(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 Rhysand…Rhysand 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 seemed…inevitable.
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. Just…quieter. 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 with 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 returned—if he returned—everything 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.
"I…" 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't—" 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 won’t mind."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Azriel doesn’t believe he’s deserving of her love, yet there’s a line between pushing someone away and being cruel, and Azriel doesn’t 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 writer’s 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.
Velaris’ hardest working citizens would be awake early enough to see it– the farmers, the bakers, the teachers and the rubbish collectors– while their High Lord and his Lord of Bloodshed would be passed out like a pair of bums on the couch in last night’s clothes until lunchtime.
The thought made Azriel laugh.
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.
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-won’t-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.
A tale as old as time. A game they’ve played for years. A song whose words they could sing in their sleep. It was all of it and none of it.
With as many drinks as she’d 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.
If he was any more sober, his senses would have snapped to attention at the contact, but he couldn’t 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.
“You’re staring,” She looked up at him to find his gaze already locked on her features, assessing, admiring.
“I am?” His eyes were dark, shimmering with reflection of the licking flames in the hearth. “You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t help myself.”
He couldn’t 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 couldn’t even remember what he’d said.
“You’ll give our friends the wrong idea.”
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. “What’s so wrong about it?” The side of his full lips curved upward into a playful smile but he was sincere.
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.
But no. They both enjoyed the strain for it was its own type of pleasure.
She tried to steady herself, but with the heat of the fire, the multiple drinks, Azriel’s body heat, and mostly her own fluster, she was burning up.
To break the intense stare neither of them could pinpoint how much time they’d 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.
It was such a tease, this whole situation. Like a cruel little joke, even if they did find some sick indulgence in it.
When she thought about it– which she tried not to do too often– it was downright treacherous what they were doing to each other. All of this had to mean something, right? Two people don’t just touch each other on purpose, hold each other's heavy gazes in crowded rooms, for no reason, right?
“Where’d your boyfriend go?” Mor demanded, plopping down beside her where Azriel had just sat. The tequila sloshed over the lip of her glass with the heavy landing.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied with little conviction. As much as it was the truth, it felt ridiculous to say it.
“Everyone sees the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. He can hardly breathe right if you aren’t in the room. It’s not a secret, if you both are keeping it one,” she took a sip of her drink, repainting the bright red lipstick mark on the rim that became her signature. Sometimes she envied Mor’s effortless femininity, her languid sensuality, that poised her at the receiving end of many amorous advances and escapades. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t be as casual as Mor was. She needed commitment, stability, and unconditionality from the one person she would give her everything to.
Which is why, as much as she loved Azriel, he bothered her. It was more than obvious they were more than friends– the way they touched each other, the things they told each other, the time they spent together– there was no logical way to deny it. But they’d 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-man’s-land that every non-committal male sought refuge in when things got even mildly serious. She couldn’t 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.
“We haven’t talked about it,” was all she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She loved Azriel, but it would destroy her if all this was to him was a “good time.” 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.
“But you are having sex?” Mor asked, a little louder than necessary. She was no longer lounging into the couch– she was fully sat up, legs tucked under her body, and spine rod-straight with attention.
“Mor!”
“Okay, you’re right I didn’t need to ask that. For such a big, beautiful house, the walls are quite thin,” she chuckled to herself.
“What, do you think he’s using me?” She couldn’t be bothered to feign mortification at the revelation that apparently the entire house could hear the two of them sharing beds.
Mor’s face softened immediately, sobering slightly at the sight of her friend in visible distress. “Oh, darling. Azriel is a good man–”
“He’s very kind.”
“The kindest,” Mor pursed her lips, pausing for a beat, before setting her glass down on the floor beside the couch. She took both of her friends’ hands in her own, forcing their gazes to align. “But he is a male, at the end of the day. And they often think with their dicks first, brains second.”
“Azriel is sensible…” she reasoned, not sure where Mor was going with this.
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 don’t say to each other, she wondered what his intentions were.
In her reckless need for him, she’d abandoned all expectations, all reservations, and given herself to Azriel wholly. She’d closed her eyes and leaped. When it came to Azriel, there was no thinking, no calculating, and she hadn’t registered how foolish that might be until now.
