks so too, she said how skilled and considerate you are to make such intimate, meaningful gifts."

Y/N swallowed hard, unsure of how to deal with the pain in her heart.

Lucien’s words lingered in the air as they continued their walk through the bustling street, the crowd swirling around them, but somehow, in that moment, Y/N couldn’t focus on anything but him. His voice, light and full of praise, filled her ears, but it was his tone—so earnest, so full of admiration—that made it difficult to breathe properly. Her heart raced faster than she cared to admit, and her palms felt clammy, despite the cool evening air.

She adjusted the bags in her arms, suddenly feeling as if they were too heavy. Not physically, but emotionally. It was as if the weight of the situation had shifted in a way she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t used to being the center of someone’s genuine attention. And certainly not from someone like Lucien, who had this way of making everything feel... different.

“I’ll be coming back soon enough,” he said, his voice almost playful, as if the idea was already a certainty. “I want to see what else you’ve got for her. You’ve got a real talent, Y/N. The kind of talent that can make something as simple as a piece of jewelry feel like the most treasured possession in the world. She loved it, I’m telling you. And if I’m honest, I think she’ll want more of what you can do.”

Y/N’s breath caught at his words. There it was again—the mention of his “beloved.” She tried not to flinch, but it was hard. It felt like a cold, sharp dagger in her chest, no matter how gently he said it. Every mention of his relationship with someone else was like a reminder that she was just someone passing by in his life, someone who was only there for his business, for his orders, nothing more.

Yet, despite the ache that echoed in her chest, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. His words—those damn words—had this way of making her feel... seen. They made her feel as though, maybe, for just a moment, she wasn’t just a shopkeeper in the middle of a crowded city. She was someone worth talking to, someone worth valuing.

Her fingers clenched around the handles of her bags, the fabric bunching in her grasp as her pulse raced. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to him without sounding like a fool. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, either. She didn’t even know why his words were affecting her so much. It was just Lucien—just another customer, right? Another male who would leave once his business was done, and she would go back to her quiet life, her work.

“You’ll be back?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, though she hoped he didn’t notice. Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she spoke. “To see more? For more gifts?”

Lucien’s grin widened, that easy, carefree grin that made everything else fade away for a brief second. “Of course,” he replied, almost as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, how could I not? There’s no one else who could do what you do. No one who could make something so... meaningful, so perfect. She’s never received anything like it.”

His words, the praise that seemed to pour out of him without a second thought, made her stomach twist in a mixture of delight and unease. It was hard to tell which emotion was winning.

As they neared the turn that would lead her to her home, the words began to settle on her in a way that almost felt like a weight. The streets around them seemed to grow quieter, the bustle of the city fading into the background as she focused on the way his voice still lingered in her mind.

“I’ll come back soon enough,” Lucien continued, as if he hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere between them. “Maybe next time, we can talk more. I’d like to see what other ideas you have, Y/N. You’ve got a talent for making things that speak to people. Not everyone has that.”

It took everything in Y/N to keep walking, to keep herself composed. But his words—they kept echoing, over and over again, in her mind. He didn’t know it, but the way he said them... the way he made her feel as though what she did mattered, as if she mattered, was something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I’d like that,” she managed, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

Lucien turned to her, his smile softening, though the brightness never fully left his face. He was a man who wore his emotions openly, without hesitation, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire him for that. It felt almost... freeing, the way he was so sure of himself, so certain of the path he walked. She wished, in that moment, she could feel as confident as he did.

As they reached her door, Lucien paused, standing a little too close, a little too warm. The air between them felt charged, alive with unsaid words and unsaid feelings.

“Well, here we are,” he said, glancing down at her bags once more.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from herself. All she knew was that in that moment, standing on her doorstep with Lucien’s warmth radiating off of him, she didn’t want this feeling to go away.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible as she finally looked up at him.

“Anytime,” Lucien replied, giving her one last smile before turning to leave, the evening sun casting a golden glow over the two of them as he disappeared into the street.

Y/N stood there for a long moment, watching him go, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. She hadn’t realized until he was gone just how much she had wanted him to stay.

Lucien sat across from Elain, the soft glow of the firelight illuminating her features. It had been a quiet day, but one that seemed to stretch on endlessly as the quiet intimacy between them grew more tangible. Elain sat delicately, her fingers brushing the smooth gold chain of the locket he'd given her. She had worn it all day, something he noted with quiet satisfaction.

She lifted the locket, turning it over in her hands, the elegant, subtle design catching the light. It was simple—gold, a slight curve, a soft engraving of leaves on the surface. But its true value, he thought, was in the tiny compartment inside, perfect for a pressed flower, a piece of her soul captured in something as delicate and beautiful as her. His fingers itched with the memory of creating it. It had been carefully crafted, just as his feelings for her had been.

"It’s... it’s perfect," Elain said, her voice soft, but her eyes shining as she looked at him. The locket hung from her neck, resting delicately against her collarbone. "I haven't taken it off since you gave it to me. I know I’ve thanked you a thousand times already, but… thank you. It’s beautiful."

Lucien’s heart skipped a beat. She had thanked him a thousand times, and each time, his smile had grown a little wider. He leaned back in his chair, watching her, the soft light making her appear even more ethereal than she already was.

"Seems you really like it," Lucien said, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think it would win you over so easily.”

Elain laughed softly, her lips curving into a smile that made his heart flutter. "Oh, yes. I haven’t taken it off since the moment you gave it to me." She paused, her fingers lightly brushing the gold, the motion tender. "I wear it every day. I can’t stop thinking about it."

"Good," Lucien said, his voice low, his eyes fixed on her. "It means a lot to me that you like it. I wanted it to be something meaningful, something personal for you."

Elain’s expression softened, her eyes flickering with warmth. "You really do put thought into everything you do, don’t you?" She glanced at him through the strands of her hair, almost shy. "It’s one of the things I like most about you."

Lucien’s chest tightened at her words. "You’re too kind," he murmured, though inwardly, he swelled with pride. To see her finally appreciating his efforts, to see her wear something he’d sought out with such care—it felt like a victory. His happiness wasn’t in the locket itself, but in knowing that she was accepting him, piece by piece.

But then, something flickered in his mind—a shadow, an intrusion of a memory that threatened to pull him away from the moment. It was a flash of Y/N, her face, her eyes. He had spent the entire afternoon helping her, picking up the pieces of her scattered goods. He remembered the small smile she’d given him, but there had been something in her eyes that made his stomach twist.

She had seemed so guarded. Like she was fighting against something, even as she thanked him. Something about the way she had looked at him—it wasn’t warmth or trust. It was as if she was trying to keep herself safe, distant.

He pushed the thought aside, but it lingered, like a distant whisper. Had he done something to wrong her? Had he said or done something that made her shut him out?

But no, that didn’t make sense. He hadn’t done anything to her, not really. It was just a fleeting moment.

"Lucien?" Elain’s voice brought him back, the soft sound of his name grounding him.

He blinked and looked up, meeting her eyes. Her gaze was steady, warm, a slight tilt to her lips. "I’m sorry, I was just thinking," he said, a bit embarrassed at how easily he had become lost in his own mind.

Elain tilted her head, the smile on her lips still lingering. "What were you thinking about?"

Lucien hesitated, then shook his head with a small laugh. "Nothing important," he said, brushing it off. "Just... my work. You know, trying to figure out what to do next."

Her eyes softened in understanding. "I can imagine you’ve been busy lately. You always seem to have a thousand things to do."

He chuckled. "It’s true. But I don’t mind. It keeps me distracted."

Elain leaned back in her chair, her hands folded delicately in her lap. "Distracted from what?" she asked gently, her voice soft, but curious.

Lucien paused, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he answered. "From the thoughts that linger. Things that I can’t always control." His voice was quieter now, more reflective.

She returned his smile, and for a moment, the weight of his thoughts disappeared. There was just the quiet warmth between them, the kind of comfortable silence that only came with being around someone who truly understood.

And yet, in the back of his mind, that small flicker of a thought—the image of Y/N, her guarded smile, and the soft sting of her distance—remained. Why? They had never met until two days earlier anyway, why was she so guarded?

But for now, he would push it aside. He was here with Elain, and he would not let the shadows of other thoughts mar this small, precious moment.

"I’m glad you like the locket," he said softly, his voice full of sincerity. "I want you to have something special, something just for you."

Elain gave him a small smile, "Thank you, Lucien. For being interested enough to learn more about me. I appreciate it."

And for the first time, he truly believed it.

The shop smelled of old paper and cinnamon, the comforting scent wrapping around Y/N like a familiar embrace. The soft hum of the fireplace in the corner crackled in contrast to the steady rain tapping against the windowpanes. It was peaceful—until her grandmother decided to ruin it.

"I told you, I can handle it on my own," Y/N huffed, arms crossed as she watched the older woman sort through a pile of newly arrived books. "You just got over a fever. You should be resting, not coming back here a day after getting out of bed."

Her grandmother, Arlena, snorted, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Oh, please. I had a fever, not one foot in the grave." She adjusted her reading glasses and peered at Y/N over the rim. "Besides, if I leave you alone any longer, you'll turn this place into a monastery with all your brooding. We’d have to start selling candles and prayer books."

Y/N groaned. "Grandma—"

"I bet you've been sighing dramatically all day," Arlena continued, clearly not done tormenting her. "Scaring customers off with that tragic heroine look."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "You are insufferable."

"And you are overly dramatic."

Before Y/N could argue, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. She immediately straightened, smoothing out her expression into something polite and professional. But the second she turned toward the entrance, that careful mask nearly cracked.

Lucien.

Of course.

The comfortable warmth of the shop suddenly felt suffocating as the heaviness settled in her chest. Still, she plastered on the most well-practiced smile she had, the one meant for customers who didn't need to see the turmoil twisting inside her.

Lucien approached with easy confidence, his russet-red hair glinting under the golden light, his sharp features relaxed yet unreadable. He dipped his head slightly in greeting, his golden eye gleaming with its usual sharpness.

"Good evening," he greeted, voice smooth as ever.

"Good evening," Y/N returned, her voice polite but distant. "Looking for anything in particular?"

Lucien’s lips twitched slightly. "Got anything else that might make a good gift?"

Y/N nodded toward the back of the shop. "You can take a look at our collection of specialty items. I’ll be with you in a moment."

Lucien inclined his head in thanks before heading in that direction, the warmth of his presence lingering even as he moved away.

The second he was out of earshot, Arlena let out a low whistle, arms crossed as she watched him disappear behind the shelves. "You know what? Maybe it’s time for you to rest, dearest. I can handle customers like him very well."

Y/N hissed in embarrassment, nudging her grandmother with her elbow. "Grandma!"

Arlena smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "What? He’s got the whole ‘handsome yet brooding’ thing going for him. I could charm a discount out of him in five minutes."

Y/N sighed, shaking her head as she reluctantly made her way toward Lucien, who was already examining some of the handcrafted gifts on display.

She folded her hands behind her back, keeping her posture composed. "Anything catch your eye?"

Lucien glanced at her, then back at the delicate selection of items. His fingers brushed over a carved wooden box, then a small silver quill set. "You’ve got an interesting collection here," he murmured. "Everything feels… personal."

"That’s the goal," Y/N said simply.

Lucien hummed in thought before picking up a set of delicately embroidered bookmarks. "These are nice. Who makes them?"

"Local artisans," Y/N replied. "We try to source from people around town. Everything here has a story behind it."

Lucien nodded thoughtfully before moving to another table where an ornate, hand-painted music box sat. He ran his fingers along the smooth surface, his expression unreadable. "And this?"

Y/N kept her hands clasped in front of her, her professionalism unwavering. "It plays a lullaby originally composed for the Spring Court’s faelings," she explained. "The design is inspired by an old legend about firebirds."

Lucien smiled wryly. "Sounds nostalgic."

"It’s meant to be," she replied, tilting her head slightly. "Memories tend to sell well."

Lucien studied her for a moment before finally exhaling and picking up the music box. "I’ll take this one."

"Good choice," Y/N said, though inwardly, she just wanted this whole interaction to be over.

She reached for the music box to take it from him, but Lucien’s fingers tightened around it, holding it in place.

Y/N’s brow lifted in confusion. "Yes?"

He hesitated, his golden eye scanning her face, as if searching for something. Then, quietly, he asked, "Have we met before?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

Lucien exhaled, looking almost… frustrated. "I mean, did I—did I ever do something bad to you?" His voice was careful, uncertain. "I keep getting this feeling, like—like maybe I did something, and I don’t remember."

