#grateful for you and whatever ways this unfolds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

okaylikeschaewon · 9 months ago

Text

Jamboree

~6k words, smut kinda

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Wonyoung, I’m not sure about this-”

“Stop thinking,” Wonyoung’s palm ripped across your cheek, leaving a mark that you would most definitely feel the next morning. “And stop wasting my fucking time.”

Tonight was going to be one for the history books, you thought to yourself silently, taking a moment to appreciate how you ended up in this position.

Your work had required you to show up at this formal event full of young adults who had more money than sense and obnoxiously rich old people. Admittedly, not that you weren’t well off by any means, you did feel incredibly out of place. Your job was to just show up and shake a few hands to make sure it was known that your company was present, other than that you were free to ‘enjoy’ the event. While most of the ambitious young people here were trying to make connections to further their careers, you found it difficult to pretend to care.

The venue was quite the spectacle, a blend of classic architecture and modern elegance, but it lacked any sort of soul. Lush velvet drapes framed the tall windows, each showcasing a view of the meticulously landscaped gardens outside. The gardens, though beautiful, appeared untouched, as if meant only for admiration rather than exploration. Overall, the venue exuded an air of extravagance, yet it felt almost too perfect - as if it were a stage made of artificial props.

Just like the atmosphere of the lavish mansion was void of allure, the people inside lacked any form of charm. Despite being impeccably dressed, they seemed to embody the very definition of tedium. Their expressions a mix of forced politeness and mild disinterest. Conversations unfolded in monotones, punctuated by the occasional polite chuckle that felt rehearsed rather than genuine.

That was, at least, until your eyes found Wonyoung. She was a princess amongst peasants - a diamond amongst coal. From the moment you saw her roaming from waiter to waiter, collecting every hors d'oeuvre she could get her hands on while impressively avoiding the dreary conversations plaguing the event, you just knew you had to talk to her.

The greatest surprise of them all? Once you finally managed to find an opening, you discovered she was actually amazing. Not just amazing, but perfect in a way. The two of you clicked instantly, it was marvelous. Never have you in your entire life felt your energy match so instantaneously with someone before. It almost - no, it definitely - made this lifeless event worth your time.

That being said, this tiny little girl had no business being this intimidating. It had to be her thanks to her confidence, something she was far from lacking, wearing a dress that barely made it to her thighs, flashing her lacy black panties to the entire world. She just had this aura, it was difficult to explain. Yet, it was even more difficult to say no to whatever she wanted, which was exactly how you found yourself in this position. Well, truthfully, her convincing nature was in part aided by the countless glasses of pretentiously priced champagne coursing through your veins.

Regardless, even if it was by pure chance, you were grateful to have been selected from the sea of Dior Sauvage that was currently downstairs, still flailing their bodies around in the name of ‘dancing’. In the seven or so minutes between your eyes finding Wonyoung and the start of your conversation with her, you had seen her reject at least four advances. But you knew. The second you made eye contact with her, you knew.

“Are you going to close the door or do you plan on standing there like an idiot all night?” she scowled as she bent down and slipped off her stilettos.

By the time you shut the door behind you - making sure to lock it - Wonyoung had walked across the room towards the dresser by the window and had begun using the mirror to adjust her hair. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room anymore, and you, evidently, weren’t nearly as important as her hair.

The long brown strands cascading delicately down her back, flowing like a river of rich chocolate. Each individual hair shimmering as the moonlight hit from countless angles. The elegance, the grace, every movement further accentuating all the reasons this girl had to be the most supercilious woman in the building. Again, this girl had every right to be as confident as she was.

After who knows how long she spent admiring herself in the mirror, she turned on her heels to face you. A subtle frown formed on her lips as she crossed her arms, giving you a concerned look. Maybe it wasn’t concern, but it was something.

“You’re bleeding.”

Not what you expected her to say, but the scarlet smear left on your finger when you wiped your cheek confirmed it was indeed true. Only now did the sound of your heart thumping calm down enough for you to notice the sharp stinging coming from the cut.

“Huh, would you look at that,” you noted, staring at your finger.

Wonyoung stared down at her hand, where the metal band of one of her rings was blatantly stained with a patch of your blood. She looked away, spinning the ring off her finger and placing it on the dresser behind her. It seemed as though she was considering an apology, but she also didn't seem to comprehend the concept. It made you think - has this princess of a girl ever offered an apology to anyone before?

After grabbing a tissue, she crossed the room and approached you. She dabbed at your cheek, cleaning the wound. She didn't even look up at you; rather, her determined expression was fixated on the cut. Once she finished, she took your hand and wiped the blood off your finger as well before she crossed the room once more, tossing the tissue in the garbage and turning back to stare at you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you replied, trying your best to hold back your smile.

“That was an accident,” she continued, stepping slowly until she was directly in front of you.

“It’s fine.”

“I wasn’t apologizing.”

“Oh.”

Words hung suspended between the two of you as the palpable silence enveloped you. Ignoring the minor inconvenience of her assault, Wonyoung brought you into this room for a reason. Unspoken desire filled the air as your eyes locked together. The speaking part was taken care of, that happened downstairs, now was time for action. Yet, for some reason, both of you stood there waiting for the other, a ridiculous game of chicken since you both knew what the other wanted.

“What are you waiting for?” Wonyoung clicked her tongue, finally conceding.

Good question. The answer, the one you just knew Wonyoung was looking for, came when you picked her up in your arms and tossed her onto the king-sized mattress. Before any more noise could follow up the high-pitched squeak of shock that escaped her lips, you took off your coat and fell on top of her body and sealed your lips against hers.

A surge of heat ignited between you and Wonyoung. The connection was overwhelming, causing the world around you to fade in and out of existence. Each subtle movement of your mouths was full of urgency, as if time itself had paused. The fact that you met this girl barely an hour ago had not an ounce of relevance in your mind.

While the pain in your cheek was a long forgotten souvenir, a new piercing sensation shot up your spine as Wonyoung’s nails dug deep into your back. You gasped into her mouth before biting down on her lip, only for her to bite yours back even harder. The raw, visceral intensity of the coppery essence hitting your taste buds made you lust for her even more - something that, a minute ago, you would not have imagined was conceivable.

Each subtle movement of your tongue was with purpose, exploring the delicate contours of hers, your tongues dancing together with intoxicating urgency. She met each of your movements with her own, even now matching your energy to a tee. The silent conversation consisting of flicks and swirls engulfed the world around you, overpowering even the thumping music downstairs where Mozart had been replaced by some generic club noise of the youth.

While Wonyoung’s hands explored every inch of your back, your own hand began roaming over her curves, tracing her body to give you a perfect image of her frame despite your eyes being closed. As your hands slid past her hips, giving them a rough but quick press with your fingers, your lips parted for the first time.

“Yes,” Wonyoung gasped, her chest heaving up and down against your body.

That was it, all she was going to give you before she reached up with her hands to cup your face, pulling you back into a kiss.

With newfound inspiration, you swiftly slipped your hands up Wonyoung’s dress. As your fingers snaked their way up her thigh towards the waistband of her underwear, they paused for just a second, leaving the smallest hint of timidness. A hint that evaporated into thin air as soon as Wonyoung gasped softly into your mouth, a signal of provocation that filled your hands with boldness.

As difficult as it was, you lifted yourself up away from Wonyoung’s mouth until you were holding yourself right above her. The two of you locked eyes for just a brief second before, in one swift motion, you yanked down the lacy black panties you had been getting peeks of all night.

Wonyoung gasped again, shutting her eyes tight and arching her back towards the roof. You took the opportunity, leaving her panties at her knees, and lunged forward into her neck like a moth to a flame.

Your lips pressed deeply into her skin, absolutely intoxicated by her taste. A mix of sweetness and warmth, a temptation that left you craving more. Each consecutive kiss was met with a hitch of her breath that just made you want her even more.

Inch by inch you moved lower down her body, pressing your mouth against her clavicle a few times before slipping lower into the neckline of her dress. Wonyoung’s slender fingers pressed into the back of your head, shoving your mouth deep into her chest, pressing your face against the thin fabric covering her soft breasts. Urgency began taking over, an insatiable hunger from within, and you began lowering yourself even more. You slid all the way backwards, dropping to your knees at the edge of the bed, and you finally placed your gaze on your true prize.

Just a few irrelevant inches in front of you, Wonyoung’s pussy was there for your taking. Those delicate folds radiating tantalizing allure, glistening with the essence of desires. Each curve of her skin seemed to call to you, urging you to forget everything and to just shove your face as deep up her dress as physically possible.

Then, abruptly, your view was blocked by Wonyoung’s gentle fingers.

“You okay?” you asked, looking up at her as she sat up at the edge of the bed.

All that confidence, that lust, that demand, it all turned to a facade in the span of seconds. In front of you wasn’t that same intimidating princess that you met earlier in the night. It was a vulnerable and beautiful girl. Even after the sudden change, you were still just as attracted to the girl; If anything, you were more attracted to her vulnerable side.

“Wonyoung?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she shook her head and took a deep breath. “I’m good, let’s do this.”

Something just felt a little bit off. Earlier, she was so adamant about fucking you, almost to the point where you were starting to question if she was secretly part of the party’s entertainment. If you hadn’t seen her reject those other guys, you maybe would have believed she was being paid to be here, but still something felt not right.

“If you’re having doubts-”

“No, come on,” Wonyoung interrupted you. “I want this.”

“Then lean back,” you instructed her, deciding to take it slow until you were able to shake this feeling you had.

Wonyoung listened to you and leaned back on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. You gently spread them apart from the knees, resulting in her tiny dress riding up her body slightly. You softly grabbed her hand and moved it away, unblocking your view of her glistening pussy. As you stared at her pussy again, you helped her untangle her panties from her feet before tossing them across the room without any thought.

Your mouth began salivating uncontrollably, you just needed a taste of Wonyoung’s pussy. Showing just the slightest bit of restraint, you first grabbed both of her hands and interlocked your fingers with hers before pushing forward.

Her whole body shivered as your warm breath teased her skin, igniting the tension in the room into an inferno of heat. As soon as your lips made contact with Wonyoung’s pussy, your world flipped upside down. The subtle - yet intoxicating - taste of tangy sweetness lingered on your tongue, sending waves of warmth through your entire body.

With each exploration of Wonyoung’s pussy, your connection with her deepened. New sensations were discovered, each one hitting like a truck, overwhelming you time after time. You’ve never tasted a pussy that has had you this addicted. You wanted it all - greed began taking over.

Your lips pressed down hard against her skin, creating a seal between you and her. Electricity shot through you as Wonyoung’s breath quickened. Warmth and desire attacked both your taste and hearing now as the next lick of Wonyoung’s tantalizing mix left her moaning into the thickening air of the luxurious bedroom.

“Oh fuck,” Wonyoung moaned softly, squeezing hard against your fingers.

Her addictive sweetness was overwhelming. You were losing track of time, all you could focus on was your attempt to quench this undeniable craving for her body. Nothing could stop you, not as long as she kept responding to each touch, each lick, soft gasps escaping her lips - It was a dangerous loop.

Only a few more - or maybe it was a lot more - moments of pleasure were left for you to enjoy. Before you knew it, Wonyoung’s body seized up, quivering against your lips. A rush of exhilaration surged through you as Wonyoung’s melodic gasps of pleasure began caressing your ears.

It was as if the world had exploded in a cascade of warmth. Her fingers had this newfound strength that made you feel like she was about to snap your hand in half, and her body began to arch even more as every muscle in her body tensed up. The lovely trembling of her body kept your mouth glued to her pussy, sharing in the ecstasy of her climax.

The fulfillment you had coursing through your body as you finally lifted your mouth off her pussy was impossible to compare. You stood up, admiring the absolute mess of a girl laying on the edge of the bed before you. There was no denying it, your cock was begging to be freed, to get a chance with Wonyoung’s body. Just as you unbuckled your pants and began lowering them, the most soul-crushing sound in the universe hit your ears.

“What the hell, who locked this?”

“It shouldn’t be, guests aren’t supposed to be up here,” a second voice answered, giving the door another shake. “Maybe someone locked it earlier. Here, I have a key somewhere.”

“Shit,” you whispered to Wonyoung before quickly buckling your pants back up. “We gotta go.”

She nodded rapidly, suddenly recovering from the intensity of her orgasm just a minute ago, fear filling her pupils as she stood up and froze. You quickly grabbed your jacket and her heels before pointing to the bathroom. Wonyoung ran across the room towards the bathroom as you followed, pausing briefly to shove her ring from the dresser into your pocket - you didn’t want to leave any evidence.

If your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, you would have loved to admire the beauty of the bathroom. It was like entering a luxurious spa retreat. The air was infused with a subtle blend of essential oils that were supposed to calm you down - unfortunately they weren’t working. The walls, creamy marble decorated with gold highlights, created a feeling of warmth and tranquility - unfortunately this also wasn’t working.

“There,” you pointed towards a massive window above the tub. “Hold these,” you handed Wonyoung her heels.

As you put on your coat quickly, you noticed again just how terrified Wonyoung was. You took a second to pause, ignoring the dire situation you had found yourself in, and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. Her cheeks burned bright crimson as you turned back to the window, climbing onto the edge of the tub to open it.

“It’s a bit of a jump,” you admitted, looking back over your shoulder as you leaned out the window. “You trust me?”

Wonyoung nodded, still unable to speak. She stepped forward, taking your outstretched hand, and leaned over to look out the window with you.

“I changed my mind,” she gasped, dropping her heels into the tub below you in panic.

“Hey,” you wrapped your arms around her. “I don’t know that much, but I do know the host of this place isn’t one to be messed with.”

“But I’m scared,” she whispered quietly into your chest.

“I know,” you let go of her and held both of her shoulders, staring her directly in the face. “I won’t make you jump, but if you trust me, I’m telling you it’ll be fine.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to the window before returning to you, but then she took a deep breath and nodded.

“Perfect,” you took her heels and dropped them out the window. You could see the pain in her eyes at the delay before the sound of them hitting the grass, but all you could do was smile meekly at her. “Alright, I’m going to go first and then catch you, but then you need to promise me that you’ll be able to jump alone.”

“I promise,” Wonyoung answered with conviction.

“Good girl,” you gave her another kiss before climbing up into the window. The edge was sharper than you expected, and you ended up cutting your hand. “Fuck, be careful, it’s sharp.”

“Got it,” Wonyoung replied, helping support your body as you climbed up.

As carefully and quickly as you could, you grabbed the ledge and lowered your body out the window. After taking a deep breath, looking up at Wonyoung’s face of concern above you, you let go.

All things considered, the fall went as well as it could have. It honestly wasn’t that bad as the soft grass made for a perfect landing spot. Without wasting time inspecting for any injuries, you turned your head upwards to where Wonyoung looked frozen again.

“Come on,” you whispered, knowing that you couldn’t yell. “I got you, just do it.”

Sweat began dripping from your forehead as you began losing hope. She wasn’t going to jump. She was too scared. Your heart began thumping out of your chest. Maybe you should have lowered her down first. Maybe you should have just opened the door and tried to make an excuse.

None of that mattered, though, as suddenly you saw Wonyoung’s feet come out of the window. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched her lower herself as low as she could. She looked down at you, making eye contact for a moment, a moment where time froze, before suddenly letting go.

It all happened so fast. One second you were looking up at her, the next second you heard her scream, and now you were on the grass with Wonyoung’s body on top of yours.

“Are you okay?” you quickly asked as adrenaline shot through your body.

“I think so,” she answered as she hyperventilated in your arms. “Sorry about the scream.”

She took a moment to compose herself before getting off you and standing up. Only once she held her hand to help you up did you notice how intense the pain in your side was.

It was excruciating, the worst pain you have ever felt. You almost wanted to fall back to the ground in a crying fit, but you somehow - with the power of more adrenaline most likely - ignored it and kept your head straight.

“Grab your shoes, let’s go,” your voice far more stable than even you expected.

Without hesitation, Wonyoung followed your instructions and put her heels back on.

“Shit,” she gasped, looking down at her dress.

There was a large tear on the side, exposing a patch of skin on her hip towards her back.

“It’s fine, just stay close to me,” you held your arm out for her to nestle herself next to you. It hurt like hell when her body pressed against your side, but you kept ignoring it. “We’ll have to walk around the building, if anyone asks anything just say you’re my wife and we stepped out for some fresh air and time alone.”

“Oh, sure,” Wonyoung began flushing profusely at the plan.

WIthout giving it a second thought, you lowered your arm around her body and pressed your palm against the part of her dress that had the tear to cover up the skin before guiding her along the path. The two of you swiftly walked around the house, silently admiring once again how beautiful it was. You kept your heads down, making sure not to draw any attention from the windows.

Luckily, everyone inside was seemingly preoccupied in their own little worlds, not surprising considering the pretentious nature of the event. You made it to the front without any issue, all that was left was a cartoonishly long driveway. By the front door stood a couple who seemed to be having a very heated argument.

“Just keep going,” you muttered quietly to Wonyoung, walking past the couple as they began raising their voices.

It was only a couple of steps before Wonyoung began giggling at the slurs being launched into the night sky by the couple before taking off as fast as her heels allowed down the driveway. You chased after her, laughing as the pain in your side disappeared for a moment.

“I think we’re good,” you began panting with your hands on your knees as you caught your breath.

“That was insane,” Wonyoung laughed, falling to the ground in front of you.

“I know right? That was…” your voice trailed off as you looked up and caught a glimpse up Wonyoung’s dress. “Oh fuck.”

“What?”

“First of all, sorry, I didn’t mean to look,” you turned your head away from her. “But we definitely left something in the room.”

“What are you… Oh!” Wonyoung squealed, pulling her legs together tight. “You pervert!”

“Seriously?”

“I’m kidding,” Wonyoung giggled, standing up to her feet, making what seemed to be an obviously intentional ‘mistake’ of flashing her pussy at you again before fixing her dress. “It’s fine, no way they’ll be able to trace them back to me.”

“Good,” you held your hand out for her to take. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

As the night wore on, the two of you strolled across the waterfront town, which was fortunately in a very upscale and safe area. The velvety darkness, punctuated by the tranquil glow of the moon, brought you an otherworldly level of peace - especially after the intensity of your evening.

The streets were serene, only disturbed by the sound of Wonyoung’s heels hitting the pavement in a gentle rhythm and the occasional rustle of leaves as the nightly breeze flew past you. From time to time you’d hear the sounds of laughter coming from people on their own nightly adventures being carried by the crisp and cool air.

“Oh, I’m an idiot,” you stopped abruptly and took off your coat. “Sorry, mind was on other things.”

“I considered asking,” Wonyoung giggled as she accepted your coat and draped it around her shoulders. “But I figured you weren’t really the gentlemen type after I caught you looking up my dress.”

“Oh come on,” you protested. “First of all, accident. Secondly, you didn’t catch me, I confessed.”

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time,” Wonyoung giggled softly. “We still need to finish what we started by the way,” she added, giving you a little nudge in the ribs.

“Ah,” you gasped, inhaling sharply through your teeth.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No no, I’m good,” you lied, hiding the fact that it felt like there was a knife in your ribs right now. “You wanna sit down for a bit? It’s gorgeous out there.”

“Sure,” Wonyoung agreed, looking over at the water.

The two of you sat on the stone wall that bordered the path with your feet dangling over the edge. Now that you weren’t walking, the frigid night started to hit you. Thankfully, Wonyoung understood what you wanted when you inched closer to her, and she lay her head peacefully onto your shoulder. You followed her lead, gently resting your cheek against the top of her head.

The world seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but the soft sounds of water lapping against the shore. The moonlight shimmered across the water, leading a never-ending path deep into the night. The salty sea breeze and the floral tones coming from Wonyoung’s hair pleasantly combined into a mixture of satisfaction.

It felt nice, everything that happened tonight was irrelevant now. All that mattered was this view, and the warmth of Wonyoung leaning against you. Time stood still, yet again, as the two of you silently soaked in the beauty of the world around you. The connection you felt with her felt infinite, forever to be etched into your brain.

“I need to confess something,” Wonyoung broke the silence as she stared down at her hands as if she had never seen them before. “I’ve never actually been with a guy before.”

Carefully, you lifted your head off hers and turned to look down at her. She followed suit, lifting her head off your shoulder, turning to look up at you.

“Wonyoung,” you paused to give her hand a little squeeze. “This doesn’t change what I think about you, but I’m a little surprised.”

“Tonight was supposed to be the night,” she continued, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “That was the whole reason I went to this party.”

“Well, it wasn’t the reason I enjoyed my time with you tonight.”

“Isn’t that why you went upstairs with me?”

“Truthfully, yes,” you admitted. “Can I ask what you meant by that being the whole reason you were there tonight?”

“Exactly what I said,” she replied. “I… felt like it’s a bit embarrassing that I haven’t done it yet.”

“I don’t think it’s something you should be embarrassed about,” you said gently. “But why at such a pretentious party filled with douchebags?”

“Um, you were also at that party,” she cocked a brow at you.

“Not by choice,” you retaliated. “You’re the only reason I even stayed as long as I did.”

“Sounds like you’re still saying you want to be my first.”

“Look, I just met you, I don’t know much about you,” you replied gently after a pause to think. “But I do know I’ve loved every second we’ve spent together. I also know that I would do it all again in a heartbeat without changing a thing, even if I knew this right here was the end and we both went our separate ways.”

“Really? You wouldn’t maybe change the height of the house?” Wonyoung giggled.

“Nope, but maybe I’d change the way you fell on me.”

“I’m really sorry, does it still hurt?” Wonyoung’s face suddenly turned to concern.

So, she did know how to apologize.

“It’s fine,” you smiled at her.

“You said you’d be fine if the night ended right here and we never spoke again,” she whispered softly. “Is there any way this didn’t have to be the end?”

“Is that what you want?” you asked while letting go of her hand.

She nodded slowly.

“Then no, it doesn’t need to end here, I’d love to see you again."

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly. “But you never answered my question.”

There was another pause for you to think about your answer.

“Whether or not I’m your first, tonight is not the night for us to make that decision,” you answered carefully.

Wonyoung lunged forward and hugged you tightly. It was so sudden, you weren’t prepared. Unfortunate, really, as her very pure-intentioned action ended up being the most painful event of the night; A very loud and visceral cry left your mouth as intense pain shot into your ribs.

“What happened?” Wonyoung gasped, immediately letting go of you in fear.

“Nothing,” you winced in pain as a second wave shot up your body.

Wonyoung, as gently as she could, grabbed your shirt and slowly lifted it up.

“Oh my God!” she screamed, covering her mouth with her hands as the moonlight illuminated a massive purple patch on the side of your body. “Why the fuck have you been hiding this from me?”

“It’s fine,” you winced as you lowered your shirt back down gingerly. “Just a bruise.”

“Just a bruise?” she repeated as tears began spilling from her eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Stop, it’s fine,” you brought your hands up to her face and carefully wiped her eyes with your thumbs. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is! I’m the one who-”

Her panic was silenced as you pressed your lips against hers again. You held your mouth to hers for a few seconds before slowly pulling back, leaving her staring at you with her mouth still slightly agape.

“Please relax,” you smiled warmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Can I at least bring you back to my place?”

“It’s no big deal, don’t worry.”

“Please.”

“Alright,” you sighed, admittedly feeling quite touched by her concern. “My place is just up the street, how about you walk me home before I call you a cab?”

“Okay,” Wonyoung leapt to her feet and held her hands out for you. “I can live with that.”

“Thank you,” you graciously accepted her hands and stood up with her, wincing again in pain.

“Here, does that feel fine?” she asked as she placed your arm on her shoulder.

“I can still walk, my legs are fine,” you chuckled. “But yes, it’s perfect.”

The walk only took a couple of minutes, during which not a single word was uttered between the two of you. Yet, somehow, it didn’t feel awkward or strange. It actually felt incredibly comforting walking through the night with Wonyoung. Things were so different now compared to when you met her earlier in the night, it felt like you’ve known this girl all your life.

“One second,” you unwrapped your arm from Wonyoung’s shoulder to reach for your phone.

“I got it,�� she quickly reached into your pocket, pulling it out for you.

“Thanks,” you smiled at her thoughtfulness before unlocking the front door to your apartment with the app.

“So fancy,” Wonyoung teased before stepping into the lobby with you, her heels tapping loudly against the marble floors. “I guess it makes sense considering where I found you.”

“It’s not that special,” you replied humbly. “Thank you again, for everything.”

“No, thank you,” Wonyoung responded. “Also, does your physical condition have any bearing on your answer earlier?”

“No,” you smiled at her. “I stand by what I said.”

“Okay, just making sure, let’s go,” she pressed the button for the elevator.

“Let me call that cab for you first.”

“Not yet,” Wonyoung held her hand over your phone. “Let me at least help you clean up the cut.”

“It’s late, I really don’t want to keep you up. I’ll manage.”

“Do you have a girl upstairs waiting for you?” she asked abruptly.

“What? No, of course not. I live alone.”

“Are you uncomfortable with me being in your apartment?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go,” she stepped into the elevator, arms crossed while staring at you.

“I appreciate this,” you said as you stepped in and pressed the button for your floor.

After walking down the hall towards your apartment, Wonyoung forced you to sit on your couch.

“Where’s your medicine cabinet?” she called out to you as she walked into your kitchen.

“Wonyoung I’m fine, I promise, I just need to rest,” you called back. “Just come sit with me for a bit.”

“Where is it?” Wonyoung walked back over, completely ignoring you, with an ice pack in her hands. “Take your shirt off.”

Realizing that she wasn’t going to give up, you sighed before carefully unbuttoning your shirt and opening it up. The bruise had gotten worse, and it already looked terrible compared to earlier. In front of you, Wonyoung had stopped moving and her gaze was locked on your body.

“Wonyoung?” you held your hand out for the ice pack.

“Huh? Oh, right,” she began blushing as she handed you the pack. “Hold that to the bruise. Medicine cabinet?”

“Bathroom mirror,” you replied, gasping as the cool ice pressed against your skin.

It was definitely soothing, and you immediately felt a bit of relief. You watched Wonyoung walk towards the bathroom, your eyes slowly closing as you began drifting out of consciousness. The next thing you remember is the softest of soft touches against your cheek.

“Sorry, did I press too hard?” Wonyoung apologized gently as she continued rubbing vaseline on your cheek. “I’m leaving this one uncovered so that it heals faster and doesn’t scar.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your heart rate spiking as you opened your eyes to see Wonyoung’s face right in front of yours. Once again, she was entirely focused on the wound, her gaze never faltering.

“You’re welcome, I wrapped your hand up as well. Are there any other injuries that you know of?”

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head.

“You didn’t have any…”

Those were the last few words you heard before you faded out of consciousness again. The next time your eyes opened up was when you heard the click of your front door opening.

“Still alive?” Wonyoung called out softly when she noticed your eyes were open.

“What, how long…” you paused to look at the ice pack, which had melted entirely by now, before continuing, “...have I been asleep?”

“Like thirty minutes or so,” Wonyoung answered casually as she sat down next to you and removed the pack. “Just rest, you can sleep again if you want.”

She pulled a little bottle out of a small bag and took the lid off before sticking two fingers into it and scooping out some of the cream.

“What’s that?” you mumbled.

“It’s just an anti-inflammatory,” she answered warmly before very gently rubbing her fingers against the bruise. “Does it hurt?” she asked as you let out a little gasp.

“No, it feels good.”

“Good, it’s supposed to,” she smiled as she continued to rub the ointment into your skin. “I’m convinced there’s no girl living here, by the way. After seeing the state of your medicine cabinet, it’s definitely just a man here.”

“Why would I lie…” you mumbled back, slowly fading out of consciousness again. “I really like you…”

Wonyoung paused, her cheeks turning rosy again, before closing the lid of the bottle.

“That should be enough, try not to wipe it off,” Wonyoung said casually before standing up. “Does it hurt when you breathe in?”

“No,” you groaned, sitting up slightly.

“That’s good, you don’t have a fever either,” she noted while pressing the back of her hand against your forehead. “I think you’re right and that it’s just bruising, but I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow to get x-rays.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled before wincing in pain again.

“I should really be taking you right now to be honest,” she said while staring at your bare chest. “It could be a fractured rib.”

“Tomorrow then, I’ll go.”

“You’re saying it like you have a choice.”

“Also, wait a minute, are those my clothes?” you just now noticed what she was wearing. “When did you put those on?”

“I wasn’t going to walk into a store with a ripped dress and no panties, you idiot,” Wonyoung shook her head in disbelief. “Get some sleep, as soon as you wake up we’re going to see a physician.”

“Thank you…” you mumbled quietly, slouching back down into the couch and closing your eyes. “Goodnight.”

After a small pause where you heard a couple of footsteps, you felt Wonyoung place a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Goodnight.”

---

A/N:

I don't think I have too much to say about this one. I wrote it because @writerpeach made me horny for Wonyoung. I know it's not the smuttiest of my works, but frankly I was more focused on other aspects of my writing for this one. I've left it open for future parts, no idea when I'll be writing them but I do already have the plot.

Wrote and edited this whole thing in essentially one weekend, so forgive any mistakes. This one really was more of a test for my own writing capability. A small side project if you will. Feel free to let me know what you guys think, and if you have any sort of interesting requests I'm not opposed to taking them for more practice.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #fanfiction #ive smut #ive wonyoung #wonyoung

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empyrealix · 2 months ago

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⊹ ࣪˖ ENFANCE | #CL16

pairing. charles leclerc x reader

genre. fluff

synopsis. you and charles hadn't met before; that whole idea was ludicrous. or was it? a box with charles' old things from his childhood shares a different story, one where you met many, many years before the present.

warnings. none (french, if that counts)

word count. 2.9k

note. i hope u like it <3

MASTERLIST

STEPPING INTO THE FLAT you shared with Charles always brought a sense of comfort over you; it washed over you in soft waves until all aches and pains of the day were gone, washed away by waves gently lapping against the shoreline. You had never figured out why it was like this, perhaps it was the way Charles put his shoes away when he walked through the door— right next to your shoes—or if it was the smell of home, whatever that entailed, and the knowledge that the day’s events hardly mattered—seemed trivial, almost—as soon as you locked the front door behind you.