—-
Speaking of foolishness.
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.
“Azriel,” his name was a breathless sigh on her tongue.
“Tell me to leave, and I will,” 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.
This was so bad. She should’ve been embarrassed how easy it was to get here. Azriel brought her back a drink but she couldn’t finish it when the conversation with Mor suddenly left her sick to her stomach (but no less sober). She tried to get away– tried to remove herself from his proximity for the night by feigning exhaustion– but of course she couldn’t deny him when he offered to walk her upstairs, a hand on her lower back. Of course she couldn’t 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.
“Stay.” 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 they’d done this in a previous lifetime.
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 wasn’t 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 Azriel’s 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“I can never get enough of you,” he murmured against her flushed skin, taking in her scent as if he’d run out of breath without it.
“Are you saying–” she pushed the words out between breaths of hot air, too afraid to waste time talking and miss even a second of this. “– you think of me? Even when we aren’t in the same room?” It was a teasing tone, but she meant every word. She needed to know.
“All the fucking time. I thought that was obvious.”
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.
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.
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.
“Wait,” she breathed out, as if it took every ounce of willpower to stop him. It did. She didn’t want him to stop, but she knew he should.
Azriel’s hand slid out of her shirt immediately, and he lifted his head just enough to read her eyes. They were darkened with something he couldn’t 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.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, I just–”
“Don’t,” he shook his head, fixing the strap of her right shoulder as he smiled ever so softly. “Don’t apologize.”
“What is this?” She blurted out.
Azriel paused, unable to follow. “What is…this?”
“I mean,” she sighed, frustrated at her sudden inability to source words and form coherent thoughts. She was doing this now, it seemed. “What do you want from this? You and I?”
“I want you.” 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.
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. “Azriel, listen to me. I mean, where do you see this going?” After some initial hesitation- “What do you see us becoming?”
Azriel shouldn’t have laughed. He knew that as soon as it escaped his lips and her eyebrows furrowed in response, but it was too late. He didn’t 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.
“Get off of me.” She deadpanned, pushing her hand against his chest.
She’d never felt more vulnerable. Underneath this man she loved like she hadn’t 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 she’d convinced herself many times impossible of materializing.
“I didn’t mean to laugh–“
“Azriel, get off of me.”
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.
She sat up as well, adjusting her top. “Azriel, I need to know if you’re serious about me. I feel like we always tiptoe around whatever this is between us, but I can’t keep doing it if this isn’t serious to you.”
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. That’s 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.
It was everything he’d 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.
“Of course I enjoy being with you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Azriel ran a hand through his disheveled curls, shaking his head. Say the right thing. Say the right thing. Say what you’ve been waiting to say. But no. “Where is this coming from?”
“Why can’t you answer my question?”
“Because I don’t understand what’s changed for you, all of a sudden. You know how I feel about you, isn’t that enough?” He didn’t mean it- the question or the accusatory tone it carried. It was a valid question– he was wondering when she’d 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.
“I–,” she bit her tongue before the word love could follow. “I just need to know if you’re serious about me because Azriel– fuck I just can’t ever seem to stop thinking of you. The thought that I just might be a ‘good time’ and nothing more to you makes me fucking sick, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. So I need to be sure… I need to be sure you’re not fucking around with me before I let you have me. All of me.”
Azriel was stunned into silence. Completely mute. Words failed him. Grammar failed him. He could barely get a syllable out and he’d 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 him– made him lose touch with himself, lose his grasp on reality.
Everything he’d ever dreamed of– really, it was only her he dreamed of– flashed before his eyes like a moving picture. The love of his life, the very same one he’d convinced himself would never love him back just confessed that she did. That she wants for no other male but him. All those years he’d 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.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She was wrong. There was no way someone like her– as intelligent, independent, and kind-hearted as her– could truly desire someone like him.
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 couldn’t give her. The Mother knew there was nothing in this world she wouldn’t have if she asked Azriel for it, but he just couldn’t give her this one thing.
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.
Azriel couldn’t 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, that’s what you do for the people you love, he told himself.
He knew what he had to do.
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 they’d been doing these past years meant something. That he hadn’t led her on. It never came.
