(n.) the strong urge to avoid someone or something
soft!dark!rhysand x fem!highfae!reader
You have spent your entire life knowing that one day, you might belong to Rhysand.
cw: mdni, dark(ish) themes, possessive/obsessive behaviour, big fat power imbalance, arranged marriage kinda trope, reader is terrified of rhys, feyre and him aren't mates in this story, problematic themes overall
a/n: writing rhys is so fun
You had been promised to Rhysand long before you understood what marriage even meant.
It was one of those facts that simply existed. Like the Sidra. Like starlight. Like the mountains surrounding Velaris.
Something decided by adults in rooms you were never permitted to enter and discussed over wine while children played elsewhere.
Your father had been one of the Night Court's most trusted courtiers. One of the few males Rhysand's father had genuinely respected.
The agreement had been reached when you were barely old enough to speak in complete sentences.
If Rhysand did not find his mate by the time you came of age, if fate did not intervene with its unpredictable hand, then you would marry.
It wasn't uncommon. It was the sort of arrangement noble families made every day.
Only there was one small problem.
You were completely and utterly terrified of Rhysand.
The first time you remembered meeting him, you had been perhaps sixteen, young enough to still hide behind your father whenever unfamiliar people addressed you.
Rhysand had already been well over a century old. Already taller than most males in the room. Already powerful enough that people unconsciously moved aside when he entered. Already carrying himself like someone destined to rule.
You remembered peeking around your father's shoulder, and seeing violet eyes settle on you.
Gods.
You had nearly died, not literally. But your heart had certainly attempted to flee your body.
Rhysand had smiled at you, a slow curve of his lips that was equal parts amusement and something else entirely, something you were far too young and far too sheltered to identify. And you had immediately hidden again.
The sound of his laughter had followed you all evening.
From that moment onward, you had spent most of your life avoiding him at all cost.
When he returned from training in the Illyrian mountains, you disappeared. When he attended court functions, you developed sudden illnesses. When your father informed you that Rhysand wished to spend time with you, you found increasingly ridiculous excuses.
Once, you had claimed you needed to reorganize your books, all three hundred of them, alphabetically, by color, and then by height. Another time, you insisted that a particular flowerpot in the garden required your immediate and undivided attention, as it had been looking "rather sad" lately.
Your father had nearly laughed himself sick.
Rhysand, unfortunately, had only smiled.
"You know," he'd said conversationally while watching you attempt to disappear behind a particularly decorative shrub, "I'm beginning to think she's avoiding me."
You had nearly tripped over your own feet.
Your father had sighed into his wine. "You frighten her."
Rhysand's gaze had remained exactly where you stood frozen.
"I know."
Nothing more, just that quiet, god-forsaken certainty he'd always possessed.
It only made everything worse.
He never chased you. Never cornered you. Never insisted you stay. He simply watched you flee with the endless patience of someone entirely unconcerned by the distance between you.
Like he had all the time in the world. Perhaps he did.
You certainly didn't. You couldn't help it.
He was overwhelming, even then. Before becoming High Lord. Before the reputation of being the most powerful male in Prythian.
He had possessed a presence unlike anyone else.
And whenever those impossible violet eyes settled on you, it felt as though he saw entirely too much.
So you hid. And he watched. Patiently, always patiently, because he had never been anything else when it came to you.
Years passed. Then decades. Then centuries.
Your father died. Soon after the tragedy that took both his sister and mother, Rhysand's father followed.
And suddenly the terrifying heir became High Lord.
The entire Night Court shifted beneath his command. Cassian became General. Azriel became Spymaster. Amren became his second-in-command. Mor his third-in-command.
The Inner Circle slowly took shape around him. They were warriors, leaders, survivors, bound together by blood, battle, and an unshakeable devotion to their High Lord. They had fought in wars long before you were born, had bled and killed and nearly died for the court they loved.
And somehow, there was you.
You had no idea what your place among them was supposed to be. You couldn't fight, couldn't spy, couldn't command armies. Had never even stepped foot on a battlefield. While they carried centuries of scars, your life had remained sheltered, peaceful and safe. You often felt like an accidental addition to a group you had no business belonging to.
Still, when Rhysand informed you that you too would be moving into the Town House, you weren't exactly surprised.
But disappointed. Hopeful, perhaps, because some foolish part of you had whispered that maybe, just maybe, the arrangement would die alongside your fathers. That Rhysand would become too busy, too occupied ruling an entire court, too distracted by the weight of his new responsibilities to remember an agreement made centuries ago.
You had been wrong.
Instead, your belongings were packed. Your room prepared. Before you knew it, you found yourself living beneath the same roof as the most powerful male in Prythian.
And your future remained exactly where it had always been; tied to Rhysand. The subject unspoken of, but always present. Neither of you discussed it. You certainly weren't brave enough to. And RhysandâŠRhysand never seemed interested in forcing the conversation.
Which, somehow, was even more unnerving. It was as though he had already decided the ending and was merely waiting for the story to catch up to his expectations.
You spent years navigating around him, around all of them. Growing closer to the Inner Circle while never quite feeling like one of them.
Mor dragged you shopping until your feet ached and your stomach hurt from laughing. Cassian annoyed you relentlessly and somehow made you feel more like a younger sister than an outsider. Azriel appeared silently whenever you needed help. Even Amren grew strangely fond of you, though she would sooner drink spoiled blood than admit it aloud.
You loved them, truly.
But there was always a distance, an invisible line. Because they belonged to one another in a way you never quite did.
Then Amarantha came. And when Rhysand was trapped Under the Mountain, the world changed in ways you couldn't fully comprehend.
For fifty years he was gone.
The strangest thing about those years was discovering how much space he'd occupied in your life.
Because suddenly he wasn't there. No deep laughter drifting through the Town House late at night. No familiar feeling of awareness prickling over your skin whenever he happened to look your way.
Nothing.
And somehow his absence felt larger than his presence had.
You hated admitting that. Especially to yourself.
You had expected to feel relief. Instead, you found yourself pausing whenever anyone mentioned Under the Mountain. Listening a little too carefully whenever the others talked of Amarantha.
Sometimes, standing on the balcony of the Town House long after everyone else had gone to sleep, you caught yourself staring toward the horizon, wondering whether someone like Rhysand could truly be broken.
Whether anything in the world was capable of dimming a force that had always seemedâŠinevitable.
The answer, it seemed, was yes. Though not entirely.
During those decades, life continued in Velaris. It had to. The city endured, and the Inner Circle protected Velaris with fierce determination, ensuring that Amarantha's corruption never touched the hidden sanctuary Rhysand had so carefully build.
The Town House remained full. JustâŠquieter. Even Cassian laughed a little less.
For the first time in your life, the future felt strangely unwritten. There was no Rhysand quietly existing at the edge of every decision, no overwhelming presence unconsciously shaping the rhythm of your days.
And somewhere during those fifty years, you began building something that belonged solely to you.
Your own friends. Your own routines. Your own apartment.
The apartment had been a battle. Not a dramatic one. There hadn't been any shouting or arguments. Just subtle resistance, the kind Rhysand's family excelled at, the kind that wore you down through sheer persistence, until surrender seemed easier than insisting otherwise.
Cassian had argued that you would be safer at the Town House, that being alone made you vulnerable. Mor had worried that you would become isolated. Azriel had said nothing, but you had felt the weight of his disapproving silence like a physical presence.
Amren, surprisingly, was the one who sided with you. "Let her go," she had said, her voice flat and disinterested. "She's not a child. If she wants to live alone, she should be allowed to."
Eventually, they relented.
You got your apartment. Under the compromise that you would stay at the Town House at least twice a week, a promise you gradually became worse and worse at keeping.
Because your apartment represented freedom. Limited freedom, certainly, but freedom nonetheless. It was a space that belonged entirely to you, filled with books you had chosen, plants you liked and paintings you had admired.
You built a life entirely separate from Rhysand. Or as separate as it could truly be.
Cassian still dropped by unexpectedly under increasingly transparent excuses. Azriel's shadows somehow always seemed to know when you walked home alone. Mor continued dragging you to Rita's whenever she decided you'd spent too many evenings hiding behind a book.
You loved them for it. Even if it occasionally felt suspiciously coordinated.
Sometimes at Rita's, you watched Mor flirt openly with strangers. Watched her laugh, choose whichever male caught her interest that evening, and leave with him without a backward glance. Watched her return the following day like nothing had happened, no explanations required, no apologies offered.
You wondered what that kind of freedom felt like.
What it might be like to someday find your person. Not a future husband selected by men long gone. Not something arranged through politics. Not the High Lord.
Someone yours. Someone who chose you. Someone you chose back.
You held onto that dream stubbornly.
Even when Cassian scared away half the males who approached you. Even when Azriel learned the identities of every male who expressed interest.
Even when part of you suspected Rhysand would never truly allow another male near you. Not even from beneath a mountain.
You still hoped.
Because fifty years was a very long time. Long enough, you told yourself, for promises to fade. Long enough for old arrangements to lose their meaning.
Long enough to believe that perhaps, when Rhysand finally returnedâif he returnedâeverything would be different.
Then fifty years ended. And the world changed. Without your knowledge, without your permission, without warning.
You were finishing dinner with your friends when Rhysand returned, a mundane moment interrupted by the sudden, inexplicable certainty that something had shifted in the Night Court.
You felt something deep beneath your ribs tighten so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs, though you could not have named it then as anything more than unease, a strange, inexplicable wrongness threading through your thoughts like a hand brushing over the back of your neck.
Rhysand had returned.
The entire Inner Circle was gathered at the Town House when it happened.
Everyone, except you.
You wouldn't learn exactly how furious he had been until later, how he had appeared in the Town House, exhausted and damaged and barely holding himself together. How he had embraced his family, his warriors, his closest confidants. How he had looked around the room, noting each familiar face, his expression growing darker with every moment that passed. How he asked one question.
"Where is she?"
No one dared to answer.
You were not there.
Which, to Rhysand, became the only answer that mattered.
You would not learn later how still he had gone after that moment. How every trace of relief, every fragment of survival, every hard-earned breath Under the Mountain had been set aside like something irrelevant.
How he had simply asked again, calmer, slower this time.
"Where?"
And how no one had been able to answer him immediately because the implication of what it meant to return without you in sight had not yet settled properly into words.
By the time you unlocked your apartment door later that evening, your hand was trembling. You noticed it, and frowned faintly at yourself, blamed the long day, the wine you'd shared over dinner, anything except the truth your body was already beginning to understand.
He was already waiting, seated in your chair, legs crossed elegantly. Surrounded by shadows and looking impossibly beautiful, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly alive.
And when he looked at you, you stopped breathing entirely.
For a moment you couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare at the male you had been running from your entire life.
You had imagined this reunion a thousand times. None of those fantasies involved him being angry.
His gaze was already fixed on you, dark and intense and burning with something you couldn't quite identify. Something that made your skin prickle with awareness, your heart pound in your chest, your knees threaten to give out beneath you.
"You weren't home," was the first thing he said.
Home. You weren't sure if the Town House had ever truly felt like home.
"IâŠ" Your voice came out embarrassingly small. "N-No."
You could see the muscle in his cheek twitch, the way something in him tightened at the sound of your voice. His gaze moved over you then, reassuring himself that you were real. That you were unharmed. That after fifty years, he had finally made it back to you.
Then the bond snapped. And the world exploded.
Mate
The word echoed through every part of you.
Mate Mate Mate
You had imagined the mating bond before. Dreamed of it, even. Wondered what it might feel like to experience that cosmic connection, that magical recognition, that perfect union of two souls meant for each other. You had imagined warmth and certainty and joy.
Not this.
Not your entire soul lurching forward as if recognizing something it had spent centuries searching for. Not your knees nearly giving out. Not your heart breaking and healing simultaneously.
Across the room, Rhysand had frozen. For the first time in your life, you saw him stripped utterly bare. Shock, wide and unguarded flashed across his face. Relief so profound it nearly stole your breath.
Then something else crept into his expression. Something infinitely more possessive. Something that made your blood run cold. The expression terrified you. Because suddenly every fear you'd ever carried became real.
You had wanted a mate. You had dreamed of one.
But not like this. Not someone who already had a claim on your future. Not someone powerful enough to remove every alternative.
Tears burned your eyes, and you stumbled backward.
His face immediately changed. Something wary entered his expression. Like he recognized exactly what was happening inside your head.
You hated that. Hated that he knew you so well.
And when he took a step toward you, you ran. Actually ran. One heartbeat he stood across the room. The next you were lunging for the front door. Not because you thought you could outrun him.
Because prey ran. It was instinct. Pure, thoughtless instinct.
You barely reached the door, before a solid body blocked your path. You slammed directly into his hard chest.
A startled noise escaped you as his strong hands closed around your waist, steadying you before you could fall. Your palms landed flat against his chest. The entire thing happened so quickly your mind struggled to process it.
For one awful second, all you could think was that if he'd wanted to, he could have caught you before you'd even taken the first step.
"Mm," he murmured quietly above you, almost to himself. "So that's how we're starting?"
Your heart stopped. Then immediately started trying to beat its way out of your chest.
His voice was not raised, not sharp, not even angry. Nothing about this situation had surprised him at all. As though he had already seen every possible version of this moment and chosen the one where you were in his arms anyway.
His hands remained around your waist, not tightening, not pulling, only there, steadying you. It somehow felt far more intimate than if he'd held you tightly.
You throat bobbed.
His eyes followed the movement instantly.
The invisible thread seemed to hum, warmer now, heavier, like it was settling into place with growing certainty that made your chest tighten painfully.
Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his grip.
You immediately stepped backward.
Rhys let you. He simply released you enough that you could move, though the space between you did not truly feel like space at all, because he followed the motion with nothing more than a subtle shift of his body, as though he had already accounted for exactly how far you might go.
As though he had already measured every possible escape you might attempt.
"I need you to breathe." The words were impossibly gentle.
You hated how your body obeyed. Air filled your lungs in one shaky inhale. His shoulders eased. Just slightly. As though your breathing had been affecting him too.
"You don't have to run," he said. His voice was quieter now, more careful.
You looked at him, really looked.
At the tension beneath that impossible composure. At the tremor in the fingers hanging motionless beside his thighs. At the way his chest expanded a fraction too deeply before every sentence. Like speaking calmly required conscious effort. Like there was something inside him straining so violently against its leash that even breathing had become work.
"Would you let me reject the bond?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
The answer arrived instantly. Not through words. Through his expression, through the absolute steel in his eyes.
No. No, he wouldn't.
Your heart sank.
Rhysand's gaze dropped for half a heartbeat. Not to your face or your hands. But to you. Like he was seeing you in a way he had never allowed himself before.
"I need you to listen to me," he spoke, his voice even lower than before. Somehow that made it infinitely more dangerous.
"I know this isn't what you wanted." He paused, "I know. And I know you're frightened."
Something had slipped through his control like a breath he hadn't meant to let out.
"But I have waited for you for a very long time."
The words landed too softly. Because nothing about the way he was looking at you matched softness at all. His gaze held yours, unblinking and steady. Patient in a way that made your skin crawl.
"As for what happens next," he murmured quietly, a faint shift in his stance barely perceptible, "you are going to hate me for a while."
A beat passed.
"And I will still be here."
Still, he did not move closer, did not touch you. Your gaze landed briefly to the front door. To the impossible distance between it and you. To the male standing in the way. You knew for a fact, that if he decided you weren't leaving, the door might as well not have existed.
As if he'd read your thoughts, Rhys followed your gaze, and one corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't amusement, not quite. Something rougher, something honest.
"That," he said, "is a different conversation."
That expression returned. The one that made him seem less like a High Lord and more like a male who had been starving for far too long.
Then, just as quickly, control slammed back into place. His throat bobbed. A swallow. A very mortal gesture.
And somehow that affected you more than anything else.
You forced your shoulders to relax. It didn't work.
The connection stretched taut.
Your weight shifted forward without you meaning it to, just slightly. A fraction of movement, the kind your body made when something inside you leaned before thought could stop it. Toward him.
It was not even conscious. Not a decision rationally made. Just the bond, pulling like gravity disguised as instinct.