You were used to silence. What met you as you stepped over the threshold was not the usual dreary silence of Charles’ absence, rather the flat was filled with life; of noises pouring into every empty space in the air; pushing itself through your skin. A piano sonata bloomed through speakers, filling the room swelling and deflating as piano keys were pressed. Sounds of clattering in the kitchen, as though someone were cooking, reached your ears. You stepped further into the flat, past framed pictures of you and Charles in various places at various stages of your—now three year long—relationship. As you walked by, you ran the tip of your finger over the top of the frame of your favourite picture. It was taken by Arthur a year ago when you and Charles visited his mother for dinner; Charles had his hand wrapped around your waist, he was smiling and listening intently to whatever you were saying—it had been so long, regardless of how much you tried you couldn’t recall what you had been speaking about. Your hands were thrown up into a gesture, crinkles had appeared at the corners of your eyes. Arthur had printed it out and given it to Charles with some comment about how he was so sentimental that he would probably want it printed so he could frame it.

Charles stood in front of the kitchen counter when you walked in. His fingers were curled around a block of pecorino romano; a pot of pasta was boiling on the hob beside him; guanciale was sizzling in a pan. The room smelled like guanciale and something unmistakably him, which you had never been able to place. He hadn’t noticed you yet. You stood in the doorway, just watching him; admiring how the sun hit his messy brown hair, and how his back flexed as he grated the cheese. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realise that Charles had stopped grating the cheese; you didn’t notice that he had noticed you leaning against the doorway watching him.

“Hey, come here.” he said, his eyes glistening and the smile you knew so well curling up his lips. Charles leaned against the counter, reaching over to the sink, he grabbed the flower patterned kitchen towel. You watched as he wiped his hands on the towel before hanging it back on the hook you had installed one weekend he was away on a race—you couldn’t remember where he had been, maybe it had been Baku or perhaps it had been Singapore.

You stepped closer to him, feeling his arms pull you into a hug as soon as you were close enough. Charles pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. Wrapped in the warmth he so willingly gave out, the entire world melted away, until it was just you and Charles drifting through an endless microcosmos; not tethered to any particular place. For the first time since you walked into the flat, you noticed a translucent plastic box seemingly placed and then abandoned on the island counter. You pulled away from Charles and a frown tugged at the corners of his lips.; clearly not happy with how the situation had unfolded. When you pulled the box towards you, the plastic screeched against the marble countertop—Charles flinched at the sound—someone had scrawled “Charles - enfance” on the lid in black permanent marker.

“What’s this?” You ask, looking at Charles. His hand was splayed across your lower back; he always seemed to find some way to touch you whenever you were close. You’d asked him about it once, and he’d spewed something poetic about how he wanted you to know that he was there and that he would always be there for as long as you wanted him; you kissed him, then, and told him to shut up even though his words caused a warmth to spread from the tips of your toes to the tips of your fingers.

“It’s just some stuff from my childhood maman dropped off.” He murmured the words into your hair. Somehow, in the two seconds it had taken you to utter your question, he had placed yet another kiss to the crown of your head. He knew you far too well, because he nudged the box towards you, “you can look through it if you want, chérie.”

That was the only encouragement you needed to remove the lid and look inside. It was filled with things from Charles’ childhood; drawings he’d made at school; his first notebook from when he was in first grade; loose pictures of Charles at various stages in his life, some were of him as a baby sitting in the sand on the beach, giggling as a wave washed over his legs, some were of Charles as an older boy; his first day at school; a halloween—Charles was dressed as a Formula 1 driver—; some holiday to the south of Italy; Charles in a red Ferrari cap at the Monaco Grand Prix in 2006. That particular image made you pause; you took it out of the box, gently holding it in your hand as you looked at it. Charles, whose hand was still resting on the small of your back, shifted his gaze from the boiling pasta water to you. He smiled, and chuckled softly as he saw the image.

“I remember that. Alonso won. I met this girl, she was my age and wore this bright orange McLaren-cap the entire weekend.” He smiled, seemingly lost in the memory, completely oblivious to the way your eyes widened and your eyebrows creased; shock was spelled across your face as Charles continued to reminisce.

Monaco 2006

The air was vibrating with excitement; the grandstands buzzed as people filed in through the gates. The Monegasques with flats overlooking the circuit stood patiently leaning against railings. Posters and painted cloths were draped over those very same railings the Monegasques were leaning against. You sat in a grandstand, wide-eyed with wonder at the spectacle around you; the many yachts in the harbour; the amount of people everywhere; the luxury that seemed embedded in the very earth in Monaco. Most of all, the track. It was empty for now, but soon, soon the cars would be given the sign to drive and qualifying would start.

Your dad, sitting beside you, pulled the McLaren-cap you had begged for over your eyes. Everything went dark for a second before you pulled the cap back to sit properly on your head. Pretend annoyance rose in your chest. Your gaze flickered from the wonder of the Monaco Grand Prix to your father, sitting beside you, looking smug. He let out a soft hmph as you elbowed his stomach.

This was your first time at a Formula 1 race, and though you didn’t know it at the time, it certainly would not be your last. Years later, you would be standing in the back of the Ferrari garage with bated breath, watching a man in a red Ferrari suit with the number 16 printed onto his car race. For now, you were content with the hot, plastic seats of the grandstand with the sun beating down on you.

You were broken out of your reverie by a voice. Whoever the voice belonged to spoke softly in French, a language you did not understand.

“Puis-je m'asseoir ici?”

When you looked up, you were met with the face of a boy, no more than your own age, looking at you. A bright red Ferrari cap was pulled down over his brown hair. Your eyebrows creased, and the space between them—the glabella—wrinkled. The boy stood there, smiling, waiting for you to reply, when you didn’t, when the only thing you could do was look at him in confusion, the smile painted on his face slowly dropped. An older woman whom you assumed was his mother leaned down and whispered something to him in French. The boy’s face lit up again. It was as if he had suddenly understood something. In heavily accented English, the boy—clearly embarrassed by his lack of English skills—croaked out, “can I sit here?”.

You looked from the boy then back to your parents, unsure if he could. It wouldn’t have made sense to you if the boy and his family weren’t allowed to sit there, but still, you wanted to make sure. Your parents nodded. In an effort to seem nice, you smiled at the boy with the red Ferrari cap.

“Yes.”

Qualification started just as the boy sat down. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the boy glancing at you. It didn’t take him long before he’d twisted his body towards you and stretched out his hand; it was important to be polite, he thought. That was what he had always been taught. You glanced from his hand to his face. For the first time, you noticed his piercing green eyes and the mole under his eye. Shortly after, your hand shook his. It felt clammy in the Monaco heat.

“I’m Charles. I’m eight. You like Formula 1?” His cheeks were dusted pink. It was as if those four words—”you like Formula 1?”—opened something inside you, and suddenly you sat there talking about your favourite team and your favourite driver in non-standard English. Charles didn’t mind, his English was just as non-standard as yours. The correctness of the language which spilled from both your lips didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as you sat in the grandstand, watching the race, discussing whether Ferrari or McLaren were best. It certainly didn’t matter when Alonso qualified for pole, and you, with an impish smile on your face, teased Charles about Ferrari not qualifying while McLaren qualified third.

The weekend went by in a blur, and suddenly the race was over. A wide smile spread across your face as the McLaren crossed the finish line second. You glanced over and watched Charles’ face fall as two other cars—Red Bull and Honda—crossed the finish line before the Ferrari finally crossed in fifth.

“She gave me a drawing the last day of the race. I don’t know if maman kept it; she should have. It was of a Ferrari car with me as the driver.” Recognition dawned on you, finally. It had existed at the edge of your consciousness ever since Charles mentioned a girl with a bright orange McLaren-cap, but now it rammed into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. Charles dug through the box, searching almost desperately for the drawing. Eventually, he pulled it out with a triumphant grin. He handed it to you. It was more crumpled than it had been when you had handed it to him, but he still had it. The thought of that made your heart soar in your chest; butterflies, just like the ones you’d got the first time Charles kissed you beneath the open sky, erupted in your stomach.

You walked with Charles to the exit gates; both your families trailing behind you. Your face was lit up by a smile. The McLaren cap you had been wearing since the start of the race weekend was still placed atop your head. Charles held his Ferrari cap in his hands (he had claimed it had been too hot to wear it). Just before you reached the exit gate, your hand curled around Charles’ arm. He stopped abruptly, and looked at you questioningly. Your heart hammered against your ribcage; it made no sense why you were so nervous. It was just a drawing, except that to you, aged 8 years old, it wasn’t just a drawing.

The idea dawned on you as you left the grandstand the day before, just after Charles had told you that he was karting and that he one day dreamed of being a Formula 1 driver. When you brought it up to your mother, she’d only smiled, pinched your cheek—which you pouted at; “Stop, I’m not a child, mum.”—and told you it was a great idea and that Charles would be happy to receive a drawing.

As you stood in front of Charles in front of the exit, you hoped your mother was right. You reached into your pocket. Charles watched you with curious eyes as you pulled a folded drawing, clutching it in your hand before you handed it to him. Your heart pounded as Charles took the drawing, a small smile curved up his lips.

“For me?” His voice was soft. It was only when you nodded that Charles unfolded the drawing. His bright green eyes shone with wonder as he unfolded the paper. Joy settled in his face. He turned the drawing to show his parents. It was a drawing of a red race car, Ferrari was written along the side of it. Inside sat a stick figure with a helmet dressed in a red Ferrari suit. At the end of an arrow pointing to the driver of the car, you had written “you”. On the bottom of the page, in child’s handwriting, the words “to Charles, my friend from Monaco. I hope you get to be a Formula 1 driver!” were written. A smile etched itself across his face, it spread from his mouth all the way up to his eyes. His dimples appeared, and before you could comprehend what was happening, Charles’ arms were wrapped around you and he pulled you into a hug.

“I’m happy you like it.” You muttered, partly into his shoulder. Despite being the same age, he was already taller than you. Charles muttered something to you in French. Then, as if suddenly remembering that the only language you shared was English, he pulled away and, in English, a stream of words rushed out of his mouth.

“Thank you. I adore. The drawing is nice, really nice.”

That was the last time you saw Charles in years.

You stared at the drawing in your hand for far too long. Long enough for Charles’ to tilt his head and concern to etch itself into his face. With his thumb, he gently drew soft circles into the skin stretched across your back.

“Mon ange? Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You waved him off with a very unconvincing wave of your hand; he caught it and brought it up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to the back of it. There were so many things you wanted to say, but the words to say them constantly escaped you, no matter how hard you tried to catch them. Until, you caught all of them at the same time, and everything spilled from your lips.

“I went to the Monaco GP in 2006 with my parents. I met this boy there in this bright red Ferrari-cap—I thought it looked horrible. He asked to sit down beside me, and I told him he could. He said his name was Charles, he told me he wanted to be a Formula 1 driver when he grew up. I made him that drawing for encouragement.”

Realisation slowly dawned on Charles. When he realised, his eyes widened. Charles had never believed in fate; this power which controlled the outcome of every single person’s life didn’t exist. Except now? Now he maybe thought that it did exist. The realisation settled around them like a soft blanket. It seemed impossible that two strangers, children, would meet in Monaco at a Formula 1 race, only to meet in Monza years later, fall in love and move in together.

“I always wondered what happened to you, turns out I fell in love with you and converted you to root for Ferrari.” Charles’ voice was reverent as he spoke, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. He laughed, a soft laugh, filled with amusement and tenderness. His fingers found your chin, gently he turned your head towards him. HIs lips slotted perfectly against yours, as they had done so many times before. You smiled against his lips.

“I don’t know about the whole rooting for Ferrari thing, I’m still quite fond of McLaren.” The words fell from your lips the moment Charles pulled away from the kiss. With them came the teasing tone you always used when you wanted to get a rise out of him and the way your eyes twinkled mischievously. Charles scoffed, and the next thing you know, his hands were placed on either side of your hips. Laughter spilled from your lips as Charles gently spun you around, his chest pressing into yours. He nuzzled his nose against yours. Crinkles appeared in the outer corners of his eyes, his lips curved up into a smile. You had always insisted that Charles’ eyes always betrayed his real emotions, now they were flooded with mischief and mock offence.

“No, chérie.” He whined, pressing a line of kisses down your neck; his hands tightening on your hips. His stubble tickled against your neck; you tilt your head back, laughter bubbling up from your chest. With tender hands, you cupped his cheeks in both your hands, tilting his head up so his eyes—those green eyes which you love so much; which are so expressive—met yours.

“I root for Ferrari, I promise.” Charles smiled at you, kissing your nose. When you add ‘I root for McLaren, too,’ he groaned and buried his face in the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 x you #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x you #Charles leclerc #Charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc x you #Charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc one shot #f1 one shot #formula 1 one shot

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dcintys · 7 months ago

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: ̗̀➛ IN THE SPOTLIGHT | ln4

summary: lando norris protects his actor girlfriend from an aggressive paparazzi crowd at a red carpet event.

theme: protective!lando

!based on that one video of tom & zendaya!

the red carpet event was nothing short of chaos. flashing lights, shouting photographers, and a sea of people swarming for a glimpse of the stars made it hard to focus on anything other than getting through it. y/n, a world-renowned actor and the center of attention that night, smiled gracefully for the cameras despite the overwhelming energy around her.

she was used to this—handling the press, the lights, the noise—but tonight felt different. the photographers were relentless, shouting her name louder than usual, and the crowd of fans pressed closer to the barricades. It was all becoming a bit too much.

standing a few feet behind her, lando norris watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. he had tagged along as her plus-one, happy to support her big night, but seeing her in the middle of such chaos made his chest tighten.

y/n turned to step off the carpet, signaling to her team that she was ready to move inside, but the paparazzi surged forward, their voices rising. “y/n! over here!” “give us one more shot!” “y/n, who are you wearing?”

her smile faltered slightly, but she maintained her composure, trying to maneuver through the crowd. lando, however, had seen enough.

in a flash, he was at her side, his hand gently but firmly finding the small of her back. “let’s go,” he murmured, his voice calm but laced with quiet determination.

y/n glanced up at him, surprised but grateful. “i’m fine, really,” she began, but the concerned look in his eyes told her he wasn’t buying it.

“you shouldn’t have to deal with this alone,” he said, his tone softening as he guided her toward the entrance.

the paparazzi didn’t miss the moment. cameras clicked furiously, and new questions erupted. “lando, are you two together?” “y/n, is this your mystery date?”

lando ignored them all, his focus entirely on her. the crowd pressed closer, and a fan nearly reached over the barricade, but lando was quicker. his arm wrapped protectively around y/n’s shoulder, shielding her as they moved forward.

“just keep walking,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the chaos.

y/n nodded, her hand instinctively resting on his arm for support. the noise around them blurred as she focused on his calm presence, the way he moved with purpose, creating a barrier between her and the relentless crowd.

once they were inside the venue, the noise from the outside world disappeared, replaced by soft music and murmured conversations. lando finally released her, though his hand lingered on her arm for a moment longer than necessary.

“are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

y/n let out a shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “yeah, I’m fine. thanks to you.”

he gave her a small smile, but the protectiveness in his eyes hadn’t faded. “you shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of madness. they don’t know when to stop.”

“it comes with the job,” she said with a shrug, though her voice was tinged with exhaustion. “i’m used to it.”

“maybe you shouldn’t have to be,” lando said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. there was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a quiet promise that he’d always be there to step in when things got too overwhelming.

“thank you,” she said sincerely, her lips curving into a warm smile.

“anytime,” he replied, his own smile softening as he glanced down at her. “now, let’s get you a drink. I think you’ve earned it.”

she laughed, the tension of the evening finally easing. with lando by her side, she knew she could handle whatever the spotlight threw her way.

#lando x reader #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #fanfiction #formula 1 #fanfic #lando norris #lando x y/n #lando x you #actor #paparazzi

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gibberishfangirl · 6 months ago

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TOKYO REVENGERS | my girl

Synopsis ✰ they protect their girl from creeps

Characters ✰ Manjiro Sano, Ken Ryuguji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Takashi Mitsuya, Nahoya Kawata, Souya Kawata

Contains ✰ sfw!, catcalling, inappropriate sexual remarks, violence, protective boyfriends, very feminine!reader, f!reader, usage of the words “my girl”, defensive threats, harassment, sticky situation, reader is alone in some scenarios, boyfriends to the rescue

Manjiro Sano ᡣ𐭩

Mikey doesn’t actually think he’s felt this irritated before in his life. his face was kept straight as he was fixated on the situation happening right in front of him. he and ken had gone to meet you after your classes ended only to find this. even ken was unsure of whether or not he should step in himself or wait til mikey makes the first move. “get your dirty hands off me.” you snapped yanking your arm away as the guy had tried to reached over to grab your wrist. mikey knew you could handle your own but it didn’t make sitting on the sidelines any easier. he knew the relationship between you two was kept under wraps for a good reason. it’s not worth messing up and exposing your relationship over some scummy guy… right? no it’s not. “why not? its not like you got a boyfriend or anything. never seen you with another guy.” the guy just wouldn’t take no as an answer. how pathetic mikey thought.

“she already said no. take the hint.” mikey warned. the guy glanced over at mikey understanding what mikey meant by his words. to anyone else it might’ve just sounded like a guy saying to leave the girl alone already but what mikey really meant was “take the hint before i make you back off myself” and the guy read that message loud and clear. “oh yeah? and who are you? her boyfriend or something?” ken couldn’t even help but scoff as well at the guys response. how crazy do you gotta be to not only be able to not take a hint but also challenge the person who’s warning you. “i guess you could say something like that.” mikey said stepping up to the guy. “uhm.. draken?” you whispered over at the tall guy implying that he should break it up. “alright, mikey let’s just go it’s not worth it c’mon.” Draken placed a hand on mikey’s shoulder before gesturing over towards you with his head. mikey glanced over at you before coming to terms with the fact that he shouldn’t make such a scene in front of you. it’s not very gentlemanly of him is it? ugh he can hear mitsuya’s and ken’s lectures from a mile away.

“fine whatever, better not catch sight of your face again.” mikey said before shoulder checking the guy and walking over to you two to leave. the walk to the restaurant was silent as draken led the way. you were grateful mikey was willing to stand up to the creep for you. you felt a blush creep up to your cheeks as you grabbed mikey’s hand pulling him back to you. he glanced at you to ask what was wrong but you placed a quick soft kiss on his lips before he could. “thanks for defending me.” you mumbled after trying to avoid any sort of eye contact with the man. “well yeah… you’re my girl.” now it was mikey’s turn to blush as he realized what he said. a cheeky smile was plastered on your face as mikey was now the one avoiding eye contact. he looked over to see draken still distracted as he was far ahead of you two, glancing at all the buildings you were walking past. mikey was slightly relieved to know he won’t have to deal with any teasing later… but with his luck draken most likely still saw the scene unfold from the corner of his eyes.

Ken Ryuguji ᡣ𐭩

Draken was unfortunately used to you having secret admires and despite to his own likings, he’s also used to the not so secret admirers. he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care about the amount of perusers that followed you around on a daily basis. it especially annoyed him whenever there were times he couldn’t be near you due to work or being busy. you were gorgeous, it couldn’t be helped if others stared and recognized that fact as well. he knew better than anyone else how easy it was to get swept off his feet by you. he wasn’t jealous or insecure, he trusted you with his life. he was more protective and concerned about the creeps who couldn’t take no for an answer. he was working on a bike with mikey when you were walking to his place. you were so busy texting on your phone and listening to some music with your earbuds on that you didn’t catch onto the amount of catcalls being made.

Draken took notice as he heard the commotion of the busy street from his garage which was opened. he felt his mood change from frustration to a positive one as he first caught sight of your face. only for his mood to go back to frustration as he listened more clearly to the noise being made. how could you be so dense, the least you can do is be more aware of your surroundings. well draken can’t completely blame you for this, you were so used to his security and protection to the point where you knew you were pretty safe at all times. “be right back.” ken threw the dirty rag he was holding onto the floor before walking over to you. better he get to you now so he can walk you the rest of the way without any issue. at least that’s what he originally thought before he noticed another guy walking up to you as well. “hey! i’m talkin to you ya know!” the guy was clearly irritated by your lack of reaction to his catcalls. he was trying to get your attention for the past minute now while you kept walking ignoring the world behind you.

his loud voice snapped you out of your trance as you turned to find a hand try to make its way on your shoulder. luckily enough he wasn’t able to make any contact with you as his arm was stopped mid air by a strong grip of a very much taller and muscular blonde haired man. “you’re talking to me now.” draken responded for you as he threw the guys arm away from your direction. “stay outta this.” the guy glared at draken unsure of what he business he even had doing here. “can’t. not when your tryna put your hands on what’s mine.” draken was intimidating for sure with the way he towers over everyone and the cold demeanor he can manage to get at times like this. before the guy could even say anything draken cut him off by telling him “get lost before i change my mind.” draken didn’t need to repeat the phrase twice before the guy ran off. you were lost in confusion as you removed your earbuds “what happened?” you tilted your head to the side unsure of what just played out in front of me. draken couldn’t help but let out a small smile as he sighed “nothing, don’t worry about it. you’re lucky you’re my girl.” he laughed half joking at the last part since he really does tend to save you a lot of the time.

Chifuyu Matsuno ᡣ𐭩

Chifuyu always swore to protect you and be by your side for as long as you’ll let him. he always tried to be a gentleman in every way but damn situations like this made it so hard for him to not snap in front of you. sometimes it just couldn’t be helped. the two of you had gone on a date and this idiot wouldn’t stop following you around trying to ask for your number or get your attention. it was beginning to make you uncomfortable and it was pissing him off. he hated the guy already for trying to make a pass on you but he hated him for making you uncomfortable even more. the guy tried to swing his arm around you but failed at the attempt as Chifuyu slapped his hand away. “man, this shit is so uncool. cant you get a hint? she doesn’t want you. take the hint and keep your hands off my girl.” he reached his breaking point and he was done trying to be nice. “ha, your girl? you’re joking right? no way someone like you gets someone like her.” the guy laughed him off which unfortunately for him pissed Chifuyu off even more. he didn’t necessarily think he was wrong in a way since he believes your totally out of his league. he just hated how he really couldn’t take no as an answer.

“yeah well she’s clearly not with someone like you is she? trust me, it’s for a reason.” Chifuyu snapped back clearly striking a nerve as the guy was visibly upset by the comment. “you trying to start something?” “pretty sure you already did that part when you came up to us with your bullshit. so yeah. why don’t you come show me up if you think your tough shit.” Chifuyu challenged, gently placing your shopping bags down near you before stepping up to the guy. the guy was taller than him by almost a full foot but it didn’t scare Chifuyu. he’s handled bigger guys before and wasn’t afraid to take a punch. he especially wasn’t afraid to throw one either. a crowd started to form around the three of you as people sensed the tension. “uhm ‘fuyu maybe we should just go.” you tried to reason with him as you ran a hand up and down his bicep trying to settle him down. “yeah listen to your little girlfriend she doesn’t want to see you get hurt.” the guys words struck a nerve in you as you couldn’t stand the way he just tried to talk down your boyfriend in front of you.

“actually you’re the one who should be more worried. not him.” you glared at the guy who was clearly caught off guard by your statement. you took a step back well aware of what was about to happen as the fight broke out, Chifuyu gladly swinging the first punch. you had to admit you were a bit sad that you both got banned from the mall for a month. “im sorry i ruined our date.” Chifuyu softly spoke as he began to warm up the car. he really did feel bad for ruining the day, guilt and frustration was displayed upon his perfect face. “it’s okay, don’t stress about it… i can’t believe you really got into a fight for me.” you changed the topic as you were undeniably in awe at Chifuyu’s protective behavior. you never had anyone defend you the way he has before, it felt nice. “well of course! i will always defend you, you deserve the best and i won’t stand for someone treating you like a piece of meat.” he loudly spoke. his voice came out more passionately than he wanted it to. a blush spread around his face in embarrassment. however, his heart melted as you placed a kiss on the small scar the guy had left on his cheek bone. it was the only hit the guy managed to get before Chifuyu pummeled him into the ground. “my hero.” your words went straight into his heart.

Takashi Mitsuya ᡣ𐭩

Mitsuya was one of the most gentle beings you’ve met. imagine the shock that came when you found out he was a part of a gang and is even a captain. you couldn’t believe it. he never expressed any negative emotions around you and had never once lost his cool. it felt unreal at times since you were sure he had his moments like everyone else but he was still so kind. maybe being an older brother to sisters helped him with that. he was always kind and soft spoken with you which is why you never would’ve thought you would get the chance to see him arguing with another man with you right behind to witness it all. you began to wonder if Mitsuya even remembered you were there as he continued to bicker. the situation had been building up for some time so you couldn’t necessarily blame Mitsuya for finally reaching his breaking point. you had an admirer on campus who wouldn’t stop trying to ask you out despite being informed you were already in a relationship.

you felt awful for finding this so attractive. the way his brows furrowed and a sharp glare was found in his eyes made your stomach swirl. “take it easy man, it wasn’t ever that serious.” the guy tried to ease the situation as he noticed the demeanor shift in Mitsuya. “take it easy? not that serious? you go around trying to harass my girl every other day and you think i’ll just be okay with that?” you and Mitsuya don’t attend the same school so he never witnessed the guy’s behavior towards you until he decided to surprise you today after school. he had heard the rumors of you having an annoying admirer but he didn’t assume it was this bad. “you’re never even here. how was i supposed to know the boyfriend actually exists when he’s never to be found.” the guy shrugged. the way he was so shameless baffled everyone around you. Mitsuya had reached his breaking point and grabbed the guy by his collar raising his fist up. only to be stopped by you tugging his school sweater. he let out a sigh before dropping the guy. he was embarrassed. you could tell by the way cheeks flushed once he saw your face. “get outta here before i change my mind.”

“i’m sorry you had to see that.” Mitsuya spoke with shame. he never wanted you to see this side of him since he didn’t want you to be scared of him. not that you ever could be, you knew him all too well to ever think of him in a negative light. “it’s okay-it was hot.” your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up. you immediately regretted saying that as your face flushed a bright shade of red. “i-you shouldn’t say such things!” Mitsuya scolded you. his expression was mixed with shock and embarrassment. how can you find that attractive?!!?!?!!! “i’m sorry!” you bowed apologetically. that wasn’t the type of reaction he was expecting to receive from you. he didn’t think you were even capable of having inappropriate thoughts. the two of you didn’t speak much as he walked you home. “…so what about it did you find hot?” he teased finally breaking the ice. “shut up!” you blushed as you ran away from him. he of course caught up quickly but seeing your shy expression made the running worth it. he couldn’t help but smile now whenever he thought back to that moment.

Nahoya Kawata ᡣ𐭩

unlike his fellow captain Mitsuya, Nahoya had no shame in his violent behavior. he didn’t care about fighting in front of you or not. if someone started shit with him it didn’t matter who he was with he was for sure ending it right there and then. it wasn’t uncommon for your boyfriend to get into a couple fights here and there around you. if anything you being there was a motivator for him as he wanted to impress you. can you blame him? he’s a show off and loves to show off to you especially. he wants you to be able to recognize all his strengths as a person. he wants to prove that you can always rely on him no matter what. he’s a prideful man who never backed down from a challenge. of course he would never put you in jeopardy at any cost. he never acted aggressive towards you specifically (he would never even think about raising his voice at you) and he always kept a distance from you when he was about to escalate a fight. he wouldn’t forgive himself if you got caught in the cross fire.

the two of you (and souya who was sulking in the background) had been walking together to your favorite coffee shop. you were craving one of their signature drinks and Nahoya being the good boyfriend he is offered to purchase one for you. you had your arms crossed behind your back as you were skipping ahead of your boyfriend as the two of you were caught up in some chatting about his latest gang drama. he loved telling you stories about him and his friends. however, a certain wolf whistle caught his ear as it sounded particularly loud in your direction. Nahoya and Souya both looked around to try to see who made the noise. it was a busy street so you simply ignored it since you didn’t even think the whistle was towards you. “nice ass!” a guy laughed as he walked past you making sure to eye you up and down one last time as he began to walk way ahead of you. you felt incredibly uncomfortable by the comment as realization settled. the uncomfortable feeling soon got replaced by wary as you looked at your boyfriend. he wasn’t even looking at you and you had a strong feeling about what was going to happen.

“hey! watch your fucking mouth when talking to my girl asshole!” without thinking twice Nahoya swooped down to grab a half empty cup on the side of the road and chucked it right at the guy grabbing his attention. Nahoya had good aim as the cup hit the side of the guy’s head. the mystery liquid spilled all over him causing some people in the crowd to gasp or laugh. the guy immediately starting walking up to Nahoya who was already running straight towards him ready to give him a piece of his mind more like his fists. Souya ran up to you concerned “are you okay?” “yeah i’m okay.” you reassured him. once he knew you were okay he ran to go back up his brother in case of any other trouble. the way the two brothers were always ready to rescue you never failed to amaze you. of course Nahoya does it out of pure love and Souya does it because your his friend along with his brothers girlfriend.

Souya Kawata ᡣ𐭩

being in a relationship was all so new to Souya, he was still a shy mess at most times. you were both in the same awkward situation as the two of you were at a party. in all honesty you both didn’t want to be there but had assumed the other wanted to go and you couldn’t bring yourselves to say no. now there’s some creep who has been trying to offer you drink after drink. “no thank you, i’m not much a drinker.” you politely declined. you weren’t sure how to handle this as Souya got pulled away by his friends for a moment to handle something outside. you were starting to run out of excuses to reject drinks and he wasn’t taking no as an answer for long. you kept glancing towards the door hoping for Souya to return soon. you felt your hand get grabbed by someone while you were distracted. you looked over to see the guy once again, this time holding your hand while pleading in a playful tone “ah c’mon don’t be like that. it’s a weekend you should have some fun.”

your hand was pulled from his grasp by someone behind you. you looked over to finally see your savior of a boyfriend. you couldn’t fight back the relieved expression on your face as you relaxed into his embrace. “oh, i see you’ve met my girl.” “your girl?— girlfriend ?! i had no idea, my mistake.” the man apologized warily as he backed off. he made his exist soon after leaving the two of you alone. “ah thank goodness you got here it was getting a bit uncomfortable.” you admitted as you gave him a tight squeeze. “was it?? i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have taken so long. i can take care of it now.” Souya offered as he got ready to follow the guy out. he hadn’t read the situation that well and wasn’t sure what was going on. if he had known he was bothering you for some quite time he wouldn’t had been so calm. “no! it’s fine, you’re here now.” you stopped him by grabbing his hand. now this felt better, his hand in yours felt more comfortable than that other guys.