“You don’t mean that.” was all he said. It tore him in two to say it, serrated his irregular heart into messy, darkened halves.
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 now– she really was in love.
“I don’t know if she’s just being kind,” Azriel shrugged one day a few months ago, lounging in the chair opposite from Rhys’ desk.
“When a woman like that loves someone, she can’t hide it,” 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.
Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up straighter. “Of course I do, Az. I wouldn’t make that up.” 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.
“It’s understandable to want more when we’ve already bared so much ourselves to each other,” He stepped backward. “But I see now that we aren’t on the same page.”
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 didn’t 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.
If she asked for the moon, Azriel wouldn’t think twice to grab it with his bare hands and pull it down to earth. If she asked for the stars he’d 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 couldn’t 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. That’s 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 she’d be unhappy soon enough.
“Azriel,” 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. “I don’t understand. You said–”
“We both said a lot of things,” Azriel said simply, unable to meet her eyes. “But at the end of the day, they’re all just words, are they not?”
“Just words?” She furrowed her eyebrows, pushing the tears to her waterline as she did. “I pour my heart out to you every day for years, and they’re just words to you?”
“That’s not what I meant–” Fuck. It was coming out all wrong. Or maybe it was coming out perfectly– the more Azriel could fuck this up, the easier it would be for her to forget him.
“You are my best friend. But we’ve done things and told each other things best friends don’t. Why are you denying all these years of our relationship, Azriel? What are you running from?” 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 didn’t understand how she could’ve thought this conversation could’ve gone any differently than this. “Just talk to me.”
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.
He couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted to say, even if she asked for it. So he resorted to hurt once again.
“I care about you very much, but … we are not on the same fucking page.”
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.
“You’re an asshole for lying to yourself. To me.” The words were gritty and edged with grief. No one’s dead, but something that was once very much alive here is gone.
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.
The conclusion hit her as if she’d 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.
“I just need some time.”
“Get out.”
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.
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.
“Get out!”
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.
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 him– a living, breathing, hideous thing– forever.
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.
If she couldn't have Azriel, she could never love anyone else again.
——-
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 couldn’t care less.
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.
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 didn’t even realize Feyre was calling her name until the fourth time she said it.
“Hmm?” She forced herself back into the present, eyes darting to Feyre’s.
“Are you okay?” Feyre asked, holding her gaze.
Azriel’s husky voice asking the same question filled her head without warning, invading her memories and her reality once again.
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.
She remembered his rejection, too.
Feyre called her name again and she snapped to attention, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”
“Some night you must have had,” Feyre chuckled.
“I told you Winter Court wine will fuck you up. You don’t know it’s working until it’s too late,” Rhys laughed, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her from across the table. “Drink up everyone, we’re due at the Day Court by sundown.”
“Kallias has a very acquired taste, I’ll give him that,” she sighed, gratefully accepting the cold glass and downing half of it in a second.
“They need to stay warm up there somehow,” Cassian chimed in, ever the selective academic he was.
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.
“Good morning,” his voice was low and aimed only at her. If she had any more energy, she would’ve laughed that that’s 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.
“What the fuck is that?” Cassian’s loud voice broke her from her trance.
Rhys winced, holding his head. “Not so loud, we talked about this.”
“Az, you cheeky bastard, what did you crazy kids get up to last night?” Cassian’s eyes darted between her and Azriel, pointing out the dark mark on his neck.
“What are you on about?”
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 Mor’s eyes darted to hers in silent awe.
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.
With frigid realization, she knew she hadn’t done that. He’d kissed her neck last night, but she hadn’t kissed his.
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 would’ve missed his fleeting glance in Elain’s direction. But she didn’t miss it, and she quickly looked to Elain, who was red as a beet and hiding behind a curtain of her unbound, chestnut hair.
Cassian didn’t miss a beat either– he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing. “No way,” he whispered.
“What?” 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.
Small giggles sprouted from different ends of the table, but it was all a blur to her.
“Spit it out.” Amren demanded, but Amren’s eyes were on her, clocking the silent horror that molded her features rather than the surprise or amusement that defined everyone else’s
“Nothing. Mind your own business,” Azriel’s voice was thick and stern and nowhere as warm as it was last night.