For a brief moment, Y/N’s mind stilled.

Did he know? Did he sense it?

The years of hurt, of disappointment, of feeling invisible in a way she never quite had the words to describe. Did he really not see it?

But then, Y/N’s lips curved into her most practiced, fake smile. The one she wore when she wanted to shut everything down.

"No," she said smoothly, voice dripping with false lightness. She ripped the music box from his grip, her fingers tightening around it. "Why would I ever be hurt by you? I mean, you and I are strangers, right? So what could you have possibly done to hurt me?"

Lucien stared at her for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. But then he let out a small, hesitant laugh, shaking his head. "Right," he muttered. "Nothing, I suppose. My mind fooled me once more."

Y/N merely turned on her heel, leading him toward the counter for checkout.

As she started wrapping the music box, her grandmother leaned forward on the counter, watching Lucien with an amused glint in her eyes. "You know, for someone who’s only been here twice, you sure have my granddaughter looking like she’s about to combust."

Y/N nearly dropped the music box. "Grandma!"

Lucien let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

Arlena grinned. "Oh, you should. I haven’t seen her this flustered in years."

Y/N glared at her grandmother, her jaw tightening. "I am not flustered."

Arlena winked at Lucien. "She’s flustered."

Lucien chuckled as Y/N shoved the wrapped gift into his hands, eager to get him out of here. "Enjoy your music box."

Lucien inclined his head, still amused. "I will. Thank you, Y/N."

And then, with one last knowing glance from Arlena, he left.

The moment the door shut, Y/N turned and tossed the nearest soft object—a small pillow from the chair—directly at her grandmother.

"Grandma! What the hell was that?!"

Arlena cackled, dodging the pillow with ease. "That, dearest, was me making your life a little more interesting."

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. "I cannot believe you."

"Believe it, sweetheart." Arlena patted her on the shoulder before disappearing into the back room.

And Y/N… was left alone.

With her thoughts.

The city streets were quieter now, the late evening washing everything in a muted glow. The lamps lining the cobbled roads flickered in the gentle breeze, their golden light stretching long shadows across the stone. Y/N pulled her cloak tighter around herself, her breath steady as she walked.

She hadn’t left the shop intending to wander, but after the long day—after him—she needed out. Needed space from the shop’s small walls, from the lingering weight of Lucien’s presence and the way his gaze had felt too… probing. Too curious.

Y/N exhaled sharply. It was nothing. It should have been nothing.

Then she turned the corner and saw him.

Lucien stood beneath the glow of a nearby lantern, his copper hair catching the light like embers. But he wasn’t alone.

Elain Archeron.

Y/N stopped walking.

Everyone knew of the Archeron sisters. The human girls who had been Made, their fates forever changed.

Feyre, the youngest, had become High Lady—a force to be reckoned with, a warrior forged through hardship. Y/N had no personal connection to her, but there was a level of respect, even admiration, for what she had endured.

Nesta, the eldest, had been the city’s whispered scandal. Sharp-tongued and untamed, a woman who did not bend, who did not break, no matter how much the world might have tried. Y/N understood that sort of resilience.

But Elain…

Y/N had never given her much thought.

She had seen her in passing before—always soft-spoken, always delicate. A gentle soul, some would say. But Y/N never knew what to make of her. She wasn’t like her sisters.

And yet, she was the one standing with Lucien now.

The realization struck like a physical thing.

Lucien’s beloved.

Y/N didn’t know what she had expected, but it hadn’t been her.

Something tightened in her chest, something sharp and unwelcome.

Elain’s fingers absently brushed over the locket around her neck—intricately crafted gold, simple yet elegant. A piece of jewelry that Lucien must have given her.

A gift. The one she helped him pick out.

Y/N swallowed, forcing her expression into something blank, something indifferent, though she doubted either of them had noticed her yet.

Elain spoke softly, her voice barely carrying over the distance, but Lucien—he listened, watching her with that unwavering attentiveness of his. His face was unreadable, his posture relaxed. No tension. No hesitation.

Why should there be?

This was his beloved.

Y/N should not care.

And yet, she lingered.

It wasn’t jealousy—not in the way one might assume. It wasn’t some petty envy or longing for what Elain had.

It was the ache of something unspoken. The reminder of what she had always known.

She was nothing to him.

And that truth shouldn’t sting, but it did.

As if sensing something, Lucien’s gaze suddenly flicked up.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Their eyes met.

His expression didn’t shift. The faintest flicker of surprise, there and gone too quickly to be sure it had even been there at all. He held her gaze, studying her, as if trying to place something—trying to understand something.

But Y/N refused to be the one to look away first.

So she let her lips curve into something polite. Something detached. Then she turned and walked past them, her steps measured, her spine straight.

Lucien didn’t call out.

Didn’t stop her.

But even as she disappeared down the street, she could feel his gaze lingering.

And for some reason, even after she was gone, he found himself glancing around.

As if searching for something.

As if searching for her.

Y/N had grown used to Lucien’s presence in her shop. Too used to it.

It was his third visit in what felt like an insultingly short span of time, and she found herself more irritated than ever as she carefully wrapped another one of his purchases. She had expected—no, hoped—that he wouldn’t return after the second.

And yet, here he was.

"Seems like Lady Elain has truly liked the gifts if you’re already on your third visit," she muttered, voice deliberately flat as she secured the wrapping with a ribbon.

Lucien, lounging against the counter as if he had all the time in the world, let out a low chuckle. "Well, I do aim to please."

She didn’t respond, instead focusing on adjusting the twine around the package.

But Lucien wasn’t done.

"You have no idea how much your meaningful trinkets have gotten her to finally open up to me."

Y/N’s hands stilled for the briefest moment before she forced herself to keep working. She didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t scoff aloud—but inwardly? Cauldron save me from this nonsense.

Meaningful trinkets.

As if her work was merely some tool in his desperate attempts to win over his mate.

She didn’t care. She didn’t.

But something about the way he said it, about the way he sounded so damn pleased with himself, made her fingers tighten around the edge of the package.

She slid it across the counter toward him, waiting for him to take it. But before Lucien could, a voice chimed in from the back of the shop.

"Dear, when will you be taking the package to Day Court again?"

Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose. Not now, Grandma.

She flicked her eyes toward the elderly female standing in the doorway, her hands idly dusting off an old book. Then, deliberately, she glanced at Lucien—who was not paying attention, seemingly distracted by something on the shelf behind her.

At least, that’s what she thought.

But the moment she turned back to bagging another order, his voice cut through the air.

"You have a package to deliver to Day Court?"

Y/N stilled, then sighed. "Yes. And?"

Lucien crossed his arms. "Do you know your way around there?"

She didn’t answer at first, simply shook her head slowly as she resumed packing the next order. "No," she admitted. "It’s the first time a customer from there has placed an order."

"And not just any customer," Arlena added cheerfully, much to Y/N’s growing irritation. "It’s Lord Calion, one of High Lord Helion’s closest confidants."

Y/N shot her grandmother a sharp, warning look, but it was too late.

Lucien had already perked up, his amber eye gleaming with recognition. "Oh? Him? I know him very well. Personally,too. He’s close with Helion."

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, surprised despite herself. "Helion, as in High Lord Helion?"

Lucien nodded, a small smile curling on his lips.

She wanted to say something—wanted to press further—but she caught herself, biting her tongue. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her business.

Instead, she focused on tying up the next package, gathering Lucien’s order as quickly as possible. When she finally held it out to him, expecting him to take it and leave, he didn’t move.

Instead, he asked, "How will you go there?"

Y/N clenched her jaw. "That doesn’t concern you. Have a good day."

She shoved the package toward him, but he still didn’t budge.

His golden eye gleamed as he murmured, "It seems like you can’t winnow, either. Can you?"

Y/N was seconds away from snapping at him, but her grandmother—traitorous as ever—let out a dramatic sigh and announced, "Nope! She can’t."

Y/N shot her a glare, but the old female only grinned before adding, "A shame, really. Guess the gift of winnowing just skips certain generations. Disappointing, isn't it?"

Y/N hissed, "Keep talking, Grandmother, and I’ll start selling your beloved tea set piece by piece."

Lucien only laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "You know, I could help you."

Y/N raised a brow. "What?"

Lucien shrugged, casual as ever. "Well, I did just say I know Calion personally. And I’m close with Helion, too." He gestured vaguely. "Not to mention, I can winnow you there and back. Easy."

She stared at him, completely indifferent. "No thanks."

He blinked. "But—"

"Don't you have a beloved, sir?" she cut in smoothly, tilting her head.

Lucien’s lips parted slightly, his entire body stilling at the remark.

Y/N didn’t give him the chance to respond before continuing, "And besides, you aren’t the only one who can winnow. Plenty of my friends can do so, too. I do not need your help."

Lucien’s jaw flexed, but he forced himself to remain polite, nodding slightly as if to say, Suit yourself.

Y/N didn’t wait for him to come up with a reply. She simply shoved the package into his hands and turned away, effectively dismissing him.

Lucien lingered for half a second before exhaling and stepping toward the door.

Just as he was about to leave, he glanced at her grandmother, who had been watching the whole exchange with a knowing look.

Arlena gave a dramatic sigh and muttered, "Don’t look at me, boy. She’s been like this for the past couple of days."

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Then, without another word, he slipped out of the shop and into the bustling street beyond.

Y/N barely spared him a glance.

But even after he was long gone, her mind still lingered on the offer she had so easily refused.

Elain had invited him for tea. It had been a quiet afternoon in the gardens of the River House, the sun casting golden hues across the table as the scent of fresh blooms lingered in the air. She had been talking—softly, sweetly, as she always did—about something he should have been paying more attention to. He tried, truly. But his mind was elsewhere.

"—I have to say, you’ve really found my favorite place," Elain mused, twirling the delicate porcelain teacup in her hands. Lucien blinked, snapping back to the present.

Elain gave him a knowing look, then gestured to the gift box resting on the table between them—the latest thing he had brought her. “That little shop you go to,” she continued. “Everything you’ve chosen for me from there has been perfect. I don’t know how you always manage to pick exactly what I love.”

Lucien exhaled a soft laugh, rubbing at his jaw. “Well, I can’t take all the credit,” he admitted. “The shopkeeper knows what she’s doing.”

Elain smiled, but her gaze remained sharp as she studied him. “You seem distracted,” she noted, setting her teacup down.

He hesitated, swirling the tea in his own cup. It wasn’t like him to dwell on things like this. And yet—

“I feel like I’ve done something to her,” he finally admitted, surprising even himself with the words.

Elain frowned, confused. “To whom?”

Lucien sighed. “Y/N.”

Recognition flickered in her expression, but her confusion only deepened. “The shopkeeper?”

He nodded, leaning back against the cushioned chair. “She always acts like I’ve personally offended her in some way. Like I’ve done something unforgivable.”

“Have you?”

“No. Not that I know of,” he said, shaking his head. “At least, not until three days ago when I walked into her shop for the first time and was met with her guards all up around me.”

Elain pursed her lips, thoughtful. “You’re sure you’ve never met her before?”

“Never,” Lucien said with certainty. “Not until then.”

Silence stretched between them as Elain considered this, her brows furrowing slightly. “And you’re sure it’s not just her personality?”

He thought about it. It wasn’t as if Y/N was cruel—she wasn’t outright rude to him. But there was something beneath the surface, something sharp and wary in the way she spoke to him, in the way she barely held his gaze for longer than a second.

“It’s more than that,” he murmured. “It’s like she already had her mind made up about me before I ever said a word.”

Elain hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Feelings like that don’t come from nowhere.”

Lucien glanced at her, arching a brow. “You think she has a reason to hate me?”

“I think,” she said carefully, “that something about you unsettles her. Whether it’s something you did or just something you remind her of—I don’t know.”

Lucien scoffed, shaking his head. “Great. So my mere presence is an offense.”

Elain rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. But… maybe you should talk to her.”

Lucien huffed a laugh, the very idea of that absurd. “And say what, exactly? ‘Hello, I noticed you look at me like I ruined your life, and I’d really like to know why?’”

Elain laughed, but the sound quickly softened into something more thoughtful. “Maybe she won’t talk to you,” she admitted. “But she might talk to me.”

Lucien stiffened slightly, eyeing her warily. “You want to go there? To talk to her?”

Elain nodded. “She might open up if it’s just the two of us. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to another female about things like this.”

He considered it, tension tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it felt… ridiculous to pursue an answer over something so small. But also because some part of him wasn’t certain he wanted to know why she had such an obvious grudge against him.