“are you okay?” he asked trying to read your expression. “yeah i’m okay.” you reassured him with a smile as he held your face in his heads. “hm. okay. let’s get outta here yeah? parties aren’t really my style.” he bashfully admitted. to be frank he was starting to get angsty by how crowded the house was becoming. “yess! i hate parties.” you admitted in response with a sigh of relief. you finally felt like you breathe as you left. “you should’ve told me sooner. i would’ve told everyone no. i always do anyway, i just assumed you would like to come. i’ll make sure to double check next time.” he apologized sweetly as he rubbed the lower of your back as an attempt to make you more comfortable. “i don’t really care what we do. i’m not too picky, as long as we get to be together.” you smiled at him causing him to blush. he couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response but he definitely felt the exact same way.

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daycourtofficial · 9 days ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part ten

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x Reader | WC: 3.6k | warnings: Azriel’s sad boohoo

Summary: Azriel’s left behind in the Night Court, his two mates vanishing at the end of the gala. No one else feels the urgency he does to find both of them, to ensure they’re unharmed and safe.

Author’s note: hehe an Az pov 🫶🏻 didn’t think I’d ever write one of those

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Azriel was losing his ever loving mind.

His brothers were both sitting in Rhysand’s office, discussing the events that just unfolded, too preoccupied with Keir to talk about the parts of this disaster Azriel cared about most. The shadowsinger wanted to carve out Keir’s skin, test the limits of his healing for the male to truly experience the depths of pain Azriel was so familiar with.

But his thoughts kept moving quickly between needing revenge and needing answers, meanwhile his brothers just lounged casually, acting as if they were discussing a recent sporting event.

“He can’t just take her, Rhysand.” Without me went unsaid. It was impossible for Azriel to take a full breath since his mates had disappeared. His chest felt like it was shredding itself from within and every limb ached with uncertainty.

Where were you?

Azriel didn’t have time to talk with Rhys, needing to go to the cabin. Surely Eris dropped you off at the cabin, maybe even lingered and let you assess any wounds he had been dealt.

His stomach churned at the idea either of you had been injured in his presence. He had been able to sneak glances your way, no sign of blood or bruising from his vantage point, but the gargoyles may have caused him to miss something.

Where was Eris?

Azriel’s face hardened, slipping into his role as spymaster, digging at every detail.

Eris knew the plan inside and out. He had spent hours ensuring they both knew every step the other would take, and yet, his mate had forged his own path for the night the moment he asked you to dance.

Why would Eris take you?

The question had been plaguing him since he saw a pile of gargoyles overtake the spot the two of you had been occupying. He couldn’t consider the gargoyles had finished the two of you off. He clutched the strained bonds he felt in his chest, holding them tight in reassurance.

“We’re getting there, Azriel. Keir is more of a priority.” Rhysand fell into that High Lord voice, the tone that was bordering hypnotic that worked so well on Cassian but never quite had the same effect on Azriel. It grated his sloped ears, prickling at his skin like a bad feeling.

“Is he really more of a priority?”

“Yes. If Keir is behaving like this in public, we need to shut it down. We need his darkbringers on our side, and if Keir is moving on us, we have to prepare the Illyrians.”

Wrong. The whisper came from one of his shadows, gently caressing his ear while Rhysand spoke. Azriel looked to Cassian, hoping for some form of aid from his other brother, but Cassian kept his eyes on Rhysand, trained on their youngest brother.

“Eris took one of our own, someone in our family. If this were Feyre, you’d be on the warpath.” The shadowsinger had to get through to them, whatever means necessary. Rhysand’s eyes darkened as he leaned back in his chair, assessing Azriel. Azriel felt the familiar talon drag access his mind, his brother hoping for entry. He swatted it away, unsure he had the fortitude to keep Rhys from finding out anything he didn’t want him to know.

“If you’ll recall, Feyre spent months away from us in the Spring Court being held by Tamlin. This situation isn’t much different. She knew what she was signing up for.”

Azriel’s blood ran cold, but he used every ounce of self-restraint to stay still. He fisted and unfisted his hand at his side. Images flashed in his mind - lunging at Rhysand, toppling him out of his chair, busting his jaw for speaking like his mate like that.

He couldn’t blow this. You had kept his secret for months now and he couldn’t have it all unravel now because of his brother’s stupid tongue.

“I know you feel guilty that she’s gone, but we’ll get her back.” They were both looking at him, but it was Cassian who spoke, his voice softer than Rhys’s, much less accusatory. His brother looked concerned, his long hair curling up at the edges, the exertion from the confrontation nowhere to be seen save for the sweat dried to his brow. He had a slight bruise on his left cheek, one of the gargoyles no doubt.

Azriel stayed still, keeping his breath even. Adrenaline swam through his veins, the confrontation in Hewn City ending too swiftly, leaving much to be desired for his blood lust. He had tracked the moment his mates disappeared, a strong tug in his chest urging his eyes in that direction. He had caught the side of Eris’s head as he turned back to you, grabbing your hand, and disappearing into the night air.

Azriel had felt the pulse of magic from his siphon as blue light blinded him, a gargoyle lunging for him before some of his shadows quickly formed a net, sparing him from injury or death. He had turned quickly, using his sword to smash the gargoyle to pieces, only to watch the rest crumble around him.

Dust had floated through the air, coughing to keep it from his lungs. The dance floor had been buried beneath a thick layer of rubble.

Azriel’s first instinct would have been to check for anyone injured in the fight, but he stared longingly instead at the spot his mates had last been at. His first thought had been that the two of you hadn’t disappeared into the air, but instead became buried beneath the stone. His shadows had been quick to correct him, whispering softly not here, not here.

His relief had been short-lived, quickly replaced with panic and anger, both of which he had directed at Keir. With the gargoyles gone, he had flown across the space, one flap of his great wings enough to shoot him across the cavern into Keir. His boots had hit Keir’s chest first, knocking the male to the ground.

Azriel didn’t hear the crunch of Keir’s head, his blonde hair quickly matting with blood. He only growled at the male, holding scarred hands tight against his throat. Keir was choking, squirming beneath Azriel’s anger, unable to push the Illyrian off.

At some point the shadowsinger had begun snarling and growling, turning into a rabid animal as he tried to squeeze the life from Hewn City’s leader.

Cassian had pulled him away, pried his fingers off of Keir’s throat. He had been saying something to Azriel, but a buzzing overtook his ears, allowing him to fixate his anger all on Keir. Cassian looked down at Azriel, barely holding him place, Keir’s wheezing and sputtering going ignored by both of them.

“What are you doing?” Cassian had shouted at him, pushing Azriel down when he tried to stand back up, a few of his shadows there to soften his fall.

“He tried to kill us, Cassian.” Azriel didn’t think he’d ever have to defend violence against Keir to Cassian of all fae. Azriel’s shadows nipped and hissed at Cassian, angry he stopped their master from seeking vengeance on behalf of his mates. Cassian lifted his feet with each nip, shaking his leg trying to rid himself of the darkness, but they clung to him. They had found holes in his leathers and began nipping and pinching at the exposed flesh to show their irritation.

“Call them off,” Cassian yelped, trying to hide his pain, his feet stomping down on the tendrils, the shadows able to dart away with each slow step.

“No.”

“No?” The general asked incredulously, his foot raised midstomp.

“Why should I?” Azriel growled, chest heaving, desperate for oxygen. He had to leave, had to go, there wasn’t enough air in this mountain. There wasn’t enough air when his mates were missing and he was left behind, left in the dark, a new basement to hold him captive in.

His wings fluttered at the memory of being pinned behind his back, how painful stretching them even an inch had been. No one had taught him how crucial it was to stretch his wings, to spread them out when he slept.

They spread out now, shadows spilling out of the nooks and crannies they had been tucked into. One flap of his wings brought him back onto his feet, lunging for Keir once more, pinning him beneath his body with ease.

The male had been inches from Azriel’s sword when a smooth voice floated through his mind.

Stop.

Azriel’s nostrils flared at the command, his sword slowly moving toward Keir’s neck, the blade close enough to make a small slice with his deep breath. Blood bubbled onto the blade, a few drops joining together, sliding toward the hilt.

Azriel, I told you to stop.

Azriel kept his eyes on Keir, wanting nothing more than to tear the male limb from limb for attacking his mates. His weight was bearing down on the male, the blonde squirming beneath him to get out. Keir’s mouth was full of blood, his teeth making him look carnivorous as he smiled.

“Lose something, shadowsinger?”

Azrkel pressed down to behead the male, but some invisible force kept his blade where it was. He pushed and pushed, grunting with the force, but it would not move. The spymaster ground his teeth as he shifted his focus to his High Lord, his anger on full display.

Rhysand’s violet eyes were stern as he looked down at the shadowsinger, but something odd lingered in their depths. He crossed his arms across his chest, trying and failing to look nonchalant.

“I will deal with him.”

And now they stood in Rhysand’s office. Azriel had no idea where Rhysand had taken Keir, a fact not unnoticed by him and that continued to fuel his anger. They are wasting so much time now. Were you or Eris hurt? Did Keir have outside help? Where had Eris taken you?

Azriel choked down his urgency, keeping it in his gut to be well-equipped for any scenario. He hadn’t restocked the cabin’s medical supplies, too busy passing the time with his mates and his own duties with Rhysand.

Foolish.

His mate had used everything available to save his life, every spare shred of gauze, even scraps of linen had been used to quelch the bleeding. And he hadn’t the time nor forethought to extend the same courtesy.

One of his shadows hit him in the head, trying to stop his thoughts from spiraling into the self-doubt that had been shrouding him for months. The fear that lingered constantly, a spiral of inadequacies that led to the disappointment of both his mates.

He knew he could have handled things better. Knew he should have handled things better.

But when had he ever handled anything correctly?

Another shadow tugged lightly at his hair, pulling him back into his brother’s violet eyes, shifting the blame from himself to his High Lord.

“We better get her back.” He gritted out, his jaw hardly opening with how hard he was grinding his teeth.

The both of them, he wanted to say. We better get them both back.

After an eternity of Cassian’s fidgeting and Rhys’s obfuscating, Azriel left the study, cutting his brother off mid sentence. He wouldn’t stand there wasting precious time any longer, listening as Rhysand danced around the subject, never committing to a plan.

He flew to the House of Wind, the breeze not helping his mood. There was a current from the north that exerted his wings to counteract it, the air trying to sweep him in a different direction.

He landed on the balcony to his room, not taking any chances at getting stopped. He had to gather supplies, weapons, anything that could-

A knock at the door made him pause before continuing his list, running to his washroom for supplies. He didn’t have time to bother with Cassian’s ridiculous whining, listening to his brother attempt to get Azriel to see Rhysand’s reasoning.

The knock on his door persisted, louder now. Azriel was shoving gauze into a bag before he called out, “I’m not speaking with you, Cassian.”

The door opened and a curse fell from Azriel’s lips, ready to throw his brother from the balcony until a familiar scent of cinnamon and citrus hit his nose. He turned to find Mor standing in his doorway, her usual smile gone, replaced with a more serious look.

“We need to talk.” Azriel ignored her, crouching down to the floor instead of looking at her. He didn’t have the patience to listen to her complain about her father, not when he could only think about one thing.

“Not now.” He slid a bulky bag out from beneath his bed, unrolling the black fabric slowly to avoid jostling the blades inside. His eyes roamed over the dozen or so blades, all varying sizes and different hilt adornments. His eyes paused on one blade before quickly moving on, the bright amber jewel too close to his mate’s eye coloring for him to not get emotional.

Eris had given him the blade several years ago, a gift after the shadowsinger had opened up about his brothers. The abuse he endured at their hands, how he still watched them from time to time, lurking in the shadows of their houses to keep them on edge. Never doing anything more than lurking or moving things, just to make them feel haunted.

For so long Azriel had felt like a ghost, a secret existence that no one spoke of or saw. Time passed outside and with his body, but so long, he felt stuck, forced to walk the world as that little boy. Haunted by memories of fae who never think of him.

Most importantly on that night, he confided in Eris about how conflicted he felt every day that they lived. “I’m not sure what I would do face to face with them again,” were his exact words. Eris had stayed quiet, listening to his tale while they sat in a quiet grove. It was their spot, a quiet patch of land in Dawn close to the border with the Middle.

It’s where, almost a year to the day of that conversation, their cabin would be built. Eris had acquired the land from the previous owner after Azriel had combed through the male’s entire life. He was a simple farmer, no ties to anyone save an aunt who visits him on occasion.

The day the only home they could share was finished, a solid place for them to stay built by their own hands and magic, a box had been placed in the middle of the empty space.

“It’s one of mine. They even matched the hilt to my eyes.” Azriel had noticed it immediately, the familiar color a perfect match to his mate’s eyes that made him feel like he was home. “I want you to have a piece of me there if you ever get around to killing your brothers.”

Azriel shook off the memory before rolling the bag back up, securing the ties on it before lifting it over his shoulder, tucking the bag in the space between his wings.

“Azriel, it’s important. Can you stop whatever you’re doing?”

“No.”

Mor huffed, stamping her foot lightly on his floor, but Azriel didn’t turn. He was too busy checking off the list in his head, wanting to get everything he could possibly need for any situation.

You were a damn good healer, but Azriel had to be prepared for the possibility that you were injured or even worse. He started for the washroom again, remembering some pain potions beneath his sink.

“I’ve known for a long time, Azriel.”

Mor’s voice was quiet, the painful truth lacing every word. Azriel stopped walking, his body going rigid just long enough for Mor to know she had him.

What she implied wasn’t possible. He kept his face neutral, not giving anything away. He wanted to know where along the way she found out, his damned curiosity almost getting the better of him, but that would confirm the truth and he couldn’t do that, not now when neither of you were safe.

“I hated you for a long, long time.”

Azriel had noticed her distance for some time, thinking she had just become aware of how sickening his obsession had been, keeping her distance instead of confronting him, thinking him too delicate to handle the rejection.

It wasn’t her rejection he wouldn’t be able to handle.

“But now I know it’s real and I don’t know what’s going on, but Az, something’s off.”

He didn’t have time for this. He had to find both of his mates, had to claw his way to the other end of the strings in his chest. He didn’t say anything, only pushed past Mor, trying to get to the door. It shut before he reached it, her long fingers spread out, gold clattering on the wood as she held it closed.

“Azriel.” Mor’s voice was stern, all lightness he usually associated with her long gone.

At one time, Azriel’s devotion to the blonde was real. His obsession with her was maddening and embarrassing in hindsight, but all consuming in the moment. He had been so convinced they were meant to be together, that all she had to do was see it, see him, and they would be happy. He would be happy.

She would fix him.

It was never fair to either of them the expectations he placed on her, the throne he set her on. Moments of anger flashed through his thoughts on sleepless nights, the gut churning pain when she didn’t live up to the impossible standards he set for her.

Mor always shriveled at his less than savory side. Hiding into herself at any mention of his profession, how he delighted in the spilled blood, an atonement for his own personal failings.

It was his own form of penance. One nobody understood.

Except for Eris.

Eris never shied away from bloodshed or violence, always the first of the two to be ready for a fight. By the Mother how he and Eris have torn into each other over the years.

They both carried so much anger, so much rage at their situation. Who they were, who they were stuck being.

The truth he had never wanted to admit was how stuck Azriel had been. His entire life had been decision after decision made for him. Born an Illyrian, he was forced into the camps. Born a bastard, he was hidden, kept in a dark room of shame and secrets.

The bond snapping with Eris was the first time he felt unstuck, like his life was his own. Every day he woke wondering if today would be different. If he could leave his forged family behind, where he felt nothing but stifled and pitied for so long.

But now there was you.

Caught between two worlds: who he is and who he could be. When his mateship with Eris began, he had given up on all thoughts of his ability to become pure again. There was no perfect female at the end of his heart to make him whole, no one who would love him without question and without trial.

You were so unlike either himself or Eris. You were a healer, a medic. Someone nowhere near the front lines, but just as important if not moreso. You were not in charge of strategizing or planning attacks, but rather on the opposite end of the violence, tending to wounds after the damage had been done.

You had not shied away from Eris’s flames when the gargoyles attacked nor had you shied away from Azriel’s return after long, grueling nights spent with the worst fae he could find that night.

“Azriel. You and I both know Keir can’t stand up to Rhysand like that.” Mor’s voice barely pulled him from the territorial thoughts of you he was falling into.

“You think the gargoyles were someone else’s doing?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, those were all him. He’s always been able to manipulate stone. But to bring them to life…” she trailed off, not sure where she was going with it. “I just- it doesn’t add up. I don’t think he’s powerful enough for that.”

Azriel didn’t have time for this. For all he knew, you could be bleeding out in the cabin alone. Or you and Eris could both be bleeding out. Together, unable to help each other.

He had to get to you.

“Mor, I think your father’s opportunistic. I think he saw an opportunity to try to make Rhys look weak in front of another court.”

“I’m serious, Azriel.”

“What are you suggesting, Mor?”

She wrung her fingers, the rings twisting back and forth in a way that would have left Azriel hypnotized a century ago.

“I don’t know, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Mor, a member of our court, one of close friends, has been taken Cauldron knows where. I don’t have time to indulge your conspiracies about your father.”

Mor flinched, taking a step back at his harsh words. In another time, that action would have derailed him for over a year, the memory on loop reminding him how much of a monster he was.

Now it just fueled him on to find another male Mor thought was a monster and hope that both of his mates were safe.

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chahnniesroom · 10 months ago

Text

cross my heart

pairing: bang chan & female reader, hwang hyunjin & female reader

summary: chan has quickly become one of your closest friends at university. too bad his girlfriend, hayoon, has him wrapped around her little finger and she's determined to make your life miserable. hyunjin is just enjoying watching the drama unfold.

word count: 4.0k

tags/warnings: angst!!! hurt and maybe some comfort?, infidelity (not between the reader or chan/hyunjin), arguing, the relationships with the reader are more like friendships than dating (please let me know if you think there should be more tags/warnings)

a/n: totally thought this was going to be a short fic (like less than 1k words) but it blossomed into something more. i wanted to try something different with this fic but not sure if i pulled it off lol please be kind if you comment! i also did not to bother with honourifics so... you can pretend that chan, hyunjin, and y/n are all the same age 😅

read it on ao3 | masterlist

It's almost funny how quickly you and Chan become friends.

You hadn't really been looking forward to taking a technical writing class, but it's one of the requirements to get your degree and at least the lecture is large enough that you won't have to do any in-class participation. When the professor announces that one of the very first assignments is going to be completed in random pairs, you're instantly nervous. It’s only after meeting Chan, who is easygoing yet studious, that you feel better.

Although the group assignment only takes a couple weeks to finish, you find yourself hanging out more and more. Chan has a natural way of writing, he's intelligent and efficient with his wording without sacrificing clarity. While you can eventually write something that’s fairly clear and concise, it takes a lot of effort and a lot of time so you're grateful to be working with Chan who doesn't struggle with tight timelines like you do.

The two of you grow close together, especially once you realise that you have a similar sense of humour and taste in music. It doesn't take long before technical writing is your favourite class. Chan always saves you a seat beside him, even though he has quite a few friends that are also taking this course. You’re not used to it at first, but you grow comfortable with the way that he leans over to make quips about whatever the professor is saying or pointing out if someone in the lecture hall is falling asleep. You sometimes bring him snacks and in exchange he brings you a drink.

The more you learn about Chan, the more you're convinced that he's perfect.

Well, apart from one thing.

The worst thing about Chan is his girlfriend. Jung Hayoon absolutely hates you and, behind Chan's back, never fails to make sure you know it too. While the two of you have never shared any courses, she regularly meets Chan after class is over and you've been invited to join them and some other friends for a meal or to study so you've interacted with her more than you want to.

You’re not quite sure what you've done to earn Hayoon's ire, but you can only guess that it's your blossoming friendship with Chan as she’s never seemed to care about you before you met him. She takes every opportunity to make backhanded compliments, pointed comments about how much or what you're eating, or loudly exclaim when you have something stuck in your teeth. You try not to let it get to you, but you've always been a bit too sensitive.

You start declining offers to hang out with Chan and the rest of his friends after class, trying to ignore Chan's disappointment and Hayoon's smug smile every time that you make excuses.

Of course, she's sickly sweet around Chan, constantly hanging off his arm, batting her eyes at him, and trying to hold his attention. You can't really stand her obviously fake behaviour, but she makes Chan happy so you don't say anything negative about her when Chan's around.

You aren’t the type to keep up with school gossip, but even you know that Hayoon's track record is far from pristine. In fact, you were surprised to hear that someone as genuine and kind as Chan was in a relationship with someone like Hayoon.

—

The library isn't your favourite place to study, but partway through midterm season you're desperate for a change in scenery. You spend the better part of the day completing practice exams for the course you're the most worried about until you finally feel more confident. Satisfied with your progress and excited at the prospect of eating a proper meal rather than the snacks that have kept you going so far, you quickly pack up.

There aren't too many people in the library since it’s so close to the weekend, a lot of students have either finished all of their exams for the week or just given up studying. Maybe that's why your attention seems so drawn to the couple that you pass on the way to the door.

You don't mean to do anything other than quickly glance at them, but the familiarity of the girl catches your eye. The carefully styled hair and slim figure is a common combination to see at your university, but after weeks of trying to avoid her, there’s no mistaking Jung Hayoon.

And it's not Chan that she’s currently kissing.

You stumble away from them, but not before Hayoon looks up and spots you. Instead of panicking or stopping, she continues making out with the boy, maintaining eye contact with you. She even has the audacity to wink. You stare at her for a second, stunned, then bolt out of the building.

You're so flustered that you don't know what to do or where to go. You end up walking to the nearest bench and sitting down heavily in it.

You knew that you didn't like Hayoon, that she was two-faced and had likely cheated on past partners, but you hadn't expected to ever catch her in the act, especially while she was dating Chan. You couldn't fathom why anybody would want anything else when they had him and you had never been able to understand cheating in the first place.

You have to tell Chan, you decide. As much as you hate difficult conversations and it kills you to be the bringer of bad news, you know that you'd never be able to sleep at night if you tried to hide this from him. If you were in his position, you would prefer to know as soon as possible.

You call him as you start heading in the direction of his dorm.

“Hey,” Chan picks up after only a few rings. “Is everything okay? You don't usually call.”

“Uhm-” You have no clue what to say, you didn't think this through enough before dialling. “Where are you? I- Can I come talk to you?”

“Y/n? What's wrong?” Chan's instantly concerned.

“Nothing, I just- I really need to talk to someone right now,” you say quickly. “I'm fine, I mean.”

“Okay. I'm at home right now, but I can come meet you if you need? Where are you?”

“Don't worry about it, I'll head over, if that's okay.”

“Sure,” Chan says, sounding extremely worried. “Be safe, Y/n. I'll see you soon.”

After you hang up, you don't quite run to Chan's place, but you're out of breath and sweaty by the time you make it. You take a moment to compose yourself before requesting access into the building, but you know you still look frazzled. Chan buzzes you in immediately and he’s waiting in the hallway when you step out of the elevator. He guides you into his room, but only after checking you over and making sure that you're physically okay.

“Y/n, you're scaring me,” he says after leading both of you to sit down at his tiny kitchen table. “Tell me what's got you so worked up.”

“Do you know where Hayoon is today?” you ask, probably sounding insane. Chan pauses for a moment, brow furrowed before he responds.

“I know that she has an exam tomorrow, so I assume that she's studying. Why, what's up?”

“She didn't say where or who she was going to be with today?”

“No, but it's not like I'm tracking her all the time. She's her own person, she's not obligated to constantly update me.”

“I saw her at the library.”

“Okay,” Chan says slowly.

“She was with someone else, a guy.”

“Why are you telling me this, Y/n?” Chan asks, starting to sound annoyed. His tone catches you off guard. “This is why you called me, why you ran over to my place? If you think I'm that controlling-”

“They were kissing,” you interrupt. “She’s cheating on you, Chan.”

“Who was the guy?”

“I- I didn't see him well, his back was towards me so I couldn't recognize him,” you falter.

“Did you take a picture? Was there anyone else around?”

“No- but, I-”

“So I'm just supposed to believe you,” he says flatly.

“What? Why would I make this up?”

“I know that, for some reason, you don’t like Hayoon.” Chan's usually friendly voice is cold and his face is stony. “I can live with that. I mean, of course it would be nice if you were at least civil to her. But at the end of the day, you don’t have to, she’s my girlfriend and not yours.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, “but how would lying about this benefit me at all?”

“She warned me about this, you know. She said you were jealous. Of her. Of us. That you would do something to try and break us up.” Chan laughs, but the sound is empty. “I always defended you, which she hated. I don't know how many times I told her that you weren't like that, that there was nothing going on between us.”

“Well I can assure you that I’m not jealous. That I’m not trying to break you two up.”

“I know that there’s… chemistry between us,” Chan acknowledges. “I don't have that many close female friends and I didn't before I started dating Hayoon either, but I know that I like your company and that you're easy to talk to. But that's all. It's fine if you're interested in me, you can’t help your feelings, but accusing my girlfriend of cheating? That’s sick, Y/n.”

“Are you kidding me? There is nothing going on between us.” you say incredulously. “Listen Chan, I’m saying this, I'm here as a friend. You think I'm lying? You think I want to hurt you?”

“I think that maybe Hayoon had a point when she said you wouldn't be satisfied with just being friends.”

“That's what you think of me?” you ask, feeling hurt. “Even if I was interested, I wouldn't do that. I respect you as a friend, I respect you as a person, and I respect your relationship whether I like your partner or not. But if that’s how you see me, I’m not sure that we were ever really friends. I would never try to sabotage you or anybody that's happily in a relationship.” Chan's face drops at your words.

“Y/n-” he starts to say, but you've had enough of this conversation.

“Look- I came here because I knew I would feel terrible and guilty if I didn't, but I can't convince you of something you don't want to believe.” You shake your head and walk towards the door.

Chan doesn't try to stop you as you leave.

—

The next day you get to class 15 minutes before it’s supposed to start. You're exhausted, have your eyes swollen from crying when you got back home last night, and most of all, feel hurt. You had been a little worried about how Chan would react to what you had to tell him, but you never expected that he would dismiss you without a thought. It's hard to reconcile with the upbeat and kind seatmate that you're used to.

Instead of your usual seat near the middle of the classroom, you opt for one off to the side that’s often emptier, not wanting to have to talk to or even see Chan. You pull up an assignment that you’ve been procrastinating working on and manage to ignore the rest of your classmates as they filter into the lecture hall. It’s only when someone slides into the seat right next to you that you look up, surprised anybody would approach you when you’re clearly being unsociable and look awful.

“Hyunjin.” You’re too shocked to even say hello.

“That’s my name,” Hyunjin replies, looking unimpressed by your greeting as he pulls out his laptop. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Sorry, good morning. You don’t usually sit with me.” You can’t help but point out the obvious.

In fact, Hyunjin usually doesn't sit with anyone. He's popular, it'd be hard not to be when you look as good as he does, but it's in a different way than Chan. While Chan seems to know practically everybody on campus, Hyunjin is almost untouchable.

While there are hoards of girls and guys that would love to have even a sliver of his attention, Hyunjin has a small circle of friends and is more interested in escaping the lecture hall to paint or dance than socialise. The only reason that you know him is because one of your closest childhood friends, Minho, is on the same dance crew as him and the three of you sometimes hang out. You wouldn't say that Hyunjin is more than an acquaintance though, he still intimidates you enough that you never would have tried to approach him first.

“And you don’t usually sit over here.” Hyunjin pretends to stretch and turns to look at your usual spot. “Avoiding someone?”

“Maybe.” You blush, embarrassed to be so easily seen through. “Is it that noticeable?”

“Nah, I just figured it was a matter of time before Hayoon got under your skin enough. I'm actually impressed you lasted this long, she really has it out for you.” While Hyunjin is surprisingly perceptive, you've also spent a fair bit of time ranting about Hayoon to Minho, and as a result, Hyunjin is kept up to speed on everything that Hayoon has done to antagonise you. You never realised that he actually paid enough attention to remember or that he agreed that Hayoon treated you like dirt.

“Actually, she’s not the one that I don’t want to talk to. Well, I never want to talk to her, but I’m not avoiding her.”

“No way,” Hyunjin crowds into your personal space, eyebrows raised dramatically. “Chan?”

You’ve had a pit in your stomach since last night’s argument and your mouth dries up at the thought of being so vulnerable, but something about the way that Hyunjin's eyes have widened to the size of dinner plates and his mouth has formed a little shocked ‘o’ is so disarming.

“We had a disagreement last night,” you admit.

“Hayoon cheated?” he guesses.

Now it's your turn for your mouth to drop open in shock.

“Don't say it so loud,” you hiss. “How did you know?”

“Well, as much as I usually like to give people the benefit of the doubt, especially for something this serious…” Hyunjin grimaces slightly. “I’ve been kind of expecting it. Hasn't she done the same on her past three or four boyfriends?”

“Oof, that bad? I've heard some things, but never really knew for sure.”

“At least,” Hyunjin confirms. “Honestly, I'd be more shocked if she didn't cheat at this point. I'm guessing Chan didn't take it so well if you're upset with him.”

“He's loyal to a fault, literally!” you complain. “In his eyes, Hayoon can’t do anything wrong, he's able to explain away everything she does. He didn’t believe that it was her that I saw.”

“So what are you going to do?” Hyunjin asks curiously.

“Nothing,” you say sullenly. “As much as I'd like to shake some sense into him, he's an adult. He can make his own decisions and if he wants to live in denial, that's up to him.”

“You're a good friend.” Hyunjin reaches out tentatively and after an awkward second, pats your shoulder. “Not everyone would be brave enough to have that kind of difficult conversation. Chan may be stubborn right now, but he'll appreciate it later.”

“Well based on yesterday, I don't think I'm his friend at all,” you huff. “Anyway, if it's okay with you, I don't think that I will make it through the rest of the term if I have to sit over there.”

“Be my guest.” Hyunjin grins and the sight of it makes the lecture a bit easier to sit through.

—

You don’t talk to Chan for the rest of the term. While you stopped outright avoiding him, you’re pretty sure that he’s purposely steering clear of you. Instead, you continue to sit with Hyunjin and pretend that Chan doesn’t exist.

It feels silly that you miss him or that you can’t seem to get over how things ended between the two of you. You had only been friends for two months, you shouldn’t be so hurt every time he purposely turns away from you or when his eyes seem to slide over you like you’re not there.