“You and Elain??” Cassian cried in disbelief.
Forks clattered clumsily on their plates. The laughter stopped like someone sucked the air clean out of the room. No one moved, but she couldn’t even breathe. Elain?
Feyre snapped her head toward her sister, eyes wide. “What?”
“What?” Rhys echoed through bitten teeth, clenching his jaw, his gaze burning holes in the side of Azriel’s face who suddenly did not have the balls to return the look.
Elain shrugged sheepishly in her seat, gripping her teacup hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “When you feel that attraction, you can’t deny it. You understand that.” She watched as Elain finally lifted her head, staring doe-eyed at Azriel. A small smile graced her lips, shy and soft.
“Attraction?” She whispered in disbelief.
“Oh my god.” Cassian breathed.
“Cassian, shut the fuck up.” Azriel snarled.
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.
Breathe. She pleaded with herself to get a grip but she just couldn’t 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 wouldn’t meet his.
Him and Elain was a mistake, one he made when he wasn’t 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.
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.
The flashbacks from all of their days and night that gave her butterflies at one point suddenly turned into moths– 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.
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. She’d never felt so used in her life.
“Fuck.” Cassian muttered. Nesta and Feyre would not take their eyes off Elain, and Rhys’ eyes bore holes in the side of Azriel’s 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 wouldn’t 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.
“Excuse me,” 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 woman– not just any woman, but Elain– made it hard to breathe.
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.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she churned the words out through gritted teeth.
“I can explain,” Azriel replied lamely, immediately feeling as dense and useless as he sounded.
“I don’t care, Azriel. You’re a grown man, you’re free to kiss and fuck as many women in the same night as you want,” She didn’t mean it though, not after she laid her heart bare to him just a few hours ago.
“It didn’t mean anything, I– I don’t know why–”
“You don’t know why you went and fucked another woman after I told you you are all I can think of last night?”
“That’s not- I didn’t mean to-”
“You didn’t mean to fuck her?” She laughed, but there was no humor or joy to be found in her eyes. “Did 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?”
“That’s not-”
“No! It’s not, you’re 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 you’ve ever wanted.”
She couldn’t be further from the truth. This was so much worse than what Azriel bargained for when he’d 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 he’d hurt her in a way he never ever meant to.
“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say.
“Not just any woman, Azriel. Elain.” She cried incredulously. She didn’t even realize the tears were coming until her voice gave out on the sister’s name. “Three sisters for three brothers, right? You never did let that go.”
“It would’ve been easier if you told me you didn’t love me and left it at that.”
“It’s not my responsibility to make this easy for you when it hasn’t been easy for me all this time. I’ve loved you for so long and I continued to even when I wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Because that’s what you do for the people you love, you’re there for them and you continue to love them especially when it isn’t easy.”
“I never meant to hurt you, I just thought I… I wanted to believe I-” he carded his hands through his thick black hair in frustration, searching her eyes for anything other than hurt and anger, but that’s all he could find. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“You were being a coward. You are a coward.” She spat. “You may not have meant to, but you used me, and you of all people know how I feel about that.”
He nodded. He’d turned himself into an amalgamation of everything that had ever hurt her before, landing his blow square into her chest when she’d come so far.
“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me.”
“That was never for you to decide, Azriel. These years should have been proof to you that I’d loved you exactly as you were, and it’s not your job to protect me from whatever it is you think I need protection from. I can handle it. I can handle you.”
“You can. I know you can. I’ve fucked up, truly and honestly, I don’t know how to make it up to you. Please tell me how I can make it up to you.”
He made a step toward her out of instinct when the tears rolled down her cheeks but she stepped back as if he’d shoved a torch in her face.
“Just leave me be. You said it yourself, we aren’t on the same page. We never were, it seems.”
He took her name gently, pleadingly. She dared to look up at him once more, but he still couldn’t meet her gaze head on. It was no use talking to him when he couldn’t 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. It’s what she’s known all along. It’s exactly as she’d told herself all these years. It was never going to be you.
That did not make it any easier though. If anything, it was a worse pain to be proven right.