And yet the effect on him was immediate. Rhysand went utterly still. Like the world had narrowed to that single, almost imperceptible motion. His breath changed. A sharp inhale that he did not fully complete. His hands flexed once, slowly. Like he was physically stopping himself from doing something he had already begun to prepare for.
"Don't," he said, the word quiet.
But it was not directed at you. It seemed to be directed inward, at himself.
You froze, heart suddenly too loud.
"I didn'tâ" you started, confused, because you hadn't meant to move at all.
"I know," he interrupted gently. Rhysand took a deep breath. "But I am asking you to be careful anyway."
You frowned. "I-I don't understand."
"No." A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. "I don't suppose you do."
The restraint was suddenly louder than anything else in the room.
Rhysand exhaled slowly. His shoulders lowered by a fraction, like he was forcing himself back into himself. Back into control. Back into the version of him you had always known.
But now you had seen the crack. And cracks did not disappear once you noticed them. They only became harder to unsee.
"You are going to make this difficult," he sighed quietly. It almost sounded like amusement, almost.
But underneath it, there was something else. Something that made you want to clench your thighs together.
And then, softer again, "I already know I wonât mind."
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Summary: Azriel doesnât believe heâs deserving of her love, yet thereâs a line between pushing someone away and being cruel, and Azriel doesnât know where to draw it
Warnings: delicious ANGSTT + it gets kinda steamy for a sec so i wanna say 18+ just to be safe idk
Notes: Back from another bout of writerâs block with something that kinda took on a life of its own.
If the dying fire in the hearth was any indication of how much time had passed, the Inner Circle spent the entire night drinking. The sun would rise in just a few drowsy hours, dousing Velaris with its buttery light, wrapping the sitting room of the townhouse in ribbons of pale gold.Â
Velarisâ hardest working citizens would be awake early enough to see itâ the farmers, the bakers, the teachers and the rubbish collectorsâ while their High Lord and his Lord of Bloodshed would be passed out like a pair of bums on the couch in last nightâs clothes until lunchtime.Â
The thought made Azriel laugh.Â
She sat beside him, leaning against his side as the vibrations of his laugh went straight to her lower belly. She leaned back to look up at him and he met her gaze instantly. The thin strap of her top slipped off her shoulder with the movement, and without removing his eyes from hers, his nimble fingers slid the strap back up her shoulder but made no further move to leave her skin.Â
Her skin pebbled in response like she was the static to his looming lightning strike. Every touch between them was like standing on the precipice of a story so damning, so wild, it terrified her to let it exist unbound. All it took was a single push of courage. A single breath of wind toward an already wavering resolve.
But it never came. These boundaries that defined their relationship were elastic. Azriel pushed the line, she shoved it, but it never snapped. It was a delicate little art, but they were so profound at this dance that it was all they knew. As treacherous as their will-they-wonât-they was, they had to have derived some pleasure, even a little bit, to be able to sit there, in a room filled with their closest friends, drunk, flushed, knee to knee, skin to skin, and still call themselves the best of friends.Â
A tale as old as time. A game theyâve played for years. A song whose words they could sing in their sleep. It was all of it and none of it.Â
With as many drinks as sheâd had, definitely three or four ahead of Azriel, she slanted into his warmth like a cat bowing its head into a tender palm. His arm draped against the back of the couch, allowing her body to nestle into his in the most casual, most friendliest, most normal of ways. The back of her hand rested on his thigh as she threw her head back in laughter at something Cassian said.Â
If he was any more sober, his senses would have snapped to attention at the contact, but he couldnât bring himself to be so skittish now. He savored the touch, the weight of her hand against his strong thigh, and had to reach for his glass just to take away the thought of holding her hand there with his own.Â
âYouâre staring,â She looked up at him to find his gaze already locked on her features, assessing, admiring.
âI am?â His eyes were dark, shimmering with reflection of the licking flames in the hearth. âYouâll have to forgive me if I canât help myself.â
He couldnât explain where he found the audacity to be so bold with a woman so beautiful. But her eyelids fluttered as she regarded him through her eyelashes, and her smile was so damning he suddenly couldnât even remember what heâd said.Â
âYouâll give our friends the wrong idea.âÂ
He lowered his drink to his other thigh, tightening his grip around the thick crystal-cut glass to contain himself, to contain the heat racing up and down his spine like a bucking racehorse. âWhatâs so wrong about it?â The side of his full lips curved upward into a playful smile but he was sincere.Â
Azriel was fanning the flames of a dangerous fire. Again, they were standing at the brink of something so dangerous, so perfect, either of them could simply push a little farther and everything could finally be different.Â
But no. They both enjoyed the strain for it was its own type of pleasure.Â
She tried to steady herself, but with the heat of the fire, the multiple drinks, Azrielâs body heat, and mostly her own fluster, she was burning up.Â
To break the intense stare neither of them could pinpoint how much time theyâd spent locked in, he volunteered to refill her drink in the kitchen. As soon as his broad, black-clad frame disappeared behind the threshold of the sitting room, her shoulders drooped and she ran her palms over her face in frustration.Â
It was such a tease, this whole situation. Like a cruel little joke, even if they did find some sick indulgence in it.Â
When she thought about itâ which she tried not to do too oftenâ it was downright treacherous what they were doing to each other. All of this had to mean something, right? Two people donât just touch each other on purpose, hold each other's heavy gazes in crowded rooms, for no reason, right?
âWhereâd your boyfriend go?â Mor demanded, plopping down beside her where Azriel had just sat. The tequila sloshed over the lip of her glass with the heavy landing.Â
âHeâs not my boyfriend,â she replied with little conviction. As much as it was the truth, it felt ridiculous to say it.Â
âEveryone sees the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. He can hardly breathe right if you arenât in the room. Itâs not a secret, if you both are keeping it one,â she took a sip of her drink, repainting the bright red lipstick mark on the rim that became her signature. Sometimes she envied Morâs effortless femininity, her languid sensuality, that poised her at the receiving end of many amorous advances and escapades. As hard as she tried, she couldnât be as casual as Mor was. She needed commitment, stability, and unconditionality from the one person she would give her everything to.Â
Which is why, as much as she loved Azriel, he bothered her. It was more than obvious they were more than friendsâ the way they touched each other, the things they told each other, the time they spent togetherâ there was no logical way to deny it. But theyâd never talked about putting a name to whatever this was or committing themselves to each other. She was lucky enough to find herself in that god-awful middle ground, the foggy, gray, no-manâs-land that every non-committal male sought refuge in when things got even mildly serious. She couldnât understand why it was so hard to move past this purgatory when it was clear enough to her that she wanted no male more deeply, more dangerously, than she wanted Azriel.Â
âWe havenât talked about it,â was all she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She loved Azriel, but it would destroy her if all this was to him was a âgood time.â There was nothing inherently wrong with one night stands or friends with benefits, but there was when her heart was a part of it too. Suddenly, the thought that his might not be stirred the alcohol in her stomach.Â
âBut you are having sex?â Mor asked, a little louder than necessary. She was no longer lounging into the couchâ she was fully sat up, legs tucked under her body, and spine rod-straight with attention.Â
âMor!â
âOkay, youâre right I didnât need to ask that. For such a big, beautiful house, the walls are quite thin,â she chuckled to herself.Â
âWhat, do you think heâs using me?â She couldnât be bothered to feign mortification at the revelation that apparently the entire house could hear the two of them sharing beds.Â
Morâs face softened immediately, sobering slightly at the sight of her friend in visible distress. âOh, darling. Azriel is a good manââ
âHeâs very kind.â
âThe kindest,â Mor pursed her lips, pausing for a beat, before setting her glass down on the floor beside the couch. She took both of her friendsâ hands in her own, forcing their gazes to align. âBut he is a male, at the end of the day. And they often think with their dicks first, brains second.â
âAzriel is sensibleâŠâ she reasoned, not sure where Mor was going with this.Â
That was a terrible lie, though. She knew exactly what Mor was insinuating because she thought about it every day too. Every time he left her bed, every time he touched her, every time he said something that just-friends donât say to each other, she wondered what his intentions were.Â
In her reckless need for him, sheâd abandoned all expectations, all reservations, and given herself to Azriel wholly. Sheâd closed her eyes and leaped. When it came to Azriel, there was no thinking, no calculating, and she hadnât registered how foolish that might be until now.Â
â-
Speaking of foolishness.Â
That train of thought crashed and burned, a smoking pile of faraway fears, when his hot lips bit at the soft spot behind her ear.
âAzriel,â his name was a breathless sigh on her tongue.Â
âTell me to leave, and I will,â he murmured, his voice a deep husk of what it usually was, the pitch reaching so deep into her that it pulled and twisted her gut into a tangle of nerves, raw and fervent, like matchsticks ready to light from the mere breath of fire alone.Â
This was so bad. She shouldâve been embarrassed how easy it was to get here. Azriel brought her back a drink but she couldnât finish it when the conversation with Mor suddenly left her sick to her stomach (but no less sober). She tried to get awayâ tried to remove herself from his proximity for the night by feigning exhaustionâ but of course she couldnât deny him when he offered to walk her upstairs, a hand on her lower back. Of course she couldnât deny him when he followed her into the room, sat next to her on the bed, then looked at her with those deep, conversational eyes that said so much more than he ever did, a man of few words that he was.Â
âStay.â she heard herself say before her mind could even understand what her heart had demanded first.
And it was all he needed to hear before pushing his body on hers and slanting his perfect lips over her own. The way they came together, the way their bodies fit, was otherworldly. Each time their bodies meshed it was so good it almost felt instinctual, like theyâd done this in a previous lifetime.Â
He savored the feeling of their chests pressed against each other and his heart palpitated like uneven footsteps, frantically searching for hers to match. Sobered from the alcohol and now drunk off her taste, there wasnât one part of him that would not give anything to have her like this forever.
She could have floated between worlds with how weightless she felt as Azrielâs plush lips moved against hers, tasting her and taking his time. It was sweet, and admiring, and a little desperate, the way they exchanged breaths and looked for each other through touch and taste alone.Â
Azriel clutched the back of her neck to support her as he slowly pushed her down into the mattress, never once coming up for a breath. She was the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs, what else did he need?
He anchored himself above her with a knee between her legs and a strong hand at her hips. One of her hands flew to the nape of his neck and tangled in his mess of curls there while the other hooked onto the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but popping open a few more buttons instead.Â
She sighed as he shifted peppering kisses from the corner of her mouth to the soft skin behind her ear again, arching into his body against her better judgment, feeling his strong thigh against her. Like a wave in the ocean curling up towards the moon, she sought to be swept up into his gravity. Governed solely by the intoxicating scent of the crook of his neck, she lifted her hips to feel his strong thigh again, to touch her chest to his. She needed more friction and he groaned with the knowledge of it, shifting one hand under her hips to prop her up against the thigh he moved closer.Â
Any inhibitions that reappeared between her sobering up after the conversation with Mor and Azriel kissing her tonight were discarded like dirty laundry somewhere far, far away.Â
This is right, she told herself over and over again, the mantra chiming like worship bells in her mind. Nothing wrong could feel this good.Â
âI can never get enough of you,â he murmured against her flushed skin, taking in her scent as if heâd run out of breath without it.Â
âAre you sayingââ she pushed the words out between breaths of hot air, too afraid to waste time talking and miss even a second of this. ââ you think of me? Even when we arenât in the same room?â It was a teasing tone, but she meant every word. She needed to know.Â
âAll the fucking time. I thought that was obvious.â
It was as if the confession ignited a second fire within him. Azriel carried the kiss from behind her ear, down the side of her neck, to her exposed shoulder and collarbone, daring to bite, as if to test her willingness.Â
She sighed as she felt his low groan against her skin, the vibration piercing down to her very bones, searching for his lips until they found each other again. His thumb found the strip of bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants. The feeling of his skin there sent a jolt through her system. Azriel slowly pushed his hand upwards, bunching her shirt between his thumb and forefinger as he went. As his hands slid her shirt up her torso, he kissed the skin as it revealed itself to him, warm and soft like the petals of a summer flower.Â
With feverish need, Azriel brought his lips back to hers as his hand slipped completely under her shirt, softly grabbing her, wanting to feel her moan into his mouth as she always did when he touched her there. He held her like no one else could ever manage.
A brush of his thumb sent a jolt of awareness through her, like a splash of ice cold water to the face.Â
âWait,â she breathed out, as if it took every ounce of willpower to stop him. It did. She didnât want him to stop, but she knew he should.Â
Azrielâs hand slid out of her shirt immediately, and he lifted his head just enough to read her eyes. They were darkened with something he couldnât place, and her eyebrows knitted so low on her forehead, it took everything in him not to reach out and smooth the crease between them.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âIâm sorry, I justââÂ
âDonât,â he shook his head, fixing the strap of her right shoulder as he smiled ever so softly. âDonât apologize.â
âWhat is this?â She blurted out.
Azriel paused, unable to follow. âWhat isâŠthis?â
âI mean,â she sighed, frustrated at her sudden inability to source words and form coherent thoughts. She was doing this now, it seemed. âWhat do you want from this? You and I?â
âI want you.â Azriel replied incredulously, as if it was painfully obvious. He dipped his head to place a kiss on the edge of her lips and his hand slid up the plane of her exposed belly. Methodically, he pressed his thigh between her legs again, as if to remind her. As if she could forget, underneath him like this.Â
The sigh that escaped her lips was involuntary, but as quickly as she felt her need overtake, she tamped it back down.
Impatiently, she swatted his hand off and pushed her blouse down. âAzriel, listen to me. I mean, where do you see this going?â After some initial hesitation- âWhat do you see us becoming?â
Azriel shouldnât have laughed. He knew that as soon as it escaped his lips and her eyebrows furrowed in response, but it was too late. He didnât even mean to, his body only reacted to the panic it felt when she asked such a question, and Mother above, was he incredibly dense for that.Â
âGet off of me.â She deadpanned, pushing her hand against his chest.Â
Sheâd never felt more vulnerable. Underneath this man she loved like she hadnât loved anyone else, to have him laugh in her face when she tried to bear her heart to him was like a terrible dream come true. One sheâd convinced herself many times impossible of materializing.