Hyunjin basically becomes your part-time therapist. Most of the time, it’s enough that he keeps you distracted. He shares all the latest campus gossip with you, allows you to work while he paints, and invites you to hang out with Minho and the rest of their dance crew more than a few times. On the rare occasion when you’re feeling more fragile than usual, he would be willing to spend an evening at your place and listen to you wallow.

“It’s fair that you’re still upset,” he had comforted you once. You had run into Hayoon in the bathroom that afternoon and she had gloated about how nothing and nobody would be able to break her and Chan apart. It had made you feel sick to the stomach. “There was never any resolution. Chan didn’t believe you, doesn’t believe you, even though you went to him with good intentions and it’s reasonable that you would feel hurt or frustrated.”

“I feel so stupid,” you had sniffled. “It’s not even like it was a break up. We were just friends.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier, you’re still missing someone who used to be in your life. It’ll get easier next term when you don’t share a class, I promise.” Somehow, that actually had made you feel better.

“Thanks, Hyunjin,” you had said with a watery smile.

The two of you work out well together, not just because you enjoy each other’s presence, but also because there’s no expectations or pressure. Hyunjin has slowly started to share with you stories about his previous relationships, how he’s hesitant to start dating again after having his heart broken so many times. Even though there are rumours swirling about the two of you, you know that neither of you are ready for it yet and that’s partly why it's so easy to hang out with him.

Tonight, the two of you are just hanging out in his art studio. You're mindlessly scrolling on your phone, you’ve just finished the exam that you've been dreading the most and don't have the brain capacity to even think about school. You know that Hyunjin is doing the same, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, but he's trying to pretend that he's working since his painting is due the next day.

He drops all pretences when he gasps loudly at something that he sees on his phone.

“Y/n,” he says gravely.

“What?” you ask, only slightly curious. By now, you've gotten used to the fact that Hyunjin would react the same way to seeing a cute puppy video as he would finding out about some terrible news.

“A friend just texted me,” he says, still in shock.

“Okay? What did they say?”

Hyunjin looks up at you for a moment, down at his phone, then back up at you.

“ChanandHayoonbrokeup,” he says in a rush, before wincing, clearly afraid of what your reaction is going to be.

“What?” You can't believe your ears.

“Chan and Hayoon, apparently they broke up this afternoon. Someone heard them shouting at each other.”

You put down your pencil slowly, not sure what to think.

“Do you know why?”

“Someone said that they heard that yesterday, Heeyeon and Yikyung broke up because Yikyung cheated on her. I think it must be related,” Hyunjin says quietly.

“Oh.”

“I think there's pictures or a video out there, I haven't seen anything yet though,” Hyunjin continues on, starting to get excited while typing away on his phone.

“Oh,” you say again, at a loss for actual words.

“Right before the holidays too, that's so-” Hyunjin cuts himself off when he looks up and sees you frozen in place. “Y/n, are you okay? Sorry, I'm sure it's a lot to process-”

“No, it's fine.” You force a smile. “I just- I think I have to go home now.”

“Y/n-”

“Really, it's okay. I just forgot that I have something to do. At home. Sorry.”

Hyunjin stares at you with eyes filled with something akin to pity, but doesn't say anything else. You try to ignore it as you hurriedly grab your things and leave.

—

A few days later you're packing up your bags in preparation to go home for the winter break when you hear a knock at your door. You weren't expecting anybody, but there's a few friends that you have that like to show up unannounced.

You're not prepared to open the door and find Chan standing behind it.

He looks terrible. He's wearing a huge hoodie and his hair is tucked away behind a beanie, but nothing can hide the way that his eyes are swollen and his skin is lacking its usual colour. You can only guess that he hasn't been able to eat or sleep much judging from the gauntness of his face and dark circles.

“Chan,” you say carefully. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm sorry,” he says with a hoarse voice. “I was wrong.”

“Ah, Hayoon.”

“You heard?” he asks, face crumpling a little at the mention of his ex.

“It's-” You pause for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it delicately. "Someone mentioned it to me.”

“You must hate me.” Chan laughs humourlessly. “I know that I do. I was such a fool for not trusting you. I just didn't want to believe that she would do that to me. Stupid, I know. I'm really sorry that I said all those things to you, that I avoided you as if that would change the truth.”

For months, you've been waiting, hoping that Chan would come back to you and apologise. But actually hearing it isn't as satisfying as you thought. In fact, you don't really feel anything at all.

“I want to make it up to you,” Chan says earnestly. “Are you free? We can go for a meal and catch up. I missed you.”

“Uhm,” you say, not quite sure how to respond. You don't want to say yes, but you're scared to lose this opportunity.

“Actually, she's busy,” Hyunjin says. He steps out from behind Chan and wraps an arm around your waist possessively, nudging you behind him in the process. “I think it would be best if you leave.”

Normally you hate it when other people talk for you, but right now you're grateful that Hyunjin appeared. You're not even sure why he's here, although you mentioned that this was your last day on campus, the two of you didn't have plans to hang out.

“Oh.” Chan falters. “Are you two… together?”

“And if we are?” Hyunjin asks challengingly. You've never seen him this defensive before. “Frankly, it's none of your business. I'm tired of listening to your half-hearted apologies that are months too late and I'm pretty sure that Y/n isn't interested in them either.”

“Y/n?” Chan pleads.

“Hyunjin's right, I think that you should go,” you say from where you're still hidden behind Hyunjin. You're glad that you don't have to look him in the eyes. “I can't- I'm heading home today. I have to pack before my train leaves this afternoon.”

“Right,” Chan says thickly. “Sorry. I- I'm sorry, Y/n.”

You lean into Hyunjin's back for support, squeezing your eyes shut as you hear Chan's footsteps trail away. You don't open them for a long time, even when you feel Hyunjin turn around and wrap his arms around you. Instead, you just focus on the steady thump of Hyunjin's heartbeat and try to remember how to breathe.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

801 notes · View notes

sofiahchan · 1 year ago

Note

How would Deepspace boys act when their wife (MC) is in labour? ( ͡° ʖ̯ ͡°)

— 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel was letting you hold his hand tight as he was sweating, he simply doesn't know what to do. He is nervous, offering you anything you want, even if it's a small piece of napkin or water. He would always give you a lot of praise while you gave birth. How come your journey together ends here, yet you have a new start? He feels so happy and so nervous right now in this moment that he will be a dad.

Rafayel doesn't know much about childbirth, just the basics. It's hard for him to see you in so much pain, and he wishes he could help and take all your pain away. He wants to give you strong support and he whisper compliments to you.

Looking at you, he could notice how you’re panicking inside. He tried his best to comfort you, making sure you were comfortable and knowing how much he’s proud of you. He’s grateful to have you as his wife and now the mother of his child. When the sound of a baby crying can be heard, Rafayel can feel his eyes getting teary as he stares at his newborn baby. He can't stop praising how strong you are, he is fully overjoyed. He lets you hold the baby in your arms. Performing the skin-to-skin contact as he looks down on such a memorable sight. I was thinking how adorable it is that now he has a baby that is a mixture of you and him together in your arms. evidence of how you both love each other and are willing to raise a child together. Finally, he gives you a comforting kiss on your forehead while keeping an eye out for you and his new little sunshine.

— 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Zayne knows what you need most during pregnancy. Heating pads, pillows, even your favorite food? You named it. He got everything prepared for you, ensuring that your pregnancy would go smoothly as he tried his best to help you out. Even if he’s busy, he always answers your texts and calls quickly, making permission letters to the higher-ups so he can take care of you without neglecting his work too. In your final moments, he would still ensure that you have all the stuff that’s needed. He offers you a glass of water with a straw and even a handkerchief to wipe your sweat. Giving you a gentle squeeze as he holds onto your hand.

In his free time, he tries to learn more about your pregnancy, including which month you will be able to identify its gender, in which month you will need more supplies, and about the last trimester of your pregnancy. He convinced himself that everything would go well, so he had to be ready to deal with whatever challenges might appear. This way, he would always reassure you that everything would go well for the baby and yourself.

Once he sees the baby inside the hospital bassinet, a warm smile appears on his face. He was pleased to see the blessings that are now given to both of you. A warm hand suddenly lingers on your head, and you can feel how he is caressing your hair. He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead as he looked down at you. Looking down at you and the baby inside the hospital bassinet next to her hospital bed, “How lucky I am to be blessed with such a strong wife,” he whispers as he holds onto one of your hands.

— 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier’s gentle nature shines through as he conceals his inner nervousness with a tender smile reflecting in his eyes. Not wanting his emotions to overshadow the moment, he soothingly murmurs words of encouragement not only to you but to the little life growing within your womb. With a caring touch, he delicately sweeps strands of your hair behind your ears, a gesture filled with affection and tenderness. Embracing you in a warm hug, he holds you close, his embrace a source of comfort and security as he endeavors to create an atmosphere of relaxation and ease for you.

He is struggling to avert his gaze from the unfolding scene, fully aware that the sight of blood could easily cause him to lose consciousness. Imagining a different scenario where you were not experiencing labor pains, this whole situation might have a hint of humor to it.

Seeing the tiny baby on his arms, Xavier held his tears as his fingers closed up to the baby's face, watching him pick it up. "He's so cute and lovely; you did a great job." You see Xavier smiling while hearing his praises for you and hoping the baby looks more like you. After going through all that, Xavier tries his best to cook for both you and the baby for the first time. He managed to make something edible and started to spoil you with his home-made food.

#rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace fluff #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel x you #xavier x you #zayne x you #rafayel fluff #xavier fluff #zayne fluff

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thewulf · 1 year ago

Text

Through the Years || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Aaron Hotchner x reader, It will be like 2 moments in different years... like the first time little Jack is comfortable enough around reader to call her mom... and the other one teen Jack not taking her grounding while Aaron is away and screamimg at her something like "You are not my mom"... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write. But overall very sweet. We love a good teenage melton.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader, Jack Hotchner x Stepmom Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

TW: Yelling, intentional hurt, Jack being mean lol

Year Six: Jack’s Question

The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the cozy living room as you and Jack sat together on the couch, surrounded by an array of colorful crafting supplies scattered across the coffee table. Glue sticks, markers, and construction paper formed a creative mess as the two of you worked on a project together, a rare moment of tranquility in the chaotic life of an FBI agent's family.

As you guided Jack through the steps of creating a handmade card for his grandmother's birthday, you couldn't help but notice the way he looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and affection. His small hands moved with determination, mirroring your own movements as you carefully cut out paper hearts and glued them onto the card letting him guide how he wanted the card to turn out.

"Y/N?" Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of conversation, tentative and uncertain. He shifted back and forth on the couch letting whatever was on his mind eat away at him for the time being.

As Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of the television on, you turned your attention back to him. He looked so nervous that you could only put the supplies down and focus solely on him. "Yeah, Jack?" you replied, your voice soft and encouraging.

Jack shifted nervously beside you, his brow furrowing as he wrestled with his words. You could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the weight of his question heavy on his young shoulders.

"Can I... can I call you Mom?" His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with hesitation and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your heart soaring with joy and disbelief. It was a moment you had dreamed of, hoped for, but never dared to expect. Not so soon anyway. You and Aaron had been seeing each other for just over a year. And yet, here it was, unfolding before you in the most unexpected of moments.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gazed at Jack, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion welling up inside you. You wanted to gather him into your arms, to hold him close and never let him go, to shower him with all the love and affection he deserved. But you also knew that this moment was about him, about his courage in voicing his feelings, his desire to forge a deeper connection with you. And so, you swallowed past the lump in your throat, your smile widening with genuine warmth and love.

"Of course, you can, sweetheart," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I would be honored."

As the words left your lips, a weight seemed to lift from Jack's shoulders, his face breaking into a radiant smile that mirrored your own. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your crafting adventure, you felt a profound connection form between you, one that transcended blood ties and was forged by love and mutual respect.

Jack let out a sigh of relief, his smile widening as he leaned into your embrace. "Good, Daddy said I could," he explained, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and validation.

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words, grateful for Aaron's support and understanding. It meant the world to you that he had encouraged Jack to express his feelings, to embrace the bond that had grown between you. "Your daddy is a smart man," you replied, your voice tinged with affection as you ruffled Jack's hair affectionately. "And he's right. You can call me mom whenever you want. You can also call me Y/N. Whatever you want kiddo."

Jack beamed up at you, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he settled back into his seat, a sense of contentment settling over him like a comforting blanket. In that moment, it felt as though the world had shifted, the connection between you and Jack deepening with each passing second. And as you returned to your crafting project, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

Year Fifteen: Teenage Turmoil

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated Aaron Hotchner's cluttered desk as he typed away on his laptop, the faint clicking of keys the only sound in the otherwise quiet house. It was Friday night, the end of a long week, but for Aaron, the work was far from over. His eyes flickered to the clock, noting the late hour. Jack should have been home by now, safely tucked into bed. Anxiety gnawed at him as he tried Jack's number once more, only to be met with the unwelcome sound of voicemail. He would give it until 12:30 then he was going to be calling Penelope to locate his young son. He didn’t want to be overbearing but he couldn’t help it. Not with what he’s seen, what he’s had to deal with.

In the living room, you paced back and forth, your heart pounding with worry. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. With every unanswered call, your concern grew tenfold. The clock on the wall mocked you, its hands moving relentlessly towards midnight. You too knew how dangerous it was out there. But you couldn’t lock the kid in. He’d resent the both of you for the rest of his days if you did that.

Finally, the creak of the front door announced Jack's return. Relief flooded through you, quickly replaced by a surge of frustration as you caught sight of his nonchalant expression. "Jack, do you have any idea what time it is?" you exclaimed, unable to keep the edge from your voice.

Jack's eyes flickered to you, irritation flashing in their depths before he masked it with a careless shrug. "Relax, I lost track of time," he retorted, tossing his jacket aside without any regard for how stressed both you and his father were.

Your temper flared. "You were supposed to be home over an hour ago! Do you have any idea how worried we were?" As Aaron remained in his office, you and Jack were left to confront each other alone, the tension between you palpable.

He shrugged again before attempting to make a break for his room.

"Jack, please," you implored, your voice trembling with concern. "We need to talk about what happened tonight. It's not just about breaking curfew; it's about communication and respect."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "I don't need a lecture, Y/N. I'm not a kid anymore."

Your heart sank at his dismissive tone, but you refused to back down. "I know you're growing up, but that doesn't mean you can disregard the rules we've set. They're there for a reason, Jack. We worry about you when you're out late, especially when we can't reach you."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You worry too much. I can take care of myself."

Your frustration bubbled to the surface. Your voice tinged with emotion. "It's not just about taking care of yourself, Jack. There are awful people out there and…”

Jack's demeanor shifted, his expression hardening with defiance. "You're not my mom, Y/N. You don't get to tell me what to do."

His words cut deep, a pang of hurt flashing across your features. "I know I'm not your biological mother, but I love you like you're my own," you admitted, your voice wavering with emotion certainly not expecting the conversation to take such a turn so quickly.

Jack's jaw clenched, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Yeah, right. You're just trying to control me like everyone else. Well, news flash, it's not gonna work."

Your heart shattered at his harsh words, the weight of his rejection crushing you. "I'm not trying to control you, Jack. I just want what's best for you," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts to push them away.

But Jack's frustration boiled over, his voice rising with each word. "Stop pretending like you know what's best for me! You're not my freaking mom! You can't tell me what to do!"

As Jack's explosive words hung in the air, a heavy silence descended upon the room, filling the space with tension and uncertainty. Your heart felt as though it had been squeezed tight in your chest, the sting of Jack's rejection still raw.

A gasp came from your mouth as you tried to form any sort of coherent sentence. "Oh, I'm... I..." you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. But your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and you found yourself at a loss.

Jack's eyes widened, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he took in the impact of his own words. For a moment, he seemed unsure, caught between his anger and the weight of what he had just said. And then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, Aaron appeared in the doorway. His expression a mix of concern and disappointment. His presence seemed to ground the room, his steady gaze sweeping over you and Jack.

"What's going on here?" Aaron's voice was calm but firm, his eyes never leaving yours. He saw the watery tears that threatened to spill over at any second. He heard the tail end of the conversation and knew exactly why you were so devastated. You saw Jack as your own child and for him to say something so deeply hurtful left you reeling.

You struggled to compose yourself, the turmoil of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "Jack... he... I don’t… I need to go," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turned and fled towards the kitchen, unable to even look at your stepson or Aaron in that moment. You felt utterly embarrassed. Like you hadn’t been loving that child for the last ten years of his life. Did he really feel like that or was he just lashing out?

In the living room, Aaron's expression darkened, his jaw clenched with restrained anger as he watched you leave. The weight of Jack's hurtful words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over their father-son relationship.

Jack shifted uncomfortably; his eyes fixed on the ground as guilt gnawed at him. "Dad, I didn't mean..."

But Aaron's patience had worn thin with his moody son. "Not now, Jack," he interrupted, his tone stern. "Right now, I need you to think about what you said and why it was completely unacceptable."

Jack swallowed hard, the gravity of his actions sinking in as he met his father's unwavering gaze. "I know, Dad. I messed up," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse.

Aaron's frustration boiled over, his voice taking on the commanding tone he used when interrogating suspects. "You think you can just say whatever you want and there won't be consequences? You hurt her, Jack. You hurt someone who cares about you deeply, and I won't stand for it."

Jack's eyes widened, the full weight of his actions crashing down on him as he met his father's intense gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to..."

But Aaron cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Apologies won't cut it this time, Jack. You need to understand the gravity of your words and the impact they have on people." As Aaron continued to reprimand his son, he couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He knew he had to find you, to make sure you were alright. With a final stern look at Jack, he turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with concern.

As he entered the kitchen, his heart sank at the sight before him. There you were, hunched over on the floor, your shoulders shaking with sobs. Without hesitation, Aaron crossed the room and knelt beside you, gathering you into his arms.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. "You're alright, I've got you." Aaron felt a pang of anguish as he held you, his heart breaking at the depth of your pain. Gently, he lifted your chin, guiding your tear-filled eyes to meet his own.

"Honey," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Listen to me. You may not be Jack's biological mother, but you are his mom in every sense of the word."

You shook your head weakly, unable to comprehend his words through the haze of your despair. "But I-I..."

"No buts," Aaron interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "Every day, in every action, every moment of love and care you've shown him, you've proven yourself to be his mother. You've been there for him, supported him, loved him unconditionally. That's what a mom does. That’s what you are, sweetheart.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you, a glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness of your despair. "But Jack said..."

Aaron's expression softened, his thumb gently wiping away your tears. "Jack was angry and confused. He didn't mean what he said. And even if he did, it doesn't change the truth. You are his mother, my love, in every way that matters."

As his words sank in, a sense of warmth enveloped you, the weight of your anguish easing with each beat of your heart. In Aaron's arms, you found solace, reassurance, and a renewed sense of purpose. You leaned against Aaron's chest, letting the last of your tears fall, a sense of peace washed over you. His comforting presence wrapped you up in his warm embrace, grounding you in the certainty that together you’d be just fine. “Thank you.” You whispered as he held you in his embrace.

Aaron held you close, his hold on you a silent promise of unwavering support and love. "Anytime, honey," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of chaos. "We'll get through this together."

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the kitchen, and you looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, tears glistening in his eyes. His expression was wrought with guilt and remorse as he hesitated, unsure of how to approach you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice choked with emotion. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just wanted to hurt you, but I didn't mean it. I didn’t mean it at all, I promise. I need you! You are my mom! Please don't leave me." His words came out quickly as he wiped away his own tears.

Your heart shattered at Jack's raw confession, the depth of his pain washing over you like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, you opened your arms, inviting him into the embrace. Aaron backed off letting the situation between the two most important people in his life play out.

Jack rushed over and threw his larger frame right into your arms You wrapped him up tightly as he let his own cries out. The weight of his own words crashing down on him in the instant he saw how much he had hurt you. He was just a kid, of course you could forgive him. "It's okay, Jack," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. "I know you didn't mean it. I love you so much. I'm not going anywhere."

“I can’t lose you too.” He let out a whimpered cry breaking your heart even further.

Tears streamed down your own cheeks as you held Jack close, the weight of his words settling over you. "You’ll never lose me, Jackie," you reassured him, using his old nickname, a sign of the deep love you two shared for each other. "I'm here for you, always. Always and forever kiddo."

Jack's sobs began to subside as he clung to you, finding exactly what he needed in your embrace. "I love you. I’m so sorry." he whispered again. His voice filled with sincerity.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you gently pulled away to look into his eyes. "I love you too, Jack. It’s okay. I forgive you." You said again, reassuring him.

He nodded, relief flooding his features as he buried his face in your arms once more, the weight of guilt slowly lifting from his shoulders. "You are one of the best things that's ever happened to me," you continued, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "Other than your father," you added with a playful grin, feeling Jack's chuckle rumble against your side. He gave you one more squeeze before pulling away. The remorse still heavy on his face. Carefully, you brushed the stray tears away from his face showing him the love that the both of you needed.

As Aaron joined you both in the kitchen, his presence a reassuring anchor, you shared a smile, knowing that no matter what life threw your way, you would be okay. For truly these two were the best things that had ever happened to you.

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vixenhotline · 23 days ago

Text

Connie x nailtech!reader

synopsis • nailtech!reader has been slow in business lately and has decided to do a service for service deal. her friend slid up offering a lash deal in exchange for a full freestyle set. the day of appt she comes in with connie

includes • cheating + unprotected sex

—————————-

It’s been a slow week. Rent creeping up, acrylics collecting dust, and the inbox dry except for random spam messages and one DM from a familiar name—Tamia.

“Girl, you still doing that service-for-service thing? Lashes for nails?” She blinked at the message and typed back fast. “Hell yeah. Come thru.” Tamia was cool. Chill. Kinda loud, but always hyped up her nails on Instagram, so it was a win.

The day of the appointment came quicker than expected. She cleaned her little setup twice over, set the mood with her playlist bumping Jhené Aiko “Come on” low in the background, nails organized, gloves on deck. Her mood was somewhere between tired and just trying to stay afloat, but she was grateful for the appointment. Even more grateful for the story that was about to unfold.

Knock knock.

She opened the door and there Tamia stood, lashes done, energy high as always. But right behind her… was him.

Connie Springer. Buzzcut. Tall. Hands in his pockets, hooded eyes that looked like they knew something you didn’t. Every girl at school talked about how he got around—charming as hell, but not to be trusted. Yet, there he was, walking in behind Tamia like it was nothing.

“Yo,” he said, flashing a grin at her that lingered too long. “You the one doin’ her nails?” She looked him up and down. “Yeah. That’s me.” He nodded, then turned to Tamia, pulled out some cash, kissed her on the cheek with a smooth “Don’t take too long,” and look her way smirking on the way out like he knew she’d be thinking about that look later.

She cleared her throat and sat down at her setup. “He always come with you to appointments?”Tamia laughed. “Sometimes. Connie just be doin’ whatever.” Forcing a smile she started and focused on her work. As she cleaned, filed, and designed Tamia’s freestyle set, her mind kept flickering back to the smirk. The way Connie looked at her. Not disrespectful but not innocent either.

Taking a breath and blowing the speck of dust from Tamia’s cuticle, pretending like her hands weren’t shaking the tiniest bit. “Wanna go ombré or keep it solid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. Tamia glanced up from her phone. “Let’s go ombré pink to white, real soft.”

“Say less.” She grabbed the powders, but her eyes drifted to the door again, still half-expecting to see Connie posted outside. What was his deal? That look he gave her smooth and cocky, like he knew she’d remember it. She hated that he was right.

“You alright?” Tamia asked, chewing gum loud and scrolling. “Yeah, just tired. Stop allat damn smacking,” focusing on blending the fade smooth as hell. They kept talking nail inspo, gossip, lashes. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her brain was stuck on that smirk. The casual way he kissed Tamia, then turned around and looked at Reader like she was next.

When the set was done, she snapped a quick pic, wiped off the excess dust, and handed Tamia the mirror. “Girl… this hard,” Tamia grinned. “I love it. You gon post it?”

“Yeah, I’ll tag you.”

“Bet. And I got you next week for lashes, right?”

“Yeah, Wednesday,” standing up to stretch. They hugged quick, Tamia walked out, and the door clicked shut. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She grabbed her phone, cleaned her shop up a bit, grabbed her mini coach bag and walked to her car. Uploading the pic to her page, tagged Tamia, and tossed her phone on the passenger seat starting the car.

Ding.

She checked the screen.

@springer.c followed you.

@springer.c liked your post.

Three.

Oh.

She stared at the screen, biting the inside of her cheek. A slow smile tugged at her lips, even though she knew better.

He was messy. She wasn’t stupid. But… she was curious. So she followed back. One click. No message.

Yet.

She sat back, heart thudding a little faster than it should’ve, staring at his name like it was gonna say something. The “yet” was doing a lot of work in her head, but Reader brushed it off with a roll of her eyes and started her drive home.

The sun was setting behind thick clouds, staining the sky a moody gray purple as she pulled onto the main road. Her phone buzzed again in the passenger seat cupholder, the glow of another like lighting up the screen. She didn’t look. She didn’t need to. She already knew who it was.

He was consistent. Connie Springer, in all his quietly cocky, flirt-harder-than-you-breathe glory, had liked three more of her posts since she finished Tamia’s nails. Nothing bold no dm, no emoji eyes, no comments. Just likes. Strategic. Obvious. But vague enough to leave her feeling dumb if she called it out.

The wind crept in through the cracked window as she drove, fingers tapping the steering wheel, jaw clenched tighter than she realized. He was cute, yeah. Fine, even. And the way he’d smiled before walking out of her shop—lazy, dimples barely there, eyes knowing she felt that shit in her knees. But still. That was her client’s man. Her friend’s man. Kinda.

Wednesday came faster than she knew it she found herself lying back in Tamia’s lash chair, eyes closed, the faint scent of glue and soft R&B playing through the studio speakers. Tamia worked in smooth, confident motions, talking her through the process like always. It was easy, chill even a little comforting. The conversation moved from school gossip to business, then dipped into boy talk like it always did.

“I saw you followed Connie back,” Tamia said, casually, like she wasn’t dropping a lit match into the room. She blinked beneath the under-eye pads, heart skipping, the words sat heavy in the air, unspoken meanings trailing behind them. She cracked one eye open beneath the lash pads, lips already twisting into a smirk. “Girl, don’t start. He followed me first I just returned the energy.”

Tamia hummed. “Mm. That’s how it starts.”

“Maybe, but if it starts, it’s cause he wanted it to. Not me.” Tamia paused in her motions, then let out a dry laugh. “You bold.”

“I’m real,” she shot back. “Ain’t my job to babysit nobody’s relationship. If a man steps out, that’s on him. I just look good and mind my business.”

It got quiet after that, the R&B track humming low behind them while Tamia finished up. But the silence didn’t bother her not when she knew she’d said exactly what she meant. Because the truth was, she’d clocked Connie from the moment he walked into her studio. The way his eyes lingered, that little smirk he gave her before walking out. He wasn’t just being polite he was scouting. Testing. And if he wanted to play, she’d let him.

Not because she needed validation. But because it was fun. By the time she slid into her car, she had her mind set on going to this party her and Tamia had talked about during the appointment.

When she pulled up to the party later that night the night air was heavy, thick with bass thumping from the house down the block and the scent of cologne, weed, and too many egos crammed into one party. The house was lit, music spilling into the street, bass rattling the windows like it was tryna bust the foundation. Laughter and yelling from the backyard, bodies moving through the haze of porch smoke and LED lights.

She stepped out the car like she was meant to be seen. Hair laid, lashes fluttering, outfit hugging her right. The kind of look that made people pause mid convo and double take. She moved through the crowd like it parted for her, the energy shifting with every step. She came on her own timing for her own reasons and if he was gonna be there, then so be it.

And of course… he was. She saw him through the kitchen window first posted up like he paid rent, red cup in one hand, the other gesturing lazy while he talked. Connie Springer, tall, tatted, buzzcut gleaming under bad lighting. That grin hadn’t changed since he dropped Tamia off last week. Her eyes lingered for a beat too long before she moved inside, her steps calm but her chest lowkey fluttering. Not from nerves but that thrill. That danger. The kind you pretend you’re too grown for, until it’s staring you dead in your face.

He spotted her the second she stepped through the doorway. Locked eyes like he’d been waiting. Didn’t even hide the way his gaze dipped down and back up slow, hungry. “Damn,” he muttered, making his way over with a smirk pulling at his mouth. “You showin’ out or what?” She tilted her head, letting her glossed lips tug up just enough. “I don’t do it for y’all.”

He leaned in closer, voice lower now. “That what you tell yourself ma?” She just looked up slight smile on her face looking at him. “You alone?” She shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Nah,” he said, smile growing. “Not really.” The tension laced between them wasn’t subtle. And when Tamia still didn’t show, and her cup was running low, and his hand brushed against hers just a little too easy she didn’t move away.

So when he leaned in and said, “Come outside wit me real quick,” she followed. When they got outside, by his car, with the music muffled behind closed doors and the cool night air buzzing on her skin, he turned, opened the passenger door for her, and said, “Just sit for a second. I ain’t tryna play you. I just wanna talk.”

She slid in. But when he climbed in too, the way his eyes landed on her like she was a secret he wanted to keep

Yeah… talking wasn’t really on his mind. She sat back in the seat, one leg crossed over the other, nails tapping against her thigh as she looked straight ahead. “You look good as hell,” he said, voice low, like he couldn’t help it. “Been tryna say that since you walked in.”

She smirked, but didn’t look at him yet. “You said that with your eyes already.” He laughed, that low gravelly kind, like it came from his chest. “Yeah… but I wanted to say it with my mouth too.” She turned to face him, finally, eyes lidded, expression unreadable. “What about Tamia?” The name sat between them like a dare.His smile didn’t fade, but it did dip just a little. He leaned against the driver’s seat, arm draped behind her headrest, his eyes never leaving her.

“She ain’t me and you.” Her brow raised. “What are we?” He didn’t flinch. “Something I been thinkin’ about since I saw you doin’ her nails last week.” A pause. “You bold,” she said, trying to keep her tone even. But her pulse was up now, high in her throat. “I’m real,” he corrected. “And I don’t play fake loyal just to keep peace. I seen the way you looked at me too, so don’t front.”

She didn’t answer. Not immediately. Because the truth was, yeah she had looked. Had felt that spark crawl up her spine when he smiled, when he handed over that cash like it was nothing and dipped out. And now he was here. Saying shit she shouldn’t entertain. But she didn’t move away.