Anyway, there was no time to self-pity.
The Inner Circle had a cross-border trip to make today, and if there was one male that wouldn’t have a problem meeting her gaze, it was the high lord of the Day Court.
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 hadn’t 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.
“So they won't hear us,” he'd said with a smug grin. “I bet we'll be even louder than usual.”
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 cabin’s 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.
“Cass, this is wonderful,” 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. “You like it?”
“Like it?” you repeated, turning your head enough to look at him. “I love it!”
He smiled. “Good. Because it’s yours.”
You tilted your head, frowning. “Mine?”
“Yes, yours.”
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.
“I didn’t rent the cabin, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear. “I bought it. As a mating present for you.”
“Cass…” you began, your heart swelling. “We agreed we wouldn’t buy each other anything.”
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.
“Then consider it a gift for both of us.” You could hear the smile in his voice, feel it against your skin. “A place for us to escape to whenever we want to be alone.”
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 you’d 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.
“I… I don't know what to say,” you murmured, eyes darting around the room, still trying to process the news. It was yours—the 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. “You don't have to say anything.”
“I need to thank you properly,” you said. “And I need to offer you food.”
He hummed against your ear, the sound reverberating deep in your bones. “And once you do, we're going to inaugurate this place by fucking on every surface,” he murmured. “I'll take you on the couch. And the armchair.” He gently turned you toward the kitchen. “That table too.”
Each whispered word sent a shiver down your spine, setting your body aflame.
“In the bathtub while we wash up.” His lips brushed your neck, his hands gliding up your chest, stopping just beneath your breasts. “On the bed, of course. Over and over again.” His mouth found the soft spot below your ear. “Against the wall, too, if you want.”
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.
“You know,” you said softly, fingers grazing his jaw, “I was planning to cook you something nice. But if you keep talking like that, I might not have the patience.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “That’s alright.” He kissed your fingertips when they brushed his lips. “I might have eaten a bit too much at the ceremony. If I eat any more, I’ll probably be too drowsy to do anything. Including fucking you.”
You stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “So you gift me a cabin and I don’t even get to cook you a good meal to accept the bond? Got it.”
The truth was, you understood. You just liked to tease him, but you understood. You’d 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. “Is there food in here?”
You were moving before Cassian could answer, but he still said, “Yes. And the place is enchanted so the food never goes bad.”
“Fancy,” 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 jars—apparently the best you could do right now—you pulled out a chocolate chip cookie and walked back to Cassian, who was watching you with a broad smile.
“For you, my love,” you announced, offering it as though it were something sacred.
Cassian mockingly bowed his head as he accepted it. “Thank you, my love.”
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. Cassian’s nostrils flared, and you realized the scents of both your arousals had already filled the room. Just like that. In seconds.
You wanted—needed—to 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. “Are you okay?”
Your gaze dragged slowly from his chest to his face. “Yes,” you breathed. “I just can't take the dress off alone.” When he frowned, you explained, “The laces are fastened on the back.”
“How did you put it on?”
“Mor helped me.”
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 you—he was careful not to brush the bare skin of your back, only pinching the thin strings—but 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. Cassian’s breath hitched. The sound alone made your thighs clench.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he whispered, trailing a finger down your spine. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but it was enough to make you tremble.
“It showed through the dress,” 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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. “Now isn’t the time for teasing,” he rasped. “Save that for later.”
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.
“Cass—”
“I need to fuck you.” He grabbed your hips, pulling you to the edge of the table. “Right now.”
He didn’t 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 didn’t move.
“Cassian,” you snarled. You needed him to move, now more than ever. Your very bones ached for it. “Now isn’t the time for teasing.”
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.
“I’m not teasing,” he ground out. He was trembling with the effort of holding still. “Just… I don’t know how long I can last.”
Normally, you’d laugh. Reassure him. Maybe crack a joke. But not now.
“You think I care?” Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as you rolled your hips. His fingers dug into your waist. “Just fuck me.”
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.
“Fuck…” he breathed. His eyes, darker than you’d ever seen, locked with yours.
That was all it took.
Cassian’s 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 wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to satisfy the bond's demand to consume and be consumed.