âI didnât mean to laughââ
âAzriel, get off of me.â
She pushed against his chest again and he sat up immediately. He flexed his hands, suddenly cold from the loss of her skin against his.Â
She sat up as well, adjusting her top. âAzriel, I need to know if youâre serious about me. I feel like we always tiptoe around whatever this is between us, but I canât keep doing it if this isnât serious to you.âÂ
She needed to know that he felt the same, or everything had to stop. Even if she could never love another male the same ever again. Thatâs the price she had to pay, she supposed, for loving so wholly, so stupidly, before she even knew if he was ready to do the same.Â
It was everything heâd been waiting to hear. Dreaming of, praying for, almost convincing himself that her loving him was only a fairy tale that existed for his indulgence, and nothing more. But fear was taking over him as well.Â
âOf course I enjoy being with you.âÂ
âThatâs not what I asked.â
Azriel ran a hand through his disheveled curls, shaking his head. Say the right thing. Say the right thing. Say what youâve been waiting to say. But no. âWhere is this coming from?â
âWhy canât you answer my question?â
âBecause I donât understand whatâs changed for you, all of a sudden. You know how I feel about you, isnât that enough?â He didnât mean it- the question or the accusatory tone it carried. It was a valid questionâ he was wondering when sheâd put an end to this. She needed more than just a physical connection to be truly fulfilled- she needed him to be the emotionally available male she deserved.Â
âIâ,â she bit her tongue before the word love could follow. âI just need to know if youâre serious about me because Azrielâ fuck I just canât ever seem to stop thinking of you. The thought that I just might be a âgood timeâ and nothing more to you makes me fucking sick, because Iâve never felt like this about anyone else. So I need to be sure⊠I need to be sure youâre not fucking around with me before I let you have me. All of me.â
Azriel was stunned into silence. Completely mute. Words failed him. Grammar failed him. He could barely get a syllable out and heâd never felt more foolish in his life. The sight of her vulnerability dried his throat and shallowed his breathing. An absolutely terrible time to go completely dumb, he recognized that, but she had this effect on himâ made him lose touch with himself, lose his grasp on reality.Â
Everything heâd ever dreamed ofâ really, it was only her he dreamed ofâ flashed before his eyes like a moving picture. The love of his life, the very same one heâd convinced himself would never love him back just confessed that she did. That she wants for no other male but him. All those years heâd spent dreaming of her, awake or asleep, of sharing a life were not so self-indulgent after all. Even with this revelation that filled him with such a happiness it made him nauseous, he felt it all wrong.Â
Wrong, wrong, wrong.Â
She was wrong. There was no way someone like herâ as intelligent, independent, and kind-hearted as herâ could truly desire someone like him.Â
Perhaps it was only a phase. They shared every single thought, and occasionally beds, with each other- she could easily confuse those feelings with something else. It was the only thing that made sense to Azriel, for the man could not fathom someone loving him of their own volition, with their own sound mind. He felt the need to protect her from the evil in the world, and in his mind, that included him. He would not ruin her, would not deprive her of the things he couldnât give her. The Mother knew there was nothing in this world she wouldnât have if she asked Azriel for it, but he just couldnât give her this one thing.Â
But even that thought filled him with a newer rage. The thought of another male holding her, touching her, listening to her thoughts and secrets, another man protecting her, providing for her, loving her and waking up everyday with the privilege of getting to share this life with her. It made him want to crush the mountains that surrounded this house with his bare hands until they were nothing but powder on the ground.Â
Azriel couldnât think about that right now, though. She could be much happier without his burdens, and he resolved a long time ago that this was the way he would love her. From afar. Even if it hurt him, thatâs what you do for the people you love, he told himself.Â
He knew what he had to do.Â
So he shook his head, slowly stretching one leg at a time over the edge of her bed until he was standing next to it, leaving her sitting there with her shoulders slouched forward, eyes never leaving his. They pleaded for him to say something she wanted to hear, to confirm that everything theyâd been doing these past years meant something. That he hadnât led her on. It never came.Â
âYou donât mean that.â was all he said. It tore him in two to say it, serrated his irregular heart into messy, darkened halves.Â
She deserved better than what he had to offer. If it meant that he had to hurt her to protect her, he would do it. Azriel never claimed to be a hero or a villain, something in between better suited him, but he would gladly become the villain in her story to protect her. To make hating him easier. He saw the way she looked at him, noted how she told him things she never told anyone else. The details of her childhood, her day, asking for his opinion on things even though they had different tastes. He saw it nowâ she really was in love.Â
âI donât know if sheâs just being kind,â Azriel shrugged one day a few months ago, lounging in the chair opposite from Rhysâ desk.Â
âWhen a woman like that loves someone, she canât hide it,â It was all Rhys had to say to confirm what Azriel already knew. Rhys knew as much as any of their friends did how she felt. Azriel did too. But his self-loathing was a cruel thing.Â
Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up straighter. âOf course I do, Az. I wouldnât make that up.â She reached her arm out, intending to take his hand in her own, but he pulled back and she too yanked her arm back in response, as if burned at the fingertips by his sudden aversion.Â
âItâs understandable to want more when weâve already bared so much ourselves to each other,â He stepped backward. âBut I see now that we arenât on the same page.âÂ
She saw the lie in his eyes like she could see stars in the sky. A bright, blinking lie. Of course she could, she knew him like she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. She just didnât understand why he was pushing her away. But more than that, his rejection burned like acid in her gut, eating her from the inside out. The pit in her stomach grew deeper, hotter, as he backed up.Â
If she asked for the moon, Azriel wouldnât think twice to grab it with his bare hands and pull it down to earth. If she asked for the stars heâd spend centuries collecting each of them one by one. But if she asked for him, all of him, his pain, his joy, his trauma, his hopes, he couldnât promise it to her. He would not allow her to shoulder his burdens, to feel the pain he did. Because she would truly feel all of it. Thatâs the person she was and he could not let her put herself through that.
There was no easy way to break her heart, but perhaps making her hate him would be one last kindness he could afford her. This disappointment would just be one of many if he allowed her to love him, and sheâd be unhappy soon enough.Â
âAzriel,â her voice cracked and she bunched up the fabric of the duvet in her fist to ease the burning in her throat. A telltale precursor of a breakdown, he knew. âI donât understand. You saidââ
âWe both said a lot of things,â Azriel said simply, unable to meet her eyes. âBut at the end of the day, theyâre all just words, are they not?â
âJust words?â She furrowed her eyebrows, pushing the tears to her waterline as she did. âI pour my heart out to you every day for years, and theyâre just words to you?â
âThatâs not what I meantââ Fuck. It was coming out all wrong. Or maybe it was coming out perfectlyâ the more Azriel could fuck this up, the easier it would be for her to forget him.Â
âYou are my best friend. But weâve done things and told each other things best friends donât. Why are you denying all these years of our relationship, Azriel? What are you running from?â She pleaded. Her voice was raw, throat hoarse. Azriel had kept her closer than the rest but still struggled with shutting her out when she got too close. In hindsight, knowing this about him, she didnât understand how she couldâve thought this conversation couldâve gone any differently than this. âJust talk to me.â
Those four words were a last ditch effort, a final rap of her knuckles against his tightly shut doors, to be let in. They could just talk about this.Â
He couldnât bring himself to say what he wanted to say, even if she asked for it. So he resorted to hurt once again.Â
âI care about you very much, but ⊠we are not on the same fucking page.â
Azriel watched her face crumple and she turned her head away, unable to keep the single tear at her waterline from trickling over. Angrily, she wiped it away.Â
âYouâre an asshole for lying to yourself. To me.â The words were gritty and edged with grief. No oneâs dead, but something that was once very much alive here is gone.Â
So maybe he did love her. But his decision, the resolve in his eyes, to live and make peace with the cowardice that told him to walk away from something so beautiful, she realized, he did not love her enough.Â
The conclusion hit her as if sheâd flown straight into the side of Ramiel, ramming into the rock and tumbling down the face of the mountain uselessly until she was a pile of heartbreak at the bottom.Â
âI just need some time.â
âGet out.â
Azriel was silent, but made no move to leave. Suddenly he was rethinking everything, wondering if he made a grave mistake. In an instant, she was changed. The light in her eyes was gone, the glow in her skin had dulled, and she looked so very tired. When her gaze held his, there was no warmth, no recognition, no love. He felt like a stranger under her watch, and he suddenly had the feeling that he was intruding.Â
Azriel told himself that he was doing it out of love. That these are things you do, sacrifices you make, when you love as hard as he loved her.Â
âGet out!â
Azriel stayed for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to memorize her as much as he could. The sight of her hair slightly disheveled, looking absolutely flushed from his doing, with eyes and skin so unbelievably soft only inches away from his reach, would haunt him asleep or awake, dead or alive.Â
Then he was gone, closing her door softly behind him. The click of the latch solidified the finality of his actions. His regret would live within himâ a living, breathing, hideous thingâ forever.Â
If he couldn't have her, he could never love anyone else again.
She wanted nothing else in this world more than she wanted him to stay, to say he had made a stupid mistake and meant none of what he said, to get under her blankets, and hold her until the sun stopped rising, the moon stopped setting, and the rest of the world fell away.Â
If she couldn't have Azriel, she could never love anyone else again.
ââ-Â
Breakfast was quiet. Everyone was hungover and exhausted. Rhys sat at his chair, quietly making conversation with Feyre who kept going for another cup of coffee. Cassian slumped over his plate of eggs, but still made the most conversation. Whether anyone was actually listening was another story. Mor pretended to nod but she couldnât care less.Â
Elain sat beside Feyre quietly, breaking apart a piece of toast. She spent the night in her room reading so she was far from hungover, but she refused to make eye contact with anyone at the table. It was strange, considering how much progress she was making with everyone, but bad dreams happened and the Mother knew she was probably having her fair share of them recently.
Amren was the only one sitting rod-straight, a book in her hands, sipping her special little drink from her cup. Rhys was more than kind to let her drink it at breakfast when there were more than one queasy stomachs at the table. Not that she needed his permission anyway.Â
The only person missing was Azriel. She felt his absence heavy in her chest. Not just from the table, but from her life, now, it seemed. She didnât even realize Feyre was calling her name until the fourth time she said it.
âHmm?â She forced herself back into the present, eyes darting to Feyreâs.
âAre you okay?â Feyre asked, holding her gaze.
Azrielâs husky voice asking the same question filled her head without warning, invading her memories and her reality once again.Â
She was not fine. She felt the ghost of his touch and breath, his familiar warmth, wash over her body. The way he looked at her as if she was the first time he saw anything in color. Â
She remembered his rejection, too.
Feyre called her name again and she snapped to attention, shaking her head. âIâm fine.â
âSome night you must have had,â Feyre chuckled.
âI told you Winter Court wine will fuck you up. You donât know itâs working until itâs too late,â Rhys laughed, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her from across the table. âDrink up everyone, weâre due at the Day Court by sundown.â
âKallias has a very acquired taste, Iâll give him that,â she sighed, gratefully accepting the cold glass and downing half of it in a second.Â
âThey need to stay warm up there somehow,â Cassian chimed in, ever the selective academic he was.Â
As the water cooled her nerves slightly, Azriel appeared in the doorway to the dining room and she was damned to hell all over again.
Everyone greeted him and even though he replied to them all, his eyes only sat on hers. The only open spot at the table was the one directly across from her and he sat, rigid and unflinching, unable to meet her gaze anymore from such a close proximity.
âGood morning,â his voice was low and aimed only at her. If she had any more energy, she wouldâve laughed that thatâs the first thing he chose to say after their conversation last night. She broke apart her toast with no acknowledgement of his attempt to break their stalemate. Â
âWhat the fuck is that?â Cassianâs loud voice broke her from her trance.
Rhys winced, holding his head. âNot so loud, we talked about this.âÂ
âAz, you cheeky bastard, what did you crazy kids get up to last night?â Cassianâs eyes darted between her and Azriel, pointing out the dark mark on his neck.
âWhat are you on about?â Â
Azriel started, as if remembering it was there all of a sudden, pulling his shirt collar tighter around his neck and clearing his throat.
Rhys whistled upon realization and Feyre and Morâs eyes darted to hers in silent awe.Â
She squinted at the mark, assessing. Did she do that? It was a dark, angry little spot that sat at the base of his neck, fresh enough that it was obvious it was made only a few hours ago.Â
With frigid realization, she knew she hadnât done that. Heâd kissed her neck last night, but she hadnât kissed his.Â
She slowly looked up at Azriel for the first time that morning. His eyes were downcast as he poured his cup of tea. If she blinked, she wouldâve missed his fleeting glance in Elainâs direction. But she didnât miss it, and she quickly looked to Elain, who was red as a beet and hiding behind a curtain of her unbound, chestnut hair.Â
Cassian didnât miss a beat eitherâ he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing. âNo way,â he whispered.
âWhat?â Feyre demanded.
Her eyes focused on the mark on his neck again. Maybe she did do it. She had a lot to drink. But no. They never left marks where others could see them. The angry little thing on his skin was amateur at best.Â
Small giggles sprouted from different ends of the table, but it was all a blur to her.Â
âSpit it out.â Amren demanded, but Amrenâs eyes were on her, clocking the silent horror that molded her features rather than the surprise or amusement that defined everyone elseâsÂ
âNothing. Mind your own business,â Azrielâs voice was thick and stern and nowhere as warm as it was last night.
âYou and Elain??â Cassian cried in disbelief.Â
Forks clattered clumsily on their plates. The laughter stopped like someone sucked the air clean out of the room. No one moved, but she couldnât even breathe. Elain?Â
Feyre snapped her head toward her sister, eyes wide. âWhat?â
âWhat?â Rhys echoed through bitten teeth, clenching his jaw, his gaze burning holes in the side of Azrielâs face who suddenly did not have the balls to return the look.Â
Elain shrugged sheepishly in her seat, gripping her teacup hard enough that her knuckles turned white. âWhen you feel that attraction, you canât deny it. You understand that.â She watched as Elain finally lifted her head, staring doe-eyed at Azriel. A small smile graced her lips, shy and soft.Â
âAttraction?â She whispered in disbelief.Â
âOh my god.â Cassian breathed.
âCassian, shut the fuck up.â Azriel snarled.Â
She felt her heart stutter before it burst, like a glass vessel under pressure. Delicate, fragile, irreparable. Nothing could calm the wave of nausea that rose and fell in her stomach- if she was going to throw up, it would be straight bile and vodka, and it would be all over this breakfast table.Â
Breathe. She pleaded with herself to get a grip but she just couldnât do it. Azriel sat in front of her, shoulders wound up tight, this time staring directly at her. His eyes were pleading as he tried to lock their gazes but she wouldnât meet his.Â
Him and Elain was a mistake, one he made when he wasnât thinking clearly at all, and one he regretted as he started and ended the night in her bed. But most of all, one he never meant for her to know of. He wanted to make their break as clean as possible, but this was more than he bargained for. This was just plain cruel.Â
He spoke her name once, desperately, but she barely registered it. The room fell away for both of them. He just wanted to get through to her, and she just needed to get out of there.Â
The flashbacks from all of their days and night that gave her butterflies at one point suddenly turned into mothsâ unwelcome, fluttering pests that tainted her memories of the years they spent so close, years building something so entirely untrue that it hurt her heart to reminisce for too long.Â
For him to open up to her and get her to open up to him, to then push her away, throw away everything she thought they had, to finally fuck another female right after, she decided she probably never knew him. Disgust flooded her and she felt like she needed to shower his touch from last night off of her instantly. Sheâd never felt so used in her life.Â
âFuck.â Cassian muttered. Nesta and Feyre would not take their eyes off Elain, and Rhysâ eyes bore holes in the side of Azrielâs head. Cassian was the only one who looked at her. He watched her face fall, her mind turn, as the events unfolded. The regret that gripped his heart was crushing. He reached out a hand to her knee in a show of support but she flinched involuntarily at the contact and he quickly retracted his hand to a fist against his chest.
It was embarrassing. Mor was right, everyone knew how Azriel and her had felt about each other, otherwise this wouldnât be so tense. And as much as she knew it wasn't pity that her friends felt for her, it was something pretty damn close because how could they not feel bad for her in such a fucked up situation? That sickened her more.Â
âExcuse me,â she muttered, standing up from the table and leaving the room as quickly as she could. The eyes of everyone at the table followed her out and she felt the familiar yanking in her throat before the tears pushed against her waterline. Last night already left her feeling so raw. To know Azriel had kissed her like a male deprived then gone off and fucked another womanâ not just any woman, but Elainâ made it hard to breathe.Â
The loud screech of a skidding chair came from the dining room and heavy footsteps caught up with her in the hallway. In a moment of desperation, Azriel grabbed her arm to stop her but she whirled around, yanking her arm out of the hands that had sent her to heaven and then straight to hell all in one night.Â
âDonât fucking touch me,â she churned the words out through gritted teeth.Â
âI can explain,â Azriel replied lamely, immediately feeling as dense and useless as he sounded.Â
âI donât care, Azriel. Youâre a grown man, youâre free to kiss and fuck as many women in the same night as you want,â She didnât mean it though, not after she laid her heart bare to him just a few hours ago.Â
âIt didnât mean anything, Iâ I donât know whyââÂ
âYou donât know why you went and fucked another woman after I told you you are all I can think of last night?âÂ
âThatâs not- I didnât mean to-â
âYou didnât mean to fuck her?â She laughed, but there was no humor or joy to be found in her eyes. âDid you not mean to fuck me the countless times you did, then? Did you not mean to get so close to me, allow you to see me at my worst and my best? Did you not mean to just tell me those things you haven't even told Rhys and Cas? It was all a happy accident?â
âThatâs not-â
âNo! Itâs not, youâre right, you did just say last night, more or less, all of those years we spent together, it was all just a good time to you. Right? Well, I guess you got everything youâve ever wanted.â
She couldnât be further from the truth. This was so much worse than what Azriel bargained for when heâd decided her hatred was easier to swallow than her disappointment. But now, regarding her sleepless face, beautiful as ever of course because it was her, he faced both her hatred and her disappointment. And now heâd hurt her in a way he never ever meant to.Â
âIâm sorry.â It was all he could say.Â
âNot just any woman, Azriel. Elain.â She cried incredulously. She didnât even realize the tears were coming until her voice gave out on the sisterâs name. âThree sisters for three brothers, right? You never did let that go.â
âIt wouldâve been easier if you told me you didnât love me and left it at that.â
âItâs not my responsibility to make this easy for you when it hasnât been easy for me all this time. Iâve loved you for so long and I continued to even when I wasnât sure if you felt the same. Because thatâs what you do for the people you love, youâre there for them and you continue to love them especially when it isnât easy.â
âI never meant to hurt you, I just thought I⊠I wanted to believe I-â he carded his hands through his thick black hair in frustration, searching her eyes for anything other than hurt and anger, but thatâs all he could find. âI thought I was doing you a favor.â
âYou were being a coward. You are a coward.â She spat. âYou may not have meant to, but you used me, and you of all people know how I feel about that.â
He nodded. Heâd turned himself into an amalgamation of everything that had ever hurt her before, landing his blow square into her chest when sheâd come so far.