His fingers brushed her thigh, slow and light. Not pushing just letting her feel it. “You want me to stop, say the word,” he murmured. She didn’t say a damn thing. Next thing she knew, his lips were on hers slow at first, tasting, testing. But it turned quick. Heated. Breathless. She crawled over to sit on his lap, one of his hands cupping her jaw, the other sliding up her thigh like he owned it. She kissed him back like she had something to prove, like he was an answer she didn’t need but took anyway.

And just when his hand dipped beneath her skirt and her breath hitched. He moved her black lace underwear to the side revealing her slick folds. “You always get this wet?” He said grinning. She tilted her hair to the side started to suck on his neck leaving love bites everywhere. Her hands moving down to his pants, sliding them down along with his Calvin Klein.

She looked down seeing the massive dynamite he was packing starting to get a little hesitant. “You never answered my question baby.” He said while slamming her down on his dick letting out a groan as he bottomed out. She (s)creamed managing to get out a small no as she tried to hide her face in his chest.

He grabbed her by the neck with his hand with enough strength to make her look at him as his other one was settled on her hip moving her up and down. Her moans gradually getting louder as he starts moving her faster.

Stopping out of nowhere he leans over to grabs a rolled up blunt and starts to light it, inhaling and blowing the smoke in her face. “Ride that shit baby, don’t be scared.” Setting his hand on her ass smacking it one time as she started finding her rhythm. the sound of his dick sliding in and out is pornographic.

“Fuckkk you feel so good baby.” she said throwing her head back feeling the heat rise in her stomach. Connie looked at her knowing she was reaching her peak hitting the blunt one more time before setting it down on the ash tray.

He grabbed her hips held her still in the air and started thrusting up into her at a rapid pace. She put her hand on his stomach trying to ease his pace, he slapped it away continuing his ruthless attack. “Cum for me baby, I’m right behind you.”

“Con- Connie I’m cummingg~” she screamed as she came down from her high squirting, wetting the both of them and his leather seats as his pace slowed down as he came inside her trying to contain his moans that he was letting out.

He pulled out, leaning his head back against the seat, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling hard. She was still on his lap, thighs trembling, lips parted like she couldn’t catch her breath, like the air was too thick to breathe right. Her skirt was bunched around her waist, and Connie had one hand resting heavy on her thigh. Everything was too quiet for a moment. Just the soft fog of their breathing and the faint hum of music leaking from the house party outside.

Then

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“OPEN THIS MUTHAFUCKIN DOOR!”

The glass shook with each hit, her acrylics tapping wild against the window like gunshots. Tamia was outside in full rage mode edges sweated out, lashes crooked from the tears she probably cried while stomping across the damn lawn, and she wasn’t just mad. She was livid.

Inside the car, she sat up fast, trying to fix her skirt, Connie’s hands still lazily sliding off her thighs like nothing happened. He didn’t even look surprised just leaned back like this had happened before.

“Connie!” Tamia screamed, yanking at the handle. “You in there wit this dirty-ass bitch?!” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smoothed down her hair, and opened the door like a damn movie scene slow and deliberate. “What’s good?”

Tamia’s face twisted. “What’s good?! Bitch, you got my man’s d—”

“Your man?” she cut her off, stepping out the car like she wasn’t half-naked five seconds ago. “Tamia, don’t even act brand new. That man been in everybody’s phone but yours.” Tamia lunged. “You a fake-ass HOE! You sat up in my face did my nails—smilin, knowin you was fuckin him?!”

She dodged the swing and grabbed Tamia’s wrist mid-air. “You need to take that energy up with him, sis! You brought him to my shop like a flex. I just returned the favor.” Tamia snatched her arm back, voice cracking with rage. “Nah, bitch. That’s foul. You knew what you was doin’. You BEEN eyein him!”

“And you BEEN ignorin the signs. You walked into my appointment with a community ass nigga and thought you was the exception?”

“I WAS YOUR FRIEND!”

“You wanted pretty nails and a safe place to vent, not the truth. Now here we are.” Tamia’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her lip quivered like she wanted to cry but the anger swallowed it whole. “You dead to me, for real.” Connie finally stepped out, zipping up his pants like he hadn’t just set two girls off in his car. “Tamia, chill out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Connie!” she snapped, spinning on him. “This what you on?! After everything?!” He just shrugged. “You wasn’t actin’ like my girl yesterday.”

“Fuck you.”

“I already did,” she muttered. Tamia turned, eyes blazing. “Oh, you real bold now.”

“Bold enough to take what you kept fumbling with,” she replied cold, chin tilted. “You let a man treat you like leftovers and mad I wanted a fresh bite.”

Silence.

Then Tamia laughed. She straightened her purse strap, wiped her face, and looked her dead in the eye. “Cool. Just remember you gettin’ the same nigga that did me dirty. Keep that seat warm.” She turned and stormed off. She watched her go, arms crossed, heart still pounding. She slid back in the passenger seat like nothing happened, tugged her skirt down a little, and shot Connie a sideways look.

“You gon’ just let her blow your whole night like that?” he asked, one brow raised.

She scoffed, snatching the blunt from his fingers like she paid for it. “Boy, please. That girl don’t move me.” She sparked it back up, took a long pull, and blew the smoke dead in his direction. “She the one mad. I’m chillin. Do you see my face cracked? Nah.”

Connie laughed, eyes low, watching her with a grin that said he liked this version of her way too much. “Damn. You kinda dangerous.”

She turned toward him, one leg tucked up on the seat, her acrylics clicking against the window as she flicked ash out. “Kinda? Nah, I’m pressure, baby. Ask about me.”

“Believe me, I don’t gotta ask nobody,” he said, leaning a little closer. “You already told me everything I needed to know.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smirk gave her away. “You flirtin or you tryna distract me from the fact your lil situation just went full Jerry Springer outside this car?”

He grinned, leaned back. “Both.”

She laughed loud. “You stupid. But you cute, so ima let you rock.”

“Damn right.”

She hit the blunt again, exhaled slow, and passed it back. “So what now, Mr. Casanova?”

He tapped her thigh, real casual. “Now I take you home. Maybe we grab some food on the way. And maybe, just maybe… you let me see you again when this mess cool down.” She looked him over, lips pursed. “Hmm… I do got a lil gap on Wednesday.” He chuckled. “Say less.”

He started the car, windows still halfway down, smoke trailing out as they pulled off from the curb like they didn’t just set the parking lot on fire. Her phone buzzed with some messy DM notifications, but she ignored it, feet on the dash, vibe too chill to ruin. “Play sum,” she said, reaching for the aux.“Only if you don’t play no corny shit.”

“Boy, shut up. My playlist better than yours.” as Bria’s Interlude started playing. They peeled off into the night, loud music thumping, and weed in the air.

#vixenhotline #connie springer #connie x reader #aot #attack on titan #smut #minor dni #first post #black writers #connie x black reader #connie x black y/n #aot connie #aot x black reader

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myvoiddreams · 10 months ago

Text

Fragments of Starlight (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Finally saved, there is nowhere else to turn other than the impending war.

Word Count: 4,666

Warnings: ANGST, violence, torture, dark themes

A/N: First, I am SO sorry that this took me ages to get together. Second, I am SO grateful for all the amazing feedback and sweet messages I’ve received from everyone. This is a hobby of mine that I love and love to share. Third, please don’t be mad at me after this.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

---

Before

It had been a long night, full of unsettling dreams. Not that that wasn’t normal. A yawn escaped my lips as I rolled over to the morning light peeking through the curtains, the haze of night still lingering on me. Morning, that meant training. Stretching off the daze and the dreams, I sat up in bed and an herbal smell crossed my senses. With furrowed brows I looked to the nightstand next to my bed.

There sat a steaming cup of tea. Tea? Where the hell would that have come from? I reached for it, pulling it from the nightstand. Under the mug was a folded-up parchment. Placing the mug back down, I reached for the note and unfolded it. Azriel’s neat handwriting adored it.

“No training today. Cass and I are off to meet Eris. Drink up in the meantime. – Azriel.”

A smile spread across my face as I sat the note back down and took the mug into my hands. Blowing some steam away, I brought it to my lips. Peppermint. My favorite. My heart fluttered at the hot drink. Azriel must have caught on that it was always peppermint tea I would drink when staying up to finish work, a book, or whatever it may be.

After a few more sips, I set the mug back down on its place on the nightstand. I picked up the parchment once more and flipped it to the empty side and with a pen adorning my nightstand drawer wrote, “Don’t forget to breathe between brooding sessions. Stay safe out there, Az. – Y/N.”

Settling the parchment back onto the nightstand I knew the house would have it delivered for me. By the time I had reached for another sip, the note was gone.

---

The exchanging of notes had become a normal thing for me and Azriel after the first one I found placed on my nightstand. It was sweet really. They went from anywhere about having a good day, to meeting up later, or even just teasing one another. Teasing one another was my favorite.

Azriel, with his slinking shadows, was always sneaking up on me. Whether that be in the training ring, or in the library. So, I had left a note on his desk for him. Trying to get the house to understand that I wanted to deliver this one myself before it could simply just take it from under my fingers. The house had also grown accustomed to mine and Azriel’s note sharing.

Upon his desk in his room, I left a note that read, “If you keep sneaking up on me, I might have to start carrying a bell for you. - Y/N.”

Satisfied with leaving it on his desk, I left his room and made for my own. I walked down the hallway, and as I was turning the knob to reach my own room, a hand clasped around my shoulder, “A bell won’t help you, but nice try.” Azriel’s voice made me jump out of my skin.

I swirled around and all but smacked his hand off my shoulder out of instinct. He chuckled at my response. His stupidly beautiful smile was something I still found myself grateful for being able to see. His usually stone-cold appearance would fade away when you knew him well enough. When you knew him the way I do.

“Damnit! How the hell are you that quiet and that fast!” I was smiling now, but still flustered with his surprise appearance. I was just in his bedroom after all. A blush crept up my cheeks at the thought.

“I have shadows in my room at all times, they just whispered to me about a certain someone sneaking around there. Then, they told me what your note said. I couldn’t just pass up on the opportunity to tease you a little.” His voice was warm. Azriel was always warm to me. He lifted his hand to my face and brushed some of the hair that had fallen into it from his surprise, behind my ear.

I’m sure my cheeks burnt bright now, at the touch, but I couldn’t help but just smile and shake my head. I pushed him away playfully and turned to my bedroom to enter.

As I entered, I heard his chuckle dancing in the hallway again and my heart felt like it was going to leap out of its chest as I shut my door.

---

Now

The pain that decorated my body was nothing compared to what was soaring through my hands and my heart. After being rescued I was taken directly to a camp where some of Rhys’ armies were. Instead of being put in the infirmary, they put me in a tent of my own, where Madja could tend to me personally.

I had asked Madja to tell the rest of the Inner Circle to leave me be while healing. I wanted to be alone. I wasn’t ready to forgive and forget.

Madja was there, unwrapping my hands again. It has been a few days since I was saved, but my hands were not healing at the same rate the rest of me did. At the site of my hands, I became nauseous. Fresh, pink skin was covering the back of them, but the palms. The palms were still blistered. Still sloughing off with old skin and trying their best to cover it with the same granulated tissue of the backs of my hands.

“Listen Y/N,” Madja sighed, “I cannot express to you how important it is for you to keep resting. You need to keep these hands bandaged at all times for the foreseeable future. This war is something you may need to take a step back from. You have been through enough.”

I respect Madja, I respect everything she had to say to me, but there was no way. “I can’t simply sit out Madja. Not after what they did to me.” I said back quietly, not letting my gaze meet her’s.

“I was afraid you would say that,” sighed the older female.

“Madja, can I ask you something, personal?” I winced as she applied a balm to the palms of my hands.

“Let me guess, it has to do with that silly Shadowsinger?” She didn’t look up from what she was doing, but I took the invitation anyways.

“How the hell do I put this behind me? This entire Inner Circle has changed since those Acheron sisters entered it. I want to be able to know my friends, my court, is there for me as I am for them.” The words were getting harder and harder to get out of my mouth, but I ventured on, “They left me there, grabbed Elain, and left me there to die.” Tears started flowing then, “I have known them for centuries, and yet, they still chose her over me.” I was slightly embarrassed at my vulnerability with Madja.

She simply continued to wrap my hands after finishing applying the balm and hummed. She let some silence slip on as she thought of a response.

“Y/N, you are right, you have known them for centuries, and Elain not even a cusping a year. You have to understand that that’s why they left you there. They were under duress, either save her, who does not know how to defend herself, or you, who has proved time and time again you can withstand so much.” Madja looked up into my watery eyes and continued, “They were terrified out of their minds when you were up and missing. Cassian did nothing but blame himself. Azriel sent his shadows to all corners of Prythian searching for you.”

I calmed my crying and was only sniffling now as she went on, “They love you Y/N. Even if their misplaced actions are not great at showing it. They may not deserve it right now but consider finding some forgiveness to show them. They are your family.”

I let her words fumble around my mind as she got up and left the tent. As much I want to forgive, I just couldn’t.

---

Before

I was exhausted, truly exhausted. There was a meeting earlier in the day, about strategizing when it came to getting more information on Hybern. I had offered to become an inside agent. To follow Hybern, become one of his soldiers, and send the information back to the Night Court. Rhysand on the other hand had gawked at my offer, and utterly refused it. He then decided to reprimand me, in front of everyone, on how reckless I had been even suggesting such a thing. It was embarrassing.

My mind had been reeling since. I was no use just sitting around, waiting for shit to hit the fan. I wanted to be helpful, I wanted to do something. I was a warrior to this court, an emissary to Dawn. I was no stupid child, like Rhysand had diminished me to during that meeting.

After a day of sulking and my mind reeling, I needed out of the House of Wind. So, I went to one of my favorite places. It was one Azriel had flown me too once. But, I wanted to be alone. Without him to fly me, I’d have to hike there.

A high hill on the outskirts of the city, where the Sidra had broken off into many little streams and creeks. The hill was plush with fresh beautiful grass and a cool evening breeze made the grass sway. Night had fallen by the time I had made it there, to my favorite spot.

Right on time. I told myself as I laid directly into the grass, looking up into the expanse of stars above. It was here I was usually able to find some solace when my mind would wander. Everyone had their burdens to bear, but this place made it seem a little easier. Everything I loved was slipping away from me, I could feel it. That impending feeling of pure dread.

I tried to push it away as I looked up into the stars.

A few hours had gone by when I heard the beating of wings. I sat up in the grass to see Azriel landing on the same long grass, only a few feet from me. I gave Azriel a half smile as I sat up to meet his eyes.

“I was starting to worry about you.” Azriel sighed, playing with his hair as he walked over to me.

“I just needed to get my mind off everything. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Azriel sat down next to me, our knees touching now. “Remember when you brought me here for the first time?” A smile spread across my face for the first time that day.

“Of course I remember it.” Azriel smiled as he reached to take off his jacket. My brows furrowed as he handed it to me.

“What’s this for?” I took the jacket from him. His comforting smell immediately filled my nose. Cedar and the night mist itself.

“Please, I can see your goosebumps from here.” He chuckled as I looked myself over. I had hiked up here during the warm of the evening, only sporting shorts and a short-sleeved leather top I usually dedicated to training. I hadn’t paid much attention to the cold that had slithered its way to my skin while I was trying to sort out my mind.

“Thank you,” I smiled at Azriel. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, he knew me well. I placed the jacket over my own shoulders and placed my gaze on the sky again.

Azriel had joined me, our knees still touching, his wing behind me now. We looked up into the night sky until dawn neared. We didn’t speak, but Azriel’s presence made everything feel lighter somehow.

---

Now

I had made it clear to Madja that I didn’t want any visitors while I was healing. I knew that that would only last so long. I had just finished getting dressed when I heard my tent flap open. Those were not the light steps of Madja. I looked up to see Azriel entering. His wing cramped in the small space.

“Y/N,” his eyes widened at my appearance. While the bandages on my body were covered with clothing, my hands were wrapped out in the open for him to see and my face still held some of the fading bruises. He winced at the sight of my hands.

I looked down, away from him. I went to work on getting my boots on to the best of my capabilities. “I told Madja I wanted no visitors.” I said coldly, still not meeting his eyes.

“It’s been days, I needed to see you. To check on you, myself” Azriel cautiously walked toward me.

I began to fumble with my boots, becoming frustrated at the laces. My healing hands did not have the dexterity they once did, and the bandages were not helping. I began to shake as Azriel’s form got closer. Tears were burning at the back of my eyes. It was evident to both of us that I wasn’t going to get my boots laced up by myself. His stupid, comforting, beautiful scent made its way to me. It was only making me lose whatever composure I was forcing on myself.

“Let me help you,” Azriel all but whispered as he reached to gently grab my hands in his.

My hands.

“Do not touch me.” I breathed out, ripping his closeness away.

He stumbled back, looking shocked. He pulled his wings in closer to himself at my outburst. I could feel him, feel his regret and agony through the bond. Through that annoying, patronizing, tug in the deepest part of my chest.

“Y/N, I care about you, let me help.” His hazel eyes were pleading now. I could almost see a silver rim aligning them. He looked helpless. I hated seeing him this way, it hurt me to know that I was causing such helplessness. But, how could I just let him in? Not after everything.

I all but laughed at his statement, huffing hair out of my face, I met his eyes, “You don’t care about me,” my voice wavered, “you showed me that when you left me there to die.” I couldn’t help but let my lip quiver.

“Y/N, you have to understand-“ Azriel began to plead, but I would not hear it. I would not silence myself on his account.

“I’ve made my mind up Azriel. If I make it out of this, I’m not going back to the Night Court. I’m leaving.” The statement truly shut him up then. I almost couldn’t believe myself either. But this pain, the pain of knowing I would never be good enough in his eyes. I would never be good enough in the Inner Courts eyes. I had gotten myself taken into Hybern’s clutches, after preaching to Rhysand to let me do more. It was mortifying, I couldn’t even get myself out. I still relied on them even after they left me.

Pathetic.

“You don’t mean that, do you, Y/N?” His face completely fell. His hazel eyes wide, his hair pushed away from his face.

“I do. I can’t stay.” I started to shake my head now, tears finding their way into my face, “You lost me when you left me there. Hell, I fucking lost me in that tent. I lost me.”

“No, Y/N, you haven’t lost anything, please.” Azriel was pleading now, I turned from him. I couldn’t stomach the sight of him on top of his emotions flowing through the bond. “Please, listen to me. I lost it when you were missing. Cassian did too. Even Rhysand.” He took slow steps toward me. “I was ordered into that camp by Rhysand to get Elain, I had no idea that you would be there too.” He swallowed before nervously continuing, “We couldn’t grab you both, it was going to be impossible. I know you, I knew you could handle another day, and then we’d be back to get you, better prepared that time.”

It made sense, really, but it didn’t cut it. “That’s not good enough.” I finally met his eyes again. Mad, this time. “I was strung up. Beaten. Cut up. With no powers whatsoever thanks to their Fae Bane knives. I was dying, and you left me there. So, no Azriel, those words are not good enough.”

He opened his mouth to retort something, but a noise of the tent opening behind him cut him off. Peering over his broad shoulders and wings, Cassian was at the entrance of the tent. He was fully armored, weapons in tow, and concern was etched in all corners of his face.

“I hate to break up the reunion, but we have to go. Now. Hybern is moving in.” Cassian was on edge with his words, unknowing of the conversation that was at hand. I hated that seeing him gave me some ounce of relief as well.

With his words, I grabbed for my weapons. A sword, sheathed at my hip, and my bow and quivers strapped to my back. The set that Az had gifted me all that time ago.

Azriel grabbed my arm as I tried to move past him, “Madja told you to sit this out.” His eyes now were full of passion, his touch was unmoving, but light. At the contact my heart fluttered again. That bond sung between us, but only I could feel it.

I ripped my arm from his touch, no matter how badly I wanted to give into it.

“I’ll see you on the battlefield, Azriel.”

---

Before

Starfall was always one of my favorite times of the year. To just spend time with my family, to share gifts, drinks, and even dances. It had gotten late, the festivities finally winding down, and everyone going to their rooms.

I wanted a final look off the balcony before fully retiring. The present giving and gifting had gone great, everyone enjoying the gifts that had been gifted. I also loved the pieces of jewelry, the books, and even the apron, that Feyre, had gifted me, knowing how much I like to cook.

The midnight blue gown followed my footsteps out. It truly was beautiful. Backless, long, shimmering, Mor had gotten it for me, and of course dolled me up to go along with it. It wasn’t often that I got this way. Only when we had to take trips to the Hewn City or other Court business to attend to. My hair was curled and draped across my back. Light makeup littered my face as well.

I was leaning against the balcony railing when I heard those tall tale footsteps. I knew that if I was hearing them then he would want me to know he was there. I turned around and met Azriel’s gaze. He was stunning. In an all-black suit, but still sporting his blue syphons. I tried to hold back my blush at his appearance.

He walked towards me, a large, wrapped box in hand. I had already given Azriel his gift. I wrapped a leather journal, and a custom-made dagger, with a necklace that had Ramiel engraved on its pendant. He had thanked me, and did not give me one in return.

I guess he is now.

Azriel approached and handed me the large, slim box.

“What is this Az?” I took the wrapped package from him.

“Open it,” he nodded his head to it, “I wanted to give this to you privately.”

I smiled up at him and reached for the wrapping. Carefully, I unwrapped the box. Once completely unwrapped, I opened the box itself. Inside adored the most magnificent bow and quiver I had ever set my eyes on. I lit up at the sight of it.

“Az, this is amazing. Was this made in Dawn?” I took the bow and quiver from inside the box and admired it. Felt them in my hands, the beautifully intricate wooden long bow, with engravings from top to bottom. The quiver made of a light leather material, fashioned with some kind of fur on the strap.

“Yes, Thesan helped me find it himself.” Azriel put his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish.

“Thesan himself, thank you,” I gathered the bow and quiver and gently set them down. Then, I reached for Az, my arms stretching around his neck. I buried my head into his collarbone. His arms found their way around my waist, and his head on top of mine. “You remember when I first came to Night? Nothing but my old bow strapped to my back?” I smiled into his chest.

“And it broke, on one of our first missions together. You hit that poor male right over the head with it,” he quipped, bringing one of his hands to the back of my head, patting down my hair.

“Thank you, Azriel, thank you.” I told him again. That bow meant so much to me. It reminded me so much of who I used to be.

---

Now

My hands were in no shape to be in a battle. It was nothing like I had ever seen before. Carnage was raining down everywhere. When I wasn’t striking with a sword, I was shooting with my bow. I was going to bring down anyone in my way.

Pain or not.

Sweat was beading down my forehead, and my back. The bandages on my hands were in ribbons, blood staining what remained. My hands made it difficult. I had to adjust to the sloughing skin and ignore what pain I felt jarring up from them to my arms and shoulders.

Rage fueled me as I made my way around the battlefield. Rage for myself not being good enough to save that first night. Rage for my family, who was scattered across the grounds. Rage for falling in love with Azriel. Rage for my unreturned bond screaming in my chest.

Screaming. It was screaming in my chest. A punch to the chest made me stagger back. I grimaced and looked up to my attacker, but no one was there.

Something was wrong. I scanned the skies.

Where are you?

There. Falling.

He was falling from the sky. A scream pierced my throat as the sight. He hit the ground on a hill above the main field being fought in. All my instincts were shouting at me to go to him. The bond was crying at me to go to him. So that’s what I did. Whether I was pissed or not, I could not lose him. Not like this.

I ran, taking out everyone in my way. My body was close to giving in, not fully recovered from my time with Hybern. The pain in my hands continued to radiate through me with every swing of my sword and draw of my bow.

I crested the hill to see Azriel had propped himself up against a tree. His head was lying back, and he gripped the side of his abdomen. I could see the blood from here. A naga was closing in on him.

The bond in my chest thrummed and hurt. It was pain, Azriel’s pain that I was feeling. Panic surged in my bones.

I pulled my bow from my back, skin ripping on my fingers as I drew. I aimed at the fast-moving creature and with a yell released my arrow. I was moving on instinct. No different than hunting for a meal.

It hit its mark. The naga slumped over not more than 10 feet from him.

Ignoring the blood dripping from me, I rushed to him.

He had blood running down his brow. His hair was strewn everywhere. His wings were limp at his sides. Limp. His breathing was ragged. His hazel eyes were shut, pain corroded his face. Even the gold of his skin was damped. I reached for his cheek, feeling his clammy skin. My other hand found his shirt and lifted to see his wound.

It was gaping, there was so much blood. Muscle was torn, ripped open.

“Az, Az, tell me what happened,” I begged him. He only lulled his head further against the tree in response.

The bond, it was fading.

Pure fear burned through me. If that bond was fading, that meant…

I gripped him by his shoulders and shook as hard as I could, “You cannot do this to me! You cannot leave me!” My voice was raw from the hours of battle, my entire being felt like it was being ripped in two.

“Cassian! Rhysand!” I belted at the top of my lungs, praying that someone would hear me over the carnage.

I again reached for his abdomen, placing as much pressure as I possibly could on his wound. He winced in response. Good, that’s good.

“Az, Az listen to me.” The bond was flickering now. “Get up. Get your ass up!” I reached for his end, tugged at it as hard as I possibly could, but I was met with a wall. Terror, true terror overcame me.

The Night Court might have been where I lived, but Azriel was my home. I was losing my home.

There was so much blood. Blood.

That’s when it hit me. I reached for a blade that was fastened to his belt. I didn’t hesitate when I sliced into my arm, deep enough to get good blood flow.

“I’m so sorry Azriel.” I cried as I put my arm to his lips, forcing his mouth open, and the warm sticky liquid into it. “I wish I loved you less,” I sobbed, forcing more into his mouth, “I wish you weren’t my stupid, fucking, mate.”

Saying it out loud, even if he wasn’t in a state to understand, made my heart stand still. Lightheaded, I moved from in front of him. I sat next to him, holding a hand on his abdomen, and a hand on my still bleeding arm.

I couldn’t scream for help anymore, not with the dizziness that clouded me.

So, I sat, holding our bleeding wounds together.

Slowly, I began to feel his end of the bond knit itself back together. Breathing was a little easier when I realized this. He was healing then. It worked.

I looked up from our battered state to see a red blur moving toward us.

Cassian, thank the gods.

He landed on the hilltop and ran to us, taking in our current predicament. Azriel started to stir at the sound of his brother approaching.

Cassian kneeled down, taking my arm in his hand, and staring between Az and I.

“I leave you two alone for an hour and you guys decide it’s a good time to die?!” His voice was rough.

“I don’t know that now is the time to joke around, Cass.” I winced as I sat up toward him. “I’m okay, but Az..”

“Where did all this blood come from?” Cassian said gazing over Azriel’s entire form, panic lacing his voice.

“I saw him fall, when I got to him, he was down, bleeding from his abdomen.” I lifted Az’s shirt to show Cass. The wound had started to close together thanks to his quickened state of healing.

“What about the blood on his face?” Cassian was looking him over for injuries.

My heart hammered. How do I just admit it? Out loud, for anyone to hear this time. It was a fact that I had held so close to myself for so long. I had pinned after Azriel for years now, in silence. I was nothing more than a friend to him, while I fell in love with him.

“Y/N?” He looked over at me again, panic danced around me. “What happened?” His face turned stone cold.

“I.. he’s..” I trailed off, swallowing my fear. I looked into Cassian eyes, more tears somehow finding their way onto mine, “he’s my mate. It was the only way I could save him.” It was almost a whisper as the words left my tongue.

---

Taglist: (sorry if I missed anyone)

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#acotar x reader #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader angst #azriel x you

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moonlitstoriess · 2 months ago

Note

Could I request an angst to fluff fic for Cassian? The plot can be whatever you want, I can’t think rn

Make It Right- Cassian x fem!reader oneshot

Summary: On Y/N’s birthday, Cassian forgets the special day, caught up in the chaos of the world around them. Hurt and disappointed, Y/N tries to hide her feelings, but Cassian soon realizes his mistake. What follows is a heartfelt apology, and a love that reminds them both that sometimes, making things right takes more than just words.

A/N: Tomorrow is my birthday, yay!! 🥳 This is a little early birthday post I'm sending your way, hoping that you will enjoy it<3 Thank you for the request anon!

See masterlist

Warnings: Angst at first, cassian being an idiot

Y/N woke with a soft stretch, the warmth of sunlight streaming through the window and brushing her face. Today was the day—her birthday. She had woken up with a fluttering excitement in her chest, a smile already forming as she thought of the plans, the laughter, the quiet moments she might share with Cassian.

Her fingers brushed against the empty side of the bed.

Furrowing her brow, Y/N glanced at the space beside her. Cassian wasn't there, and for a moment, she wondered if he had gotten up early for training. But no, that didn't seem right. It wasn’t like him to leave without a word.

Her gaze wandered to the small table beside the bed, where a piece of parchment caught her eye. Cassian’s familiar handwriting sprawled across it, and her heart fluttered. Maybe he was just up to something… maybe it was a surprise.

With a little smile, she reached for the letter and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the words.

My Love, I’ve gone up to the Illyrian camps for a few hours to speak with the warriors about some new strategies we need to implement. You know how it goes—these things are never quick. But I’ll be back before you know it. I know you’re probably still sleeping, so I’ll let you get your rest and will see you soon. I love you more than words can say. I can’t wait to see you later.

Yours forever, Cassian

Y/N blinked at the letter. There was no mention of her birthday. Not a single word about the day that should’ve meant something special between them. Her heart sank just a little, the fluttering excitement slowly replaced with an unfamiliar heaviness. She sat there for a moment, staring at the letter, wondering if she'd missed something, if she was misreading it.

But no, there it was in black ink—nothing about today.

Sighing quietly, she set the letter back down and ran a hand through her hair. Maybe he had something planned. Maybe he was just working on a surprise. Cassian always had a way of doing things in his own time, in his own way. He wouldn’t forget, right?

It was only a few hours, after all. He’d come back, and they’d spend the day together. Maybe he was just setting up something grand for later. Maybe he was waiting to make the moment perfect.

She took a deep breath, pushing the little pang of disappointment aside. He loves me, she reminded herself. He always does.

With that, Y/N stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her clothes and moving toward the window. She still had hope. Cassian was always full of surprises, and she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t let today slip by without showing her just how much she meant to him.