“Well, that was…” Cassian let out a breathless chuckle. “Quick.”
“Don’t stop,” you panted, even though he was still slowly moving inside you, still hard. “I need more…”
He didn’t 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 Cassian’s left wing, but he caught your wrist before you could touch him.
“If you so much as brush my wings, I’ll come again right now.” His hands slid up your arms to your shoulders and gently pushed down, hips never losing their rhythm. “Lie back, my love.”
You obeyed, leaning back against the table. As soon as your back hit the wood, Cassian’s 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.
“Cass—” you choked out, but he didn’t 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 couldn’t take it anymore—when Cassian had drawn you to the edge of another climax yet refused to let you fall—you yanked on his hair, forcing him to lift his head.
“Stop teasing me,” you mumbled, half breathless, half annoyed. “I need more than this.”
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 eyes—the strain of resisting the frenzy that urged him to take, take, take.
“As you wish,” he murmured. The restraint in his voice was clear, but you didn’t push him. You didn’t 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 alone—yours to touch, yours to worship
“Is this what you wanted?” Cassian rumbled. His eyes flicked from where he disappeared inside you to your fluttering lashes and parted lips. “Or do you still need more, sweetheart?”
Your fingers scrambled for purchase, but found only the edge of the table. “No,” you breathed. “Just… don’t stop, please…”
“I’m not stopping,” 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.
“C’mon,” Cassian urged, pushing your legs farther apart. You whined softly, heat pooling in your belly. “Come with me, sweetheart. I want us to come together.”
He released one of your legs, but you kept it raised, exactly where he’d 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.
“Oh,” 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. “F-fuck, Cass, I’m—”
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 him—both of you smiling, both of you gasping—you didn’t feel the languid satisfaction that usually came after good sex. Instead, you ached for more. And it wasn’t the greedy kind of craving born from something so good you wanted seconds. No, this was primal, bone-deep, the bond’s 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 wasn’t referring to that when he asked, “You still feel it too, don’t you?”
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 didn’t have to explain. Cassian already knew.
“It’ll probably take a while,” he said softly.
You didn’t 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.
“Most couples need around two weeks,” he went on. He didn’t pull out of you, just kicked off the pants still pooled around his ankles. Your eyes tracked every movement. “So we’d better get used to it for the next twenty days or so.”
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.
“You’re still hard,” 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.
“I am very well aware of that, sweetheart.” His low chuckle skittered down your spine. His hands cupping your ass didn’t help. Your cunt fluttered around him, unbidden, and he sucked in a breath as he began walking, still carrying you with ease. “Must be the frenzy.”
Your gaze swept over the room before returning to his face. “Are we going to fuck against the wall?”
Cassian raised his brows, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You want to fuck against the wall?”
You gave a little shrug. “You said we’d do it if I wanted.”
“And do it we will, then.” His playfully squeeze to your backside sealed the promise. “But that’s not what I had in mind right now.”
Before you could ask, he stepped into the bathroom. It was larger than you’d 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.
“I have a few questions,” you announced, holding up a hand. Counting on your fingers, you began, “One, 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?” His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. “Three, why are we in the bathroom?” You lifted a fourth finger. “And four, why isn’t your dick inside me anymore, Mister General of the Army?”
Cassian failed miserably at stifling his laugh. “Well, aren’t you just getting feisty.”
You crossed your arms and arched a brow. His gaze dipped to your chest before he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.” He raised a finger. “One, the cabin’s a gift, so I won’t tell you. But it’s not like we can’t afford it.”
Fair. True.
“Two,” he went on, “of course you’re not supposed to believe that. I had a few things adjusted after I bought it.” He moved to the sink, grabbed a towel, and ran it under warm water. His other hand stayed up, now showing three fingers. “Three, we’re here because I want to get you cleaned up.”
Returning to you, he held the towel in one hand and gently tapped your knee with the other. “Open,” 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.
“And number four?”
He looked up at you, and that smirk you loved lit up his face. “Four, my love,” he answered, “is the same as three. I wanted to clean you up, and myself too. And I can’t be inside of you for that.” When he saw you about to protest, the smirk stretched into a grin. “Fine, you want a different answer. Alright.” He rinsed the towel quickly, then turned back to you. “It’s so I can come inside you again next time I fuck you. Can’t have you stuffed so full you can’t take more, right?”