Still, Elain had a point. Feelings like that didn’t come from nowhere. And Y/N’s feelings toward him—whatever they were—had been evident from the start.

Elain reached across the table, touching his hand lightly. “If it bothers you this much,” she said gently, “maybe it’s worth figuring out.”

Lucien exhaled through his nose, considering the weight of that.

Maybe it was.

The past few days had been a whirlwind of chaos.

Between scrambling to find someone to make the delivery to the Day Court on time, handling the usual influx of customers, and him—Lucien—showing up in her shop repeatedly, Y/N felt like her mind was barely clinging to sanity.

Thankfully, she had managed to avoid having to travel to the Day Court herself. One of her employees, a young fae male who owed her a favor, had reluctantly agreed to handle it. A small victory. She hadn’t wanted to leave Velaris, especially not now, when she felt like she had to keep an eye out for a certain red-haired male.

Because for years, she had only ever seen him from a distance. A flicker of movement in a crowd, a presence at gatherings she wasn’t part of, a name she heard in passing but never dared to say aloud. And now? Now he was here, in her space, disrupting the quiet life she had built.

It was unsettling. It was infuriating.

And worse—it was Lucien Vanserra.

Of all the males in the world, he had to be the one tangled up in her life. And not just in any way—but because of her.

Elain.

Y/N’s hands stilled where she was rearranging a small display of trinkets, her jaw clenching. Of all the females he could have been with, it was her. The golden, delicate beauty that fit into his world as if she had been sculpted for it. It wasn’t that Y/N hated her, not really. But something about Elain—about seeing her with him—made her stomach churn unpleasantly.

And maybe, just maybe, that irritation seeped into her interactions with Lucien, whether she meant it to or not.

She sighed, shaking off the thoughts, and resumed sorting the trinkets onto their shelves. The shop was quiet now, save for the occasional rustling of fabric and the soft creaking of wood as she moved.

Until the door opened.

Y/N barely glanced up at first, assuming it was another customer, until her grandmother’s voice called out from the front counter.

“Y/N.”

She turned. “Yes?”

Arlene, perched behind the counter, didn’t bother looking up from the ledger she had been flipping through. But the teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable.

“You’ve got company,” her grandmother said, dry and amused. “And not the one from the past few days.”

Y/N frowned at that, stepping around a shelf to get a better look—

And then she froze.

Because standing in the shop, bright-eyed and elegant, was Elain Archeron.

Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Elain, who she had only ever seen from afar. Elain, who was here, standing in her shop, looking like she belonged in a painting of soft pastels and golden light.

Elain smiled, soft and warm as she took a step forward.

“Hello,” she greeted, her voice as sweet as spring.

Y/N’s mind went blank.

Her body locked in place, her thoughts tangling into an incoherent mess.

And she could do nothing—nothing at all—as Elain Archeron closed the space between them.

She was frozen. Completely, utterly frozen.

Elain Archeron was hugging her.

It wasn’t a tight hug, just a light embrace, the kind that barely lasted a second. But it was warm, soft, filled with a kind of unfiltered sweetness that Y/N didn’t know what to do with.

And when Elain pulled back, she was beaming.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the most creative seller out here!” she said, her voice airy and bright. “You have no idea how much I’ve been loving your creations. Lu has been giving me the most wonderful gifts, and when he told me about your shop, I just had to come see it for myself.”

Lu.

Y/N heard the nickname, felt it like a slow, twisting knife to the ribs.

She had always known they were close. It was obvious in the way he looked at Elain, in the way he spoke about her. But hearing it so casually, so effortlessly affectionate—it made something deep inside her curl inward, as if retreating from a battle she had already lost.

Still, Y/N forced herself to breathe, to gather the splintering pieces of herself and piece them back together before they shattered completely.

Distant but polite. She could do that.

“I’m glad you like them,” Y/N said, keeping her voice even, measured. “Lucien is a generous customer.”

Elain smiled even brighter. “Oh, he really is! He always picks out the most beautiful pieces. You’re very talented.”

Y/N barely managed a nod, her thoughts whirling too fast to grasp onto anything solid.

She needed to breathe. She needed to keep herself together.

So, she tilted her head, forcing a small, unreadable smile onto her lips as she asked, “Well, what brings you to our humble shop? Usually, it’s just Lucien who comes by to buy you surprises, but it seems different now.”

Elain laughed softly, as if Y/N had just uncovered some grand secret. “Oh, you know, he talked a lot about you, and I just had to come check this place out myself.”

Y/N’s smile tightened. Oh, how nice.

She wasn’t sure what made her more uncomfortable—the fact that Lucien had been talking about her, or the fact that Elain, Elain, had gone out of her way to meet her.

Before she could figure out how to respond, Elain turned to her grandmother. “Arlena, is the shop usually busy during these hours?”

Her grandmother barely glanced up from the ledger she was flipping through. “Not particularly. Why?”

Elain’s smile grew as she turned back to Y/N. “Well, I’d love to go out to Velaris Brewhouse—you know the one, right? Just down the road? There are some things I feel like I could talk about with you.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

She barely managed to let out a nervous laugh, her mind racing. What?! What was this girl thinking?! They had just met!

But before she could even attempt to find an excuse, her grandmother—her traitorous grandmother—snorted and waved a hand.

“Oh, please,” Arlena said, far too amused. “Do take her. It’s about time my granddaughter made some friends. I can manage for the next few hours.”

Y/N shot her grandmother a look—a full-bodied death glare that promised a long, long discussion later.

Elain turned back to her, expectant and hopeful. “Great! Would you like to?”

There was no way out.

Y/N barely kept her jaw from clenching as she forced a smile. “Let me grab my cloak. I’ll be right back.”

She turned and strode into the back room before she could betray how fast her heart was racing.

What. The. Hell.

What was happening?

She had merely ever heard of Elain as the Archeron sisters made quite the noise in the immortal lands, and now, suddenly, she was about to go out and have coffee with her like they were friends?

She grabbed her cloak, hands slightly unsteady, her thoughts a whirlwind of panic and frustration.

This was not how she had imagined interacting with Elain Archeron for the first time. And Lucien—Lu—why had he talked about her enough for Elain to seek her out?

Her chest tightened at the thought.

She needed to be careful. Needed to keep her walls up, needed to not let Elain see how deeply this affected her.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed back out.

Because whether she liked it or not, she had no other choice.

She emerged from the back room with her cloak draped over her shoulders, her mind still reeling.

Elain was standing by the door, hands clasped together in front of her, looking as effortlessly radiant as ever. Her soft brown curls framed her delicate face, her hazel eyes filled with warmth and sincerity.

It made Y/N’s stomach twist.

Her grandmother, traitor that she was, gave her an innocent little wave as Y/N hesitated by the counter.

“Go on, dear,” Arlena said, a wicked glint in her eye. “Enjoy yourself.”

Y/N wanted to strangle her. Instead, she forced a tight smile and turned back to Elain. “Shall we?”

Elain beamed, pushing open the door. “Yes!”

The bell above the door jingled as they stepped outside.

Y/N walked beside Elain in silence, her mind still scrambling to make sense of what the hell was happening.

It was a short walk to Velaris Brewhouse, the cozy little café that sat nestled between a bookstore and a florist. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries greeted them as soon as they stepped inside, and Y/N inhaled deeply, as if the familiar aroma might ground her somehow.

Elain led them to a small table by the window, where golden sunlight streamed in, casting everything in a soft glow.

“So,” Elain said as they sat down, her voice light, easy. “Do you come here often?”

Y/N blinked. Really? Small talk?

“I do,” she admitted, settling into her chair. “It’s close to the shop, and the coffee is good.”

Elain didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. She was glancing over the menu, humming softly to herself.

The server came over, and Y/N ordered her usual black coffee, while Elain asked for some floral tea blend that Y/N had never heard of.

The silence stretched for a moment.

Then, Elain set the menu down and leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s just… Lucien has been talking about you quite a bit.”

Y/N’s grip on the edge of the table tightened.

What?

Elain smiled, completely oblivious to the way Y/N’s chest was slowly caving in. “I was curious,” she continued. “He seemed… troubled.”

Y/N forced a breath, forced her lips to curl into something that resembled a smile. “Troubled?”

Elain nodded. “He said he felt like he had done something to offend you, and he couldn’t figure out what. He seemed genuinely bothered by it.”

Y/N’s throat went dry.

She wasn’t sure which part of that sentence made her feel worse—the fact that Lucien had noticed her hostility, or the fact that he cared enough to dwell on it.

Elain watched her closely. “I guess I just wanted to see for myself what kind of a fae you are.”

Y/N swallowed. “And?”

Elain grinned. “I like you.”

Y/N blinked.

The words shouldn’t have affected her, shouldn’t have made her stomach drop like that. But they did.

She opened her mouth, unsure of what she was even about to say, when the server returned with their drinks.

Y/N wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, letting the warmth seep into her skin, trying to steady herself.

Elain took a sip of her tea, then leaned back slightly. “So… why do you dislike him?”

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee.

She coughed, clearing her throat, before slowly setting her mug down. “Excuse me?”

Elain just smiled, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of their conversation.

“I mean,” she continued, stirring her tea, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so—” she paused, searching for the right word, “—guarded around Lucien before. You look at him like he’s personally wronged you in another life.”

Y/N was stunned into silence.

Because the worst part was—Elain was right.

She did look at Lucien that way. She did hold something against him, even if he had no idea why.

But she wasn’t about to tell Elain that.

So, Y/N exhaled slowly and took another sip of her coffee before giving the only response she could think of.

“I don’t dislike him.”

Elain arched a perfectly shaped brow. “You sure about that?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, gripping her mug a little tighter.

She had no idea how she was going to survive this conversation.

The conversation should have been light. Should have been nothing more than polite pleasantries over coffee. But something about the way Elain looked at her—gentle, curious, but just a bit too knowing—made Y/N uneasy.

Elain hadn’t come here just to meet her.

She had come here to study her.

And it wasn’t long before Y/N felt like she was under a microscope.

“So,” Elain said after a sip of her tea, her voice still honeyed but carrying an undertone of something sharper. “How long have you lived in Velaris?”

Y/N took a careful sip of her coffee, as if it might buy her time. “A while.”

Elain hummed. “And your shop? It’s lovely, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Y/N forced a polite smile. “It was my grandmother’s before mine.”

Elain’s fingers traced the rim of her teacup. “It must be nice, having something passed down like that. A piece of your family’s history.”

Y/N gave a short nod. She wasn’t sure where Elain was going with this, but she had a feeling it wasn’t anywhere good.

Elain watched her for a moment before continuing, “I suppose you already know quite a bit about me, then.”

Y/N tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’ve lived here for a while, and if Lucien has been coming to your shop…” Elain trailed off, tilting her head. “I imagine you’ve heard about us.”

There it was.

Y/N kept her expression neutral. “A little.”

Elain smiled, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. “I take it you know the way me and Nesta were turned into Fae, then?”

Y/N’s grip on her coffee mug tightened.

The Cauldron. The war.

She nodded. “Cruel way, truly.”

Elain sighed, looking down at her tea as if it might hold answers. “Yes. Cruel.”

For the first time since they sat down, Y/N caught a flicker of something raw beneath Elain’s carefully composed exterior.

But then Elain exhaled, shaking off the moment like a bird ruffling its feathers. She looked up again, her usual softness returning. “And you? Have you always been Fae?”

Y/N’s breath caught, just for a second.

A simple question. An easy one to answer.

But her mind lurched back—back to that moment, back to that feeling of something snapping inside her, something she had never wanted, something she had lost.

Lost.

Y/N forced a casual shrug. “More or less.”

Elain’s brows lifted slightly, as if catching on to the vagueness of the response.

But she let it slide, instead stirring her tea slowly. “I suppose it must be different for those born this way.”

Y/N swallowed. “In some ways.”

A quiet moment passed between them.

Then, Elain sighed. “I suppose bonds work differently for you too, then.”

Y/N’s body went rigid.

She almost didn’t react, almost kept her face impassive, but—gods, the word bond still made her flinch, still made her stomach twist.

And Elain noticed.

Y/N saw the way her hazel eyes sharpened just slightly, though she kept her expression smooth.

Y/N cleared her throat, trying to cover up whatever had flickered across her face. “Bonds?” She let out a short, forced laugh. “Not much different, I suppose.”

Too much. That was too much.

But Elain just smiled, as if she hadn’t noticed.

Y/N let out a silent breath of relief.

She thought she was in the clear.