Right?

The morning passed in a blur of warm wishes and gentle laughter, but still, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Inner Circle had been kind—so kind—and she was deeply grateful for their love and friendship. Rhys and Feyre had, without hesitation, invited everyone to the River House for a breakfast celebration in her honor. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, and it made her heart swell with affection. The beauty of their bond—of how they all looked out for one another—was something she cherished deeply.

When she’d arrived at the River House, she was greeted with warm smiles, hugs, and laughter. Nesta, for all her quietness, gave her a genuine hug, and even smiled at her, a rare moment that made Y/N’s chest tighten with appreciation. Amren had actually let out a small compliment—something about Y/N’s hair looking especially “charming today,” which made Y/N laugh.

The table was filled with an array of foods, a spread fit for royalty, and there was an undeniable sense of warmth in the air. Feyre had gone out of her way to make sure everything was perfect—her usual artistic flair evident in the way the food was arranged, the flowers placed just so on the table.

But even as the smiles and laughter surrounded her, as they all joked and ate together, there was an ache within her that refused to fade. She couldn’t help but feel a little hollow without Cassian by her side, his absence growing more pronounced as the day wore on. She couldn’t push the thought from her mind—why hadn’t he been here to wish her a happy birthday? Why wasn’t he here now?

Her eyes kept drifting over to the window, the soft breeze moving the curtains gently as though calling her attention to the world outside. She had expected him to show up at any moment, maybe swooping down from the skies in his usual fashion, grinning like a fool and pulling her into his arms, apologizing for being late with a cocky smirk. But no. He hadn’t come. And worse yet, he hadn’t even checked in through their bond, hadn’t sent even a whisper of a thought to her. It was unlike him, and it stung more than she cared to admit.

She tried to focus on the joy of the moment. She really did. She was surrounded by people who loved her. Her friends, her family—each one of them expressing their joy for her in their own unique ways. Nesta had even offered her a gift, something she’d made herself—woven from fine, shimmering strands of thread—and Y/N had been touched beyond measure. Amren’s usual sharp smile seemed more genuine today, her eyes glinting with something softer than usual. And Feyre, as always, had a way of making her feel special—her quiet words of gratitude and love making Y/N’s heart swell.

Azriel, ever the quiet and observant one, had given her a rare smile when he raised his glass to her. His dark eyes held a warmth that she didn’t often see, his gruff exterior slipping just a little in the presence of the people he cared about. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort from the shadowsinger, his support steady and unspoken, as always.

Elain, with her gentle kindness, had hugged her tightly when they first arrived, speaking softly about how much she admired her strength and how happy she was to be a part of the day. The warm sincerity in Elain’s words had made Y/N’s heart ache—she could always rely on her to brighten any room with her peaceful presence.

And then there was Mor. A force of nature in her own right, the bright, bold smile on Mor’s face never seemed to fade. She’d given Y/N a gift, a beautiful piece of jewelry that shimmered with a kind of magic. Mor’s exuberance was infectious, pulling everyone into her orbit, filling the space with laughter and light. She had gone out of her way to make Y/N feel like a queen today, fussing over every detail and making sure Y/N knew just how much she meant to the entire Court.

Each one of them had done their best to make today feel special. They were all here, surrounding her with love and light, and yet... Cassian’s absence loomed over it all, a shadow she couldn’t shake.

She reached for her glass, taking a sip, but her thoughts kept drifting. Maybe he’ll come back soon. She told herself again and again, trying to quell the disappointment. But the longer she sat there, the more she realized something: He wasn’t here. And he wasn’t even thinking about her. The bond between them was silent. No whispers, no gentle pull on her heart. She kept waiting for a flicker of warmth, some kind of connection—but there was nothing.

She pushed the thoughts aside for a moment when Mor raised her glass, calling everyone’s attention to make another toast in her honor. The cheerful clink of glasses around her made her smile, and she tried to focus on the love and laughter in the room. He’s not here right now, she thought, forcing herself to believe it. But I’m still loved. I am loved.

Azriel’s low voice cut through her thoughts, his words aimed at her but spoken with that quiet intensity only he could manage. “Don’t let today be overshadowed by his absence. You’re not alone, Y/N. We’re all here.”

Y/N met his gaze, his deep, steady eyes holding hers. She felt a little lighter, the weight of her worries lifting just slightly. You’re right, she thought, her heart grateful for his reminder. And yet… her mind couldn’t help but wonder, Why wasn’t Cassian here to remind me himself?

As the morning wore on, the atmosphere in the River House felt warm and alive with chatter, music, and the clinking of glasses. Y/N continued to do her best to push away the dull ache that kept settling in her chest, trying to enjoy the celebration for what it was. It wasn’t as though she didn’t appreciate everything her friends were doing for her. They had all been kind and thoughtful, their efforts unmistakable.

But still, she couldn’t quiet the little voice in the back of her mind. Cassian’s absence. The unanswered questions.

It was when Rhys approached her, a gift in hand, that her thoughts were interrupted. He gave her a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming with that familiar warmth. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” he said softly, offering her the small, beautifully wrapped package.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she replied, her smile sincere as she accepted the gift. She’d always adored Rhys’ sense of humor and his ability to bring light into any room, but today… her mind wasn’t fully there. She carefully unwrapped the present, revealing a small, intricate bracelet—crafted from what appeared to be moonstone, its pale light catching the sunlight in a way that made it shimmer like stars. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Rhys smiled, watching her with a quiet kind of affection. “I thought it might remind you that even when it feels like someone’s missing, you’re still a part of something bigger. The stars will always be there, just like us.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words. “Thank you, Rhys.”

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I’m sure Cassian is preparing something extraordinary for you today. Don’t let the silence fool you. He’s up to something.”

Hope bloomed in her chest, delicate at first, like a fragile flower testing the air for warmth. “It wasn’t you who sent him to the Illyrian camps, was it?”

Rhys chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, definitely not. Why would I send him away knowingly on the day of his mate’s birthday?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened. Could it be that there had been a misunderstanding? Had Cassian been caught up in something unexpected? That seemed likely, didn’t it?

Rhys continued, his smile shifting to something more teasing. “He told me that the Illyrian camps had requested him—one of the commanders asked him personally. And I’m sure you know how those requests work. You don’t just say no to an Illyrian commander, especially when they come with an urgent matter. He also told me that he didn’t want Azriel to go since he already has too much on his plate.” Rhys paused, giving her a pointed look. “You know how it is. The more people you have, the more work piles up.”

Y/N nodded, still uncertain but feeling a spark of relief. So it wasn’t Rhys...

“But that’s not the only thing,” Rhys continued, his tone taking on a more knowing edge. “You know as well as I do that when you go up into the camps, you can’t come back before atleast a full day because of all that is going on there. He told me he’d be back by late afternoon. And trust me, he’s never one to be late when it comes to something important. Especially when it involves you. He’ll be here, Y/N. I’m sure of it.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as she processed his words. Cassian wouldn’t miss today. He wouldn’t let me down, not like this...

She looked up at Rhys, who was watching her with an intensity that told her he understood her internal struggle. “I know it’s hard, Y/N. But you have to know this: he’s coming back. I’m sure he’s planning something incredible for you, just like he has every year since you have been mates. It’s just not the way you expected it.”

Her thoughts swirled. I should trust him. I should trust that Cassian loves me enough not to forget today... But her mind kept circling back to the letter. Maybe he really is just caught up in something. Maybe he’s doing everything he can to get back to me.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she whispered, feeling a little lighter. She hoped he was right, hoped that Cassian would return with the grand gesture she was waiting for.

Rhys gave her a wink. “Anytime, Y/N. You deserve all the love in the world. Don’t let today slip by with doubts.”

As Rhys moved back to join the others, Y/N let the words linger in her mind. He’s coming back… he has to be.

But still, a part of her remained uncertain. What if there was more to this than just a simple delay? What if he’s forgotten entirely?

For now, though, she’d wait. She’d trust in the love they shared, in the bond that had always connected them, even when the distance felt unbearable.

As the hours passed, the River House buzzed with life and laughter. Y/N tried her best to keep her smile in place, to enjoy the company of those around her, but it was hard to ignore the absence of the one person she had been waiting for all day.

The birthday breakfast had come and gone, and now the afternoon stretched out before her, warm and full of promise—yet empty without Cassian’s presence. She was surrounded by friends, all of them who cared for her deeply, but somehow, it all felt incomplete.

Azriel and Mor had spent the afternoon lounging outside, talking quietly about their latest missions, their voices low and private. Nesta had wandered off for a while, clearly needing some time alone, but she’d made sure to hug Y/N tightly before slipping away. Feyre had suggested a walk through the gardens, a calm, peaceful escape that allowed them to chat more privately, and Y/N was grateful for the distraction. They’d discussed everything and nothing—how Feyre was adjusting to being a mother, how Y/N had been feeling about the latest changes in the Night Court—but the whole time, her thoughts kept drifting back to the empty space beside her.

Her eyes had lingered on the door, half-expecting to see Cassian come striding through it, his laughter booming in that familiar way, his arms wide to pull her into his embrace. But each time, her hope was met with nothing but the quiet hum of the house.

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip toward evening, Y/N had retreated to a corner of the house, seated in a comfortable chair by the window, looking out at the vast expanse of the world beyond. The river glittered in the fading sunlight, the gentle lapping of the water against the bank providing a quiet soundtrack to her restless thoughts.

She absentmindedly fiddled with the bracelet Rhys had given her, tracing her fingers over the smooth, cool surface. It was a beautiful gift—something she’d treasure forever—but right now, it felt like a reminder of how little she truly had today. She had expected so much more.

She was no stranger to the chaos of Cassian’s life, to the unpredictability of his role as General. She knew that sometimes, his responsibilities pulled him away from her. She’d always understood that. But today… today felt different. Today felt like it should’ve been the day—the one where he set aside everything else to focus on her. To remind her how much she meant to him.

Her thoughts drifted again to that damn letter from the morning. She could still picture the simple words, how they hadn’t even mentioned the significance of the day. Was he really too busy? Was it just bad timing?

A soft, familiar presence appeared at the edge of her thoughts, and she felt the lightest flutter through their bond—a tiny whisper, like a fleeting breath in the back of her mind. It was just a brush, a flicker. But it was enough to make her heart race, enough to make her wonder if perhaps Cassian was finally reaching out.

But no. It was gone almost as quickly as it came.

“Y/N?” Feyre’s voice broke through her reverie, and Y/N turned to find her standing at the edge of the room, watching her with gentle concern in her eyes. “You okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Y/N forced a smile. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Feyre stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the windowsill beside her. “I know it’s hard, waiting for Cassian. But you have to know he’s going to be here soon. He wouldn’t miss today for the world."

Y/N nodded, but the words felt hollow. She appreciated Feyre’s attempt at reassurance, but it didn’t change the emptiness that had settled into her bones.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Y/N murmured, looking down at her hands, where the bracelet rested against her wrist. “I just… I expected more today, you know? More of him. It’s hard not to feel like I’m being forgotten.”

Feyre reached over, gently squeezing Y/N’s hand in hers. “Cassian doesn’t forget. Not about you, not about your worth. I know you know that, deep down. But his responsibilities… they take over sometimes.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, but her heart felt heavy with the truth of Feyre’s words. She knew this. She had always known how demanding Cassian’s work was. Yet, in this moment, none of that seemed to ease the ache in her chest.

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet of the room thick between them.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Feyre said after a beat, “Rhys and I were talking earlier. He’s certain Cassian is planning something spectacular. He wouldn’t let this day go by without making it up to you, I promise.”

Y/N gave a small, shaky smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Feyre patted her hand. “Come on, let’s go join the others. The day’s not over yet, and I’m sure Cassian has something up his sleeve. Just you wait.”

Y/N nodded again, standing with Feyre and following her back toward the main part of the house, though her heart still felt heavy. She tried to lose herself in conversation with the others as they discussed plans for the evening, but every time the door creaked open or a breeze brushed past, her hope flickered once again.

Cassian would come, wouldn’t he?

-----

Cassian stood at the edge of the Illyrian camp, his eyes scanning the horizon, watching as his warriors trained, sparred, and carried out their duties. It was the sort of day he dreaded—endless, relentless, and filled with the tension of an impending conflict that threatened to boil over at any moment.

It had all started about a month ago, when he’d received the urgent message from one of the northern commanders. At the time, Cassian delayed coming over himself, choosing to send his trusted men instead. It was also because the communication had come at the worst possible time—just as he was looking forward to a few days of peace, maybe even a quiet evening with Y/N.

However, everyday the commander had kept asking for Casian himself, being very clear: the camps were on the brink of full-scale warfare, and they needed someone who could keep things in order before the situation got worse. And so, Cassian had packed up quickly, his mind focused only on getting things under control. The sooner he got in, the sooner he could return. He had promised himself that it would only be a few hours—perhaps a day at most. After all, how bad could it be?

But of course, as it always did, the situation had escalated.

In the last month, every plan he’d tried to set in motion had been thwarted by a new complication. A new leader from one of the factions had challenged his authority, a skirmish had broken out on the eastern border, and just when Cassian thought things were settling down, word came that another territory was in dispute.

Now, here he was, surrounded by the sounds of clashing metal and the low hum of warriors calling orders, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword as he surveyed the chaos. His mind was elsewhere, though—not with the men around him or the reports he was reading—but with her. Y/N.

He hadn’t forgotten her—he could never forget her. She was always in his thoughts, even now as he stood in the midst of battle preparations. But the more he thought of her, the more his frustration built. Damn it all, he thought to himself, running a hand through his dark hair. He was supposed to be with her, not stuck here in this endless mess. He had no idea how things had gotten so far out of hand, but there was no turning back now.

He’d hoped the day would be simple. He’d figured, a few hours at most, handle the worst of it, and then be back with her. Maybe they could have a quiet dinner, talk about the quiet things. But now, that hope seemed like a distant memory.

His mind drifted back to the report he’d just received. The situation with the northern factions had worsened. They were demanding reinforcements, and not just a few. This was the kind of situation where Cassian’s presence was absolutelynecessary. He couldn’t just leave it to the others; he had to see it through. The men under his command needed him.

But what about her?

A growl rumbled low in his throat, his frustration turning into a simmering rage. Cassian had thought that after a quick intervention, he’d be back to his mate, back to the woman who kept him grounded and whole. But that had been a naive thought, one that now felt like a cruel joke.

“General,” one of his commanders approached, his voice low and serious. “It’s not just the northern borders. We’ve got problems in the southern territories too. The peace talks fell apart. We’ll need to send someone there immediately.”

Cassian gritted his teeth. Three days. At least three days now. What the hell was he supposed to do? There was no way he could leave things in this state—not when things were this precarious.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, pacing away from the group. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak to the commander again; his thoughts were too clouded, his anger too sharp. The worst part? No one here seemed to understand. They were all too focused on the battle, on the logistics of war, to see the way his heart was breaking with every passing second.

Cassian growled under his breath, his frustration boiling over. He had to stay for the next few days. There was no other option.

But Y/N would understand. Right?

----

Y/N did not, in fact, understand.

When she saw Rhys leave and come back with a letter in his hand, his expression serious and slightly sorrowful as he headed straight for Azriel, she knew something was wrong.

Feyre and Elain were beside her, their soft laughter and conversation swirling around like a gentle breeze, but Y/N barely heard any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the two males standing by the doorway, voices hushed but movements tight with frustration. Rhys’ brow was furrowed as he handed the note to Azriel, and Az ran a hand through his hair as he read it, wings twitching slightly behind him.

Her stomach sank.

It was the way Azriel’s jaw clenched. The way Rhys’ hand dropped to his side, fingers curling into a fist. The kind of body language that meant bad news. And neither of them had looked her way.

Feyre nudged her gently, drawing her back. “Y/N? You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh—sorry,” Y/N murmured, blinking and trying to force a smile. “I’m listening.”

But she wasn’t. Not really. Because now Azriel had started speaking, fast and low, and Rhys wasn’t looking at him—he was looking at her.

That told her everything she needed to know.

She stood slowly, the movement enough to draw the attention of both males. Azriel glanced down at the note in his hand, then up at her, his expression unreadable. Rhys looked like he was preparing himself for something—his lips pressed together, a crease forming between his brows.

Y/N didn’t wait for them to come to her.

She crossed the room silently, her heart pounding louder with each step. She kept her voice steady when she stopped in front of them, even though it felt like her lungs had been replaced by lead.

“What is it?”

Rhys hesitated. Azriel looked to him, clearly unsure if he should speak, but then Rhys sighed quietly and extended the letter to her. “It’s from Cassian.”

She took it with slow fingers. The seal wasn’t the one he usually used for her—no wax in her favorite color, no scribbled heart in the corner like he sometimes added when he was feeling particularly smug or sweet. Just plain parchment, a rushed signature.

Her throat tightened before she even unfolded it.

It wasn’t long. A few brief sentences. A quick explanation. He’d been pulled deeper into the situation than expected. The camps were at each other’s throats. He couldn’t leave—not yet. Not for another few days. I will send news soon. Take care of Y/N for me.

No mention of what today was. Not even a line.

She didn’t realize how tightly her fingers were gripping the paper until Rhys gently reached out, his hand brushing her elbow. “Y/N—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, folding the letter with practiced calm. “He’s needed there. I get it.”

Neither Rhys nor Azriel looked convinced.

Feyre and Elain had gone quiet behind her. She could feel their concern, the heaviness in the room like a sudden shift in air pressure.

Y/N took a slow breath and looked out the window, blinking back the sting in her eyes. She had waited. All day. Told herself he was coming. That this wasn’t like him.

And maybe it wasn’t.

But the letter in her hand said otherwise.

Because it didn’t even say happy birthday.

And no matter how many times she told herself that Cassian loved her—that his duties were important, that Illyria needed him—there was a sharp, echoing silence in her chest where he should have been today.

Where his voice should’ve whispered through the bond, where his arms should’ve wrapped around her, where his presence should’ve reminded her that she mattered.

She swallowed tightly and turned away, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she murmured. “I think I’ll head home.”

“I don’t understand. How could he forget?” Rhys practically growled, pacing in the center of the room now. “Cassian has never—not once—missed her birthday. Every godsdamned year, he’s gone all out. The male made her a sunrise flight over the Sidra last year because she said she liked the color of the sky in the morning—”

“He always remembers,” Azriel cut in, his voice dark and tight with frustration. “He’s never been like this. Not with her.” His shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, restless and tense.

Feyre, standing near the window, arms folded, nodded slowly. “It’s not like him. Something’s not right. And even if he’s overwhelmed, even if Illyria is falling apart, there’s no way he doesn’t know what today is.”

“I’ll go to him,” Azriel said abruptly, already half-turned toward the door, his voice quiet but deadly. “I’ll tell him myself. I’ll show him that fucking letter and—”

“That idiot,” Mor muttered, appearing from the hallway with a sharp look in her golden eyes. “That idiot. She waited all day, Az. He should’ve been here. At least a godsdamned message.”

“I will make him listen,” Azriel continued, shadows snapping around his fists. “I’ll fly to him right now and—”

“Stop.”

Y/N’s voice was quiet, strained—but no one heard her. Or maybe they didn’t listen. The air was thick with indignation, protective fury, confusion.

“Stop,” she said again, a little louder, stepping further into the room. Still nothing.

Rhys was muttering about how he should’ve known, how he should’ve sent someone else to the camps. Feyre was pacing now. Even Elain, sweet Elain, had a worried furrow in her brow.

“Stop!”

The word cracked through the space like thunder.

Everyone froze.

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N stood in the middle of the room now, chin high, fists clenched at her sides. Her breathing was steady, but the tremble in her fingers betrayed the storm inside her.

“No one,” she said, voice low but unyielding. “No one is going to say a word to him.”

Rhys opened his mouth to protest.

Y/N’s gaze cut to him with sharp precision, a warning that stopped him cold.

“I mean it,” she said firmly, looking at each of them in turn. “He needs to realize this himself. If any of you go running to tell him, if you scold him or guilt him or push him into some half-hearted apology… it won’t mean anything. He has to see it. He has to feel it. Not because you reminded him. Not because someone handed him the truth. Because he looked around, realized something was missing, and knew it was me.”

Azriel stepped forward, his jaw clenched. “Y/N, he loves you. He would never—”

“I know he loves me,” she said, gentler this time. “But love doesn’t excuse neglect. Love doesn’t mean never making mistakes. And I’m not mad that he’s busy. I understand his duty. But today? Today he forgot me. Not just the celebration—me.”

Elain opened her mouth, but closed it again with a sympathetic frown.

Y/N took a slow breath. “Please. It’s my birthday. And this is my wish. That none of you mention this to him. Let him come home on his own. Let him see the damage on his own. Let him fix it on his own.”

The silence returned, heavier now. And then, after a long pause, Rhys finally let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I will give him a few days to realize his mistake. But.” His violet eyes locked on hers. “There is no way in any world that I am letting you spend your birthday alone.”

Y/N’s lips parted, already forming a protest. “Rhys, really, I—”

“But nothing,” Feyre cut in, already taking Y/N’s hand. “We listened to you. Now you listen to us.”

“We’re your family too,” Elain said softly, stepping up on Y/N’s other side. “And you don’t deserve to sit in silence when there’s still joy to be found today.”

“The others will be back soon,” she added, already moving toward the doors leading to the terrace. “And we are not letting this day end with you hiding in a corner feeling forgotten.”

Before she could argue further, Feyre gave her hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go outside. Breathe. Laugh a little. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure she could laugh—not right now—but the way they looked at her, all of them, she knew they wouldn’t let her fall apart alone.

So she let them lead her toward the open doors and into the golden light of the setting sun, the scent of flowers on the breeze and the soft murmur of the Sidra below.

And even as she smiled for them, even as she tried to be present, there was still that hollow space inside her where he should’ve been.

Where Cassian should have been.

She didn’t even notice the tears at first. They came suddenly, soundless, slipping down her cheeks like they’d always belonged there. She was seated on a bench between Elain and Feyre, hands curled tightly in her lap, when it hit her again.

She didn’t speak. She just cried.

And neither sister said a word. Feyre looped an arm gently around her shoulders, drawing her into the curve of her body while Elain wrapped both hands around hers. They didn’t offer empty reassurances or tell her to cheer up. They didn’t need to. They simply sat with her, and that was enough.

Later, as the garden lights blinked to life and the air cooled, Nesta returned from Valkyrie mission—sharper than usual, but her expression softened the moment she saw Y/N. No questions. No demands. Just a nod of acknowledgment as she took the seat across from her and quietly passed over a little parcel wrapped in silver cloth. A gift she’d made herself—something small, personal, and thoughtful.

Amren appeared not long after, her hair swept back in a polished twist, the edges of her black coat fluttering around her like shadows. She sat beside Nesta with a huff, muttering about “tedious Court matters” and “being dragged into babysitting lesser fae politics,” but even she leaned over to ruffle Y/N’s hair with an uncharacteristically soft, “Happy birthday, girl. Don’t let the bat’s absence ruin it.”

And just when Y/N thought the night was over, Elain insisted they all follow her inside.

There, on the kitchen table, sat a cake.

Beautiful and slightly lopsided, covered in sugared wildflowers and soft frosting that shimmered faintly under the faelight. Elain had made it herself—had spent the past two nights sneaking time in the kitchens, hiding it from even Feyre. “I wanted to do something just for you,” she said shyly, and Y/N had nearly cried all over again

The rest of the day passed like a slow, strange dream.

They dined together after that. A warm, chaotic, makeshift dinner, thrown together by a dozen helping hands. Everyone gathered—those who had come and gone through the day returning for the final hours. They drank and toasted and teased one another with ridiculous, affectionate banter. Rhys told a story from centuries ago involving Cassian and a very unfortunate tree, and even Y/N had laughed until her ribs ached.

There were moments—fleeting ones—where she forgot the ache in her chest. Where the comfort of those around her dulled the sting enough that she could pretend everything was okay.

But only for a moment.

Because the ache always returned. It pulsed behind every laugh, every sip of wine, every flicker of candlelight.

Cassian hadn’t come. He hadn’t sent a message. He hadn’t said happy birthday. He had completely forgotten.

And no matter how kind the others were, how hard they tried to lift her up, his absence sat heavy on her chest like a stone.

Eventually, under Rhys and Feyre’s gentle insistence, she agreed to stay the night. They wouldn’t let her go home alone. Not like this. “Just take the guest room,” Feyre said softly. “Sleep. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N agreed.

She closed the door behind her as quietly as she could. The room was warm, cozy, with soft throws and a little vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand—typical Feyre. Thoughtful to the end. She changed into the clothes someone had folded at the foot of the bed, washed her face slowly, and went through the motions of settling in.

She told herself not to cry again.

She had cried enough.

She folded her dirty clothes. Brushed out her hair. Lit a small candle with a flick of faelight. Tidied a nightstand that didn’t even belong to her.

She did everything except lie down.

But eventually, her limbs couldn’t carry her anymore.

Y/N slipped beneath the covers, curled onto her side, and stared out the window. The moon hung low and silver, casting light across the bed in quiet streaks.

And that was when her heart finally gave in.

The tears came again, thick and silent, slipping down her cheeks and into the pillow as she clutched it tighter to her chest. Her throat burned. Her ribs ached. She didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound—but the pain was all-consuming.

How had he forgotten her?

How had the one person who knew her better than anyone not felt how much this would break her?

She thought of his arms. His scent. His laugh. The way he always kissed her temple before bed. The way he used to whisper goodnight into her soul through the bond.

Tonight, there was nothing.

No whisper. No warmth.

Only the sound of her own quiet, broken breathing.

--------

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, muscles aching, exhaustion carved deep into every inch of his body. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days—not with the Illyrian warbands breathing fire down each other’s throats. He’d been everywhere. Breaking up fights. Mediating screaming matches. Holding war councils that felt more like babysitting sessions for ancient, prideful warriors who couldn’t see past their own egos.

The tensions weren’t just high—they were explosive.

What had started as a two-camp territorial squabble had now grown into something far more dangerous. Old rivalries, wounded egos, unspoken grudges—everything was bubbling to the surface. Cassian had tried, Gods he had tried, to get ahead of it. But every solution he carved out only gave birth to two more problems. Every ceasefire threatened to collapse under the weight of centuries-old hate.

Still, he pressed on.

He was the General of the Night Court. This was his job. His burden.

And yet…

He had thought about her. Hundreds of times.

Y/N’s smile. Her laugh. The way she scrunched her nose when she read something she disagreed with. The way she always tucked herself into his side like she belonged there—because she did. Her warmth, her scent, the quiet weight of her in his arms every night.

But now, that warmth felt so far away. And worse, she was… closed off.

He had reached for her through the bond multiple times since arriving in the camps. And every time, it was like pressing his hand against a locked door. Her walls were up, impenetrable in a way they hadn’t been since the earliest days of their bond.

That had set something cold and uneasy in his chest.

So, he had reached out to Rhys.

“Is she alright?” he’d asked through their mental link, concern thick in his tone.

Rhys’ response had come slower than usual. Clipped. “She’s fine. She’s staying with us.”

That was it.

No warmth. No elaboration.

Cassian had tried to rationalize it. Maybe Rhys was just busy. Maybe Y/N was tired. Maybe she didn’t want to worry him. But it gnawed at him—sharp and growing. She hadn’t answered any of his letters, either. He’d written three. All of them long, thoughtful—pouring out everything he couldn’t say across the distance. And still… nothing.

He frowned now, standing just outside the camp’s central tent, the icy wind biting at his skin despite the thick armor.

He didn’t understand. What was going on?

What was he missing?

He didn’t have the chance to spiral further—because a voice cut through the wind behind him.

“The Shadowsinger is here.”

Cassian blinked, turning immediately, his brow furrowing. “What?”

The young Illyrian warrior bowed slightly. “He arrived moments ago. He’s waiting for you near the ridge.”

Azriel? Here?

Cassian was already moving, striding across the frostbitten field toward the overlook, confusion swirling in his chest. What in the Mother’s name is Az doing here? He would’ve known if something had gone wrong at the River House. Rhys would’ve said something—surely.

And then he saw him.

Azriel stood with his arms folded, his expression unreadable, shadows curling languidly around his form as he stared out over the mountains.

“Az,” Cassian called as he approached. “What the hell are you doing here? Did Rhys send you?”

Azriel didn’t turn. “I came on my own.”

That wasn’t normal. Not with Azriel.

Cassian stopped a few feet away, arms outstretched in disbelief. “Okay, what is going on? Rhys is cold with me, Y/N’s got her walls up so high I can’t even feel her, and now you show up like death himself—what did I do? Did I commit a fucking massacre and forget about it?”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, but his voice was cool as ice. “You might as well have.”

Cassian’s stomach dropped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Azriel finally turned to face him, his gaze hard. “You’ve been so wrapped up in this godsdamned chaos that you didn’t even realize what day it was.”

Cassian blinked. “What?”

Azriel shook his head, sighing harshly. “Go back. I’ll take over from here.”

“What—? Why?” Cassian stepped in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Does Rhys need me? Did something happen—?”

Azriel shrugged his hand off with practiced ease, brushing past him without another word.

But as he walked away, his voice drifted over his shoulder.

“Your mate needs you.”

Cassian stilled.

The words hit him like a punch to the ribs.

Y/N.

Something snapped into place—something instinctual, primal. Protective.

His body straightened, his heart roaring in his chest as dread crashed over him like a tidal wave. His wings flared, already preparing to launch him into the skies.

Something had happened.

She was hurting.

And he hadn’t known.

Didn’t feel it.

His mate needed him—and he was not there.

Cassian didn’t waste another second. He turned on his heel, barked a few quick orders to the nearest commander, and took off into the sky, wind slicing around him like blades.

What happened to her?

My wife needs me.

The sky was clear, painted in soft shades of spring blue with faint wisps of clouds drifting lazily across it. The garden smelled like lavender and sun-warmed stone, and a gentle breeze tugged playfully at Y/N’s hair. It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day.

She barely noticed.

Feyre sat beside her on a picnic blanket spread out over the grass, barefoot, a smudge of green paint on her cheek as she carefully filled in the petals of a wildflower on her canvas. She looked peaceful, serene even—and Y/N had tried, Gods she’d tried, to match that energy. To find something resembling calm.

Feyre had said painting would help. That it had always helped her.

A good distraction.

And maybe it was. For the first few minutes, dipping her brush in soft hues, dragging color across blank canvas, she’d managed to escape the haze of disappointment clinging to her.