âYou donât deserve this. You donât deserve me.â
âThat was never for you to decide, Azriel. These years should have been proof to you that Iâd loved you exactly as you were, and itâs not your job to protect me from whatever it is you think I need protection from. I can handle it. I can handle you.â
âYou can. I know you can. Iâve fucked up, truly and honestly, I donât know how to make it up to you. Please tell me how I can make it up to you.âÂ
He made a step toward her out of instinct when the tears rolled down her cheeks but she stepped back as if heâd shoved a torch in her face.
âJust leave me be. You said it yourself, we arenât on the same page. We never were, it seems.â
He took her name gently, pleadingly. She dared to look up at him once more, but he still couldnât meet her gaze head on. It was no use talking to him when he couldnât even look at her.
With the new wave of tears she felt coming on, she turned in her heels and took the stairs two at a time to her room before he could see anything more.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Itâs what sheâs known all along. Itâs exactly as sheâd told herself all these years. It was never going to be you.Â
That did not make it any easier though. If anything, it was a worse pain to be proven right.Â
Anyway, there was no time to self-pity.Â
The Inner Circle had a cross-border trip to make today, and if there was one male that wouldnât have a problem meeting her gaze, it was the high lord of the Day Court.
The Night Court assumes Eris Vanserraâs mate is nothing more than decoration at his side.
They learn very quickly that some females do not need to raise their voice to remind a room exactly where power sits.
Requested by @alexof90s â I hope this is close to what you were picturing! (Once again I didn't proof read this at all so feel free to let me know if there are any spelling errors!)
The first mistake the Night Court made was assuming you were decoration.
Not intentionally or obviously.
They were too polite for that.
But you saw it in the way their eyes moved over you when they entered the meeting room.
Briefly, if not dismissively.
A female beside Eris Vanserra.
Something ornamental, perhaps.
Something placed at his side to soften the image of Autumnâs new High Lord.
You did not correct them.
Eris noticed.
Of course he did.
The corner of his mouth shifted just barely.Â
You didnât look at him.
âTry not to look so pleased,â you murmured.
âI am not pleased.â
âYou are nearly smiling.â
âThat would be unbecoming.â
âThen by all means,â you said softly, folding your hands in your lap, âcontinue suffering.â
Across the table, Cassianâs brows rose.
Azrielâs shadows shifted once behind his shoulders.
Rhysand, to his credit, noticed the exchange for what it was.
A warning.
Mor noticed something else entirely.
Her gaze lingered on Eris with the same familiar disdain it always held.
Cold and sharp. Nothing if not practiced.
âYouâve redecorated,â she said, glancing around the council room. âHow charming. I almost forgot where we were.â
Eris did not respond.
He only looked down at the treaty papers in front of him.
You watched the movement.
The restraint it took him not to bite at her.
Rhysand cleared his throat.
âWeâre here to discuss the border villages.â
âThen let us discuss them,â Eris said.
His voice was smooth.
It always was in rooms like this.
The meeting began as most meetings did.
With maps and numbers. Along with men pretending history had not shaped every inch of land they were negotiating over.
Rhysand spoke well.
You would give him that.
Azriel said very little, but missed nothing.
Cassian shifted in his chair like diplomacy physically pained him.
And MorâŠ
Mor watched Eris like she was waiting for a monster to show its teeth.
You let it continue for twenty-three minutes.
Twenty-three minutes of clipped words. Quiet tension. Little glances that held nothing but daggers. Along with subtle jabs dressed up as moral certainty.
The last straw was when Mor finally said, âForgive me if I find Autumnâs sudden interest in protecting vulnerable people difficult to believe.â
Erisâs fingers stilled on the paper.
Only for a moment.
You gently set down your tea.
The cup barely made a sound against the saucer.
But somehow, the room noticed.
Morâs eyes flicked to you.
You smiled.
Not warmly. Not cruelly. Politely.
The sort of smile court ladies were taught to wear even if swallowing poison.
âDifficult to believe,â you repeated.
Mor lifted her chin.
âYes.â
âHow interesting.â
Cassian leaned back slightly.
Azrielâs shadows went still.
Eris did not move beside you.
He knew better.
Morâs gaze narrowed. âDo you have something to say?â
You tilted your head.
âI was deciding whether it would be rude.â
âAnd?â
âOh, itâs terribly rude Iâm afraid.â
Rhysandâs attention sharpened.
You turned your cup once, slow and deliberate, before looking back at Mor.
âBut since we are clearly past the point of pretending this room is governed by courtesy, I suppose I might as well.â
Eris exhaled once through his nose.
Almost amused.
You continued.
âYou speak of Autumnâs cruelty as though anyone at this table intends to dispute it. We do not. Autumn has teeth. It has always had teeth.â Your gaze swept briefly toward Eris. âSome of us have spent years removing them one by one.â
Morâs mouth tightened.
âBut what fascinates me,â you went on, voice still calm, âis the Night Courtâs remarkable talent for selective outrage.â
Cassian straightened.
Rhysandâs face went very still.
There it was.
The shift.
The moment they realized you were not decoration.
You smiled again.
Softer this time.
âYou condemn Autumn for what it allowed to happen beneath Beronâs rule. Fair. You should. But I do find it curious how rarely that same scrutiny turns inward.â
Morâs eyes flashed.
âCareful.â
You looked at her then.
Truly looked.
âI would advise caution, Morrigan,â you said softly. âNot because I fear what you might say, but because I know what you have chosen not to.â
The room went still.Â
You leaned back slightly in your chair.
âCareless would be asking why the Court of Dreams feels entitled to sneer at every cruel tradition in Prythian while still ruling over the Hewn City.â
Cassianâs jaw flexed.
Azriel said nothing.
Rhysand did not look away from you.
Good.
At least one of them understood where this was going.Â
Morâs voice was low. âYou know nothing about the Hewn City.â
âNo,â you agreed. âI know what survived the retelling.â
You tilted your head slightly before continuingÂ
âInteresting that you speak so confidently for someone whose version of events requires several omissions to survive.âÂ
Mor stood slowly.
âYou have no right to speak to me about what I survived.â
There it was.
The part you had been waiting for.
Your smile faded.
Not because you were afraid.
Because some things deserved seriousness.
âNo,â you said. âI do not.â
The room stilled.
Even Eris glanced at you then.
You met Morâs gaze without flinching.
âWhat was done to you was monstrous. No one in this room should deny that. I certainly will not.â Your voice lowered. âBut your pain does not make every omission holy.â
Mor went utterly still.
âYou have allowed them to believe one version of the story because it is easier than dragging the whole thing into the light,â you said. âAnd perhaps you had reason. Perhaps silence was all you had. I will not fault a girl for surviving the only way she could.â
A breath.
Then another.
âBut I will fault a court for building policy around half a truth and calling it justice.â
Rhysandâs eyes flicked, briefly, toward Eris.
Eris remained expressionless.
But his hand had shifted closer to yours on the table.
Not to stop you.
Not to guide you.
Just there.
Morâs voice was colder now.
âAnd what truth do you think you know?â
You folded your hands again.
âThe kind men leave out when the facts are inconvenient.â
A sad smile played on your lips.Â
âThe kind women bury because being believed costs too much.â
For the first time, Mor had no immediate response.
Good.
You had not wanted to hurt her.
Not really.
But you were very tired of watching Eris bleed quietly under everyone elseâs certainty.
âYou may hate my mate,â you said, and only then did your tone sharpen. âThat is your right. Hate him forever, if it comforts you.â
Erisâs gaze moved to you.
You did not look at him.
âBut do not sit in his court, at his table, beneath laws he bled to change, and pretend your hatred is the same thing as truth.â
Silence pressed against the walls.
Cassian looked between you and Mor, unusually quiet.
Azrielâs shadows curled close to his shoulders.
Rhysand leaned back slowly, expression unreadable.
You picked up your tea again.
It had gone cold.
Mor did not sit.
Not immediately.
Her face was pale with anger, but beneath it there was something else.
Something older. Something less certain.
Eris finally spoke. Calm and measured.
âMy mate raises a wonderful point.â
Rhysand looked at him.
Erisâs eyes did not leave Mor.
âDo you intend to discuss the border villages,â he said, âor continue mistaking personal history for governance?â
Your mouth twitched.
Only slightly.
Mor saw it.
Cassian definitely saw it.
Rhysand looked as though he was reevaluating several decisions at once.
Good.
That meant they were listening.
You took one careful sip of cold tea and set it back down.
âNow,â you said pleasantly, as though you hadnât just gutted the room and asked for the next topic. âShall we return to the villages, or would anyone else like to confuse emotion with policy first?â
Summary: You and Cassian are officially mated. You both know what happens now: the mating frenzy.
Warnings: smut, language, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex but mention of contraceptive, fingering, oral (f receiving), cockwarming while both asleep (does it count as somnophilia? Idk), mention of spanking
Word count: 8.2k
A/N: took me way too long to post this one, sorry about that. But I think it's funny my second longest fic it's basically just smut lol
Part 1 (but it can totally be read on its own)
Main masterlist | Cassian masterlist | AO3
You hadnât really known what to expect when the bond was accepted. Everyone always talked about the mating frenzy, but no one ever explained how it began. Would the need and desire surge the moment you offered your mate food? Would it take a few minutes? Or would it build slowly, like a wave gathering until it became a tsunami? Maybe it differed from couple to couple, maybe that was why no one ever talked about it.
So you and Cassian had celebrated your mating ceremony without you offering him food. You danced and dined and laughed, spending the afternoon with your friends and family. But the celebration felt more like a prelude for what was coming than a commemoration of what had already happened.
Because even though Cassian had eaten, it wasn't food you had offered. Not yet.
You waited until the sun began to sink behind the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of orange and pink. You said your goodbyes, wishing everyone goodnight, not knowing when you'd see them again.
Would the mating frenzy last a couple of weeks? A month? Longer? You had once heard of a couple who disappeared for four months. It was one more thing you couldn't predict.
Cassian had scooped you up into his arms, spread his wings and soared into the twilight-kissed sky.
While you had organized most of the ceremony, he had been busy finding the perfect place for you to stay for however long the frenzy lasted. A place just for the two of you, far from other houses and any kind of interruptions.
âSo they won't hear us,â he'd said with a smug grin. âI bet we'll be even louder than usual.â
But he had kept the location a surprise, so you had no idea where he was taking you until he landed in front of a small cabin and gently set you down.
You gripped his arm to steady yourself as your feet touched the ground, your eyes already darting around to take in your surroundings.
You were in the woods outside Velaris, closer to the mountains than the sea, in a peaceful spot where only a distant owl and the whisper of the wind could be heard. Ivy crept along the cabinâs wall, curling across rough stone and weathered wood alike, and you brushed your fingers along the dark green leaves as Cassian unlocked the front door and held it open for you.
When you stepped inside, the faelights flickered to life, and your eyes widened in surprise. The place was small, as you had expected, but it had everything you could need and it was beautifully furnished. The main room combined the kitchen and the living area, and through the open doors you could glimpse the bathroom and bedroom. Everything looked cozy and warm, exactly what you would picture when stepping into a cabin in the woods.
âCass, this is wonderful,â you marveled, walking into the bedroom to survey the space. The bed was large enough to fit his wings, and it looked so comfortable and inviting, which was more than perfect, since you planned on spending most of your time there.
Cassian came up behind you, a hand settling on your waist. âYou like it?â
âLike it?â you repeated, turning your head enough to look at him. âI love it!â
He smiled. âGood. Because itâs yours.â
You tilted your head, frowning. âMine?â
âYes, yours.â
Before you could ask for an explanation, he took your hand and led you back to the living area. He stopped in front of the oak dining table in the corner, standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders, guiding your gaze over the place.
âI didnât rent the cabin, sweetheart,â he murmured in your ear. âI bought it. As a mating present for you.â
âCassâŠâ you began, your heart swelling. âWe agreed we wouldnât buy each other anything.â
When you tried to turn to face him, his grip tightened on your shoulders. His breath warmed your neck before he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder.
âThen consider it a gift for both of us.â You could hear the smile in his voice, feel it against your skin. âA place for us to escape to whenever we want to be alone.â
Leaning back against him, you blinked away the tears stinging at the corner of your eyes.
A cabin. He had gotten you a cabin, even though youâd agreed not to exchange gifts, that the presents from your friends and family and the promise of eternity together were enough. Yet he had bought you a whole house so you could retreat from the chaos of your lives whenever you wished.
âI⊠I don't know what to say,â you murmured, eyes darting around the room, still trying to process the news. It was yoursâthe maple and oak furniture, the shelves waiting to be filled, the orange pillows on the couch. They were all yours.
Cassian's hands slid from your shoulders to your waist, his arms wrapping around you to pull you against his chest. âYou don't have to say anything.â
âI need to thank you properly,â you said. âAnd I need to offer you food.â
He hummed against your ear, the sound reverberating deep in your bones. âAnd once you do, we're going to inaugurate this place by fucking on every surface,â he murmured. âI'll take you on the couch. And the armchair.â He gently turned you toward the kitchen. âThat table too.â
Each whispered word sent a shiver down your spine, setting your body aflame.
âIn the bathtub while we wash up.â His lips brushed your neck, his hands gliding up your chest, stopping just beneath your breasts. âOn the bed, of course. Over and over again.â His mouth found the soft spot below your ear. âAgainst the wall, too, if you want.â
You shivered against him. This time, when you tried to turn in his arms, he let you. Your eyes met, and you offered him an amused smile.
âYou know,â you said softly, fingers grazing his jaw, âI was planning to cook you something nice. But if you keep talking like that, I might not have the patience.â
He chuckled and shook his head. âThatâs alright.â He kissed your fingertips when they brushed his lips. âI might have eaten a bit too much at the ceremony. If I eat any more, Iâll probably be too drowsy to do anything. Including fucking you.â
You stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. âSo you gift me a cabin and I donât even get to cook you a good meal to accept the bond? Got it.â
The truth was, you understood. You just liked to tease him, but you understood. Youâd eaten plenty yourself, and if not for the excitement thrumming through your veins, you probably would have collapsed on the bed already, ready to sleep late into the morning.
Stepping out of his embrace, you turned to the cabinets. âIs there food in here?â
You were moving before Cassian could answer, but he still said, âYes. And the place is enchanted so the food never goes bad.â
âFancy,â you murmured as you opened a cabinet. It was stacked with all your favorite snacks. Your lips curved into a smile.
He really had thought of everything.
After carefully selecting one of the cookie jarsâapparently the best you could do right nowâyou pulled out a chocolate chip cookie and walked back to Cassian, who was watching you with a broad smile.
âFor you, my love,â you announced, offering it as though it were something sacred.
Cassian mockingly bowed his head as he accepted it. âThank you, my love.â
He lifted the cookie to his lips, never breaking eye contact as he took a small bite. You arched a brow, and he huffed half a laugh before shoving the rest into his mouth.
For a moment, you just stood there, holding your breath as you stared at each other. But nothing happened. Nothing changed.
Then Cassian swallowed.
You both felt it instantly, eyes widening as the mating bond snapped into place like a lock finally clicking shut. The desire followed a heartbeat later, crashing through you like a tidal wave. You gasped and stumbled back a step, your body trembling as heat consumed you. Cassianâs nostrils flared, and you realized the scents of both your arousals had already filled the room. Just like that. In seconds.