What she didn’t notice, however, was the quick flicker of calculation that crossed Elain’s face. The subtle narrowing of her eyes. The slight shift in her posture.

Elain had caught something.

But she didn’t press. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned forward again, resting her chin on her hand. “So, you don’t dislike Lucien?”

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee again.

The sudden shift in topic threw her off balance.

She hesitated, quickly schooling her expression. “I… don’t know him.”

Elain gave her a small, knowing smile. “But you feel something about him.”

Y/N’s heart pounded.

She forced herself to scoff lightly, shaking her head. “I think he’s just…” She exhaled, waving a hand vaguely. “A bit much.”

Elain’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something in her gaze now—something that made Y/N feel exposed.

She knew Elain wasn’t aggressive like Nesta or blunt like Feyre. She wasn’t one to interrogate with sharp edges and harsh words. Atleast that's what she heard.

No.

Elain was different.

Elain’s way of questioning was gentle, subtle—so deceptively kind that people wouldn’t even realize they were being unraveled until it was too late.

And Y/N felt it.

She felt like a thread slowly being pulled apart.

So she drained the last of her coffee and pushed back from the table, eager to end this conversation before she let anything else slip.

“Well,” she said with a tight smile, “this has been… nice.”

Elain studied her for a beat longer, then gave a small nod. “It has.”

Y/N stood, and Elain followed. They stepped out of the café, the air cooler now as the sun dipped lower.

As they started back towards the shop, Elain tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I hope we can do this again.”

Y/N nearly tripped.

Absolutely not.

She forced another polite, distant smile. “We’ll see.”

Elain just hummed, seemingly unbothered by the noncommittal answer.

They reached the shop far too quickly, and Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she was so eager to be home.

Elain turned to her one last time, that same bright, sweet smile on her lips. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded stiffly. “Goodnight.”

Then, without another word, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

She exhaled heavily, resting her forehead against the wood.

That had been a mistake.

She had let something slip.

But… Elain hadn’t seemed to catch it, right?

Right?

Y/N shook off the unease and turned away.

She prayed to any god that Elain would never come back.

The shop smelled of cedar and vanilla, the scent of newly stocked candles mixing with the warmth of the evening. Y/N went over and sat on a stool behind the counter, picking at the edge of a ribbon that had come loose from one of the display boxes.

Her grandmother, Arlena, stood by the shelves, carefully rearranging a stack of leather-bound journals. The only sound between them was the rustle of pages, the faint creak of wood settling.

Until Arlena spoke.

“So.” Her voice was casual, but Y/N could hear the knowing lilt in it. “How was your little outing with the Archeron girl?”

Y/N stiffened.

She shouldn’t have been surprised that Arlena would bring it up. The elder was sharper than most gave her credit for.

Still, Y/N didn’t look up. “It was…fine.”

Arlena snorted. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Y/N let out a slow exhale, setting the ribbon down. “It was weird.”

Arlena turned, brows lifting in interest. “Weird how?”

Y/N hesitated. But what was the harm in telling her grandmother?

“She was too friendly,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Like, unnaturally friendly.”

“Some people are just like that, dear.”

Y/N shook her head. “No. Not in that way. It felt… like she was studying me.”

Arlena hummed, crossing her arms. “Maybe she was just curious.”

Y/N let out a short laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe she was looking for something.”

Her grandmother tilted her head. “Like what?”

Y/N hesitated again. She couldn’t tell Arlena about the bond—about what had once tied her to Lucien. That was a secret she had vowed to keep buried.

So she shrugged instead. “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right.”

Arlena considered her for a long moment before sighing and shaking her head. “I told you before, child. Stay away from complicated people.”

Y/N scoffed. “If only it were that easy.”

Arlena smirked. “It is that easy. You just have to actually do it.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Because wasn’t that what she had been trying to do? To keep her distance, to forget, to pretend none of it had ever happened?

And yet—

For the next few days, Lucien didn’t come to the shop.

Y/N told herself she was grateful.

At last, she wouldn’t have to see him. Wouldn’t have to deal with his lingering presence, wouldn’t have to feel that ache deep in her ribs every time he walked through the door.

And most of all, she wouldn’t have to see Elain either.

He had probably gifted her enough things by now. Probably had no reason to come back anytime soon.

Which was good.

It was what she wanted.

And yet—

The shop felt a little quieter.

A little emptier.

She shook the thought away.

It didn’t matter.

Lucien Vanserra was not her concern.

And whatever game Elain was playing—whatever that strange, polite interrogation had been—Y/N would not let herself get caught up in it.

Because none of it mattered anymore.

It couldn’t.

It had been a week since Elain’s visit to the shop.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed. The usual hum of life in the shop, the steady stream of customers, the soothing rhythm of placing trinkets on shelves and organizing the displays. But then, whispers began. At first, they were subtle—just a few low murmurs as people passed by the front of the shop. Y/N thought little of it, chalking it up to the usual gossip that floated through the streets. After all, she was used to being somewhat of a mystery in the neighborhood, being a quiet female with an uncommon shop.

But as the days passed, the whispers grew louder.

Customers who had been regulars for months suddenly stopped coming. She could see their eyes darting away when they saw her, like they had something to hide. The air in the shop felt heavier, like a weight she couldn't escape. Her grandmother Arlena noticed it too, her sharp eyes narrowing as she made her way to the counter.

“What’s going on, child?” Arlena asked one morning as she placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, her voice laced with concern. “Why are there so many fae talking behind your back?"

Y/N stiffened, her stomach flipping. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the rumors had been growing more bizarre and outrageous by the day. “Did you hear about Y/N?” one woman had whispered to another as she passed by the window the other day. “Apparently she was once a lover of Lord Theon... but she drove him mad, and now she's in hiding here, desperate to get him back.”

The rumors were becoming more scandalous by the minute—talk of betrayal, manipulation, even that Y/N had used forbidden magic to keep this...this Lord Theon bound to her in some twisted way. How had this happened?

Y/N’s hands trembled as she set down the delicate porcelain cup she had been polishing. “I don’t know, Grandma,” she muttered, her voice thick with disbelief. “I don’t know what they’re saying. Why would they—why would anyone say these things about me?”

Arlena’s eyes darkened. “I know you, girl. You don’t tell me everything, but I can tell when something’s off. You better set this straight before it ruins your name. You’ve worked hard for this shop, and I won’t have it fall because of some... rumor.”

Y/N’s mind spun. The thought of Lucien, of everything that had happened between them, seemed so distant now. And yet, here she was, caught in a web of lies she hadn’t spun. But who had? Who was behind these rumors? The connections between them were fuzzy, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t something that was just happening by chance.

The next day, things only got worse. A couple of familiar faces walked into the shop, only to turn on their heels and leave when they saw Y/N behind the counter. Their whispered words traveled to her ears: “Oh, no. Not her. I heard enough already.”

A cold sweat prickled Y/N’s skin as she watched them go. She could feel the walls of her shop closing in on her.

And then, she saw it: the headline on the local gossip board.

Lord Theon’s Ex-Fiancee? Witchcraft? A Hybern Loyalist? Secrets and Scandals Surround the Mysterious Shopkeeper.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. This was no coincidence. Someone had been spreading lies—dangerous lies. But why? Why was she being targeted like this?

Her hands gripped the counter as her mind raced. Who could this all be linked to?

As the whispers continued to grow and the people continued to shun her, Y/N’s thoughts churned like a storm inside her mind.

And as the days passed, she found herself slipping deeper into uncertainty and fear, unsure of who to trust, unsure of what to do.

The past few days had been a blur. Whispers, gossip, rumors—nothing but a whirlwind of chaotic stories that seemed to swirl around Y/N like smoke, obscuring her true nature. Every time Lucien walked through the streets, he overheard hushed conversations, people casting furtive glances in his direction as if he should somehow know more about it. And yet, he hadn’t.

He didn’t understand why this was happening. Why would anyone target her? The Y/N he knew—quiet, reserved, and focused on her shop—was nothing like what the rumors painted her to be. Even if he didn't know her for too long. Yet, despite all the outrageous claims, one thing had become clear: she was not being left alone.

It troubled him more than he cared to admit. His thoughts constantly circled back to her—her coldness, her guarded nature. Had it all been an act? Had her aloofness been the result of some past betrayal, or was it because of something that had been building all along? Something that, even now, he couldn’t quite grasp.

The question gnawed at him: was Y/N hiding a darker side? Or was she simply someone who had been dragged into a web of lies, caught in the aftermath of forces beyond her control?

Lucien stood up from the window, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought of the one place that might offer him answers: her shop. He wasn’t planning to buy anything, of course. He had no need for her goods, but something in him wanted to visit. To offer some support, maybe even to clear the air. It wasn’t like he was the one who’d been wronged here—if anything, it was her who had been dragged into this mess, and it unsettled him to think of her going through it alone.

But there was hesitation. He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be walking into. After all, if the rumors were true... If she really had betrayed someone, as they said...

Lucien’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Elain’s soft voice, like honey dripping into his ears. He was sitting out in the garden of the townhouse, a comfortable yet uneasy silence filling the space between them. Elain had been talking about something—likely her latest social endeavors, but Lucien wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere, wandering back to the shop, to Y/N, to the heavy weight of the gossip that had been spreading.

“Lucien?” Elain’s voice reached him again, this time with a soft, sweet question that made him blink, as if she had been speaking for a while.

He looked over at her, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. "Sorry, what?"

Her expression was bright, almost innocent, and Lucien was a fool. Elain had perfected that look—the one that made her seem all sweetness and light when, in truth, her thoughts were never as pure as they appeared.

“I asked you what was bothering you.” Elain smiled at him, a soft, concerned curve of her lips. “You’ve been quiet. Is something wrong?”

Lucien sighed, a hand running through his tousled hair as he glanced back down at the empty garden, the silence almost too much to bear. “It’s Y/N,” he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his thoughts. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but... things have been difficult for her lately. People are saying things.”

Elain’s gaze flickered, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Lucien to catch it. Her eyes widened slightly, and she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What do you mean, ‘things’?”

Lucien’s frown deepened, his frustration growing. “Rumors, Elain. Terrible rumors. About her... and her past. It’s getting out of hand. I was thinking of going to her shop, just to... check on her. Offer some kind of support.”

He looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing on his chest. There was something inside him, something deep and unsettled, that wanted to be there for Y/N. She had helped him in the past—she had given him something precious when he needed it, and that was something that wouldn’t be forgotten.

But as his thoughts spiraled, his voice trailed off, unsure whether visiting her was the right thing to do. Was it a good idea? Or was he only walking into a trap that others had set for her?

Lucien didn’t notice Elain’s subtle shift, the slight narrowing of her eyes as she processed his words. Instead, he was too caught up in his own guilt and confusion to realize how the conversation was unfolding.

“Oh, Lucien,” Elain’s voice broke through his thoughts again, but this time, it was coated in something different—sweet, almost condescending. She leaned forward slightly, her smile still soft but her words cutting through the air with precision. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, you know? We have... a reputation, after all.”

Lucien frowned, sensing the shift in her tone but not fully understanding it yet. “What do you mean?”

Her expression grew more serious, her gaze locking onto his with that same intensity he knew so well. “Lucien, you’re a respected figure. People look up to you. If you go to that shop, everyone will know. You’ll be seen as just another person who’s been fooled by a woman who clearly isn’t what she seems. I mean, the rumors—the truth—they’re everywhere.”

Lucien blinked, momentarily taken aback. “But... there’s no proof. It’s just gossip. You can’t honestly believe—”

Elain cut him off gently, her voice coaxing and smooth. “Of course I believe you, Lucien. You know I do.” She placed a hand on his arm, her touch soft but firm. “But think about the bigger picture. People are already questioning her. Her loyalty. Her intentions. You wouldn’t want to risk your image by associating with someone who’s been labeled... a fraud, would you?”

Lucien’s mouth went dry. “But I thought she—”

“I know,” Elain interrupted, her voice turning softer, sympathetic, but with just the slightest hint of mockery hiding behind her words. “Not everyone is how we perceive them. People can be deceptive, no matter how kind they seem. And, honestly, what’s the point in defending someone who’s only going to drag you down with her?”

Lucien’s gut churned, but there was a part of him—a part that he could barely recognize—that hesitated. Elain’s words were soothing, in a way. They made sense, at least on the surface. He was starting to feel the pull of her reasoning, the doubt beginning to take root in his mind.

She gave him a small, almost pleading look. “Lucien, please. We have an image to maintain. Think of us. Think of ourfuture, the way people view us.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Elain’s voice was soft, sweet, persuasive. “We’re above all of this, above the gossip. You’re better than that. You deserve to be surrounded by people who lift you up, not drag you into their messes.”