But the relief never lasted long.

Three days.

It had been three entire days since her birthday. Since that night she’d cried herself to sleep in a guest room that wasn’t hers. Since the cake Elain had made. Since the weight of it all settled into her bones like something permanent.

Cassian still hadn’t realized.

Not even a whisper through the bond, though she wouldn’t have heard it if he had tried—because she hadn’t opened herself to him. Not once. She couldn’t. Not when every second of silence felt like proof that he had simply... forgotten.

She hadn’t even touched his letters. They sat in her nightstand unopened, their presence mocking her more with each day that passed. She told herself that if she read them, it would mean she was ready to forgive him.

And she wasn’t.

A shaky breath escaped her as she dipped her brush again—only to knock over the small pot of blue paint beside her. It spilled onto the grass, soaking into the roots like a spreading bruise.

“Oops,” she mumbled, reaching for a cloth.

Feyre chuckled softly beside her. “That was my favorite shade too.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, but it was empty. “Of course it was.”

Feyre leaned back on her hands, eyes soft. “You’ve been quiet again.”

Y/N kept blotting at the grass. “I’m trying not to ruin your peaceful moment.”

“Y/N…” Feyre’s voice lowered, all teasing gone. “You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore,” she muttered, finally sitting back. “It’s like—I’m angry. I’m sad. I miss him so much it physically hurts, but then I remember he still doesn’t even realize what he’s done and—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. “It makes everything worse.”

Feyre reached over, brushing a bit of paint off Y/N’s arm. “He’ll figure it out.”

Y/N shook her head slowly. “And what if he doesn’t? What if this is just who he is now?”

Before Feyre could answer, a voice shattered the moment like glass against stone.

“Y/N!”

Y/N’s entire body went rigid.

The brush dropped from her fingers.

That voice. That voice that lived in her soul, in her every memory, every dream—rough and deep and warm like a storm in the distance. She turned slowly, heart thudding so loud she could barely hear anything else.

And there he was.

Cassian.

Striding toward her from the River House doors, wind-blown and armor-clad, broad shoulders moving with frantic urgency. Behind him, Rhysand stood, arms crossed, mouth pressed in a line, expression unreadable. Feyre had frozen beside her, eyes wide.

But Y/N couldn’t stop staring.

Gods, he looked the same and yet... not. Exhausted, eyes bloodshot, hair wind-tangled. But his face—his face lit up the second their eyes met.

Her Cassian, this was her Cassian.

“Y/N,” he breathed again, and then he was in front of her.

Cassian dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping around her tightly, protectively, one hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed his face into her neck.

“Thank the Mother,” he whispered, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her temple. “I thought—I thought something happened to you. I couldn’t feel you, you weren’t answering, and Rhys wouldn’t tell me anything and—”

Y/N was frozen in his arms.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed his scent. His warmth. How much she’d been craving the weight of his embrace, his voice breaking apart with relief.

But then she looked up.

Feyre was staring in wide-eyed shock. Rhys was watching coldly, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

And suddenly the pain returned.

Y/N pushed against Cassian’s chest, slowly at first—then more firmly.

He pulled back, blinking, confusion flickering across his handsome face.

“Y/N?” he said softly, voice catching.

She stood, brushing off her skirt, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Go back to your job, Cassian,” she said, her voice quiet but sharp. “It’s far more important anyway.”

The hurt that flashed across his face nearly undid her.

He turned toward Rhys, clearly seeking answers, but Rhys just shrugged—cool and unapologetic.

Feyre opened her mouth, stepping forward, about to say something—

But Rhys gently nudged her back with a warning look, stopping her mid-breath.

And Y/N didn’t wait.

She pushed past Cassian, her heart hammering, vision blurring as she made her way down the garden path without looking back.

Behind her, she heard Cassian curse softly—and then the sound of footsteps as he ran after her.

“Y/N—” Cassian’s voice rang behind her, hurried footsteps following as she stormed back into the River House.

She didn’t stop.

He cursed behind her—something muffled and sharp as he bumped into a low table near the hallway. She heard the crash of something ceramic hitting the floor.

“Y/N, please—wait, just—talk to me—”

She marched deeper into the house, hands trembling, her vision hazy from the heat of unshed tears. Her name kept falling from his lips like a prayer, desperate and confused. But she wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Not until he caught up and grabbed her arm.

Not harshly. Just enough to pull her to a stop.

“Y/N—”

She spun around, wrenching her arm from his grasp with more force than necessary, her breath ragged as she shouted, “What?”

The hallway echoed with her voice, the sharpness of it slicing through the air like a blade.

Cassian took a step back, blinking at her, stunned. “I—why are you acting like this? What is going on?”

She let out a humorless, choked laugh, folding her arms as her eyes flashed. “Oh, I don’t know, Cassian. Maybe I’m just a little emotional. Maybe I’ve just lost my mind.”

His brow furrowed. “Y/N, don’t—”

“No, you don’t!” she snapped, pointing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to walk in here after three days like everything’s normal, like you haven’t been ghosting me while I’ve been drowning in confusion and—hurt.”

Cassian’s wings flared, frustration bleeding into his voice. “I haven’t been ghosting you! I’ve been at the camps! I tried reaching you, you had your walls up and Rhys wouldn’t tell me anything and I—Mother above, Y/N! What?!” His voice rose to a thunderous echo, his hands thrown up. “What is it?! Why have you been acting this way?! What the hell has gotten into you?!”

Y/N stared at him, her lip trembling as the words tore out of her like a storm breaking loose.

“IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY!”

The world seemed to stop.

Cassian’s mouth parted, eyes widening as her voice echoed down the hallway. He stood frozen in place—watching her like he didn’t understand what he’d just heard. Like it didn’t make sense.

She saw the realization dawn on his face slowly. The shift in his eyes. The disbelief. The guilt.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and fast, as she went on, her voice shaking with fury and grief.

“It was my birthday, and you left. You forgot. You didn’t send a letter. You didn’t say anything. No note. No kiss. Not even a godsdamned Happy Birthday, Cassian!”

She laughed bitterly, choking on her own tears. “Forget gifts or celebrations. I would’ve taken one sentence through the bond. One single thought. But there was nothing. You left me behind like I was—nothing.”

He opened his mouth, eyes already glossing with tears, but she kept going.

“And I waited,” she hissed, voice cracking. “I waited all day thinking maybe—just maybe—you were going to surprise me. I made excuses for you. Told myself it wasn’t your fault. But it’s been three days. You never realized. You didn’t even remember me.”

Her voice dropped then, just a whisper.

“Do I even mean something to you anymore?”

Cassian’s face crumpled.

“Do you even love me?”

A tear slid down his cheek.

“Y/N…” he whispered, stepping forward, voice raw. “*My love—*of course I love you. Of course I do. You are my everything. My soul is bound to yours—how could I ever stop loving you?”

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, jaw clenching as he cursed himself under his breath. “I’m an idiot. I’m the worst kind of bastard. I should’ve remembered—I should’ve—Mother, I hate myself for this.”

He tried to reach for her again, but she stepped back.

“No,” she said sharply, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t. I can’t—not right now.”

“Y/N, please—”

“I think it’s best,” she said, quieter now, broken. “If we stay apart for a while.”

His face twisted. “No, you don’t mean that—”

“I do,” she whispered, shaking her head, more tears falling. “I don’t think I want to see you right now.”

“Just let me explain—”

She turned away.

Cassian took a desperate step toward her, but stopped when she didn’t pause, didn’t look back.

And with one final breathless, shattering beat between them, Y/N climbed the stairs—leaving him standing there, alone in the hallway, heart split wide open.

-------

Cassian sat hunched over on the plush River House couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He didn’t move. He barely breathed. The only thing keeping him grounded was the faint buzz of his own heartbeat in his ears, and the way his eyes were locked on the floor—unblinking, like if he just stared hard enough, he could turn back time.

The silence was tense. Suffocating.

And then—

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Rhys snapped, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

Cassian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even lift his head.

Rhys paced in front of him like a caged beast, his power a rolling storm beneath his skin, his violet eyes sparking with fury. “You forgot. You forgot her birthday, Cassian. The one day that’s about her. The one day she deserved your whole world without question—and you gave her silence.”

Cassian remained motionless.

“She cried for hours,” Rhys went on, each word like a dagger. “She didn’t even open your letters. Do you know how fucking heartbroken she had to be, to shut off your bond like that?”

“I tried to reach her,” Cassian rasped.

Rhys didn’t let up. “Not hard enough.”

Feyre, from where she stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest, said quietly, “Rhys…”

But Rhys was too far gone.

“She waited for you. Defended you. Hoped. While we all sat there trying to keep her smiling, trying to fill the space you left behind.”

“I should have gone to the camps myself,” he seethed, starting to pace again. “Azriel shouldn’t be there, either. I’m the High Lord. I should’ve handled it. Godsdammit, I should have known this would happen. I knew something was off with her and I—”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Feyre cut in gently, but even she sounded like the weight of it was pressing too heavy.

Cassian still hadn’t moved.

Not until, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, he said, “I hate myself.”

That stopped everything.

Rhys stilled. Feyre’s breath caught. The room went deathly quiet.

Cassian slowly lifted his head, eyes glassy but burning. His voice was louder now, rough with barely restrained emotion. “I hate myself for what I’ve done to her.”

His fingers curled into fists against his knees.

“I keep thinking about her face,” he growled. “When she turned around and shouted at me. When she looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I didn’t even know her anymore.”

He looked up at them, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rhys’s face was unreadable. “She didn’t allow us to,” he said quietly. “She wanted you to realize it yourself. Said it had to be you.”

Cassian let out a low, agonized sound and collapsed back into the couch, throwing his head against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. “Of course she did,” he muttered. “Because she’s better than me. Because she deserved someone who would’ve remembered without being told.”

Feyre crossed the room and gently sat beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Cassian,” she said softly, “you messed up. But this… this doesn’t have to be the end of everything. She’s hurt, yes. But she’s still your mate. You can fix this—but not with words. Not with apologies. With actions.”

Rhys added from the corner, his voice calm but firm now, “Sitting here sulking won’t do you any good. The damage is done. The only question now is: what are you going to do about it?”

Cassian sat up slowly, his chest rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath. His eyes still glistened—but now, there was something steely behind them. Something solid.

“You’re right,” he said, voice low, determined.

He stood, cracking his knuckles, the gears in his mind already turning.

“I’m going to prove to her just how much I love her. I’m going to make this right, no matter how long it takes. I’ll grovel. I’ll bleed for her. I’ll get on my fucking knees if that’s what she wants.”

He looked between them, eyes fierce.

She’s my mate. My heart. My everything. And I will not lose her over this. Not without fighting like hell for her.

And as he stormed out of the room, the weight of his promise followed him like wings in flight.

--------

The moment Y/N had turned her back on him, the realization hit Cassian with the force of a war hammer. The words she’d thrown at him — the tear-filled accusations — echoed in his mind. It wasn’t just her birthday that he’d missed, but the very core of their bond. The trust that had always been between them, the connection that held them together, had been shattered.

For hours, he sat in the silence of the House of Wind, a pit of guilt consuming him. The only thing he could do was write.

The first letter was simple.

“Y/N, I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I didn’t deserve the trust you gave me, and I failed you. I’ve failed us both. I hope, one day, you’ll let me try again. Yours, always, Cassian”

He left it at her door with a small gift--a basket of her favourite flowers--, knowing she wouldn’t open it, but hoping the gesture would be enough. He left, retreating to the gardens to stand in the silence, his thoughts only of her.

Every morning after that, Cassian woke up before the sun, writing a letter. And then, as he left it at her door, he went back to his watch over the House, always close, but never too close. Each letter was more desperate, more vulnerable than the last, with a gift beside it.

“Y/N, Do you remember when we first met? I was a fool. I didn’t know then that it was you who would change everything. I didn’t know that one day, I would come to love you in a way I never thought possible. But I should have remembered you — every day, always. And I failed you. Please, don’t shut me out forever. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. With all the love I have, Cassian”

The gift next to this letter was a set of the books she wanted to buy for a while.

And the next.

“Y/N, I remember your laugh — it was always the highlight of my day. Every time I heard it, I thought I had everything I ever needed. But that laugh is silenced now, and I know it’s because of me. I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it until you’re tired of hearing it. But I will keep saying it. Yours, in regret, Cassian”

The gift was an exciting array of her favourite sweets from the bakery nearby.

But still, nothing. Not even a glance in his direction. He kept his distance, his heart heavier each day, knowing that he had done this to himself.

A week had passed since Y/N’s birthday. The house was quiet, the laughter from before now distant and hollow. Cassian had spent every minute of those days trying to find a way to fix this, to make it right.

But he knew what he had to do.

The night before, he worked — with the help of Elain for the food, Feyre for the decorations, and Amren for the music — to set up the garden. He had been there before, countless times, but this time it felt different. The air, the atmosphere, the quiet, heavy regret weighing down his every step.

It wasn’t perfect. The cake was a little lopsided, the candles not quite the right height, the wine too sweet, but it was the effort he’d put into it.

Cassian stood under the arch of flowers, staring out into the empty garden, waiting for Y/N.

And he waited.

But she never came.

Well, that was expected. Time to grovel some more.

Each day, he wrote more. His words were no longer just apologies, but reflections of the bond he had with her, a bond he could never again take for granted.

The next letter arrived, tucked neatly under her door.

“Y/N, I thought I knew what love was before I met you. I thought it was strength, something built on the battlefield. But love with you — it’s quiet moments, tender glances, it’s all the things I never knew I needed. I won’t ever stop fighting for you. Not until you know just how much you mean to me. Cassian”

the gift beside the letter was a beautiful ruby glass heart container that stored a small vial of perfume, infused with the essence of the lavender blooms from the cliffs of Velaris — a scent that reminded him of Y/N’s laughter, the way her presence filled any room with warmth and joy.

The days dragged on as Cassian poured every ounce of his focus into making up for his mistakes. Each day, he sat in his favorite spot by the window, gazing out at the skies, thinking about the next moment he could make it right. He knew he couldn’t fix the damage he’d done with mere words — it would take action, sincerity, and time.

On the sixth day since the argument, Cassian finally gathered the courage to present the gift he had so carefully crafted. It had been almost impossible to get any sleep these past few days, his guilt and love driving him to the brink. He had even considered getting down on his knees to beg for forgiveness, but he knew it wasn’t enough to simply ask for her love — he had to show her.

Cassian stood in the heart of Velaris' gardens, a place where he and Y/N had spent so many peaceful moments together—under the sprawling canopy of ancient trees, surrounded by blooming flowers that burst with vibrant colors. He had chosen this spot on purpose. He knew that their love had always been nurtured here, where the earth seemed to echo the beauty of their bond, and the breeze carried whispers of memories.

He hadn’t expected her to come. After everything that had happened, he had resigned himself to the idea that Y/N might never forgive him. The ache in his chest was unbearable as he stared at the perfect arrangement he had created—a table set for two, draped with a soft, silk cloth that shimmered in the light of the setting sun. Candles flickered in delicate holders, casting a warm glow, while the scent of jasmine and lavender filled the air—flowers Y/N had once told him reminded her of serenity.

He wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive him, but he had to try. He had to show her that he had learned. That he was worthy of her love.

The gift he had chosen for her sat at the center of the table on a velvet cloth, a small, intricately carved box.

Inside it lay something special: a silver locket. A locket that held a tiny, hand-painted picture of Y/N, done in beautiful detail, her smile captured perfectly by the artist who had worked tirelessly to get every little detail right. The locket was attached to a delicate silver chain, with intricate swirls of magic carved into the edges. Inside, it also held a piece of stardust—a glowing reminder of their bond, a symbol of the magic that connected them, no matter how far apart they might be.

The locket was something personal, something Cassian knew would mean the world to her. He hoped she could see it as more than just a gift, but as a promise—of his love, his regret, and his dedication to never again make her feel forgotten.

He wasn’t sure if she’d come. The hours passed, the sun beginning to set, casting everything in a golden light that felt both beautiful and heavy with the weight of his regrets.

But then, just as he had almost resigned himself to the fact that she might never return, the soft sound of footsteps echoed through the garden.

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. He turned around slowly, his heart pounding as he saw Y/N standing in the entrance, her eyes cautious but filled with something he could not yet name. She wore a soft, flowing gown that shimmered in the fading light. The sight of her took his breath away, but the sadness in her eyes made it impossible to smile.

She stood there, frozen for a long moment, her gaze lingering on the table and the gift. Cassian felt his chest tighten. Was she here to yell at him again? To push him away? Or was there a chance, a small hope, that she might forgive him?

"Y/N..." His voice was a low rasp as he took a step toward her, his heart beating painfully fast.

She still didn’t move, her eyes fixed on the gift and the flowers. The moment stretched, the silence heavy and filled with everything unspoken.

“Cassian,” she whispered, her voice so small, so unsure.

Cassian stepped closer, as if compelled by an invisible force, his arms trembling as he slowly reached for the small velvet box, his heart in his throat. He placed it in her hands, his voice barely a whisper. “I know I’ve hurt you… and I can never take that back. But this is for you. To show you how much you mean to me. Please, Y/N. Please just let me try.”

Y/N stared at the box in her hands for a moment, the tension between them palpable, before she carefully opened it, revealing the silver locket inside. Her breath caught, and Cassian watched the flicker of emotion pass across her face—surprise, confusion, and something softer that made him ache.

He’d prepared himself for rejection, for anger, but the quiet sorrow in her eyes cut deeper than any of that.

She gently ran her fingers over the locket, her touch reverent, as if she was trying to make sense of it. The garden around them seemed to hold its breath in that moment, the flowers swaying in the soft breeze as if waiting for her words.

“Cassian…” Her voice was a mere whisper, fragile like glass, and it sent a ripple of pain through his chest. He watched her carefully, wanting to hold her, but knowing she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix this. I…” He trailed off, his own words failing him. What could he say to make her understand the depth of his regret? The weight of the mistakes he had made? “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. And I—I know I’ve failed you. I’ve hurt you in a way I never should have. But please, just know that I would never, ever do it again especially not knowingly. I would burn the world down for you, Y/N.”

Her eyes flickered with emotion, her lips trembling as she finally looked up from the locket, meeting his gaze. “I know you love me, Cassian.” The words were quiet, but they were enough to shatter some of the walls around his heart. “I know you do. But love isn’t just in the words. It’s in the actions. It’s in showing up when it matters the most. And when you didn’t even think of me on my birthday—when you didn’t even check in—I felt... invisible. Forgotten. Like I didn’t matter to you.”

The pain in her voice stung, and he took a step closer, his own voice strained as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could have been there for you. But I didn’t—”

“No.” She shook her head, cutting him off. “It wasn’t just that you weren’t there. It was that you didn’t even remember. It wasn’t about the gifts or the gestures. It was about you—the one person I thought would never forget, never let me feel alone.” She swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears. “I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

The words were a dagger to his chest, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. But Y/N… I’m here now. And I’ll spend every single day making up for it. You mean the world to me. I’m nothing without you. You’re my heart. My mate. My everything.”

Her gaze softened, but the hurt was still there, lingering like a shadow between them. She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the locket as she held it close to her heart. “I was so angry, Cassian. I didn’t even know if I could forgive you. I couldn’t understand how you could forget me like that. But...” She paused, her breath shaky as she wiped away a tear. “But I love you. And I can’t just hold on to that anger. I don’t want to. I want to forgive you. I need to forgive you.”

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. “Y/N… you mean it?”

She nodded, her tears now falling freely as she took a step closer to him, her voice soft but unwavering. “I mean it. You’re my mate, Cassian. And I know we’ve been through worse. I can’t lose you over this.”

Before he could say anything more, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. Cassian’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close as if he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her, the feel of her against him filling the empty space in his soul.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for making you feel like that. I never want to hurt you again. You’re everything to me.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes still glistening with tears, but the softness in her gaze was undeniable. “Don’t do that again. Please.” She punched him lightly in the chest, her laugh shaky but genuine. “Don’t you dare forget me like that again. Not on something so important.”

Cassian chuckled softly, the sound like music to his ears after the storm they had just weathered. “I swear to you, I’ll never forget again. You’re my heart, Y/N. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Better. Now, let’s sit down and eat. I’m starving.”

Cassian grinned and, with a gentle but firm hand on her back, guided her to the table he had prepared. The soft flicker of candlelight illuminated their faces as they sat down together, the world around them quiet and peaceful. The only sounds were the soft crackle of the candles, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, and the occasional clink of silverware.

He smiled at her, that same playful grin she loved so much, and poured her a glass of wine. “You sure you’re not just hungry for an excuse to avoid the subject of my deeply regrettable failure?” He teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Maybe. But you’re lucky I love you, idiot.” She picked up her glass, clinking it gently against his. “To us, Cassian. To love. To second chances.”

“To second chances,” he echoed, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back and saying softly, “I’ll spend my entire life proving to you that I’m worthy of the love you’ve given me. I promise.”

They spent the evening together in the garden, talking, laughing, and simply being with each other. The night was soft and full of promise, and though the pain of the past few days still lingered in the corners of their minds, it was no longer all-consuming. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Cassian felt peace settle in his heart. He had his mate back. And that was all that mattered.

As the stars twinkled overhead, Cassian knew one thing for certain: he would never let her down again.

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#cassian #cassian angst #cassian x reader #cassian fluff #acotar #acotar angst #acotar fluff #acotar imagine #acotar x reader

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shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

Text

unfold | sylus | epilogue

synopsis : Your husband, once a stranger in your marriage has grown to be a loving man who stays by your side like a quiet anchor. What once felt impossible softens into something steady and deeply personal—a love built not on fireworks, but on the quiet comfort of staying. content : arranged marriage au, non-cannon!au, sylus x non-mc, artist!reader, fluff, just married life i guess?

“It’s been almost four months!” you groan, dropping your head into your arms, voice muffled by frustration—and longing.

A familiar laugh crackles through your phone speaker. “It’ll be over before you know it,” Sylus drawls, his tone as casual as ever.

You lift your head just enough to peer at the screen, where his face fills the frame—messy hair, that signature lazy smirk, and eyes that somehow still manage to look like home.

“I miss you,” you murmur, pouting, your voice cracking ever so slightly as your eyes begin to water.

His smirk softens just a little, the corners of his mouth twitching with something gentler. “Just another three months, sweetie,” he says. “And I’ll be there before you can even blink.”

You sigh, a little dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me. For emotional distress.”

That earns a quiet chuckle. “Whatever you want, kitten.”

You finally crack a smile, blinking back the sting in your eyes. Just hearing his voice has a way of grounding you.

You’re in your music studio, hunched over your editing board, headphones askew and one foot tucked under your chair. You’d been in the middle of fine-tuning a new track when his call came in, and you hadn’t hesitated to answer.

It’s been almost four months since his last visit.

And it had only lasted three days.

He hadn’t warned you. Just showed up.

You still remember the way your breath caught when the doorbell rang. You opened it to find him standing there in his dark coat, suitcase at his feet, eyes tired but warm. Mephisto had padded around your legs, mewling up at him like he recognized him too.

“I only have three days,” he’d said with that crooked smirk. “Make them count.”

You had pulled him into a hug before he could say anything else.

The days passed in a quiet blur.

You stayed in—no grand plans, no flashy outings. Just time.

He’d sprawled across your couch, catching up on work, grumbling about investors while you listened with quiet amusement.

You talked about your upcoming project—a new art museum, something you’d been dreaming of with a group of fellow artists.

He didn’t interrupt.

Just watched you talk, his fingers absently brushing over your sketchbook as you flipped through designs.

One evening, he cooked.

You teased him relentlessly about the over-seasoned pasta and undercooked bread.

He only smirked and told you to be grateful he didn’t burn your kitchen down.

“You’re still going to make me cook when you’re around,” you said.

“Of course,” he replied without missing a beat, “but at least now I can pretend to help.”

You laughed until your stomach hurt.

The night before he left, he surprised you again.

A small, velvet box—held out without a word.

Inside, a delicate diamond necklace, the pendant engraved with your initials in cursive.

You’d stared at it, stunned into silence, until he gently reached around and clasped it behind your neck himself.

“I figured,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your shoulder, “it was about time I bought you something meaningful.”

“Everything you give me is meaningful.” You smiled—eyes glossy, heart full—while he just looked at you, that familiar smirk still on his lips but his gaze soft, unguarded.

And on the day he left, he kissed your temple and whispered something soft—something you barely heard over the sound of your own heart tightening in your chest.

Now, months later, despite the distance, the bond between you has only deepened.

The texts, the nightly calls, the little packages he sends when he knows you’re working too hard—it’s not just routine.

It’s presence.

It’s him, still finding a way to be part of your days even when he’s half a world away.

“Say,” you begin, lifting your phone as you walk out of the studio, “you’re really lounging around today. Not much going on over there?”

The camera shifts, showing Sylus reclining on his couch, one arm behind his head, the other holding his phone lazily. His expression is relaxed, almost smug.

“Well,” he drawls, “my assistant just informed me that all meetings are pushed back due to a storm. So…” He flashes a half-smile. “I’m free to call you for the next two days.”

You hum in response, setting your phone on the kitchen counter and opening the fridge. “That’s great,” you reply lightly, grabbing a bottle of water. “You get to witness me becoming best friends with Mephisto.”

Right on cue, a soft mewl echoes from somewhere nearby. The little black cat pads into view, red eyes gleaming with curiosity as he hops onto a nearby stool.

Sylus chuckles. “That cat is going to be my undoing.”

You glance at the screen over your shoulder, amusement tugging at your lips. “Maybe don’t be so jealous of a kitten.”

He scoffs. “He gets more cuddles than I do.”

You roll your eyes. “You live in Madrid.”

“Still,” he mutters. “The betrayal.”

You laugh as you twist open the water bottle and take a sip.

The quiet domesticity of it all—the banter, the warmth, the soft hum of your home—settles in your chest like a weight you didn’t know you’d been craving.

Then, a moment later, his tone shifts slightly.

“Oh, by the way,” he says. “Mother called.”

You glance at the phone. “Oh?”

“She wants you to visit,” he adds casually, but his eyes flick to yours on the screen. “Says it’s been too long.”

You blink. “Me? Alone?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? I can’t exactly fly back right now. Not with the storm.”

You stare at him for a beat, water bottle paused halfway to your lips. “You know your family’s estate is terrifying, right? It’s like walking into a palace haunted by elegance.”

He grins. “You’ll be fine. Mother likes you.”

“That makes one of us.”

Sylus laughs again, but the look he gives you is gentler than before. “She just wants to see you. Talk. Probably show off your last exhibition photos to her garden club or whatever it is she does.”

You groan. “I swear if your father so much as raises an eyebrow at me—”

“I’ll call you,” Sylus says smoothly. “Every second. Every hour. I’ll be your lifeline.”

You glance at him again.

And despite your complaints, despite the nerves curling in your stomach… a part of you is already considering it.

Because this—whatever this is—feels real now.

Storm or not, Madrid or not… he’s still right there.

And maybe that’s enough.

“Fine,” you sigh, though a small smile betrays you. “I guess I’ll pick up a few gifts before heading there. Wouldn’t want to show up empty-handed and risk offending the queen of elegance.”

Sylus chuckles. “She’ll pretend not to expect it, but she’ll be delighted.”

You roll your eyes, moving around the kitchen as you speak. “It’s not generosity. It’s a tactical bribe. Just in case your father decides to interrogate me again.”

“Oh, he definitely will,” he says casually. “But you’ll charm him. You always do.”

You glance at your phone and find him reclining back on his couch, his expression relaxed, gaze soft.

There’s something steadying about the way he’s looking at you—like despite the distance, you’re still here together.

“I’ll arrange the jet to bring you,” he adds, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course you will.”

“Only the best,” he murmurs, “for my favorite person currently being emotionally blackmailed into visiting my family.”

You snort. “How generous of you.”

He grins, but then his voice dips just a little. “I wish I could come with you.”

The softness in his tone is unexpected—quiet, real.

You glance at the screen again, heart giving a small twist. “I know. But… it’s okay. I’ll survive.”

“Take Mephisto,” he says suddenly, like it just occurred to him. “He’ll protect you from ancestral ghost paintings and stares that last too long.”

You glance down at the kitten curled near your feet, fast asleep, clearly not up for the job.

“I think you overestimate his courage,” you murmur with a smile.

“Well then, I’ll just have to call you every night to make sure you’re still alive.”

You shake your head, but your chest feels a little lighter. “You better.”

There’s a pause, gentle and full, before he adds quietly, “Safe travels, sweetie.”

You nod, voice low. “I’ll let you know when I land.”

He gives you one final look—fond, almost reluctant. “I’ll be waiting.”

And even though you’re the one going away this time, somehow, you feel like you’re still being held.

The jet door opened with a soft hiss, revealing a muted sky dusted in silver clouds. The kind of weather that felt like it belonged to old family homes and quiet memories.

You stepped onto the stairs slowly, the chill brushing against your coat as your heels clicked lightly down each step. The estate came into view beyond the tarmac—grand, familiar, and still somehow a little distant.

A small, uncertain mewl came from the carrier in your hand.

You glanced down.

Mephisto’s red eyes peered up at you through the mesh, wide and wary. His tiny body tensed in the unfamiliar space, ears twitching as the wind tousled your coat.

You softened.

“It’s alright, little guy,” you whispered, kneeling slightly to press your fingers gently to the side of the carrier. “New places are hard. But we’ll be okay.”

He let out a quieter sound, still grumpy, but comforted.

By the time you stood again, one of the estate staff had approached—a woman dressed in neat black, posture crisp, face unreadable in that perfectly trained way.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a slight bow. “Mrs. Qin has arranged everything. May I?”

You hesitated, glancing down at Mephisto again. He let out a soft growl that almost sounded like protest.

“I’ll be right behind him,” you said, your voice gentler now. You passed the carrier to her carefully, fingers brushing the handle for a second longer than necessary.

She gave a small nod and turned toward the sleek black car waiting nearby, Mephisto quietly peering out the window of his temporary prison as he was carried away.

You stood for a moment on the tarmac, your hand drifting instinctively to the base of your neck where the necklace rested, cool and solid against your skin. Your initials were etched into the pendant—a weight you hadn’t expected to miss as much as you had.

The wind picked up slightly, brushing through your hair as your gaze drifted toward the winding road ahead.

You sighed.

Then followed.