You wantedâneededâto rip the clothes off him, to taste his skin, to feel him inside you. The need settled deep in your bones, making your knees weak and your core ache.
Cassian watched you, his hazel eyes darkened with the same desire you felt burning in your chest. Neither of you spoke as his hands went to the cufflinks of his suit jacket, shrugging it off with quick efficiency.
He always looked good, and you had thought he couldn't possibly look any better than he had in that suit. But now, standing before you in his black slacks and white shirt, he was devastatingly handsome. It took every ounce of control not to pounce on him.
His shirt was unbuttoned by the time he realized you weren't moving. You stood there, tense like a bowstring about to snap, your eyes fixed on his every movement, drinking in every inch of golden skin revealed with each button he undid.
His voice was rough when he spoke. âAre you okay?â
Your gaze dragged slowly from his chest to his face. âYes,â you breathed. âI just can't take the dress off alone.â When he frowned, you explained, âThe laces are fastened on the back.â
âHow did you put it on?â
âMor helped me.â
Cassian nodded once, then stepped closer. You swallowed, anticipation and desire swelling inside you, fingertips itching to touch him. But he simply moved behind you and reached for the first lace of your dress.
You were acutely aware of how close he was. He didn't touch youâhe was careful not to brush the bare skin of your back, only pinching the thin stringsâbut you could feel his breath against the nape of your neck, sense his presence behind you. His scent enveloped you, and you had never shown such restraint as you did now.
The dress fell in a shapeless heap on the floor, pooling around your feet. Cassianâs breath hitched. The sound alone made your thighs clench.
âYouâre not wearing a bra,â he whispered, trailing a finger down your spine. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but it was enough to make you tremble.
âIt showed through the dress,â you murmured.
Unable to wait any longer, you turned to face him.
Your gaze dragged down his body, taking in the muscles rippling beneath his unbuttoned shirt, the straining bulge in his slacks. You lifted a hand and traced the line of a faint scar just above the waistband of his pants. He shivered but didnât move.
When your eyes finally met, the fragile control you both had shattered like glass.
Your lips crashed together, and there was nothing sweet in the kiss. It was all hunger, desperation, raw need demanding release. Your fingers tangled in his hair and his hands gripped your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto the table behind you. You moaned softly when he stepped between your parted legs and his cock pressed against your clothed sex.
His mouth moved down to your neck, but even as you tilted your head, you couldnât wait anymore. You fumbled with his belt, letting out an excited squeal when you managed to unbuckle it and unbutton his slacks.
Your hand slipped inside, but Cassian tore his mouth from your throat with a low growl. âNow isnât the time for teasing,â he rasped. âSave that for later.â
You were not going to protest.
His pants were around his ankles in seconds, your panties dragged down your legs and dropped on the floor beside your dress. You spread your thighs, baring your slick cunt to his hungry gaze. His eyes fixed on you, just as yours locked onto his hard cock. Your mouth watered at the sight, and your core clenched around nothing as you stared at the bead of fluid at his tip.
âCassââ
âI need to fuck you.â He grabbed your hips, pulling you to the edge of the table. âRight now.â
He didnât wait. He nudged your entrance, then sheathed himself inside you with a single thrust. You both moaned at the delicious, familiar stretch, and you braced yourself against the table. But Cassian didnât move.
âCassian,â you snarled. You needed him to move, now more than ever. Your very bones ached for it. âNow isnât the time for teasing.â
His eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, the hazel nearly swallowed whole. Did you look the same? Hungry, desperate, barely in control? You felt like it.
âIâm not teasing,â he ground out. He was trembling with the effort of holding still. âJust⊠I donât know how long I can last.â
Normally, youâd laugh. Reassure him. Maybe crack a joke. But not now.
âYou think I care?â Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as you rolled your hips. His fingers dug into your waist. âJust fuck me.â
With a rumbling growl, Cassian obeyed. He pulled out almost all the way before he slammed back into you, making your eyes roll back as he set a brutal rhythm. Your mouths met again, and though the kiss muffled the moans and grunts, there was no disguising the creak of the table beneath you or the steady slap of bodies colliding.
Your legs hooked around his waist, hands sliding down to grip his ass, trying to pull him closer, deeper even though there was no space left between you. You were already pressed together, and pleasure built quickly, faster than ever. It coiled low in your belly, rising like a tidal wave until your body tensed in his arms.
His grunts grew louder. His fingers bruised your thighs. Cassian broke the kiss, trying to keep pace, but his hips faltered when you began to clench tight around him.
âFuckâŠâ he breathed. His eyes, darker than youâd ever seen, locked with yours.
That was all it took.
Cassianâs head tilted back,a guttural groan tearing from him as he came, grinding his hips against yours as he spilled deep inside you. You moaned low in your throat, trembling with release, but it wasnât enough. Not nearly enough to satisfy the bond's demand to consume and be consumed.
âWell, that wasâŠâ Cassian let out a breathless chuckle. âQuick.â
âDonât stop,â you panted, even though he was still slowly moving inside you, still hard. âI need moreâŠâ
He didnât hesitate. He began thrusting again, and you bit your lip at the exquisite drag of his cock against your walls, your combined release making every motion slicker, deeper. You lifted a hand to run a finger down Cassianâs left wing, but he caught your wrist before you could touch him.
âIf you so much as brush my wings, Iâll come again right now.â His hands slid up your arms to your shoulders and gently pushed down, hips never losing their rhythm. âLie back, my love.â
You obeyed, leaning back against the table. As soon as your back hit the wood, Cassianâs hands clamped on your waist. He pulled almost all the way out, until only his tip was still inside you, then slammed back in one brutal thrust. You arched off the table with a strangled moan.
âCassââ you choked out, but he didnât give you the chance to finish.
He began pounding into you, hips snapping with purpose and determination. You could feel him deep inside, hitting that hidden, sensitive spot again and again. Your fingers grazed his shoulders, leaving small crescent-shaped indents as you pulled him down to you.
With a low groan, Cassian leaned in. But instead of capturing your lips like you expected, his mouth closed around your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple. You squirmed, burying your fingers in his dark locks to keep him there. He hummed against your skin, maybe even said something, but you were too lost in pleasure to hear.
His pace slowed while he lavished attention on your tits, switching from one nipple to the other, sucking them into his mouth and gently rolling each between his teeth. Your sighs and moans filled the cabin, and when you couldnât take it anymoreâwhen Cassian had drawn you to the edge of another climax yet refused to let you fallâyou yanked on his hair, forcing him to lift his head.
âStop teasing me,â you mumbled, half breathless, half annoyed. âI need more than this.â
Cassian smirked, slow and mischievous, like he knew exactly how desperate you were and relished every second of it. But you could see it in his eyesâthe strain of resisting the frenzy that urged him to take, take, take.
âAs you wish,â he murmured. The restraint in his voice was clear, but you didnât push him. You didnât move. You let him move you instead.
His hands gripped the backs of your knees, folding your legs up and spreading them wide. Your gaze dropped from his face to the spot where your bodies were joined, where he began driving into you again, relentless now, and all you could do was watch and squirm and moan.
Cassian was panting, his wings flaring slightly as he loomed over you. His muscles shifted with every thrust, and you clenched around him at the sight of that beautiful, tattooed body. He was yours aloneâyours to touch, yours to worship
âIs this what you wanted?â Cassian rumbled. His eyes flicked from where he disappeared inside you to your fluttering lashes and parted lips. âOr do you still need more, sweetheart?â
Your fingers scrambled for purchase, but found only the edge of the table. âNo,â you breathed. âJust⊠donât stop, pleaseâŠâ
âIâm not stopping,â he growled. You could hear the strain in his voice, see it in the hard set of his jaw. He was close, just like you. Teetering on the edge of a pleasure that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.
âCâmon,â Cassian urged, pushing your legs farther apart. You whined softly, heat pooling in your belly. âCome with me, sweetheart. I want us to come together.â
He released one of your legs, but you kept it raised, exactly where heâd put it, too overwhelmed to move. Especially not when his free hand slipped between your thighs and his thumb pressed down on your clit. Not circling, not caressing, just⊠there. A steady, perfect pressure that made you keen.
âOh,â you panted. Your breasts bounced with the force of his thrusts as he drove into you harder, deeper, leaving you gasping for air. You were pretty sure the table shifted beneath you. âF-fuck, Cass, Iâmââ
A loud moan tore from you, cutting off your words. Cassian had changed his angle, just slightly, but enough that every stroke struck that perfect spot. With his cock hitting it repeatedly and his thumb on your clit, the world vanished in a rush of white-hot ecstasy.
You arched off the table, eyes rolling back as Cassian rocked his hips a few more times before burying himself deep and spilling inside you. Warmth spread low in your belly when his release flooded you for the second time in minutes.
When the wave of pleasure receded and you looked up at himâboth of you smiling, both of you gaspingâyou didnât feel the languid satisfaction that usually came after good sex. Instead, you ached for more. And it wasnât the greedy kind of craving born from something so good you wanted seconds. No, this was primal, bone-deep, the bondâs undying need to claim what was yours and be claimed in return.
Cassian studied your face. His hand rested on your lower stomach, as if he could feel his cock still buried inside you. But you knew he wasnât referring to that when he asked, âYou still feel it too, donât you?â
Sitting up on the edge of the table, you only nodded. You had no words for it. The feeling went beyond that, rooted in every cell of your being. But you didnât have to explain. Cassian already knew.
âItâll probably take a while,â he said softly.
You didnât know how he did it, how he could sound so gentle when all you could think of were the words again, fuck me, I need you, and every variation of the same primal plea.
âMost couples need around two weeks,â he went on. He didnât pull out of you, just kicked off the pants still pooled around his ankles. Your eyes tracked every movement. âSo weâd better get used to it for the next twenty days or so.â
He leaned down, and you thought he was about to fuck you again. But he only slid his arms around you and scooped you up as if you weighed nothing. His cock shifted inside you when you wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to him, pressing every inch of your body against his. You both groaned, but his was rougher, breathier. Your toes might have brushed the delicate membrane of his wing. Accidentally, of course.
âYouâre still hard,â you murmured, your face only a couple inches from his. Your nails trailed lightly down the back of his neck, a tender gesture at odds with the wildfire burning through your veins. But if Cassian, of all people, could keep control, then so could you.
âI am very well aware of that, sweetheart.â His low chuckle skittered down your spine. His hands cupping your ass didnât help. Your cunt fluttered around him, unbidden, and he sucked in a breath as he began walking, still carrying you with ease. âMust be the frenzy.â
Your gaze swept over the room before returning to his face. âAre we going to fuck against the wall?â
Cassian raised his brows, a smirk tugging at his lips. âYou want to fuck against the wall?â
You gave a little shrug. âYou said weâd do it if I wanted.â
âAnd do it we will, then.â His playfully squeeze to your backside sealed the promise. âBut thatâs not what I had in mind right now.â
Before you could ask, he stepped into the bathroom. It was larger than youâd expected. White wooden cabinets lined one wall, marble counters gleaming beneath golden faucets, while the opposite side held a sunken bathtub. Not as big as the one at home, but still large enough for Cassian and his wings.
Your mouth nearly dropped as Cassian gently set you down on the counter. The marble was cold against your overheated skin, but your little gasp came from the sudden emptiness when your mate stepped back.
âI have a few questions,â you announced, holding up a hand. Counting on your fingers, you began, âOne, how much did you spend on this cabin? Two, am I really supposed to believe you found a cabin lost in the woods with a tub big enough for an Illyrian?â His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. âThree, why are we in the bathroom?â You lifted a fourth finger. âAnd four, why isnât your dick inside me anymore, Mister General of the Army?â
Cassian failed miserably at stifling his laugh. âWell, arenât you just getting feisty.â
You crossed your arms and arched a brow. His gaze dipped to your chest before he lifted his hands in mock surrender. âAlright, alright.â He raised a finger. âOne, the cabinâs a gift, so I wonât tell you. But itâs not like we canât afford it.â
Fair. True.
âTwo,â he went on, âof course youâre not supposed to believe that. I had a few things adjusted after I bought it.â He moved to the sink, grabbed a towel, and ran it under warm water. His other hand stayed up, now showing three fingers. âThree, weâre here because I want to get you cleaned up.â
Returning to you, he held the towel in one hand and gently tapped your knee with the other. âOpen,â he murmured.
Even with your arms still crossed, you obeyed, spreading your legs. Cassian dragged the towel over your thighs, wiping away your combined releases smeared across your skin. He was focused on the task, making sure not even a drop remained.
âAnd number four?â
He looked up at you, and that smirk you loved lit up his face. âFour, my love,â he answered, âis the same as three. I wanted to clean you up, and myself too. And I canât be inside of you for that.â When he saw you about to protest, the smirk stretched into a grin. âFine, you want a different answer. Alright.â He rinsed the towel quickly, then turned back to you. âItâs so I can come inside you again next time I fuck you. Canât have you stuffed so full you canât take more, right?â
Silence stretched while you considered his reasoning like it was life or death. But you had to admit, it was a solid point.
âAlright,â you said at last. âI can't argue with that logic.â You took the towel from his hand just as he was about to wipe himself down. âBut I'll clean you.â
Cassian snatched it back in an instant. "Nuh-uh.â He shook his head. âI'll do it.â
You gaped. âWhat? Why?â
He looked at you like the answer was obvious. When you just stared back, he started wiping himself down. âBecause youâd tease me.â
âSince when is that a problem?â you pouted, leaning closer from your perch on the counter. âI thought you loved it when I teased you.â
âI do, sweetheart.â He tossed the towel into the sink, and his smirk returned. âBut now itâs not your turn,â he murmured. Then he dropped to his knees.
Your legs spread on instinct before your mind even caught up.
Cassian stared up at you from the floor, wings fanned wide across the gray tiles. This great warrior, this Illyrian general, kneeling for you. His lips brushed one knee, then the other, and then traced a slow, reverent path up your thigh. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, sending tingles racing through every nerve.
âAm I forgiven?â His words were muffled against your flesh. Your breath caught when he nibbled your thigh.
âWe shall see.â You smiled down at him, challenging him from above. âDepends on your performance.â
Your fingers threaded through his hair, and you weren't sure who moved first, whether you guided him to where you needed him or if he buried his face between your thighs on his own.
All you knew was that a heartbeat later, his mouth was on you. He licked a slow stripe from your entrance all the way up before circling your clit with his tongue.
Your thighs quivered, but Cassian hooked his arms under your legs, locking you in place as he feasted. He always loved going down on you, but this was different. This was hunger. The frenzy he'd somehow held off until now. He was devouring you.
You didn't care.
It was messier than usual, like he couldn't get enough, like he wanted to drown in your wetness. His lips kissed and sucked every inch of your slick folds, his tongue licking and flicking and slipping inside.
Your head thudded back against the mirror, fingers twisting in his hair. His name slipped from your lips in a breathy moan, blending with his low groans of approval against you. His hands held you firmly, but you trembled, chest rising and falling in frantic waves.
Your body was on the edge once more. Surges of white-hot pleasure shot through you when his lips closed around your clit and sucked hard. You cried out, back arching as you ground your hips against his face.
âCass,â you breathed, his name a plea.
Rolling your clit between his lips, he looked up at you. A flicker of determination lit his dark eyes when he met your gaze, and a second later his fingers probed your entrance. He pushed two inside.
You cursed under your breath, eyes fluttering shut as Cassian curled his digits and rubbed that perfect spot. His hand tightened on your thigh when you squirmed, but you couldn't keep still anymore.
âYou're⊠you're forgiven,â you babbled, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold back the flood of filthy sounds. You failed miserably.
Cassian huffed a laugh against your slick flesh, and your hips jerked. His fingers drove deeper, twisting and curling just so, while his tongue never stopped teasing your clit. Not even when you shattered.
Your third climax crashed through you, and you couldn't help the broken cry that tore from your throat as you shuddered and squirmed. But Cassian was relentless. He still sucked, still stroked that spot inside you, even when you tugged at his hair in desperate search of reprieve.
He gave you none.