Lucien ran a hand over his face, feeling the weight of her words sink in. His heart, once determined to visit Y/N and see her through whatever storm she was facing, now wavered. The idea of being seen with her, of standing by her when so many others were turning away, felt less certain now.

Elain smiled sweetly, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Lucien’s mind was still a storm of confusion, but as he glanced at Elain, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation—this manipulation—had been planned all along. Still, with her voice ringing in his ears, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had no choice but to let go of his initial plan.

He sighed heavily. “Fine. I won’t go.”

Elain’s smile deepened, though it never quite reached her eyes. “Good. I’m glad you’re seeing reason.”

The past few days had been a blur of silence. The usually steady hum of her shop had dissolved into a haunting emptiness. The customers who once bustled in and out, filling the air with chatter and curiosity, had disappeared. The shelves she’d meticulously organized now stood untouched, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel as though the walls themselves were closing in on her.

She sat behind the counter, mind spiraling into a labyrinth of confusion, disbelief, and anxiety. The whispers outside her door were becoming unbearable, lingering like an oppressive fog in the back of her mind. Hybern loyalist? A witch? Ex-fiancée of Lord Theon?

Who was Lord Theon?

Y/N couldn’t make sense of any of it. She had never even heard that name before. And as for the rumors—well, they were all nonsense. But no matter how hard she tried to push them away, they stuck to her like tar. And now, with her customers turning their backs, the weight of it all felt suffocating.

Alone in the quiet of the shop, with only her racing thoughts for company, Y/N sank deeper into her spiraling confusion. She hadn’t even thought of Lucien in days, not truly. The rumors were too consuming, too overwhelming. Yet, even as her mind churned through every possible scenario, she couldn't help but wonder: Was this why he never came back?

She thought about the time they'd spent together—the closeness, the surprising comfort. The connection that had drawn them to one another, despite the distance and the years. Did he know? Had he heard the rumors? Or worse, had he believed them?

Her chest tightened at the thought. She’d always known their bond was complicated, full of unspoken words and tangled emotions. But she never expected this.

Just as Y/N was lost in the mess of her thoughts, the door to the shop burst open, the force of it shaking the walls. The door slammed shut just as violently, making her jump. She looked up, her heart hammering in her chest, and saw Elain standing in the doorway.

But this time, there was no warm, bubbly smile on Elain’s face. No soft, welcoming energy. Elain’s eyes were cold, calculating—a far cry from the sweet, innocent demeanor Y/N had once seen in her.

Y/N stood up instinctively, confusion flooding her. What was she doing here?

“Hello, Y/N,” Elain said, her voice deceptively sweet, but there was a sharp edge to it that made Y/N’s blood run cold.

“Can I help you with something?” Y/N asked, her voice betraying none of the unease swirling inside her.

Elain’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Yes, you can. You can pack your things and leave. Now. Before things get worse for you.”

Y/N froze. Her pulse raced, her mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice shaking with disbelief.

Elain’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play coy with me, Y/N. I know the truth.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. The truth? She felt a chill run down her spine. “What do you mean?”

Elain stepped forward, her heels clicking with a rhythm that seemed far too confident. “After our little conversation in the café, I had my suspicions. The way you reacted to that talk about bonds... it wasn’t hard to figure out that you have quite a past, and one that involves a mate.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She hadn’t told anyone. She hadn’t even spoken of Lucien in years, not in the way she should have. How could Elain know?

Elain continued, her tone mocking. “I took a little time to investigate. Turns out, you and Lucien have more than just a bond. You’ve had it for years—a hundred years, in fact. But poor Lucien doesn’t even know, does he? Funny how that works, isn’t it? But don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows the truth soon enough.”

Y/N’s mouth went dry. “How?” she breathed, her mind racing, trying to piece it all together. How did she know?

Elain’s smile widened, almost sinister. “It wasn’t hard to figure out, really. My gift isn’t just for the future, Y/N. I can see the past, too. And what I saw was... illuminating.”

The words hit Y/N like a physical blow. Elain had used her powers to pry into her life, to find out what she’d hidden so carefully. She wanted to scream, to demand why Elain thought she had the right to invade her privacy like that. But Y/N was frozen in place, her body rooted to the spot as Elain’s words continued to echo in her ears.

“And now,” Elain’s voice dropped, cold and dangerous, “I’m going to make sure everyone knows. The rumors are just the beginning. You’re going to leave this shop, Y/N. And if you don’t, well...”

Elain’s gaze darkened. “In a few days, I’m afraid I’ll have to make sure you’re locked up in a cell. That’s what happens to traitors, isn’t it? People like you.” She laughed softly. “Hybern loyalist, witch... betrayal... Oh, I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the rest of the scum.”

Y/N’s mind was reeling. She couldn’t process the storm of emotions crashing into her all at once. “Why?” she finally managed to croak. “Why are you doing this?”

Elain’s eyes hardened. “Because I can’t have Lucien’s attention wandering. He’s mine, and I’m not about to let someone like you get in the way.”

Y/N was stunned, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “You... can’t... You wouldn’t...”

Elain’s smile was smug, full of superiority. “I already have. You’re nothing to him, Y/N. Nothing more than a memory he doesn’t even know he has. I’m the one who deserves his love, his attention. I’m the one who’s worthy.”

Y/N’s chest tightened with anger and shock. This was the woman who had once seemed so sweet, so kind. But now, she stood before Y/N, a cold, calculating enemy.

“But... Lucien doesn’t know? Does he know about all this? Is that why he hasn’t come to see me?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with fear and confusion.

Elain’s eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. “Oh, he knows, alright. I told him everything. And do you want to know what he said? He was disgusted. So disgusted that he couldn’t even bring himself to look at your little shop again.”

The words hit Y/N like a slap to the face. Disgusted. The word reverberated in her head, over and over again, until it felt like it was drowning her.

She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re lying,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Elain tilted her head, feigning sympathy. “I’m not, darling. I wish I were. But you’ve already lost him. He’ll never come back to you.”

Y/N felt the ground beneath her feet shift. All the uncertainty, the fear, the confusion—it was suddenly too much. She was drowning in it. And all she could do was stand there, unable to fight back, as Elain’s cruel words swirled around her.

With a final, venomous smile, Elain stepped toward the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. “You have 24 hours, Y/N,” she called over her shoulder. “Pack your things. Leave this place, and never come back. Or I’ll make sure these rumors get even worse. I promise you, you’ll regret this.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Y/N standing in the quiet of her shop, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of the threat heavy on her shoulders.

Lucien... She didn’t know what to think anymore. Did he believe Elain? Was she really so insignificant to him now? Had he ever cared?

Y/N’s mind spun in endless circles, the weight of the rumors and Elain’s cruel words crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her throat as the reality settled in: she was alone.

And soon, she would lose everything.

He lied.

Even as Elain’s soft words curled around his mind, urging him to let go, to forget, to move on—he had lied. He was going back to see her. He didn’t know why, didn’t know what he expected to find, but the thought of Y/N, alone in that little shop, had lingered in his mind like a splinter he couldn’t remove.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t be thinking about her at all.

But something about the way she had looked at him that last time—something in her eyes, in the way she held herself, in the quiet hesitations between her words—had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t shake. It was wrong, the way her absence gnawed at him. It was wrong that he still remembered the way she smelled, the way her fingers had once brushed against his when she handed him something, the way she looked away just a second too late, as if she didn’t want to stop looking at him at all.

Elain would hate this.

The thought slithered into his mind, unwanted.

But he pushed it away because it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He just needed to see her, just once, just to put this restless feeling to rest.

Lucien turned the corner, his heart beating just a little too fast, the familiar sight of her shop coming into view—

And then—

He stopped.

Everything inside him stopped.

The door was boarded shut.

Rough wooden planks nailed haphazardly across the entrance. Red paint smeared in crude lettering. Out of Service.

His breath left him.

The street moved around him, the city still alive, but Lucien stood utterly still, staring at the place where her shop should have been. The place where she should have been.

Gone.

Without thinking, his feet carried him forward. His throat was tight when he turned to the nearest person, catching the sleeve of a passerby. "This is—this was—Y/N’s shop," his voice came out rough. "Did she move? Where did she go?"

The male barely spared him a glance. "Oh, her? Last I heard, she left a day ago."

Lucien's fingers clenched. "Where?"

The male only shrugged. "Don’t know. All I know is she doesn’t work or live here anymore." Then he shook Lucien’s grip off and walked away, disappearing into the crowd as if he hadn't just unraveled something deep in Lucien’s chest.

Lucien didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Y/N had left Velaris.

#acotar #fanfics #acotar x reader #lucien #lucien acotar #lucien angst #lucien fluff #lucien x reader #lucien imagine #acotar imagine

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dont-look-its-embarrassing · 9 months ago

Text

To Be Seen

Azriel x Reader

This is my first ever one-shot or fanfiction type writing on here, so be patient with me bc it will be FAR from perfect or good.

This is purely self-indulgent bc again, I'm new at this and just wanted to write an insert or y/n type little blurb.

Summary; Being the best friend of Feyre when she was human, you regretfully got roped in and turned with her sisters as a tool for manipulation by Hybern. As the sister's find it hard to settle in claiming the attention of the two other bats, you attempt to make Feyre's and the inner court's life easier by flying under the radar and figuring it out on your own. However, are you really as unnoticed as you hope or is a certain shadowsinger entrapped by your caring and soft nature as his heart battles his mind for the third sister or you.

Warnings: None really, mentions of PTSD and anxiety, loneliness and self-help, slow-burn, slight angst with a fluffy ending, reader just wants to be seen but feels like she can't ask

Word count: 2,389

Pt2

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you sat in the drawing room in the house of wind. The gentle crackle of the fire Infront of you allowed your body to sit comfortably within the rather cold season and the book you were just reading sat loose in your lap. You haven't gotten used to your enhanced hearing yet as your now longer and thicker hair gently fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear.

"Y/n?" Your best friend's voice echoed into the room as her footsteps followed. A soft smile spread across your features as she came in, confirmed you where there, and plopped down ungraciously on the couch next to you. "Thank the mother you are here."

Her features where stressed, the worry written all over her face as she took your form in.

"What's going on?" You ask, hopeful to help.

Feyre let out a sigh as she let her eyes wonder to the fire Infront of the both of you.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, it seems that everything I do to try and help Nesta and Elaine seems to only make things worse." She rung her hands, a trait she picked up back in the human lands when she was nervous or upset. "It just never seems enough to make them comfortable or to try and apologize for everything that happened."

Your best friend's eyes slightly widened as she took her gaze from the flames.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" The genuine care and concern oozing off of the female Infront of you reminded you of why you cared so much about your friend in the first place. When she was taken, you had searched high and low for her in hopes to get her back only to have her return happy and healthy with a loving man, or male, doting on her every need. You were ecstatic, and expressed yourself as so, even if it was with fae beings. When you and her sisters were taken, that happiness was put on hold to make sure that you are all where comfortable. Feyre's self-sacrificing nature did always drive you mad, even now when she was so close to being truly happy.

"I'm okay Feyre." She shot you a look, trying to dig deeper and call the bluff you made. "Seriously, I'm here with you and in an amazing place that I could only dream of with great people."

"A lot happened Y/n. A lot happened to Elaine and Nesta, but a lot happened to you." She was right, and it was weird for you to be so put together when the worlds of the other two were falling to pieces. With your more emotional and strong relationship with Feyre, you had been held captive with her sisters yes, but you also took the brunt of interrogation that the wicked king deemed necessary to gain any information of her court. You had put yourself in that position, you knew how awful she would feel about her familial blood being brutalized in such a way, so you took the heat. But, in the end, her sisters still took the change harder and refused to accept their new life, making everyone on edge and overexerting themselves to help.

With one look at your best friend's-tired eyes, you knew that she couldn't handle another burden. More like she shouldn't have to handle another burden.

The word tasted sour on your tongue.

Burden.

Shaking your head a small gentle smile graced your face, and you forced your features to emulate that same energy.

"I'm okay Feyre, really. Aside from some cool new power thing that I haven't figured out, I'm fine. " The breath she released could only register as relief in your mind as she met your smile.

"Okay, and we will definitely start working on that when we are all settled here." Her reassurance did little to reassure that it would be investigated. Again, with the two sisters gaining war altering abilities, your random energy (that had yet to manifest) would be put on the back burner until everyone else was settled. Again, the slight dismissal ached, but you understood the need for others to take precedence.