—•

The car moved smoothly down the winding road, the estate drawing closer with every turn. The trees lining the path stood tall and still, their branches swaying ever so slightly in the breeze, like they were watching you pass.

Mephisto had finally settled in his carrier beside you, his tiny body curled into a wary little ball. His breathing was soft and even now, lulled by the motion of the car.

You stared out the window for a while, one hand resting lightly on the carrier, the other hovering over your phone.

And then—almost without thinking—you tapped his name.

The call rang once. Twice.

Then connected.

“Well,” Sylus said, his voice smooth and a little smug, “you’re alive. That’s promising.”

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders softening instantly. “Barely,” you murmured. “Your estate still feels like it could swallow a person whole.”

His low chuckle rumbled through the speaker. “It does have that effect.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers absentmindedly stroking the edge of Mephisto’s carrier. “He finally stopped mewling,” you said softly. “But I think he hates your family already.”

“He has good instincts.”

That made you laugh under your breath.

There was a small pause.

“You nervous?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You hesitated. “A little.”

Another beat passed before he spoke again, gentler this time. “You’ll be fine. Mother already adores you. Probably more than she likes me.”

“She stares at me like she’s cataloging my entire soul.”

“She probably is,” he admitted with amusement. “But if it makes you feel any better, she’s done that to everyone since birth.”

You leaned your head against the window, watching the iron gates grow larger in the distance. “I wish you were here.”

A quiet inhale. “I know.”

Your eyes flicked to the iron gates as they swung open before the car. “The last time I was here, we had dinner. Remember?”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Of course I do.”

You could still see it—the long dining table, his mother’s knowing smiles, his father’s unreadable glances, the tension of formality stitched into every fork and glass.

But you also remembered Sylus nudging your knee under the table, brushing his thumb across your hand without a word. The unspoken truce forming between you.

It had been the beginning of something. Quiet. Unassuming.

But real.

“I don’t think I realized back then how different you were with them,” you murmured.

“Different?”

You nodded. “You always feel like a storm when you’re near me. But with them, you were… composed. Guarded.”

He was silent for a moment.

“They don’t get to see all of me,” he said finally. “Not like you do.”

Your heart fluttered at that. Subtle, but undeniable.

“I wish you were here,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied. And for once, there was no smirk in his voice.

Just softness. Honesty.

You pressed the phone a little closer to your ear, as the car rolled to a stop beneath the grand stone archway.

“I’ll call tonight,” he added, quieter now. “When things settle. Just… let me know how she is.”

“I will,” you promised.

You lingered a moment longer, phone still warm in your hand.

Then the driver stepped out, and the door opened.

The wind swept against your coat, and the estate stretched out before you—familiar, imposing, and not nearly as intimidating as it used to be.

Because this time, you weren’t walking into it alone.

Not really.

—•

You’d just finished unpacking when the knock came.

The room they’d given you—Sylus’s old bedroom—still held traces of the boy he must have been. Tall bookshelves lined with outdated science manuals and worn novels.

A collection of antique model ships, perfectly preserved behind glass. A fencing trophy perched proudly on the windowsill.

It was strange, being surrounded by versions of him you’d never known, and yet… oddly comforting.

You paused at his desk, fingers brushing over a faded photograph half-tucked into a frame—he couldn’t have been more than fifteen, all sharp edges and guarded eyes, standing beside his mother in that very garden.

The knock came again, gentle but expectant.

“Mrs. Qin is waiting for you in the garden,” the attendant said politely.

You followed them down the long, polished hallway, passing tall windows that poured golden light onto the marble.

The estate was as grand as ever, but this time, it didn’t feel as cold.

Not with memories trailing behind you and Mephisto snoozing safely in the corner of Sylus’s room.

The garden looked just like the photo—elegant and wild in all the right ways.

Wisteria hung in soft lavender blooms above a marble table nestled beneath a trellis, sunlight filtering through the leaves.

She stood when she saw you.

“Sylus didn’t tell me he married someone who could disappear for months at a time,” she teased gently, though her smile was wide and real as she opened her arms.

You hesitated only a beat before stepping into the hug, your own smile tugging at your lips. “Apologies. I got lost in the studio.”

“Then it must’ve been worth it,” she said warmly, and you could tell she meant it.

She motioned for you to sit, her hands graceful as she poured the tea.

The table was already set with delicate pastries and fresh fruit, the scent of roses heavy in the spring air.

“So,” she said, reclining slightly with her teacup in hand, “tell me everything. I’ve seen some of your recent pieces. That last gallery installation in Paris—it was breathtaking.”

You blinked, surprised. “You saw that?”

She lifted a brow. “Darling, I have eyes. And a very efficient art advisor.”

That made you laugh, a soft and genuine sound.

“Things are going well. I’ve been working with a few friends to start a new collaborative space. It’s more intimate. More emotional. I think I’m finally learning to let people see the work behind the polish.”

She smiled as if pleased with your answer.

“Art and honesty have always gone hand in hand. It just takes most people a lifetime to figure it out.”

There was a comfortable silence as you sipped your tea, the breeze playing through the vines overhead.

Then she leaned in slightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“You know, Sylus once tried to sneak out through that hedge over there—swore he could scale the side wall with a rope he’d braided out of his school ties.”

You blinked. “Please tell me he didn’t succeed.”

“Oh, he succeeded,” she said, laughing. “And landed straight in a thorn bush. Took five stitches and refused to admit he cried.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That… actually tracks.”

“I kept the ties. They’re in one of those drawers in his old room. I thought about turning them into a ridiculous quilt.”

You both laughed, the kind that made your chest feel light.

It was easy, sitting there with her—like sharing something sacred. Not just stories, but pieces of Sylus you wouldn’t have found on your own.

And somehow, that made this place feel a little less intimidating.

A little more like something that might, someday, feel like home.

The laughter faded, but the warmth remained. You leaned back in your chair, the delicate porcelain teacup cradled between your hands, the floral scent of the garden settling gently into your lungs. Somewhere nearby, a fountain burbled softly, blending into the sound of leaves shifting in the breeze.

She smiled over the rim of her cup, her eyes thoughtful now. “It’s good to hear you laugh,” she said. “I was worried, you know.”

You looked up at her. “Worried?”

She nodded slowly. “When you two first married… well, Sylus always had a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Even me. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever let someone in.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

She noticed.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said gently. “I just… I’ve never seen him soften for anyone before. Not until you.”

You looked down at the steam curling up from your tea. “It wasn’t easy at first.”

“No, I don’t imagine it was,” she said with a light, knowing smile. “He was always so composed as a boy—brilliant, distant, a bit too sharp for his own good. But underneath all that… he’s softer than he wants the world to believe.”

You met her gaze again, caught off guard by how much she seemed to know.

“I think,” you said slowly, “he’s starting to let me see that part of him.”

She reached across the table and placed her hand lightly over yours. “And I think he’s glad you do.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. Just breathed in the quiet of the garden. The peace of it.

“Has he ever brought anyone else home?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

She laughed softly, almost fondly. “No, dear. Only you.”

You blinked, heart giving a small, startled flutter.

“He always told me marriage was transactional,” she went on. “A matter of logic. Strategy. But then he married you, and now he sends me photos of your paintings and videos of that little cat as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“I think he loves you,” she said gently. “Not that he’d ever say it in so many words.”

You swallowed, eyes stinging a little more than you’d like to admit.

“I don’t need him to say it,” you whispered.

“No,” she said softly. “But one day, he will.”

The breeze picked up, stirring the wisteria. You sat there for a long moment, just you and her and the ghosts of the boy he used to be.

And for the first time, this house didn’t feel like something to endure.

It felt like something to return to.

Dinner arrived sooner than you would’ve liked.

The sun had dipped low behind the estate walls, casting long shadows across the stone floors as you were led back inside, through gilded halls and hushed corridors.

The dining room was just as you remembered—long table, flickering candlelight, polished silverware gleaming like a warning.

You inhaled slowly as you stepped in.

And there he was.

Your father-in-law stood as you entered, offering a polite nod, not a smile. He always carried himself like a figure carved from granite—stern, unreadable, with eyes that missed nothing.

The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you feel small.

You offered a quiet greeting, took your seat.

Right beside him.

Just as you’d dreaded.

Across the table, Sylus’s mother gave you a warm smile, as if sensing your tension and silently assuring you.

At first, it wasn’t so bad.

The food was beautifully prepared, the conversation polite. You answered questions about your recent projects, about the studio and the museum plans.

His mother asked with genuine interest, while his father listened with that usual air of cold curiosity.

Then, halfway through the main course, came the comment.

“Well,” his father said mildly, eyes not quite meeting yours, “at least Sylus had the sense to marry someone with some practical ambition. Not all artists can claim that.”

The words were smooth. Polished.

But they cut just the same.

You blinked, fork paused halfway to your mouth, unsure if you’d imagined the sharpness under his tone. His expression remained perfectly neutral, as if he’d just complimented the weather.

You swallowed back a thousand replies, each one more defensive than the last.

Instead, you reached for your phone beneath the table and typed quickly.

Your father is charming as always.

Remind me why I agreed to this again?

You hit send and placed the phone on your lap, trying to keep your smile in place.

Across the table, his mother’s brow creased slightly—as if she, too, heard the edge in her husband’s words but had long since learned to smooth over the damage.

A second later, your phone buzzed quietly.

Do I need to FaceTime into dinner and cause a scene?

You nearly laughed.

You bit your lip to keep it in, glancing down at the screen.

Please do. Dramatically, with wine.

And shirtless, if you really want to upset him.

Another buzz.

Tempting. But I’d rather save that for your return.

Hang in there, sweetie. You’ve got this.

Your shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the tension bleeding out as you let out a silent breath.

You typed one more message.

I miss you.

And I’m stealing one of your old books from the shelf before I leave.

The reply came quick, like he’d been waiting for it.

You can steal whatever you want.

You’ve already stolen my heart.

You smiled—before you could stop yourself.

A little too fondly. A little too real.

Your fingers lingered on your phone, the screen dimming with Sylus’s last message still fresh in your mind. The warmth in your chest hadn’t faded. It felt like he was right there.

But the moment didn’t go unnoticed.

A quiet cough came from beside you. Sharp. Intentional.

You glanced up and met your father-in-law’s gaze. His eyes were narrowed, unreadable, but the message was clear.

That smile had crossed some invisible line.

He shifted in his seat, posture straightening with the kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to be felt. You knew that look. It was the same one you’d seen across many long, silent dinners.

A warning in polished restraint.

He opened his mouth—likely to comment, to correct.

But before a single word could land, his wife reached across the table and placed her hand gently over his.

“Not now,” she said. Her voice was calm, unwavering.

She didn’t even look at him.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

His mouth closed, jaw tightening. He picked up his glass instead, taking a slow sip as if nothing had happened.

You looked down again, lips pressed together, unsure whether to feel relieved or guilty. Maybe a little of both.

When you glanced up, she was already looking at you. That quiet, knowing smile on her face again.

She didn’t have to say anything. You understood what it meant.

You throw back a small, grateful smile before looking down at your plate, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the tablecloth.

The food lost its taste somewhere between silence and formality, each course arriving with delicate precision, untouched more than it was eaten.

You nodded politely when spoken to, offered brief replies, but your mind drifted—back to the message still waiting on your phone, to the man who somehow made you feel steadier from miles away.

Dinner went on, as it always did in this house—measured, proper, and just slightly too quiet.

—•

“You should’ve seen your father’s face,” you groaned into your pillow, voice muffled as your phone sat propped up on the nightstand.

From the screen, Sylus offered you an apologetic smile, one corner of his mouth tilted, “I knew it would be bad…but not that bad.”

After dinner, you hadn’t lingered.

The moment dessert had been cleared, you’d stood with a polite excuse and slipped away.

His mother had met you in the hallway, offering a kind smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder—something wordlessly saying, you did well. It’s alright now.

Now, tucked into the oversized guest bed in his old room, you buried your face deeper into the pillow, letting out another muffled groan.

“At least your mother was gracious,” you muttered. “She always is.”

Sylus huffed softly. “She likes you.”

“Too bad your father looks at me like I personally offended his legacy.”

He didn’t argue.

You peeked up from your pillow and caught his expression again.

Still watching you.

Still trying to make this feel easier than it was.

“How am I gonna survive another four days here…” you sighed, flopping onto your back with dramatic flair.

There was a pause.

“Want me to call every night?” he offered.

You turned your head toward the screen, lips pulling into a reluctant smile. “You better.”

His eyes softened.

“I will.”

And somehow, the room didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

You yawned, the exhaustion settling into your bones as your eyes began to flutter shut.

From the nightstand, Sylus’s voice came through the screen, quiet and warm.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll stay with you for a while.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, catching a blurry glimpse of him through the dim glow.

He looked relaxed, but his gaze stayed on you—steadfast, unblinking.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, words slurred with sleep.

“I know,” he replied. “But I want to.”

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your eyes finally closed. The silence between you was soft and full, the kind that didn’t need filling.

You let go, knowing he was still there.

Watching. Listening.

Staying.

Warmth spread through your chest at the quiet realisation—how far things had come, how much had changed.

You hadn’t expected this.

Not the comfort. Not the safety.

And certainly not the ever-growing affection blooming gently in your heart for the man who once felt like a stranger in your home.

Your once-so-distant husband.

Now the one who stayed on the line just to watch you fall asleep.

The next morning, your phone was dead.

You plugged it in right away, watching the screen flicker back to life with a low hum.

The first thing you saw was his message.

You’re very adorable when you sleep.

A smile pulled at your lips—soft, sleepy, silly.

You typed back,

Aren’t you glad you married me?

Setting the phone down, you headed toward the bathroom.

Not long after you disappeared down the hall,

your screen lit up again.

Ever the luckiest man.

—•

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, stretching in soft golden stripes across the hallway as you made your way past.

Your pace slowed as you reached the staircase, the quiet of the estate broken only by the faint click of your heels against the marble.

At the bottom, a member of the staff stood waiting, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“This way, please,” she said with a courteous nod. “Mrs. Qin has requested your presence on the terrace.”

You paused mid-step, a flicker of nerves rising in your chest.

“Did she mention why?”

The staff member gave a gentle smile.

“She did not. But I do know Mr. Qin is there as well.”

You swallowed.

Of course he was.

You gave a quiet nod and followed her through the winding halls of the manor, the soft echo of footsteps filling the stillness between you.

After a moment, you glanced her way, attempting to lighten the air.

“Is Mr. Qin always so… brooding?”

The staff—an older woman, kind-eyed and composed—let out a faint, knowing chuckle.

“Well,” she said, “he wasn’t always that way.”

Her smile deepened just a little.

“Otherwise, he wouldn’t have married the Mrs.”

You blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

And for a moment, the silence that followed felt less heavy.

You pressed on, curiosity outweighing caution.

Something about the way she said it lingered in your mind.

“So… what was he like before?” you asked gently, keeping pace beside her.

The woman hummed, as if dusting off old memories.

“Quiet, yes. But not cold. He was sharp, impatient at times, but he had warmth. Especially around her.”

You tilted your head. “Mrs. Qin?”

She smiled again, a touch more wistful now.

“He was different with her. Softer. Not many people saw it, but we did. That boy followed her like she hung the moon. Still does, in his own way.”

You looked ahead, heart tugging unexpectedly.

Somehow, that sounded painfully familiar.

You fell silent for a moment, her words settling deeper than you expected.

Softer. Not many people saw it.

There was something about the way she said it—like she was letting you in on a secret no one dared speak aloud.

You glanced at her again. “He doesn’t seem like someone who wears his heart so easily.”

The woman gave a quiet chuckle, fond and laced with something like sympathy.

“No, he never has. But it’s not about how loudly he shows it. It’s in the way he stays. Listens. Remembers.”

You looked down, your hands brushing along the hem of your sleeve as you walked.

That did sound familiar.

As you neared the terrace doors, she slowed beside you, her voice softer now.

“This house has a way of swallowing people,” she said. “But he’s never brought anyone here without reason. If you’re here, you matter more than you think.”

You looked at her, unsure what to say.

Instead, you nodded. “Thank you.”

She returned the nod, then stepped aside and opened the door for you.

Sunlight poured through the glass, bathing the terrace in gold.

And there he was.

Mr. Qin, your father-in-law.

Standing at the edge, his back to you, hands tucked behind him in quiet thought.

Waiting.

Mrs. Qin approached with a bright smile, her arms opening to gently guide you forward onto the terrace.

“I’m glad you’re up,” she said kindly, her voice warm with quiet delight.

Just beyond her, Mr. Qin turned at the sound of your footsteps. He met your gaze with a curt nod—formal, restrained, the same unreadable expression he always wore.

You returned the gesture with a small, polite dip of your head, saying nothing.

Then your eyes drifted past him.

There, near the far edge of the terrace, stood an easel.

A fresh canvas was perched in place, untouched and glowing beneath the soft morning sun.

Beside it, a wooden tray held brushes, neatly arranged, and several familiar tubes of paint you recognized by name.

Your steps slowed.

It was quiet. Simple. But unmistakably intentional.

Your fingers curled slightly at your side, drawn to the invitation it offered without words.

It wasn’t just a setup.

It was a gesture. A space made for you.

Mrs. Qin followed your gaze and let out a soft chuckle, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“He wanted to see you in action,” she said, voice light, teasing. “Your father-in-law, that is.”

You blinked, turning slightly toward her.

She smiled knowingly. “He’d never admit it, of course. But he’s curious. Wanted to understand what you do—what Sylus admires so much.”

You glanced back at the easel, a flutter of nerves stirring in your chest.

Mr. Qin said nothing, standing a few steps away with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the horizon as if he hadn’t heard a word.

But somehow, that made the gesture feel even more deliberate.

Even more sincere.

“Ah…”

The sound slipped out before you could stop it, quiet and uncertain.

You glanced at the canvas again, then back toward Mr. Qin—stoic as ever, his expression unreadable.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked your way, but the meaning lingered in the space between you.

It wasn’t just curiosity.

It was effort.

And coming from him, that meant something.

You turned back to Mrs. Qin, offering a small, sheepish smile.

“I suppose I’d better make it worth his time, then.”

She grinned, clearly pleased. “I think you already have.”

You settled in front of the easel, the wooden chair cool beneath you as you adjusted your posture and took in the view.

It was stunning. The kind of beauty that didn’t ask to be captured—only waited patiently until someone finally tried.

Golden sunlight filtered through the terrace arches, spilling across the stone floor and out toward the gardens below.

Trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves catching the light like silk. The horizon stretched in soft pastels, blurring where the sky met distant hills.

Something inside you stirred.

Familiar. Restless. Inspired.

Your fingers moved instinctively, reaching for a brush, then hovering over the palette as color choices began to form without words.

You hadn’t planned to paint today.

But the moment asked for it.

And you answered.

They watched quietly from behind.

Neither said a word.

You could sense them there—Mr. Qin’s calm, unreadable presence, and Mrs. Qin’s quiet, reassuring stillness.

They didn’t interrupt.

They didn’t need to.

There was something unspoken in the way they stood, as if they knew this wasn’t just painting to you.

It was expression. Memory.

A piece of yourself offered without words.

So they simply watched, letting you exist in that quiet space between thought and motion, between the rise of color and the sweep of a brush.

And you painted, unhurried, letting the silence hold you.

You finished not long after, laying the paintbrush and palette gently on the small table beside you.

The breeze had quieted, the morning sun now high enough to warm your shoulders.

Turning slightly in your seat, you glanced back at them—at the stillness in their posture, the quiet attention that hadn’t wavered.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You finally got to see me in action,” you said, the words light and playful, directed at Mrs. Qin.

She let out a soft, delighted laugh. “I did. And it was even more mesmerizing than I imagined.”

Beside her, Mr. Qin gave a small nod.

And though his expression remained as composed as ever, you didn’t miss the faint shift in his gaze.

It was approval—unspoken, but there.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, surprised by how much that small nod meant.

He didn’t offer compliments. He didn’t need to.

But in his stillness, in the way he remained there without turning away, something had shifted.

Mrs. Qin stepped closer, eyes drifting to the canvas behind you. “May I?”

You nodded, rising from your seat as she approached the painting. She studied it quietly, fingers folded loosely in front of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, voice soft with sincerity. “You captured more than just the view.”

You stood beside her, brushing a faint streak of paint from your wrist. “Sometimes it’s not about what I see. It’s about what I feel when I’m seeing it.”

She looked at you then, something knowing in her eyes. “That’s why he brought you here.”

You blinked. “Sylus?”

She smiled. “No. My husband.”

Behind you, Mr. Qin remained by the terrace rail, his eyes turned toward the horizon—but he was listening.

“I think he wanted to understand,” Mrs. Qin continued. “To see for himself what Sylus saw in you.”

Your breath caught just slightly.

“And now?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Qin gave the faintest smile, folding her arms loosely. “Now, I think he sees it.”

You didn’t speak.

You just stood there, the scent of paint and garden roses drifting around you, the canvas behind you still drying in the sun.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like a beginning.

Mrs. Qin stepped back, giving the painting one final glance before turning to you with that same gentle warmth. “Would you mind leaving it here? I think the terrace suits it.”

You blinked, surprised by the request, but nodded. “Of course.”

She touched your arm lightly, then turned to join her husband, leaving you by the easel.

Mr. Qin didn’t say a word, but as she reached his side, he leaned in, murmuring something only she could hear.

She smiled faintly, gave the smallest nod, and they began to walk back toward the house together.

You watched them go, the way their steps fell in quiet rhythm, how she glanced up at him as if they’d been having the same silent conversation for years.

You wondered if you and Sylus would look like that someday. If you already did, in some unspoken way.

The breeze moved again, catching your hair, your sleeve, the edge of the drying canvas.

You turned back to the painting, eyes scanning the strokes you’d made. There was something different in it. Lighter. Unfiltered. You’d given it more than just color.

And somehow, you felt like the house had given something back.

Acceptance, maybe. Or something close.

You stepped away from the easel, gaze soft as you looked out over the garden one more time, then turned and followed the path back inside.

The terrace, for the first time, felt like yours too.

—•

“I think… your father might be warming up to me.”

You said it gently, unsure, your eyes flicking toward Sylus on the screen as you tucked your knees closer to your chest.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you.

You couldn’t quite read his expression—it was somewhere between thoughtful and amused.

Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Miracles do happen,” he said, tone light but not unkind.

You let out a soft breath, half a laugh. “He didn’t say much… but he stayed. Watched.”

Sylus tilted his head, watching you a little more closely now. “That’s more than most get.”

You looked down at your fingers, fidgeting slightly. “It felt like… I don’t know. Like he saw me, finally. Not just as someone you married.”

His voice dropped, quieter now. “He did.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

“He sees it,” Sylus said. “What you’re capable of. Who you are.”

You blinked, heart catching just a little.

“You think so?”

He didn’t smirk this time.

He just nodded. “I know so.”

You raised a brow, a grin tugging at your lips. “Wow. That’s almost a compliment. From both of you.”

Sylus leaned back, his expression lazy as ever. “Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

You snorted. “Of being emotionally repressed?”

He narrowed his eyes, mock offended. “Of being mysterious and refined, actually. But thanks.”

You laughed, stretching out across the bed. “Sure, let’s go with that. Mysterious. Right. That’s definitely what people say after watching you burn toast twice in one morning.”

“That was experimental cooking,” he shot back. “And the toaster was clearly defective.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Just admit it. You’re lucky I didn’t run for the hills after that breakfast.”

Sylus smirked. “Lucky, yes. But I’m also charming. You stayed for the charm.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “No, I stayed because of Mephisto. You’re just a bonus.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “That cat has replaced me in my marriage.”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Don’t worry. You’re still in the top three.”

He huffed, but his smile lingered. “You’ll regret that when I steal Mephisto and disappear into the Spanish countryside.”

“Joke’s on you,” you said sweetly. “He’d come right back for the snacks.”

Sylus leaned in a little closer to the camera, his voice dropping just slightly. “And you?”

You blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

Then you smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”

His smirk lingered for a second longer before it softened into something more subtle.

Something only you ever got to see.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “Me too.”

You could hear the faint hum of the city behind him, but he was still—focused entirely on you.

“I wish you were here,” you said, barely above a whisper.

A pause.

Then that familiar glint flickered in his eyes. “If I were there, you wouldn’t get any sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Sylus.”

His grin eased, eyes never leaving yours. “I mean it. I’d rather be there than anywhere else right now.”

That pulled something warm and heavy in your chest.

“I’m glad you called,” you murmured.

He leaned back slightly, gaze relaxed. “Of course I called. You think I’m letting you survive that house without backup?”

You laughed quietly, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“I’ll call again tomorrow,” he added, casually—like it was a given.

Like he didn’t even need to promise it.

“Good,” you said, letting your eyes slip shut. “You’re kind of the only thing keeping me sane.”

“I know,” he said. “Rest well, sweetie.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

You just smiled, closing your eyes.

And as your breathing slowed, you heard him exhale, low and steady.

Still there.

Still yours.

The days passed in a quiet blur—early mornings on the terrace, soft conversations, brushes dipped in color and silence that no longer felt cold.

And now, it was time to leave.

The car waited near the front steps, bags already packed, Mephisto curled up lazily in his carrier, half-asleep and unimpressed by the movement.

Your in-laws stood just outside the entrance, the breeze gently tugging at Mrs. Qin’s coat, Mr. Qin’s hands folded neatly behind his back.

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her in a final hug. She held you just as warmly as before, her touch both graceful and grounding.

When you pulled back, you offered her a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks for having me,” you said softly.

Mrs. Qin’s smile deepened. “You’re always welcome here.”

Beside her, Mr. Qin gave a quiet nod. Not a word spoken, but something in his eyes had changed—less sharp, less guarded.

And somehow, that was enough.

You turned to offer one last smile, your hand already on the car door.

“Thank you again,” you said softly. “Truly.”

You were just about to slide into the seat when a quiet voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You turned, surprised to see Mr. Qin stepping forward, something deliberate in his movements.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a small, timeworn sketchbook. The edges were slightly frayed, the leather cover aged and softened by years of use.

“This belonged to Sylus,” he said, holding it out to you. “He used to draw in it constantly when he was younger. Never let anyone touch it.”

You looked down at the book in his hand, hesitating for just a second before accepting it carefully.

It was heavier than you expected—not in weight, but in meaning.

“I thought you should have it,” he said simply. “He wouldn’t mind.”

Your fingers brushed the edge of the cover, a quiet awe settling into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, voice low but steady.

He gave a brief nod, almost a bow, then stepped back beside his wife.

No further words, no grand display.

But as you sat down and closed the car door, the sketchbook resting in your lap, you realized this wasn’t just a goodbye.

It was a quiet welcome.

—•

“You never told me you used to draw,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you flipped another page of the sketchbook resting in your lap.

Sylus’s voice came through the speaker, dry as ever. “Because I’ve seen them.”

You let out a small laugh, glancing at the sketch currently staring back at you—a very abstract attempt at what might’ve once been a horse. Or a dragon. Possibly both.

“These are… something,” you said, trying to hold back your grin. “Bold lines. Strong confusion.”

“I was eleven and angry at perspective,” he deadpanned.

You snorted. “This one looks like it personally wronged you.”

“It probably did.”

You turned another page and found a portrait so dramatically shaded, it looked like the subject lived exclusively under a streetlamp. You tried to keep your expression neutral and failed completely.

“This one feels… intense,” you offered diplomatically.

“Ah yes,” he said. “My tortured soul phase.”

You burst into laughter, curling further into your couch. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“I didn’t. My mother did. Probably as blackmail.”

“Well, it worked. I’m thoroughly humbled.”

There was a beat of silence, his voice softer now. “And yet, you’re still going through it.”

You smiled to yourself. “Because it’s you. Even the bad sketches.”

“Especially the bad ones,” he chuckles.

You closed the book gently, resting your hand over the worn leather cover.

“It’s good to be home,” you murmured.

��Not for long,” he replied. “You’ll be in Madrid before you know it.”

You smiled, the sound of his voice settling something in you.

“Promise?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

And just like that, the marriage that once felt impossible—fragile, distant, built more on circumstance than choice—had shifted into something quieter.

Steadier.

Real.

Not overnight. Not with grand declarations.

But with late-night calls.

With paint-stained fingers.

With laughter tucked between silence and the way he always stayed on the line just a little longer than necessary.

You glanced down at your phone, still warm in your hand. His voice had gone quiet for a while now, comfortable in the stillness.

“Say,” you asked, softer than before, almost like a memory brushing against your lips, “how long has it been since you arrived on my doorstep?”

There was a pause—then the faintest sound of a smile in his voice.

“Nine months,” Sylus said. “Two days. Around midnight.”

You blinked, breath catching slightly at the certainty in his tone. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about that night,” he replied, lower now. “The way you looked at me like I didn’t belong. The way I didn’t know what to say to make you trust me. And the way I wanted to stay anyway.”

You didn’t speak right away. The weight of those words settled gently between you.

“…That’s when it started, didn’t it?”

He let out a quiet breath. “That’s when everything started.”

And somehow, all the time you thought you’d lost—had really been building toward this.

Toward him. Toward home.

You closed the sketchbook gently, fingers brushing over the worn leather cover one last time before setting it down on the coffee table.

A fond smile tugged at your lips, but you masked it with a familiar lilt in your voice.

“Okay, lover boy,” you teased, rising from the couch, “don’t get all emotional on me now.”

From the phone speaker, Sylus let out a quiet scoff, equal parts amused and unamused. “Says the one who cried over a cat video yesterday.”

You paused mid-step, turning toward the phone with mock offense. “It was heartfelt.”

“It was a raccoon hugging a kitten.”

“Exactly. A hug, Sylus.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Go to bed, dramatic woman.”

You grinned, already heading down the hall. “Goodnight, emotionally repressed man.”

“Sweet dreams, kitten.”

And even as you slipped beneath the covers, your heart carried the echo of his voice—calm, constant, and undeniably yours.

You wouldn’t have imagined married life to be like this.

This soft. This steady.

Not when it started with distance and silence, with unsure glances and conversations that felt more like negotiations.

But now, with his voice lingering in your ear, with an old sketchbook resting on your coffee table, and the quiet warmth of your home wrapping around you like a familiar coat.

It felt easy.

Not effortless. But easy, in the way breathing becomes when you stop realizing you’re doing it.

He made space for you.

And somewhere along the way, you made space for him too.

And maybe this was what it meant to grow into love, not by falling.

But by staying.

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