Silence stretched while you considered his reasoning like it was life or death. But you had to admit, it was a solid point.
“Alright,” you said at last. “I can't argue with that logic.” You took the towel from his hand just as he was about to wipe himself down. “But I'll clean you.”
Cassian snatched it back in an instant. "Nuh-uh.” He shook his head. “I'll do it.”
You gaped. “What? Why?”
He looked at you like the answer was obvious. When you just stared back, he started wiping himself down. “Because you’d tease me.”
“Since when is that a problem?” you pouted, leaning closer from your perch on the counter. “I thought you loved it when I teased you.”
“I do, sweetheart.” He tossed the towel into the sink, and his smirk returned. “But now it’s not your turn,” 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.
“Am I forgiven?” His words were muffled against your flesh. Your breath caught when he nibbled your thigh.
“We shall see.” You smiled down at him, challenging him from above. “Depends on your performance.”
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.
“Cass,” 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.
“You're… you're forgiven,” 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 you—hungrily, greedily, stealing the air from your lungs—and 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.
“Look at you,” he murmured in your ear. One arm locked around your waist, pressing you back against his chest. “Look at us.”
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. “Are we going to fuck in front of the mirror?”
Cassian’s grin widened. “Later,” he promised. “We have all the time to test every surface, wall, and mirror in this house.” His hand slipped from beneath yours, and he laced your fingers with his instead. “But 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 that’s ever existed.”
With each word, your arousal spiked, as if your body had forgotten you’d already come three times. Normally, you’d be wrecked by now, begging Cassian for mercy. But you weren’t satisfied. Not even close.
You didn't argue when he led you toward the bedroom. “I remember someone complaining my dick wasn't inside of her,” he teased. You nodded, and he winked. “I’m going to fix that. And I’m going to make sure my mate never feels that way again.”
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 you’d 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t be the only one. The sunrise was proof of how many “one last times” you’d 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t know how you were still sleeping.
Slowly, untangled himself from the embrace he’d held you in since you’d fallen asleep. You didn’t 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 didn’t open your eyes by the time he was done, he let out the breath he’d 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 he’d 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.
“Cass?”
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.
“Need you to fuck me,” he mumbled between kisses, his hands roaming your thighs. “Please, sweetheart.”
You nipped playfully at his bottom lip. “That was the plan, my love.”
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.
“Keep it on,” 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. “Fine.” You gave him a mischievous smile. “But you let me wake up in an empty bed. You were gone.” He knew what you were about to say before you even opened your mouth. “Your dick was gone. Again.”
Maybe letting you ride him hadn't been such a good idea after all.
“Are you saying I'm going to pay for it?” 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.
“Yes,” you whispered, leaning closer. “We're doing things my way now.”
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. “That’s cheating,” he managed, voice wrecked already.
You smirked, dragging your nails lightly along the sensitive membrane once more, and he shuddered violently. “No,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw, “this is payback.”
His grip on your waist tightened when you repeated the gesture, his teeth gritting as he sucked in a breath.
“Shhh.” 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. “I'm going to make you come like this.”
“Sweetheart…”
“And then I'll fuck you.”
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 wings—the 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.
“My love…” 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.
“Now I'm going to fuck you,” 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.
“So fucking beautiful,” 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 cabin—from 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.
“You okay?” he mumbled, his voice rough.
“Cass…”
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.
“Are you sure?” he murmured in your ear.
You nodded. “I need you.” But then, more quietly, you added, voice quivering, “I don't know if I can take it…”
Hearing you on the brink of tears, his heart clenched. “It's alright, sweetheart.” His lips brushed your shoulder. “I've got you. Just relax.”
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 you’d fallen asleep again when you whispered, “More, please.”
“As you wish, my love,” 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.
“More…”
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 “more, please.”
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.
“Sleep, my love,” 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 anymore—you 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.
“Do you think we could go back to Velaris?” you asked one day over lunch. “I kind of miss home…”
Cassian looked up from his plate. “Honestly? Me too.” He gave you a small, tired smile before his expression became serious. “But do you think we're ready?”