Giving a little nod, you two sit in silence for a bit just listening to the crackling of the fire and enjoying each other's presence. That is, until a wince rippled across your friends face and she slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I think Elaine is out and not talking to Lucien and it's a mess-"

"It's fine Feyre, go make sure they are okay." You assure with the same smile. Giving one last 'thank you, I love you' she was gone like the wind that howled outside the windows. The silence that followed her exit had the ringing in your ears become a bit to unbearable. Removing yourself from the couch, you travel down to your room and grab a quick change of footwear.

Today would be a good day to explore the town, or at least good enough to get your mind out of the dark slump of trying to acclimate to its' new body and abilities.

Making your way towards the door, a small flicker of shadow catches your eye.

"Hello?" You call. You know that Rhys is most likely with Feyre and Azriel is also probably there because of Elaine, so you dismiss it quickly after a moment, chalking it up to just a trick of the light.

Opening the door, the slight chill on the wind has a shiver run through you, but the sun quickly chased it away. Breathing a sigh, you look at the vastness of the stairs below you.

No time like the present.

Taking one step at a time and avid breaks when needed, you would rather not admit to yourself just how much time that trek took. However, upon reaching the bottom, the satisfaction that filled you outweighed the journey. Walking down the streets of Velaris, the bustling normality of the people filled you with ease. As your heels clicked against the stones below, your gaze just missed the little shadow that trailed behind your body.

Taking in the colors and vibrant people, the ease and happiness that covered their faces had the ache in your gut grow more and more. Your mind wandered to if you would ever be that happy and mundane. With everything that had happened so far, the familiar life in the human forest (although had its struggles) seemed like an ideal. It was the lack of routine, lack of knowledge, the newly sprouted life, the misplacement, all of it plus more. You didn't notice your breathing gain more weight and take longer to fill your lungs than it did at the house. You also didn't notice the little skitter of the shadow that had followed you as it raced away towards some unseen location. The heat in your body seemed to increase as the sight of a simple family loving and walking together entered your mind.

Would anyone love you like this?

You couldn't think.

Ducking into a nearby ally, the overhead sheets and covering allowed it to be shaded and darker than the streets 20 feet away. Even then, the darkness of the ally seemed to illuminate with your presence there. However, it wasn't the light, it was the lack of grasp of oxygen you could inhale and the strenuous shaking your body couldn't stop. The tears that fell without your knowledge burned their tracks into your skin and sizzled as they hit the ground. Your body gave way to the spasms that took ahold of you as your mind raced. Burring your head into your knees, you attempted to shut the world out and let your mind slow but to no avail. You wished the darkness of the alley would swallow you whole, allow the sun and light to escape you being seen just this once.

Almost as if your prayers where in fact answered, the light surrounding you died as the darkness of the ally surrounded you. Picking your head up to view what cloud or magical being answered your plea, your eyes were met with those of hazel crouching Infront of you.

"Azriel?" You hadn't met this male for more than a couple days ago. He was nice, offering to go with you places or chat every so often. You had a couple nightly talks with him where you shared some stories between the two of you. Nothing out of the ordinary though, you felt safe around him when he was near. Confusion washed your features and for a moment your brain stopped running in circles and focused on why the male might be in front of you in this very unfortunate situation.

"You're okay." His large hands had gently pried your head from between your own. He Slowly, as if not to spook you further, reached for your hands and took them in his own. As twisted as it sounded, the morbid scarring that littered his skin grounded you further and pulled you back to this moment and out of that forsaken cell and cold water. "Focus on me, breathe."

The ease of your breath returned as the seeming dark cloud that surrounded you peeled back revealing that same dampened alleyway. However, the slight char on the walls and burns on the ground was distinct enough to question. Looking around, more of those marks surrounded you but faded as it got further from you. Opening your mouth to ask, a quick look from the male had you hesitant as he shook his head.

"One thing at a time sunshine." You nod, ignoring the small butterfly that hatched in your stomach at the nickname, but the pain in your head from the little outburst brought you back to reality. Bringing your hand up to caress the muscle between your eyes, Azriel scanned you from head to toe checking for any other possible injuries. "Let's get you back to the house, okay? Have Madja take a look at you and maybe give you something to help process."

Although the beginning of his statement was directed at you, for an answer, the second part was mumbled more to himself.

"Okay." The short response was all you could get past your lips as he sent you a small smile and opened his arms.

Looking at him questionably, he held back a chuckle.

"Have you never flown?" Shaking your head, no, you had never flown before. Winnowed? Yes, but never in the arms of one of the three males residing in the same house at you. The aspect of Azriel being your first had a little flush cover your cheeks. He approached you carefully, scanning your eyes for any aversion to being touched or space invaded. If you didn't just have a literally breakdown in the middle of Velaris, you could've sworn there was a deeper emotion residing in his eyes.

Guilt?

Worry?

Longing?

You couldn't place it and decided not to keep the process waiting. Taking a step towards him, he kept his arms spread out to accompany your space against his.

"Wrap your arms around me." His voice was lowered with your closer proximity. Slowly you brought your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He waited until you settled there before moving to hoist you up into his arms and walk slightly out of the alley to give his wings more room to take flight.

While doing so, you couldn't help but settle into his warmth as it felt nice against our colder frame. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you were left shivering.

"Make sure to hold on." He noted, which was all the notice you got before suddenly you two were no longer on the ground. Tightening your grip instinctually, you shut your eyes as you could practically feel the male smile at your nature.

"How did you get down there anyway?" With the loud wind it was hard to hear, but again due to the lack of space between the two of you his voice rang clear.

"I walked."

"Down those?" Without realizing the easygoing atmosphere he created, you had peered open your eyes to look down at the stairs you both were currently soaring over. Only a brief look however as you still had some human tendencies and did have a slight aversion to heights.

"Yeah." You nodded and went to shut your eyes once more to finish out the flight, but as you did you caught sight of a new look on the spymaster's face.

Pride.

Landing as softly as possible, Madja was already there waiting for the two of you to arrive. Without thinking, you blamed it on the spymaster's shadows (but grateful they were there). Feyre also stood to the side of her, worry wringing her hands again and you let out a sigh of defeat.

Stumbling out of Azriel's arms, he steadied you, giving a once over before his high lady had shot him an inquiring look. She looked at you shortly after.

"You are never to lie to me again Y/n, you hear?" Her chastising voice was filled with love and worry all the same.

But before you could open your mouth to respond with a thousand reasons why you might, a certain male beat you too it.

"Don't go too hard on her, admittedly we have all been a bit busy to check in." You both glanced back at the male in question as his shadows wrapped around him in song. He has said it was so to promise his attention to fix the problem, which warmed your core.

"She will be okay Feyre." Meeting eye contact with him, he had sent you a small nod of his head and smile before disappearing into the dark.

Your best friend looked at you in question, but a deeper thought was spinning in her head. However, the little throat clear of the healer nearby jumpstarted the next 24 hours of care and therapy from your best friend and the best healers in Prythian. The whole endeavor couldn't tear your thoughts to a certain inner court male and the way his arms felt around you.

Maybe you would be okay.

#acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #feyre archeron

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bluetimeombre · 1 year ago

Text

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either part 2

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[thank you for the love on part one, I’m so happy Azriel is getting the love he deserves!!!! This is another long one, another 6k. But I’ve learnt a new love for writing about him and i have so many ideas. This is a continuation and final part, part one here. Enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

The third time Azriel almost lost you, he was pretty sure he lost a part of himself.

They'd all gone into battle, knowing that Hybern had the numbers to match and the advantage. But they'd all gone to fight in spite of that.

It had took some time for you to get the boys to agree to let you fight- you'd trained and grew up with all three of them but this was fighting on another scale. Although, if they were going, there really wasn't much they could say to get you to stay.

You were clad in Illyrian leathers just like them, armed with weapons and power.

The first battle was over quicker than you'd anticipated. Hybern soldiers surrendered, Tarquin drowned them on land. You'd suffered little, only falling on bed exhausted by the end of the day. Sadly, you were sharing a tent with Cassian and Azriel. It was like you were young again, all sleeping in the same room. It was a habit you'd done when you were young- all looking out and protecting each other.

The only difference was that Cassian snored as he got older.

But the next battle was worse.

It was bigger than last. Hybern's forces had doubled, seemingly at of nowhere, cutting their forces apart.

It was chaos, everywhere. Every corner there was fighting and bleeding and dying. There was pain all around you. Pain you felt like it was your own.

You used all your power, as much as you could to kill and protect. From the corner of your eyes you could see Azriel fight. Your Azriel, weaving in and out of people. Your mate. He was alive. And that was all you cared about.

But you didn't realise how much you'd been pushing herself and draining your power. Every time you stopped, you swayed on your feet, stumbling.

One of Hyberns men came for you as you were crouched and you barley blocked with your sword, rolling onto your back and slashing his arm off.

Not before he landed a sword in your thigh.

It had been deep burning and you yelled, yanking it out. Even with the wound, you kept fighting and fighting your way through until you saw a blaze of red and a familiar cry.

Cassian.

He'd been run through.

It was easy to push past exhaustion and winnow to his side, killing the man who'd been near him and any others that had been close enough. You fall to your knees next to him. 'Cassian, you prick.'

'You kiss your mate with that mouth,' he gasped. He was the only one who knew about Az and the bond. The only one you'd allow to make jokes.

You look down to his wound and gaged. Mother above, his guts were hanging out. 'No, no, no, come on, big guy, you have to stand.'

He groaned. 'Yea, don't think I can do that, sweetheart,' his eyes, lulled back.

You slap him in the face. Perhaps you wouldn't have felt guilt if it weren't for the way his eyes widened. 'You know I hate being called that.'

He laughed as his stomach and all its contents heaved out. Ignoring the pain in you, you hold his stomach, keeping him together. 'I promised Nesta i'd look after her,' he said. 'Please look after her.'

'Do it yourself,' you groaned.

Finally, Azriel came to your side and picked Cassian up like it was nothing, flying him to the tents. If only you still had your wings, you could have done it, saved him quicker.

Then, you were thrown back into the battle. Covered in his blood and yours, you fought through them all, slashing and killing like it was nothing. Like you had no reason to bat an eyelash at anything happening.

Eventually, it ended, but you couldn't even concentrate on who won or how much you'd lost. Your head ached, your leg was tied up in a bloody bandage ripped from your clothes. But none of that mattered.

Cassian was in bed, healing slowly. But he would live, everyone could tell. Especially with the way he picked fights. He argued with Rhys about throwing himself into danger, him and Nesta appeared to be having words with their eyes. Even Mor and Feyre argued. You were the only one silent with Azriel in the back. Too exhausted to even open your mouth.

That night, you tied up your wounds and fell asleep without changing.

It only got worse.

Elain- Feyre's sister and the most precious- was stolen from Hybern. You had only agreed to go and save her with a few selected others because your mate was in that few selective others.

It hadn't escaped your notice how he looked at her, was watchful over her like he once was with you. You saw the tick in his jaw at the news she was gone. You knew that this was the reason you hadn't told him. Knowing that he deserved someone like her, better than you. Kind and hopeful. You weren't. So the only thing you could do was watch your mate find love in someone else.

And you'd do it grudgingly but happy for him.

Azriel had took of with her. You and your high lady fought, fought through ash arrows and everything.

'You should get out of her, y/n,' said Feyre.

You groaned as an arrow skimmed your shoulder. Another had already got your hip. 'If you try to order me out of here, i'll be really pissed off at you.'

'I don't care if it gets you out!' she snapped, arguing like a real sister would.

'Yea, well- I was never one to listen to Rhys either.'

And Azriel was gone. Everything was fine.

You and Feyre ran, ran even as Tamlin defended you, ran until-

An arrow hit you in the back, straight to one of your old wing scars.

You tumbled, rolling on the ground as it broke and imbedded in your back. You screamed, in spite of yourself.

'You have to fly,' someone was telling you. Or saying it in general, frankly you had no idea what was going on. 'You have to take her.'

You rolled onto your stomach, groaning and trying to get yourself up. There was blood running down your arm, how did that get there?

'Y'n.'

You groaned, 'Azriel. I can't fly.'

'I know, I know- i've got you.' He picked you up, arm under your legs and around your shoulders.

'Elian, Azriel-'

'Feyre has her,' he told you. He sounded angry. Or afraid. Somehow his emotions were very easy to mix up.

'Feyre isn't strong enough.'

'She'll have to be.'

'You should take them, Elian-'

'I don't give a fuck about Elian right now, y'n.'