Only after your trembling stopped did his mouth leave you. Your eyes fluttered open to find him grinning up at you. It was the kind of grin that promised this was only the beginning.
His fingers stilled inside you as he stood, licking his lips. He kissed youâhungrily, greedily, stealing the air from your lungsâand you matched him with equal fervor, tasting yourself on his tongue.
And then, suddenly, his fingers slid out and he pulled you off the counter and spun you around. You yelped in surprise, but Cassian only chuckled.
âLook at you,â he murmured in your ear. One arm locked around your waist, pressing you back against his chest. âLook at us.â
Your gaze lifted to the mirror. Your face was flushed, your pupils wide, just like his. Cassian loomed behind you, wings tucked close, talons peeking over his shoulders. His eyes roved over your reflection, drinking in your heaving chest, your peaked nipples aching for his mouth again.
The mirror cut off just below your navel, the countertop hiding what lay beneath.
You pushed back against him, grinding against his hard cock nestled against your ass. Cassian sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening, and you smirked.
Covering his hand on your stomach with yours, you guided it lower, out of the frame and back between yours legs. âAre we going to fuck in front of the mirror?â
Cassianâs grin widened. âLater,â he promised. âWe have all the time to test every surface, wall, and mirror in this house.â His hand slipped from beneath yours, and he laced your fingers with his instead. âBut first, I want to test the bed. I want you on your hands and knees. I want you to ride me. I want you in every position thatâs ever existed.â
With each word, your arousal spiked, as if your body had forgotten youâd already come three times. Normally, youâd be wrecked by now, begging Cassian for mercy. But you werenât satisfied. Not even close.
You didn't argue when he led you toward the bedroom. âI remember someone complaining my dick wasn't inside of her,â he teased. You nodded, and he winked. âIâm going to fix that. And Iâm going to make sure my mate never feels that way again.â
And he did. Mother above, he did.
The sun had long set and was already rising again by the time you collapsed into his arms. Not because the frenzy had burned out, but because your bodies needed rest, however brief. You bet youâd last for a couple hours. For Cassian, fifty minutes at most.
Even with orgasm after orgasm wrung from you both, even as his cock finally softened, neither of you could bear to be apart. Even if it was only for a little while. So when you curled up against his chest, legs tangled under the sheets, he stayed inside you. Soft and unmoving, but there, joining your bodies in a way nothing else could.
You fell asleep with your mind already set on tomorrow, on the quiet promise of doing it all over again the moment you woke.
~~~~~
Cassian didnât sleep that night. He tried to, he really did, but the instinct to claim you one more time kept him up and vigilant. The need was a living thing inside of him, a beast screaming to be set free one last time. Except it wouldnât be the only one. The sunrise was proof of how many âone last timesâ youâd shared since moving to the bedroom.
And his cock inside you? He still wasn't sure whether it helped or not. You were connected to each other, and your warmth was delicious. He loved feeling you around him, even when he wasnât moving. On the other hand, though, he was inside you. The mating bond thrummed in his chest, its insatiable desire pulling his skin taut across his bones, as if aware even the smallest movement would bring back the satisfaction of the past hours. But even that would be fleeting.
When the wants and needs became overwhelming, Cassian caved in. At least two hours had passed. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and at least two sparrows were having an animated discussion just outside the window. He didnât know how you were still sleeping.
Slowly, untangled himself from the embrace heâd held you in since youâd fallen asleep. You didnât move. Not even a twitch in your cheek. So Cassian carefully tried to pull out, moving only a few inches at a time to gauge your reaction. As his cock finally slipped out, he was about to sigh in relief when you shifted.
He froze, waiting. But you only let out a small sigh and rolled on your stomach. He silently counted to ten, and when you didnât open your eyes by the time he was done, he let out the breath heâd been holding.
The mattress dipped beneath him as he got up, stretching out his wings before folding them behind his back. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the pile of clothes heâd stored a few days ago, not bothering with underwear as he shrugged them on. Then, with one last glance at your sleeping form, he left the bedroom.
He needed to keep himself busy or he would go mad, and the kitchen had everything he needed to make you breakfast: eggs, butter, toast, and coffee. He set out to cook, even though he didn't know when you would wake up. He was just grateful to have something else to focus on for a little while.
A little while that was maybe a bit too little.
âCass?â
Your sleepy voice called from the bedroom just as he was pouring the scrambled eggs into the frying pan. He went rigid, every cell in his body pulling him toward you, telling him to take you immediately.
Soft steps sounded behind him, and he finally turned around. Just like him, you hadn't bothered with clothes. The only thing covering you was one of his large shirts, and the sight stirred something inside him, and the sweatpants did little to conceal the outline of his erection.
You noticed it immediately. The lingering drowsiness in your eyes vanished as your gaze burned through the fabric of his pants. He watched your throat bob, your eyes darting to the pans on the stove as if debating what to do.
Cassian decided for you.
Food could wait. Neither of you could, and he was tired pretending otherwise. Without a word, he turned off the heat under the eggs. He didn't look forward to repeating the same mistake again.
He was in front of you in two single strides, mouth crashing against yours as if he hadn't kissed you in years. The little sound you made had him twitching in his pants. Never breaking the kiss, he grabbed your hips and started walking backward toward the couch. He only pulled back when he plopped down on the red cushions, but you followed soon after, climbing onto his lap and claiming his lips again.
âNeed you to fuck me,â he mumbled between kisses, his hands roaming your thighs. âPlease, sweetheart.â
You nipped playfully at his bottom lip. âThat was the plan, my love.â
Lifting yourself off him, you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, and Cassian raised his hips off the couch to allow you to drag them down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard and leaking and aching.
You both looked down at it as you guided him to your wet folds and sank onto him, your cunt swallowing him greedily. Your groans mixed together as they rang through the room.
Your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, ready to pull it off, but Cassian stopped you, his fingers curling around your wrists.
âKeep it on,â he murmured. Seeing you on his lap, taking control while wearing his clothes, claiming him as yours in every possible way, was a very effective method to undo him in seconds.
You studied his face, then nodded. âFine.â You gave him a mischievous smile. âBut you let me wake up in an empty bed. You were gone.â He knew what you were about to say before you even opened your mouth. âYour dick was gone. Again.â
Maybe letting you ride him hadn't been such a good idea after all.
âAre you saying I'm going to pay for it?â he asked, already struggling not to thrust up into you. But you were so still above him, so calm and unbothered by everything, that he knew you wanted to drag this out.
âYes,â you whispered, leaning closer. âWe're doing things my way now.â
You kissed him again with a burning passion, but you didn't move. Your cunt fluttered around him, which told him enough about your own needs, but you held back. So at odds with the impatience you had exhibited only yesterday.
His hands slid up your bare thighs and beneath his shirt, settling on your waist. He didn't guide you to move, surrendering completely to whatever you had in mind.
Probably staying still until he begged you to fuck him. Or so he thought.
Instead, so lost in the hungry kiss, he didn't notice you had moved. His loud moan was muffled against your lips as you dragged a finger down his left wing. His body twitched, hips jerking up.
Cassian broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, his head falling back against the couch. âThatâs cheating,â he managed, voice wrecked already.
You smirked, dragging your nails lightly along the sensitive membrane once more, and he shuddered violently. âNo,â you whispered, lips brushing his jaw, âthis is payback.â
His grip on your waist tightened when you repeated the gesture, his teeth gritting as he sucked in a breath.
âShhh.â You trailed kisses down his throat, slow and deliberate, every brush of your mouth a test of his sanity and restraint. His hips twitched again, but your hands pressed firmly to his chest, holding him down. âI'm going to make you come like this.â
âSweetheartâŠâ
âAnd then I'll fuck you.â
He opened his mouth to protest, but only another groan came out. His eyes fluttered shut, and he just let it happen, welcoming it all. There was no changing your mind, anyway.
Over the years, you had learned every sensitive spot on his wingsâthe ones that made him tremble, the ones that drew the filthiest sounds from him, the ones that left him breathless. And now you used it all against him.
Every touch, every caress, every slow drag of your nail pushed him a little closer to the edge. When he squirmed and jerked up into you, you only bit your lip, as if barely feeling it. Meanwhile, he was panting, fingers digging into your waist, his skin burning where you left a kiss.
âMy loveâŠâ he breathed. It came out as a pathetic whine.
He felt your lips curled into a smile against his neck. When your finger dragged down his wing again, applying just a bit more pressure than before, it pushed him past his breaking point.
His cock throbbed as he spilled into, and he heard a tiny gasp from you at last.
But you didn't give him time to catch his breath. Even as he slumped against the couch, you were already rocking your hips.
âNow I'm going to fuck you,â you murmured.
And you did, without holding back. You immediately set a fast pace, moving up and down on his cock. He matched your steady rhythm on instinct, hips snapping up to drive himself deeper inside you. The wet sounds filled the cabin, blending with both of your moans and gasps.
Cassian felt the bond's voracity loosen its grip on him as pleasure built again, but he knew it was only a moment's respite.
Yet it didn't matter. He didn't care. If this was the hunger he'd face for the rest of his life, he'd gladly spend the rest of his days trying to satisfy it.
Beneath the shirt, his hands slid up to your breasts, cupping the soft flesh, thumbs brushing your nipples. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes.
âSo fucking beautiful,â he whispered, drinking in the sight. You smiled, then thanked him by picking up your pace.
Cassian panted again, already feeling the knot of pleasure tightening in his core. He was close again. But your sharp moans told him you'd come with him this time, and he pushed on, determined to bring you both to the peak.
Your mouths met once more, desperate and greedy. When he squeezed your breasts, you brushed his wing again. And you both shuddered through another orgasm.
The eggs lay forgotten in the pan, the coffee untouched in its mugs.
~~~~
A week later, Cassian had done what he'd promised. The two of you had fucked on every surface of the cabinâfrom the wall to the floor, from the armchair to the dresser, in front of the mirror and in the tub.
For the first few days, you barely slept, barely ate. It just felt like wasted time, and you gave in only when your bodies begged for it. Often, you sat on Cassian's cock while you both picked at your food. It was the only way to get you to eat something, since you had apparently convinced yourself that taking him into your mouth and sucking him off would somehow trick your body into believing you were feeding it. Cassian had to bend you over his lap and spank that idea out of you.
But about a week later, the frenzy had quieted just enough for you to sit separately. Neither of you paid attention to the food, though, eyes locked on each other and hands trembling as you brought the forks up to your mouths. And then you were back at fucking.
Three dishes and two glasses shattered in the rush to reach each other as soon as you'd finished eating.
The only constant in your routine was the herbal tea you both drank every morning. Madja had given you one stronger than your usual before you'd left for the cabin. You and Cassian had agreed on not risking a pregnancy, not during your frenzy. A baby wasn't on your bucket list just yet.
It was during the second week that the first sign of exhaustion started to show. First, the pace was slower, more relaxed. It took you both a little longer to come, and Cassian began growing soft sooner. Then, you began sleeping for a few hours. Still not a full night of rest, but not even the two hours of the week before.
But it was only when Cassian fell asleep during sex, collapsing on top of you and pressing you into the mattress, that you knew something had to change. Because instead of waking him or pushing him off, you simply fell asleep too with an Illyrian as your blanket.
So Cassian decided you should take a break. Your bodies were sore and bruised. You had bite marks on your thighs and breasts, Cassian on his biceps and neck. His back was fully scratched too.
A relaxing bath was the solution.
You were sitting in front of him in the large tub, leaning back against his chest. His wings fanned out and rested against the edge, creating a little corner just for the two of you.
You had drifted off first, and Cassian had followed shortly after. He woke only when he felt you squirm against him.
He had no idea how much time had passed, but the hot water was now lukewarm and the bubbles from the oils he had poured in had disappeared.
âYou okay?â he mumbled, his voice rough.
âCassâŠâ
The pleading now in your tone told him all he needed to know. And if that wasn't enough, then the way you pushed back and ground against his cock was pretty telling.
âAre you sure?â he murmured in your ear.
You nodded. âI need you.â But then, more quietly, you added, voice quivering, âI don't know if I can take itâŠâ
Hearing you on the brink of tears, his heart clenched. âIt's alright, sweetheart.â His lips brushed your shoulder. âI've got you. Just relax.â
His hands gently pushed your thighs apart, but not much, not wanting to overwhelm you. He only wanted to help you, his own needs forgotten.
His fingers found your clit, slowly circling it. Your breath hitched, and you lay your head on his shoulder, eyes still closed. He rested his cheek on top of your head.
You said nothing, barely made a sound, as Cassian pleasured you. His touch was gentle, his movements languid, and he was ready to spend his whole day like this if that was what you needed. He didn't pressure you, didn't say anything either, just offering what he could to make you feel better.
He was starting to think youâd fallen asleep again when you whispered, âMore, please.â
âAs you wish, my love,â he murmured, brushing your clit one last time before his fingers moved lower.
Your leg twitched when he pushed a single digit inside you. You found his hand that had been resting on your hip and laced your fingers together, squeezing gently.
âMoreâŠâ
Cassian obeyed and slipped a second finger in. When you hummed quietly, letting him know that was all you wanted, he curled them inside you. He lazily stroked you, feeling your cunt flutter around his fingers, deliberately avoiding that sensitive spot until, minutes later, you breathed another âmore, please.â
When you finally came, it was quiet. Nothing like the loud, twitching orgasms you'd had over the past two weeks. Just a soft gasp and the weary trembling of a still sore body, but it was probably Cassian's favorite reaction.
He pulled his fingers out and kissed your temple, then he sank lower in the tub, pulling you with him until the water reached your chin.
âSleep, my love,â he whispered against your hair. He held you tight and closed his eyes too.
~~~~
By the fourth week, the frenzy had begun to fade. When you had sex, it was back to your normal rhythms from before you'd accepted the bond. You still did it more often than usual, but not nearly as much as the past few weeks. And now it was mostly sweet and gentle and unhurried, nothing like the raw, rough sex of before. You weren't fucking anymoreâyou were making love now.
The need was still there, not entirely gone just yet, but it didn't consume you anymore. You were in control, and most of the time it was easy to keep it at bay.
âDo you think we could go back to Velaris?â you asked one day over lunch. âI kind of miss homeâŠâ
Cassian looked up from his plate. âHonestly? Me too.â He gave you a small, tired smile before his expression became serious. âBut do you think we're ready?â
You pondered his question, slowly chewing the last bite of your food. When you swallowed, you finally answered. âWe could wait until we spend one whole day without sex, which also means no touching or grinding. None of that.â
âSo just kisses, then?â
You nodded. âYes, but only on the mouth. Nowhere else.â
Cassian considered, but eventually he smiled again. âAlright, sweetheart. It sounds like a fair deal.â
And it was also easier said than done.
That same day, you ended up naked on the couch. The evening after, you were making out and suddenly his mouth was on your nipples. The following morning, you made love as soon as you woke up.
It took another five days before you finally managed twenty-four hours with nothing but kisses and hugs. A lingering ache still throbbed deep in your core, but it was easy enough to ignore. You were sure it would disappear completely in a few more days.
Yet, as Cassian scooped you up into his arms and took to the skies, it proved a challenge not to let that need overtake you during the thirty minutes it took him to fly back home.
And though you wouldnât stop teasing Feyre about it, at least now you could understand why she and Rhys had done it in the sky.
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hi sol coming to u w another cassian request (thereâs a serious lack of fics for him it hurts my heart :( )
but i always see this trope done w az where heâs confused between elain and reader, can we do one where cass is confused between nesta and reader? cass and reader have been together for decades, and maybe cassian starts to train nesta and in his fear of actually letting someone love him, he pushes his affections towards nesta because their relationship is difficult and thatâs what he knows love to be. thatâs what he feels comfortable in so he breaks it off with reader. telling her he think nesta might be his mate.
reader, as devastated as she is lets him go because she knows she and cass are mates, but she takes the approach of âas long as heâs happy i can live with that.â and as time passes cassian realizes like no, this isnât how love always is. it can be peaceful and light and lovely. and that he and nesta find peace within each others friendship but he knows she isnât it for him. and then so much groveling. begging on his knees, pleading for his sweat heart to take him back. maybe the bond snaps for him and since reader isnât used to his knowledge of the bond and him feeling her feelings she accidentally projects all her sorrow down the bond and he takes his time proving that heâs sorry and that he loves you.