Just like that, he took off with you in his arms and your blood raining down on the camp of Hybern. You could barley hear anything over the wind... but you could feel it.

Something had tugged painfully at the bond, throwing you into a scream. Something had happened to Azriel. You twisted in his arms, finding gashing claw marks in his back from one of the hounds that had chased them down. His face was bleached white in pain, his hold on you tight.

Glancing around, you could just see Feyre in a blur of people.

'Azriel-' you gasped. He was in pain, so much pain.

He didn't say anything, just squeezed you tighter and looking ahead, barking orders as Feyre flew for the first time in need, in desperation. You remembered what that was like, trusting your life in them. But Azriel's wings, they were bleeding out. You remembered the pain. You'd go through it every day to spare him a minute of it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You and Azriel landed back in the camp in a blur of pain.

Even with him leaving a trail of blood, he managed to set you down like you were porcelain. You didn't cry out. You didn't yell for help. You threw his arm over your shoulder and supported him.

Nesta and Rhys rushed to Feyre.

You hated your brother for a long moment.

Elain wondered over, chained but whole.

Azriel moved from you, checking on Elian. You only managed to watch them as she kissed his cheek.

The pain came to you then. Your head, shoulder, back. You turned from the crowd of family. Elain moved to hug her sister, Rhys stayed at Feyre's side.

Thesan, someone you barley knew as more than a healer, came to you first but you pushed him away, pushed him to Azriel. 'His wings. Heal him, or i'll rip you to pieces.'

He didn't have to be told twice.

You stumbled your way to camp, to your little tent. You didn't share it with Cassian anymore as he was still healing and Azriel would be a while- needing healing of your own.

You collapsed on the bed, promising to look after yourself- just after your nap.

You were so fast asleep you didn’t even hear Azriel come in and sigh at the sight of you…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel was fighting when it happened. Specifically, when it snapped.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

No, he wasn't completely healed. But he had to fight. He wouldn't push himself, he knew that would be stupid. But he wouldn't watch as everyone fought. As you fought. He'd hardly seen you. He knew your back would be in pain. He knew you'd be in pain and you were still fighting, so far from him and out of reach.

He was thinking of you when it snapped.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

His soul sang it, his heart rose with it.

His shadows whispered it.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

y/n.

And the first thing he felt over the bond wasn't happiness or love. It was pain. It was death.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

In spite of the pain in his wings, how he'd been told not to fly, he did. He jumped into the skies, soaring over armies and dead to find you. He followed that pain, he followed the bond until he found you.

You, lying in your own blood. Again.

He fell next to you, his power eradicating anywhere near you. They dissovled, the ground cracked under him and his syphons shone in raw power.

'y/n?' he held your body, shaking you. Blood, so much. A sword had torn through your gut. 'Don't do this to me.'

Mate. Mate. Mate.

You cough, a thin stream of blood rolling from your lips. 'Azriel?'

'You're mine,' it was the first thing he could bring himself to say. 'You're my mate. Y/n. You have to hold on, ok? I'm gonna-gonna get you to safety.'

Something like a laugh escaped you, your body wracking with it. 'Of course, finally snaps for you as i'm dying.'

Snaps for you. Mate. Mate.

She knows, his shadows sung. She's known.

Azriel called out to Rhys in every way he could. 'We're gonna be fine. We're gonna be mates, y/n. You have to live, you understand?'

'Not really.' your eyes flutter shut.

'No!' he yelled, shaking you again.

'What's happened?' Rhysand landed next to him, blanking when he saw you in Azriel's arms, bleeding to death. How many times did this have to happen? How many times would you throw yourself into danger?

'She's my mate,' Azriel repeated. He tested it out loud, speaking it to the mother. How cruel was she? to give him this then try to take her away. Well, the mother wouldn't get that chance. Azriel would fight her if she tried to lay a hand on your life.

'What?' said Rhys.

'My mate,' he all but growled as Rhys got closer.

He put a hand on the back of Azriels neck, a hand on your head. 'We have to save her, Az.' he knew all about mating of course, knew that Azriel wanted nobody around her. But this was too save her. 'She's my sister too, the last sister I have. I care about her to.'

Azriel wanted to throw a thousand insults his way but refrained. If not because he was high lord, but also because you were dying.

They got you to safety, Azriel carrying you through to a tent.

'Y/n?!' Cassian rushed over, seeing you in his brothers arms, bleeding out and unresponsive.

Azriel pushed past him, setting you down on the bed. 'Get everyone, every healer now.' He had no idea who he was trying to demand, but he couldn’t watch this, couldn’t see you in.

You were still in your bed. Behind him, Feyre rushed to her mate, wrapping her arms around his torso as your brother stared at you in muted horror.

Azriel was leaning over you, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘She’s my mate.'

'What?' Said Cassian, ‘She told you?'

Azriel felt the world stop around him. Not did you know about the bond and hadn’t told him, you’d told someone else? Cassian? His hand stilled in brushing your hair back, his shadows coaxing you instead.

Rhysand spoke what Azriel wanted to scream. 'You knew?'

'She-She told me,'

Azriel had always had an iron fist control on his emotions, as relied on to be spy master, he had to. But his patience was hanging on by a thread. You were still bleeding out and nobody had come and Cassian knew. Cassian knew about his mate before he did.

His shadows caressed you and, leaving you in the coolness of their touch, he leapt up, marching around the bed toward him.

Rhys was quicker, a hand on Azriels chest to stop him. 'Calm, brother.'

'Calm?' He seethed. 'When-how long have you known?' He shouted.

Cassian breathed out, pushing his hair back . His wings were tucked in behind him. 'She told me, before she went under the mountain.'

Even Rhysand let him go, blowing out air and throwing his arms over his head as Feyre gasped.

Azriel stumbled, a hand to his chest. His shadows were divided between him and caring for you. 'Fifty years,' he gasped.

You’d known for fifty years- possibly longer and hadn’t said a word.

He was panicking, his breath escaping him. His shadows settled uneasy around him. And the only person who was capable of calming him was laying unconscious.

Thesan burst in, knowing the injured already and working on you quickly.

Azriel almost launched at him, just for touching you. The reasonable part of him knew he needed to touch to heal, but the part that was your mate wanted him dead.

Cassian held him back, physically.

Azriel glowered at him. 'I wouldn’t touch me if i were you, brother,' he practically spat the words.

Rhysand left Feyre with a kiss on her cheek, coming to Azriel who was looking over you on the other side. 'Az, you need to rest-you’re hurt, too, remember?'

He shook his head, staring down at you. Mother above you were pale, so pale. 'I-I can’t feel anything Rhys, I can’t feel her through the bond.'

'My sister is a fighter, she’ll make it through.'

Azriel scoffed. His shadows were caressing up and down your arm. ‘Don’t pretend you’ve ever cared about her like a brother.'

Rhysand inhaled sharply. This was just fear, he told himself. 'Azriel.'

'No,' he said, his finger brushing back your hair. 'You only care about her when she’s dying and all y/n does is worship you- ever since you were children.'

Cassian tried to advance, 'Azriel, you wouldn’t be saying any of this if y/n wasn’t hurt.'

He laughed, bitterly. 'No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have to. I’d bite my tongue. But your sister is dying and the last time you cared was the last time she almost died- it killed her to lose her wings and you were never there! And you teach your mate to fly right in front of her!'

Rhys growled. ‘Don’t bring my mate into this!'

‘You’ve brought mine into this!' He yelled. 'Everything she does is for you. Working for you. My mate followed you down to the mountain even when you didn’t care.'

'Of course I cared.'

'Then why did she feel so alone down there!'

‘How would you know, Azriel? You weren’t there!'

'Because I know her, bond or not. And you’ve been otherwise occupied.'

Cassian moved between the two, holding them apart. 'None of this matters to y/n does it.'

Azriel blankes them all, settling next to you. He vaguely heard Cassian send Rhysand and Feyre away. He felt him longer before he felt him leave.

And then all Azriel could feel, was you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You felt pain first. The steady thumping of it through your body. It started in your leg, numbing it. Then, her back ached- a familiar pain you'd felt before. It sent panic through you before you realised they can't take your wings twice.

Then, it was in your gut, stinging. Just the thought of moving was hurting- aching.

There was a coldness around you, draped over like shadows. Shadows...

That's when you felt the tug that you'd neglected to feel for more than half a century.

The bond. There was finally something tied to the other end.

The shadows around you must've known you were awake as they grew frantic around you.

You opened your eyes, slowly, afraid to what you may see. Afraid to the eyes you'll have to meet.

Azriel was sat on a chair next to you, bare chested with only bandages around him. Immediately, you were at a disadvantage. He was looking at you, dark eyes pouring into yours as his hands curled around shadows.

'What happened?' you asked.

'You were run through,' he said, voice wavering.

'Oh.'

'You're my mate.'

Your eyes flickered away, staring at your tent. 'Oh.'

'That's it?' he whispered. There was some heart-break tainting his voice. 'You're not gonna say something?'

You pulled the blanket over you, daring to move to sit up. He shifted, but his shadows helped you. 'What do you want me to say, Az?'

'Why did you tell Cassian and not me?' he asked. 'Why didn't you tell me, for fifty years?'

'It's-it's not a big deal.'

'Not a big deal?' he all but seethed. 'I'd say finding your mate is a pretty big thing, y/n. It's the person to spend the rest of your life with.'

'Can we not, do this now?' you winced, as the words left your mouth.

'You're right, maybe we should wait another fifty years to bring it up when you're dying.' you've never heard him be so cruel, you'd never even argued with him before this.

'I wasn't dying,' you mumbled.

He scoffed. 'You had an infected wound in your leg that you didn't tell anyone about. An ash arrow was imbedded in your back. Imbedded! You didn't see anyone about it and then- you run into battle and get yourself stabbed.'

'I didn't get myself stabbed!' you argued, your temper rising above all other judgment. 'I didn't rush out in there, wanting to die!'

'I held you as you bled out!' he yelled, standing up from his seat. You were swinging your legs over the bed, ignoring every twinge in your body. 'Do you have any idea what that's like? Not even to hold you as you die in my arms the first time but the second. And to know this time, I was holding my mate?'

You bit down on your lip. He had to use the word with such care and love even when angry. You could feel it. For once, guessing his emotions wasn't needed as you felt it all. The taunt anger in him, the pull of anxiety and above all else, the weight of his love.

Azriel walked around you. 'Please, you have to tell me. Why didn't you say something to me? Why wouldn't you tell me you're my mate? Am I that repulsive to you?'

'What?'

He gulped.

You shook your head as he knelt in front of you, shadows pooled around the two of you, as if they were trying to hold the two of you together. You took his hands, holding them and let something like love flow down the bond. 'You are the most beautiful thing in this world. Something better than me. I wouldn't burden you with that.'

He rose his gaze to you. 'Burden me?'

'Do you think i've enjoyed lying to you?' you ask, finally finding your words. 'Do you think I've liked being your mate and never being with you? That I left you for fifty years and thought of you every moment of every day, all day long. That when I come back I wonder if you or Mor had grown closer? Or if Elian would finally tell you how much she loves you? It's been eating me alive. But it's a small price to pay.'

Azriel grasped at his words, chocking on them. 'Elian is nothing to me, nothing.'

You pushed yourself up, using his shoulder to steady yourself before you move around him. 'Why? Have you only just decided that because I’m your mate? That’s not how it should go, Azriel.'

He was following you around your tent as you slipped on armour and leathers over your night dress. ‘I want you, only you.'

'Because of the bond?'

'Because I’ve always only wanted you!'

You laugh. 'No, you haven’t.'

'If we’d talked about this maybe fifty years ago you’d know that!'

You shook your head. Perhaps a part of you didn't want to believe him and all those wasted years at your fault, but you didn't want to believe his words either. Because what did that mean? That he loved you and wanted you. But that seemed just as impossible to you. How could he want someone so wrecked who'd done nothing but run away from her feelings and does nothing to make anyone happy?

'I don't want you to feel like that,' said Azriel, approaching her. She thought she'd spoken aloud before she realised he could feel everything that was hers. She'd only ever had to shield her thoughts from her brother- and he rarely sort her thoughts. 'Please, please-' he took your shoulders, turning you around and gently resting his head on yours.

You could feel his warm breath over your lips. You almost lost all resolve, with him that close. You'd never been so close to him, close enough to touch. To kiss. To know finally what it mean to have that deep connection that everyone was meant for.

One person in the whole world to belong to.

And he was stuck with her.