Fool For You
pairing: cassian x reader
warnings: angst, swearing, breakup/makeup vibes, possible smut, implied suicidal ideation, implied drug abuse, heavy themes, fluff is sprinkled in there but will be more prominent in part 2 , ugh i fricken love when you guys request the angsty stuff, brings me a special kinda happiness
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You feel it before you ever see it coming.
This rift that forms, grows; solidifies between you and Cassian.
He doesnât shuffle in as close at night like he used to, hands gripping at every inch of bared skin as if touch alone would brand his name against the surface. Instead, he sneaks under the covers, freshly showered and hair braided in a way that youâve never taught him.
You wait for the kiss, the rumble of his voice and the whisper of his breath as lips form the words I love you.
He never says it.
His back faces yours and never once does he reach for you in his slumber. âIs everything alright?â You muster up the bravery to ask the following morning, sheets gripped near your chest like armor as you watch him strap the holsters for his weapons against his back and thighs.
âFine.â
Even inch of you wants to believe him but his words are short, clipped; utterly uninterested. âAre you sure?â
His mouth purses, parts, closes again as if heâs got something to say but isnât sure how to word it. âEverythingâs alrightâjust distracted is all.â
Your head nods robotically, hearing but not believing. âYou hungry? I can make you something before you go.â
âNo need. I have plans.â
He doesnât stay to watch the way your face falls. Doesnât linger for a kiss or to brush pillow-mussed hair out of your face. Cassianâs gone before your lungs can even complete the process of a full breath.
You try to brush it off. To busy yourself with fixing the sheets, fluffing pillows and tidying up the space you share. But, instead of finding peace, your cleaning becomes obsessive; reorganizing the closets, shining shoes and sifting through the clutter in bedside drawers.
You donât even mean to find itâyou have no intention of snooping but the folded piece of parchment finds you anyway, catching on the bracelet dangling from your wrist and slicing at the soft skin beneath it. âOw,â You hiss, inspecting a cut so shallow blood doesnât even draw. Not until your focus shifts back to the crumpled paper that was shoved in the shadows.
Any comfort youâd accumulated promptly burns to ashes when you read its contents. The hope youâd latched onto smashes like glass, littering the space around you in glittering shards as you read Cassianâs blocky scrawl. Itâs filled with confessions of a love not meant for you. Addressed to a name thatâs not your own.
Youâre not even sure when the tears start, just distantly aware of trails of wetness dampening the slope of your cheeks, traveling down the curve of your chin and neck.
The love note is damn near memorized by time Cassian finds his way back to the room, hours having passed in the blink of an eye and he stands as still as a board when he finds you in a crumpled heap on the floor, paper pinched between your fingers, eyes studying the words as if itâll change who theyâre meant for. He says your name with such caution, clearly expecting you to greet him with anger and malice but that would take up too much energyâenergy that had been leached from your bones, leaving behind nothing but the husk of who youâd once been.
âHow long?â You finally croak out, voice void and lifeless.
Cassian is too quiet for too long, clearly searching for the right words until the truth takes the reins and spills itself before you. âA few months.â
âA few months.â The way your shoulders cave in is devastating. You look like the sun with no light. A flower with no stem. A bird with no wings. âThen this isnât just you being overly flirtatious. This isâŠthereâs feelings involved here.â
âI can explain.â
You canât help but cut him off before he finds some charming way to explain himself out of your ire. Taking the reins of the conversation is all too easyâthe power entirely too addicting. âTo explain, not apologize.â The breath you take is heavy, settles in your belly like lead. âYouâre here to end this?â
Cassian takes a step closer and instinctively you take a step back, arms crossing over your chest in attempts to hold yourself together. âI have to.â Itâs then that you pick up on the scent that sticks to him. One you recognize. One that doesnât belong to you or the bottles of perfume you keep. âI think she could be my mate.â
You canât work up the nerve to look him in the eye, fearful that the simple act of eye contact would be enough to have the tears bursting free from the dams working overtime to keep the current at bay. A deep breath fills your lungs, spine lengthening as you force strength into the fibers of your tone. âOkay.â
He reaches for you, fingertips millimeters away from brushing the curve of your cheek but you flinch awayâcreating space. His spine sags with remorse, shoulders set with shame, hand falling limp at his sides with regret pooling at his fingertips and youâve had enough when hazel irises fill with pity. âIâm so sorry, sweetheart.â
âDonât be sorry, Cassian.â Your voice breaks, your smile shakes but it still doesnât rob you of the kindness that drew him in in the first place. âJust be happy.â
â
The shift that follows is immediate, all of his things boxed up and left in front of the door of his old room. You donât fuss or fight, you donât even break anything. You just pack it up and return it to its rightful owner.
You remove yourself from family breakfasts and avoid shared dinners like the plague in fears of seeing Cassian flaunt his love with Nesta without a care in the world.
You ignore your found familyâs attempts at comfort, brushing off any and all inquiries on how youâre feeling. Turning down invitations for nights out to try to get your mind off things. Shutting down irate rants from your friends as they ramble about all the ways you didnât deserve thisâhow they wanted to make it right for you. âDonât bother,â The words come out so softly, laced with such defeat its devastating.
âNo!â Mor can barely contain her disdain, brows furrowed and lips twisted in a sneer. âThis is wrong. What heâs doingâwhat theyâre doing is wrong. You and Cass have loved eachother for decades all for him to throw it away over some cauldron-made floozy? I canât just sit back and watch that happen.â Sheâs pacing, heels clacking against the hardwood floors so harshly youâre sure dents begin to mark their way through the shinny finish. âWhy are you so damn calm?â
âBecause, whatâs the point?â You shrug, red wine swirling in your glass. Itâs strong, a little bitter but it numbs you so gently, like morphine injected directly into your veins. âHow foolish do I already look as the female who feels too much for a male who clearly felt nothing for me. Making a scene about it would just add insult to injury.â Your eyes are distant, fixed on a random spot on the freshly painted walls in the new apartment Rhysand insisted on funding. Itâs bare; empty, walls void of character and atmosphere sucked dry of all care. âHe thinks sheâs his mate Mor. Her. I just donât understand why he canât seeââ Your head shakes left to right, chest caving in. Wine quickly fills that chasm, glass refilling every time you reach the bottom.
You donât even mean to say it really.
Drunk words being sober thoughts and all that.
But, Mor latches onto the unfinished sentence like glue. Eyebrows furrow, pupils expand in confusion before dilating to pinpricks when realization settles in. âCanât seeâŠthat youâre his mate.â Puzzle pieces fuse together, a perfect picture being painted right before her very eyes but the image is distorted; the wrong face on a familiar figure. âThere is a bond. You are his mateâhe just doesnât know. You never told him.â
You donât so much as flinch at her conclusion. Only sigh, prettily painted toes grazing through the fluff of your throw rug. âDoesnât matter much now.â More wine fills your glass until the decanter runs empty, the corners of your mouth tugging down in a frown. âI donât think it ever even mattered at all.â
The flowy fabric of Morâs dress billows as she plops down beside you, weight sinking into the soft cushions of your couch. A fresh bottle appears in her grasp, cork releasing with a pop but this one she doesnât share, just drinks straight from the source. Itâs cradled to her chest, eyes trained on the side of your face, cataloging the lifelessness of your skin, the bags growing under your eyes, the way your cheeks begin to thin out from lack of true sustenance. âJust say something to him.â She urges, her tone pleading; eyes begging. âSay anything. I canât stand to see you like this.â
âSay what?â Your head falls back in something worse than defeat; something more like acceptance as your neck rests on the lip of the couch. âNo bond forces two as one, and he wants her.â Fresh tears gather in your waterline, sliding down your cheeks so silently you barely notice them. âHe wants her.â
She says your name, vocalizing the syllables so softly, so full of pity it lurches you from your spot before the sorrow roots you in place.
âYou know what, if heâs happy, then Iâm ecstatic. I have so much free time now.â Clammy hands wipe against linen sleep shorts as you stand, shifting over to a pile of boxes in the corner. You occupy yourself with unpacking, finding new homes for items collected in another lifetime. âI can pick up a hobby or travel or somethingâIâve always loved Summer and Iâm sure Rhys could use someone to start mending the rift between the courts. Itâll be like a paid vacation.â
Itâs obvious your friend wants to object. Wants to call you out on the avoidance that begins to take place but for some reason she doesnât bother. Maybe she seeâs that you canât take much moreâthat the flame of your fight has been snuffed out and youâre barely able to keep the remaining embers alive. Instead, she nods, crossing her legs under her and silently watches the way you convert your emotions into finding the perfect place for pictures and obsessing over which wall best suits a rack full of throw blankets. âHow long of a vacation?â
âHowever long it takes to be able to be in the same room as them without feeling sick to my stomach.â
You say it like a joke but nobody laughs.
â
Turns out, Rhys has a soft spot for broken women. Big brother instincts running on overdrive at the sight of your watery eyes, composure crumpling at a voice that cracks under the weight of the world on your shoulders. One look at your torment and youâve been granted permission for an all expense paid trip for his favorite âonlyâ emissary. The paperwork is drafted hastily, sent out to neighboring courts before the ink even has the chance to fully dry. A few responses return within the hour, requests granted, a list of stipulations attached and agreed upon before basic necessities are packed away and winnowed off to your first stop before the sun even begins to peak its head above the horizon.
You donât even linger long enough to say goodbye.
Given the fact that thereâs no timeline listed in the fine print of your extended leave, guilt lives in your gut at the abrupt departure but Rhys promises to handle the fallout in your absence and you canât help but admit the distance is a indescribable relief. Perhaps, itâs the way Summer Court accepts you, although a bit hesitantly at first. Tarquin watches you like a hawk your first few weeks, cataloging your every move until heâs certain you truly are there to rebuild trust instead of being some pretty Night Court spy slinking about in search of their secrets or weaknesses.
Six months pass and instead of hovering out of necessity, he deigns to keep you close by choice; your quarters no more than twenty steps away from his own and filled with radiant opulence. Early mornings are spent with breakfasts shared, treaties discussed, plans made for leisurely strolls through his city until a genuine care is curated for his people and the customs they share. âDo you ever come up for air?â The High Lord muses over his fork, sausage speared through the shiny silver prongs.
Fluffy eggs are piled on jammy toast, crumbs catch on the corner of your mouth but you make sure not a speck stains the packet of papers your free hand holds onto, eyes skimming over trade agreements and a list of needs personally extracted from skilled healers, fresh market mangers and dock workers. Things they require from Night Court that theyâve lived without given the strain. âI can hold my breath for quite some time, you know. Nowhere near the end of my reserves yet.â
Itâs a cheeky response. A little dry. Comfort in your environment bleeds through your tone and the High Lord before you grins at your casual banter.
âI can see that,â He shrugs casually, leaning deeper into his chair. Ankles cross under the table, his hair tumbling over the bare chest exposed in his unbuttoned linen top. âI suppose, Iâm just worried youâll burnout if you keep at this pace.â
âThe wellbeing of your people is important,â You insist, one hand blindly reaching for a flute of champagne and orange spritz. âTheyâve gone without for much too long.â
He hums, nodding softly in agreement. Under the table, his foot nudges your own, forcing your attention to him. âAnd you? What of your wellbeing?â Your brows furrow in confusion. âYou havenât mentioned a word of your family since the first week you arrived. No letters, no visitsâyour birthday is tomorrow. Were you planning on going back to celebrate?â
You bristle at the reminder, toast falling back onto to your plate, now forgotten. Champagne is sipped as you struggle to clear the knot beginning to form in your throat, guilt gnawing in your belly, forcing you to acknowledge the radio silence youâve upheld towards the people you love back home. âHow do you know about that?â
âRhysand sent over a summons for your return for the special occasion.â
You groan, papers abandoned in favor of holding your head in your hands. A tension headache begins to form right between your eyes, vision already going blurry at the irritating thump, thump, thump that takes root beneath the surface.
âWell, some greeting that is.â
You jump at the sound of a familiar voice; itâs melodic, sultry, accompanied by the rhythmic click of high heels against polished floors. Wide eyes catch on the approaching figure clad in red, blonde hair falling down in waves down her shoulders. âMor? What are you doing here?â
âIâm your summons.â She grins, not-so-subtly taking you in from head to toe. A little pout forms when noticing the weight-loss, the eye bags, the way youâve let your roots grow out. âRhys had a feeling you might ignore him if he only sent a letter.â Youâre too stunned to stand but it doesnât seem to deter her in the slightest as she continues her appraisal of you, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a hug. One nearly too tight.
Patting the arm around your neck, you shoot daggers at Tarquin but he pointedly ignores it, occupying himself by stuffing his mouth with fresh fruit topped with sweet whipped creams. âHow proactive of him.â The words grit out like sand stubbornly stuck inside a shoe. âBut, I hadnât really intended to come back until I finished things here.â
âBoo!â She protests, swiftly snagging the glass of champagne youâd been nursing before her arrival. âIf I accepted that answer, youâd never come home!â Mor says it like a joke but you can hear the truth in her words, the concern beginning to bleed into her tone, the desperate way she keeps her hands on your shoulder as if sheâs afraid youâre going to disappear without a trace. âPlease? Itâll be fun, I promise. I ordered a whole case of that good wine you like and I convinced Az to smuggle an ounce of mirthroot from the dealer he refuses to share with us.â She goes on for a few minutes, words running a mile a minute, more pretty promises spilling free until she seeâs your walls begin to crumble.
You hate yourself for it, yet somehow, someway, Mor cons you into returning home for your birthday. The domino effect of your agreement is immediate and overwhelming. You, being dragged away from the table and led to your room so she can riffle through your closet and pick out enough clothes to last you a week. âMor, Iâm only going to be home for the night, two nights maxâyouâre packing my bag like Iâm gearing up for war.â
âJust wanted to make sure you have options.â A white lie thatâs easily detected, especially when she spends too much time collecting your usual jewelry from the dish resting on your bedside. âSpeaking of options, how often do you and the High Lord of Summer spend breakfasts together?â
Shoulders shrug, your ass plopping onto the generous cushion of your mattress. âEveryday.â
A perfectly plucked brow raises. âOh, really?â A conspiratorial smirk lives in the glossy corners of her mouth. âAnd does he always arrive at these breakfasts soâŠ.scandalously dressed?â
âThis is Summer Court if you hadnât noticedâcan you blame the male for showing off a little chest?â
âA little chest?â Mor scoffs, hair flicking off one shoulder. âThereâs nothing little about that male, anyone with eyes could get lost in the abs and a v-line peeking through that sorry excuse of a shirt. Donât even get me started on his piercing.â
Eyes roll, a hint of a blush growing along the curve of your ears. Itâd been so long since youâd had anything remotely close to girl-talk. âItâs perfectly normal here for males and females to have their bellyâs pierced.â
Breezy pants, skimpy skirts and barely there shirts are robbed from your dresser, neatly folded and stowed away. Dresses with tummy cut-outs and generous necklines, thin tube tops and shorts so small their only purpose is to conceal the naughty bits are waved in the air with a pleased nod. âYouâre going to give the boys back home a heart attack when you come through wearing these.â
âI donât wear them to catch attention, I wear them to work on my tan.â
âAnd tan you are, one could mistake you for an Illyrian with that hueâitâs pretty. Makes your eyes pop.â
âYou know whatâll really make my eyes pop? Some of that mirthroot. Did you bring it with you or was it just a bribe to get me back?â Youâre being a brat, you know that. Mor knows that too. Either way, she supplies your needs, procuring a pretty velvet bag and tossing it your way. The scent smacks you in the face the moment you loosen its ties and a giddy little grin smears itself across your face. âHappy birthday to meâhave you any clue how hard it is to find a reputable dealer here? Liqour, powder and mushrooms? Easy peasy. Anything else was next to impossible.â
Content with her pickings of your items, Mor leaves them by the door, following your lead to the balcony attached to your chambers. Thereâs a comfortable seating arrangement, brightly colored flowers blooming in golden pots that soak up sunlight and reflect its beauty. A spiral copper staircase leads directly to a rooftop pool that overlooks Tarquins personal gardens. Birds chirp, fish swim about in man-made ponds and crickets sing their song in the neatly trimmed bushes below. âSince when do you dabble in powder?â
âSince I found out my mate had been cheating on me with another female.â
Itâs said so casually Mor freezes in place. Blue eyes slowly flicking over to you but youâre otherwise occupied, fingers breaking up buds, blunt paper unwrapped and catching the ground up plant. Your motions are fluid, practiced; something you seem to do often enough to have it completely rolled and sealed in under forty seconds.