'Azriel-'

'Whatever you're thinking about yourself, i've thought about me a thousand times. And ever since we were kids you've always stopped me from thinking that. You've always told me what I was worth,' he whispered. His hands were wondering down your arms, sending shivers down you. He could've been doing it on purpose, distracting you. 'Why won't you accept it for yourself?'

You gulped down every uneasy thought. 'Because you're good, Az and i'm-'

'You're everything.'

'I'm not,' you look up at him, his own face blurry from your tears unwilling to fall. 'I'm not a fighter, i'm afraid of pain. And I could never be a leader, because i'm scared of losing people. I'm terrified about it half the time. Why do you think I followed Rhys down to that stupid party that I knew I wouldn't come back from? Because he'd do the same for me? We both know he wouldn't. But what would losing him mean for you? or Cass, or Mor? I was a coward and I wanted to hide from all the pain his leaving would have caused.'

Azriel shook his head, words sinking in. You were comparing yourself, to warriors like him and Cass, to the high lord- your own brother. 'It was unbearable without you. Maybe if it was just Rhysand i'd have still been able to be spymaster, because that's what he needed. But when I realised you'd gone to, it ruined me,' he admitted. 'I didn't care what you would've wanted, because you weren't here to tell me.'

You rub at your forehead, the tension creating a pain in your already aching body.

'And to anyone who made you feel inferior or worthless, i'll kill them,' he said. It was a shine of the real Azriel. The one who made a promise and never broke it.

You smirk. 'Can't kill the high lord.'

'No,' huffed Azriel, like it was a mild inconvenience. 'But I sure can punch him in the face.'

You laughed at that and Azriel smiled. He'd cracked you.

But your amusement dropped quickly, he felt it like a penny dropping. He let go of you as you turned away, wiping at your eyes. He didn't want to see you cry, didn't want to be the one to make you upset. He only wanted to make you feel loved.

'This isn't how I wanted this to go.'

Azriel suddenly felt conscious of himself. Maybe this wasn't so much about what you felt, maybe it was more about what you felt toward him. 'You really hate the mating bond that much?'

You look over to him. 'Being your mate is my greatest honour. But I don't want you to love me just because you have to.'

'It's not that-'

'And I know you're gonna keep saying that.'

'Until you believe me,' he assured her. 'Even if I have to tell you every day until I die.'

'I can't ask you to do that.'

He smiled at you, a heart-breaking smile of love. 'You haven't.'

You open your mouth to say something, but you're interrupted by Cassain poking his head through the tent flaps. The rest of his whole body was hidden, only showing his bronze face and hair framing him. There was a sheepish smile on his lips.

Azriel huffed. 'Cassian.'

'What? It didn't sound like much love making going on.'

'Mother above,' you sighed.

'What?' whined Cassian. 'I'm just saying, didn't sound like I was interrupting anything.'

'Personally I didn't know he was capable of saying that many words,' said another voice, familiar and dull. Nesta.

You frown. 'I'm sorry, is the whole camp out there.' You storm out, without Azriel to stop you.

He let you get away, again, and now there was no way he'd get you to accept the bond until the battle was done.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next time you and Azriel spoke, the war was over.

Elian had stabbed Hybern, Nesta had delivered the killing blow, to the head. And your brother had died.

For those few minutes of his death you wanted Feyre weep for him as you stood paralyzed, unable to move. This was the brother you worshiped, the one you’d follow to the end of the world. Did he know that when he went where you could not follow?

Feyre had done everything she could, she begged for his life back. And when her wish was granted, you were collapsing on his other side. Tears of joy in your eyes that Rhys wiped away.

Your family, safe.

Everyone seemed happy to return to Velaris. Home. Scars were left over everyone, fears and pains. Some wore them better than others.

You'd thrown yourself into life. And avoiding Azriel. Suddenly there were many friends you'd neglected that you needed to take dinner with, or so many spontaneous Rita nights with Nesta.

And none of it escaped his notice. The steady thump of the bond still thrived inside of you, his shadows followed everywhere you went, even loitering in your room.

If he was doing it in an attempt to annoy you, then you weren't gonna break first.

After a particularly harrowing Rita's night, the only thing you wanted to do was sleep in for the rest of the day, hide away from everyone and everything. Call it your coping mechanism.

Alas, there was no peace as your curtains were thrown open, light spilling in and burning through your eyelids.

'Knock it off!' the shadows had never bothered with waking you up before- it seemed they'd picked the worst time to start.

'We need to talk,' said a voice that certainly wasn't a shadow.

Rhysand.

You groan, rolling over. 'Can't you talk to me when i'm not hungover.'

'And when would that be, sister? you're getting as bad as Nesta.'

You throw your pillow off and at him, but he dodged it easily and with a smug smile. 'I hate it when you call me that.'

'What? When I compare you to Nesta? Clean up your act then.' He stood over your bed, his arms folded over his chest.

You glare at him. 'I meant sister.' You shuffled up, brushing your hair back.

Rhysand frowned and perched himself on the edge of your bed. There was something he wasn't saying, and you watched it weight heavy on his shoulders. 'You know the last time I was in your room you were throwing glasses at me and yelling at me to get out.'

'Well, don't give me ideas.'

His lips curled into a smile of amusement before he turned solemn again. 'Do you love me, y/n?'

You hadn't expected that. Your hangover could only get worse, your head swimming with possibilities as to why he was asking. And nervous, you were nervous. Maybe you'd never said you loved him out loud but surely your actions were enough of a tell. 'You're my high lord and my brother, of course.' you shrug it off, as if it was nothing.

The shadows trailed up the bed, as if sensing your anxiety.

Rhysand glanced over at you. 'Do you think I don't love you?'

You hesitate, chewing at the skin of your gum.

'Because I do. I do love you. You're my little sister, how can I not?' he muttered. 'And I didn't know you felt like that.'

'It was just sort of... obvious,' you said. 'I was never your sister, not really. I always knew that. You'd never see me like that so, I gave up thinking you would. But you're the only family I have.'

'No, I'm not,' he denied. 'Y/n, everyone in this house loves you. They're your family. And i'm sorry- i'm so sorry if my actions have ever made you think different.'

'Why now?' you ask, eyes screwed up looking at him. 'Why are you saying all this now, what's changed?'

He shook his head, strands of his hair- the same as yours- falling over his eyes. 'You almost died, died on that battlefield and I-I wasn't the first one there. Granted, it was your mate that reached you first but I, I wasn't there quick enough.'

You meet his gaze, his purple eyes sad in a way you'd only ever seen under the mountain. 'You died.'

'And as I was dying one of my deepest regrets was not calling you sister enough,' he shifted closer, taking your head in his hands as if you were a little kid. 'You are my sister. Full flesh and blood. Full love of mine. You are my family. After everything you've done for me. You were right, I needed you under there, when there was nothing good to keep me grounded, but you. My little sister.'

You were sure you were tearing up in front of him.

'You'll always be my sister.'

You laugh. 'Maybe I should get stabbed more often.'

'No,' he said seriously. 'I don't think Azriel would like that very much.'

The mention of him changed the tone in conversation, changed the very beating of your heart.

'What's going on with you two?'

'Oh, I see,' you tease, 'talk to me above sister and brotherly relations just to get in my love life. Not a good look on you high lord.'

He laughed. 'No, it's not that. I just care about the two of you, a lot. And you both deserve to be happy. And I think you'd be happiest with each other.'

You look down, twirling the rings on your fingers.

'Would it be so bad to try to love him?'

You shake your head, smiling as a tear rolls down your cheek. 'I don't even have to try. Feels like i've loved him forever.' his shadows climbed up your arm, leaving Rhysand to smile at the affection.

'You'll work it out,' said Rhys, leaning over and kissing the crown of your head.

Your door was thrown open, startling the two of you.

Azriel stood there. For his entrance, he didn't at all seem that confident when he stood in front of the two of you. His hands didn't know how to hold themselves in front of him.

Your brows rose. 'Were you listening at the door?'

'Azriel,' scolded Rhysand with a stupid grin.

'Get dressed,' he said simply to you. 'There's something you need to see.'

Without much room for argument, you kicked them both out and dressed.

You'd grudgingly let Azriel hold your hand as he led you through the woods. You'd winnowed in at an illyrian camp before he took you through it and into the woods close by.

It was the same camp you'd first met Azriel in. The oldest where you'd all become friends. You'd asked what you were doing there, but he was quiet as he led you through, helping you over roots or breaking twigs from the trees so they didn't hit you.

'Azriel, to any other girl, you leading her silently through a woods without saying anything would be a bit suspicious,' you tell him. His shadows trailed behind the two of you and his hand was secure in yours. You knew not to be scared, but you were still cautious.

'I wouldn't show any girl this,' he said.

After another half hour of walking, the two of you stumbled across a small hut. It was a tiny thing really, made out of twigs and sticks, hay and mud. It looked like something a child was capable of making.

Azriel paused in front of it. He let go of you hand and reached for the door. He was as tall as it and his wings had to tuck in tightly behind him.

Hesitantly, you followed in.

It was just as small as it looked and dirty, like it hadn't been touched in years. Cobwebs hung low (his shadows quickly tried to bat them all away for you) there was dirt and hay all over the floor. Glasses were dust filled and left around with a hundred other things. Some looked new, others old.

And yet, strangely familiar.

'I made this place,' said Azriel.

You looked back at him. He was hunched over a large box that was overflowing with things. 'You?'

'The first time my brothers picked on me, I came to these woods, working on this for days. Every time things got too much back then, i'd come here. I've been coming back for years.' he glanced at you, a sheepish look on his face. 'I've never showed anyone this before.'

You look around the place in new perspectives. The shadows settled around the place. You pictured a little Az, running here and hiding from his brothers. Did he feel alone? Did he feel un-loved? You were so enamoured by it you didn't realise he'd settled on the ground, pulling out things from his box.

'This is your glove, the one's you were wearing when we first met. You took them off to beat up some kid who was being mean to me. You didn't go back for them, you didn't even care.'

He said, pulling out a pair of red wool gloves. In spite of the hut, they were in perfect condition. Pristine. You remembered first meeting him, remembered the little soldier who'd been horrible. Those gloves wouldn't go anywhere near your hand now.

Azriel went in again. 'This is the empty glass jar of the cream you used to help my burns. Here's a book you read to me when I couldn't flip the pages myself. The notes you'd leave when you had to go back to camp. The flowers you picked for me and gave me for my birthday. Dried and stamped from every time you gave them to me.'

You stood, in shock as he kept taking things out.

'A terrible drawing I did of you when I was young. A locket of yours that broke and you never wore again. Stamps from our first theatre trip. Empty bottles from our first night together in Rita's- and Cassian's too. A letter you wrote to me when I was on a mission. A black ribbon from your hair, you used to always wear it with these things. Honestly, the amount I have in here,' and he pulled out several, of varying shades. Black, white, grey, red, dark green. All yours.

Azriel wasn't done. 'A page of annotations you did in one of Rhysand's books. A copy of your favourite poems. A coaster from the first time just you and I went to dinner. Here's some stones from when I first taught you to skim them. A quill that I used to use to write you letters. An old ring of yours is here too. Here's the first dagger you got me. It's too precious to me to be used to kill.'

Tears were falling down your cheeks as you watched him pull them all out and explain them in depth. There was more but the sight of it all was becoming blurred through your tears. The bond felt heavy and beautiful in you.

Azriel finally put the box down and fell to his knees in front of you. His hands came around the back of your thighs, holding you there as his eyes looked up into yours. 'Don't you ever think I don't love you, when I have loved you since we were eleven years old.'

You stutter on you breath. 'H-how?'

He rests his head on your stomach, looking utterly at your will and completely in love. 'How could I not?'

Slowly, as you could not move too fast, you settled down on your knees across from him. His hands moved up to your arms as yours went to his cheeks, brushing back his hair.

'It was always going to be you, wasn't it?' you mumbled. 'How could it be anyone else?'

Azriel kissed you then, finally. His lips were as soft as they'd looked, as you'd always imagined. His hands drifted to your waist, finger tips digging into to hold you close. His hands were strong, but his lips were gentle. He pulled away, only to groan in need before reaching for your lips again, harder, desperate.

His teeth bit down on your bottom lip, tongue sliding in to feel every corner of your mouth as his hands wondered around you, trying to grip onto any bit of you he could. Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer. Close enough to consume, to breath in.

You pulled back enough to catch your breath, arms still around his shoulders. 'Mother above, am I gonna make you the best meal of your life.'

But that could wait. For now, you'd settle for a dusty floor in the little house in the woods.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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