âDonât worry, I donât have a problem or anything. Powder didnât agree with me much.â One hand reaches over and a box of matches and an ash tray is procured from a little nook in the wall by the balcony doors. âMushrooms were fun at first, until I started hallucinating images of my ex making out with his newest conquest in vivid detail.â The spark of flame to wood is like breathing for the first time again after swimming underwater for hours. Relieving. A saving grace. A life raft in the middle of a turbulent storm. âLiqour was my safest option but after a few times being caught belligerently drunk around town in the dead of the night, Tarquin started following me everywhere I went like he was afraid I was going to take a tumble off the cliffside.â You finally meet her gaze. âThatâs why we have breakfast every morningâwhy we seem so close? Heâs babysitting me so I donât do something stupid to myself.â
Morâs mouth opens, closes; tears welling up in her waterline. âOh.â
âYeah.â Legs cross over the other, frame situating itself in the floating wicker chairs cushioned with pillows the shade of teal. âWouldnât be great for Court diplomacy if Nightâs emissary died on Summerâs turf.â Your shrug on the topic is annoyingly flippant, worryingly detached, painfully numb. âAnyways, howâs home? Anything new?â
She swallows thickly, searching for composure, pushing blonde hair away from her cheeks as the summer breeze shifts through the fabrics of her dress. âItâs really not the same without you there. Things are quietâtense even. Like a machine trying to move without a vital piece.â Fingers gently pinch around the passed blunt, smoke flowing past her lips when she keeps speaking, eyes memorizing the lush sight of a trim garden, waterfalls and fountains, walkways encrusted with gems that sparkle where the light touches. âYou didnât say goodbye. You didnât write. Didnât visit. Iâwe miss you, you know?â
Vision blurring, throat working over the emotion beginning to knot in it, you nod. âI miss me too.â You brush the vulnerability off as quickly as it appeared. âItâs nice to see you though, hadnât realized how much until you got here.â
To keep your hands busy, you already begin rolling another, opting to let Mor keep the first to herself so you donât have to keep passing back and forth. So you donât have to explain why you inhale too hard and hold the smoke in your lungs too long. Why your hands shake or explain your dissociating when the thoughts get too loud.
All you wanted was something to numb the ache beginning to return in your chest.
âDo you know how much longer youâre going to be here?â
âIâm less than two weeks away from completing the re-organization of trade routes. Tolls and taxes have been reviewed, negotiated and signed off on. Just need to cross my tâs and dot my Iâs before itâs time for me to move onto the next.â
Mor sits up straight, ash pooling into a little mountain in the tray. âTo the next? You wonât be coming home right away?â
Utter silence fills the gaps, fingers fidgeting as you pick at your cuticles until they bleed.
âAre you ever going to come back?â
âWeâll be heading over after we finish these, I reckon.â
You know thatâs not what she means.
You donât look to see the way she deflates, attempts to fight the choice before giving up altogether. Frustration settles between her brows, sticks to the scrunch of her nose and smudges the corners of her mouth. Morâs next pull is vicious, compulsive; smoke huffing out her nostrils like an angered dragon fighting not to breath fire. âSuppose Iâll just have to cherish you while you last then.â
It hurts. Stabs a sensitive piece of you that lacks proper armor but you take the hit. Eat the injury and take it to the chest like you do all the other punches thrown your way. âGuess so.â
â
The high that permeates through your bloodstream satiates your nerves long enough to muster up the strength to winnow back to the Court that raised you.
Too bad it doesnât last nearly as long as youâd hoped.
Perhaps itâs the familiarity of this house and the people in it because your throat begins to swell shut when you step through the doors and are bombarded by a flurry of familiar faces.
Feyre is first to snatch you up, slender arms wrapping around your neck like a cobra ready to coil its body around you to keep you rooted in place. Tears wet your bare shoulders as muffled words of relief is breathed into your neck. âYou actually came! I was so worried you wouldnât.â
Rhys has to pull her back, intuitive to the way you try and fail to relax into the embrace. His welcome is far more tame, though the true extent of his emotion lives in his eyesâshown mostly in the way they scan you over, his smile there but weak as what he sees worries him to the bone. Your skin glows from all the sun but your soul withers like flowers whoâd forgotten how to bloom. âI trust Tarquinâs been taking good care of you?â
âMore than good,â You fix a smile on your face to soothe his concern. âHe hovers worse than you do.â
Something in his posture implies he knows more about that than he lets on, hands rustling through your hair like a fond older brother. He memorizes the scrunch of your nose and the girlish way you struggle to get your hair back into place.
The sound of heavy steps forces you to turn, a tether pulling you taut until your eyes meet the ones that haunt your every dream. Heâs a little smaller than you remember, hair cut a bit shorter than you used to do it. A braid you never taught him how to do is weaved behind his right ear, dangling like a reminder that another womanâs hands touch what used to belong to you. Cassianâs voice is all but a whisper when he finally works the nerve to use it. âYou came back.â
âDidnât have much choice, Mor wasnât going to take no for an answer.â
Her arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close like she can tell your knees are going weak at the sight of him. âDamn straight.â She pulls you along before you get the idea to retreat and even though you have to pass Cassian to get to your old room, Mor stands as barrier between you and him.
You canât help the glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting his once more. All he can do is stare, frozen in place; mouth agape as whatever words heâd intended dies in his throat as he looks at you like itâs the first time but youâre already turning the corner before you dare to figure out why.
âWhereâs Az?â
âFinishing up some final touches for tomorrow. Youâll see him later.â Excitement bleeds through her every move, the contents of your bag on the bed like a kid sifting through a candy store. âItâll be really casual tonight, family onlyâjust to catch up. Hope youâre hungry.â
A glass and a half of wine and a blunt later, you are actually quite hungry. Mor forces you into a change of clothes, a comfy tube top and breezy pants that sit low, showing off the shape of your hips and the cute new dermals pierced into the dimples of your back.
Itâs the first thing Feyre brings up when you enter the dining room. âDo they hurt?â
More wine is poured, an abundance of food being portioned off and placed before you. âCouldnât say, I was a little wasted when we got them.â
âWe?â
âThe High Lord of Summer is incredibly daring off of faerie wine.â
You feel eyes boring holes into the side of your face, hanging onto every word like a fly caught in a trap. Teeth grind auadibly. Strained smiles are carved in the corner of Cassianâs mouth asa you enthusiastically recount your time alongside Tarquin and his people. Nails bite into the palm of his hands beneath a satin table cloth so dark it resembles an abyss.
Everyoneâs celebrating, conversations carrying, voices overlapping, laughs bleeding into one another and yet you cant shake the irritating hyperawareness of Cassianâs eyes on your body. Subtly, you search for Nesta, scanning the room for her steely gaze and perpetually elegant updoâs but her presence never appears. You try not to look too far into it, willing your heart not to care at all but the task is a fools arrand.
No matter how manyâs attempts made, your line of sight continues to gravitate his way; admiring the line of his shoulders, the width of his chest, the dimples that appears in his cheeks when he submits to the smiles his family draws from him.
You suppose itâs your fault in the end when Cassian mistakes your stare for invitation, his boisterous voice cutting through the clutter of conversation to insert his own inquiries in the mix. âAre you with him?â
Your jaw clenches, lids narrowing. âI donât see how thatâs any of your business.â
âI think you and I both know exactly why it is my business.â
Instead of taking the bait and outing the mating bond you keep tucked away, you fixate on the soft plush of the rug beneath your toes. Over-analyze the obsidian rimmed crystalware holding specially procured wines. Inspecting the spices used in the roast and mash that used to be your favorite meal but now every bite disintegrates like ash on your tongue.
Fingers itch for a reprieve. A distraction. Another drink. More mirthroot.
A cross fade would ease the tension that lives in your shoulders, setting root in your spine until you sit like a statue in a place that should feel like freedom.
âIâm going to grab more ice, drinks getting warm.â
No one fights you even if they do follow your figure until it disappears into the kitchen. Grounding breaths are taken, hands braced against the countertops as you force your emotions in check, shoving them in a tiny little box so the ache doesnât render you useless.
The double doors open behind you, a slightly annoyed sigh escaping you. âMor Iââ Morrigan isnât the one standing behind you. Elain is, watching you with a knowing look in her doe eyes. âElain? Iâm sorry ââ
âYou know,â Her soft tone cuts you off in a way that seems more charming than disrespectful. She takes her sweet time putting on her floral mitts before retrieving a fresh tray of baked goods out of the oven. âI dream about you sometimes.â Your jaw clenches, brows scrunching in slight confusion and yet you say nothing. âOf you and your mate.â
Your blood runs cold, heart all but stopping in your chest. âWhat did you just say?â
Cassian and Azriel had run you absolutely ragged atop the house of wind, claiming that today was your âsurprise examinationâ on essentially every single manoeuvre they had taught you in the two years theyâd been training you.
It wasnât just you, to be fair. Every single one of you that had shown up was tested to their limits, but of course for you, Deirdre, Ananke and Roslin, it was slightly harder than it was for the Valkyries, despite your athletic heritage as an Illyrian.
You were practically keeling over at the water station when Nesta had walked over to you and said, âFeel free to come downstairs into the house and take a shower and a nap before you head back to Windhaven.â She had squeezed your shoulder and smiled. âOr even spend the night, if you feel it necessary.â
You gave her a red faced smile and a thumbs up, knowing you would definitely take her up on at least one of those generous options. You werenât clipped, so nobody would be winnowing you home unless you asked, which you certainly wouldnât dare. And you were far too tired to fly in this state.
Fifteen minutes later, you were taking sluggish steps down towards the bathing chamber, pulling off your perspiration-ridden leathers the moment youâd closed the door behind you. But not before leaning against the wooden frame and hyperventilating like youâd been starved of air. The irony of being so deprived of oxygen inside a dwelling named after the wind.
Once youâd peeled off your clothes, you limped towards the bath and climbed in; before gaping in awe at how it filled to both perfect depth and temperature before you could even reach over to twist the faucet. You hissed as the hot water met your sore, tight muscles, but relaxed soon after as the initial shock faded into something a lot more soothing.
Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the rim of the bathtub which was thankfully still cool despite the hot water, and it cooled down the back of your neck deliciously. You let out half a groan at the soothing feeling of the porcelain against your shoulders, before startling at the sound of a doorknob being turned.
You hadnât locked the door. Your stupid, tired, pitiful self had taken a bath in somebody elseâs houseâwithout locking the door. You pinched the bridge of your nose, body still frozen as you didnât dare to turn around.
âOhâŠâ A deep voice youâd recognise anywhere trailed off, usually the most certain of voices even seemed dumbfounded in this moment. As were you. âIt wasnât locked. I didnât realise you were in here. Iâm sorry.â Azriel muttered.
âIâm sorry for not locking itââ Your cheeks turned red, and you thanked the Cauldron that he could not see as your back faced him. âIâll get out now, just give me a moment!â You panicked.
Yet surprisingly, a sound you hadnât heard from him before rumbled from his chest. A chuckle.
âThere are plenty of bathing facilities in this house. Do not hassle yourself.â You heard the smile in his voice, which surprised you, because you had rarely even seen him smile.
You nodded, and let yourself lean back against the cool porcelain once more; desperate to savour it before it heated up with the rest of the bathtub. You sank your teeth into your lip in an effort to conceal the groan that escaped you as the cold colliding with your sore shoulders startled you, to no avail.
And right before the door closed, it paused. He paused.
âYou sound sore.â Azriel murmured. âDo we really work you that hard?â
You kept your eyes shut, not daring to turn around. âDo you want the honest answer?â
âOf course.â You heard the frown in his voice.
âYou work us like a pack of dogs.â You sighed, draping your bare arm over the side of the tub.
He laughedâactually laughed, a deep, hearty sound that slithered over your skin like silk and ricocheted through your body.
âThank you for your candour.â He said lowly. âIâll keep it in mind.â
âWhy does that not reassure me?â You sighed, daring a look over your shoulder to see him leaning against the doorway.
His eyes met yours. âBecause it shouldnât.â
You sank your top teeth into your lower lip. Somehow, you werenât deterred from his intense gaze despite your sub-ordinance to him as an Illyrian. âSo you didnât really appreciate my honesty, then.â
His eyes flicked down to your lip, and then back up to yours. âI always appreciate honesty.â He folded his arms.
âThen why did you make it sound like youâre going to make me pay for it?â
He raised an eyebrow. âWould you like to pay for it?â
You frowned. âWhy would anybody wish to be punished?â
He pondered for a moment, before narrowing his gaze. âA lot of people report to have enjoyed being punished by me.â
âRightâŠâ You trailed off, confused. You turned back around, and readjusted your arm that was draped along the side of the tub. Yet you hissed, as you had moved too fast for your sore muscles to keep up.
âSore?â Azriel purred the question, almost like he revelled in your distress. A sadistic teacher, perhaps.
âHow could you tell,â You spoke monotonously, rolling your eyes.
âDonât do that.â
You froze. You had your back turned to him.
âWhat?â Your voice was a mere whisper.
âThe shadows tell me everything, Valkyrie.â He murmured.
âIâm not a Valkyrie yet.â You sidestepped the slice of information about the shadows.
âBut you train like one.â
Your ears perked up. âYou really think so?â
âDoes your every move currently aching not give it away?â He chuckled again, and you closed your eyes as the velvety sound made you shiver. And his chuckle stopped. âIs the temperature not to your liking?â He asked, genuine concern laced in his voice.
âItâs perfect.â You croaked.
âThen why are you shivering?â He questioned you.
âI suppose itâs a little cold.â You lied, holding your breath.
He finally closed the door, and you heaved a sigh of relief. Yet to your absolute horror, you heard footsteps. On your side of the door.
You felt his presence at your back before you saw him, as he knelt behind the tub. You watched as a tattooed hand, respectfully staying away from you, dipped into the water. Your shoulders were frozen in place, slightly curved inwards to protect your dignity. You werenât an exhibitionist, and certainly didnât take to showing your teacher your naked body.
âIt doesnât feel cold, Valkyrie.â He whispered softly, dipping his fingers further in and moving them around.
You opened your mouth to think of some witty or deflecting response, yet no sound came out.
âI was worried.â He murmured gently. âI only came in here to rectify the temperature.â He slowly dragged his hand out of the water, and let it ever so slightly brush against your arm that was still draped around the tub. Much to his amusement, you shivered again. Of course you did. In the two years youâd known the male, heâd never come this close to you while the two of you were alone. Had the two of you ever even been alone together?
âAh,â he purred. âSo thatâs why.â
Your breath hitched as he let his finger trail up your arm, until it landed on your shoulder. And then it was fingers, more than one.
And then he began kneading.
You bit back a fitful groan as he began pushing and twisting his thumbs into every crevice of every muscle that connected your back to your shoulders, your neck.
His thumbs pushed into your neck right at the base of your skull and you couldnât stifle the moan that slipped past your lips at the sensation.
âAzriel,â You rasped, subtly shaking your head.
That seemed to wake him up. He gave a final squeeze, before pushing off his knees and standing up, retreating from the tub.
âWhy,â You started, but couldnât quite move yourself to finish the sentence.
âWhy what?â He replied, somewhat hoarsely.
âWhyâd you stop?â You whispered.
âDo you know where my chambers are?â He asked breathlessly.
âNo?â You retorted. Because obviously, you didnât.
A sigh fell past his lips. Lips you couldnât see, but could imagine, blush, parted and plump.
âIf you want the rest of the massage, youâll figure it out. Goodnight, Valkyrie.â
And with that he retreated, shutting the door quickly and locking it for you from the inside with a shadow, which then slipped under the door and vanished, just as he had.