You pondered his question, slowly chewing the last bite of your food. When you swallowed, you finally answered. “We could wait until we spend one whole day without sex, which also means no touching or grinding. None of that.”
“So just kisses, then?”
You nodded. “Yes, but only on the mouth. Nowhere else.”
Cassian considered, but eventually he smiled again. “Alright, sweetheart. It sounds like a fair deal.”
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 wouldn’t stop teasing Feyre about it, at least now you could understand why she and Rhys had done it in the sky.
🫶🏻summary: you and azriel decided to tell your friends the news at dinner. nyx decided he wants to help.
Azriel was whipped. He was so completely gone that Cassian had started teasing him again, but the Shadowsinger hadn't even tried to deny it. And why would he?
He had been whipped the exact moment the mating bond snapped into place between the two of you. Honestly, he had been whipped this entire time—ever since you pulled him into your orbit and wrapped him securely around your pinky finger. But learning that you were carrying his child? That made Azriel truly, utterly, and unapologetically whipped all over again.
"I think we should tell them," you said one night, as Azriel's fingers slowly traced across your stomach.
He had developed a habit of doing it since the day you told him you were pregnant. Like he still can’t believe there’s a little life forming under your heart.
Azriel nodded, though only because he didn't want to burst the bubble the two of you were living inside.
Call him overprotective and jealous, but he wished this knowledge was only his and yours.
Your little life.
Your little secret.
But Madja and Feyre already knew anyway. So, you finally agreed it was time to tell the rest of the Inner Circle at dinner.
—-
"Ah, you look so beautiful!" Feyre said, coming over to hug you tightly. A huge smile was plastered across her face as she looked up at Azriel. "Come in, dinner's ready."
Azriel took your cloak and hung it up next to the front door. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "You're nervous."
He was. He was so fucking nervous. Anxiety had never really been on his radar before, but right now, it was all he could feel.
"Are you not?" he asked in a low voice.
"I am, but it's a happy nervous," you giggled.
Gods, she's so beautiful and radiant, he thought, trying—and failing—to stabilize his racing heartbeat.
He stepped further into the River House, his pace slow as he watched your back while you practically bounced on your toes toward the others. But the tension broke the moment you greeted Rhysand, who was holding Nyx. The toddler practically launched himself into your arms with a loud, happy shriek.
"Oh!" you laughed, your eyes widening in surprise. "Well hello, you chunky baby."
Azriel was internally screaming, breaking into a nervous sweat at the sight on his right.
Nyx had apparently decided that sitting in his own highchair during dinner was out of the question. Instead, he occupied your lap, insisting on eating from your plate and immediately snoozing the moment he was full. The toddler's grip on your sleeve was so fiercely tight that any attempt to gently peel him away would have been completely useless.
You, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind at all.
Azriel, however, was fighting off an existential crisis because the view was just so overwhelmingly wholesome. He couldn't even remember eating his own dinner; he had spent the entire evening captivated by the sight of you eating, feeding Nyx, and cradling the boy as he drifted off to sleep in your arms.
He couldn’t even remember responding to any remark or question thrown his way.
He couldn't help but imagine this exact scene with his own baby. How he would want his Mom, how he’d want him - to hold, carry, protect, and watch over their own little one.
Azriel's heart leaped into his throat the moment you turned and looked at him. You looked so content. Happy. Completely at ease.
You were entirely ready to be a mother. And looking at you now, Azriel couldn't help but be a little more excited about becoming a Dad.
"He's never been quite this clingy before," Rhysand’s contemplative voice suddenly snapped Azriel out of his thoughts. Rhys was watching his son sleep peacefully in your arms.
"Yeah, I wonder why," Feyre chimed in with a knowing smirk, tossing a quick wink in your direction.
You bit your lower lip, trying your best to hide the excited smile breaking across your face.
"We kind of want to tell you guys something," you announced suddenly, throwing a shy glance toward Azriel.
He slowly but surely smiled, giving you a reassuring nod as he draped his arm securely over your shoulders.
"Aww, look how he's just staring up at her," Mor cooed, looking down at Nyx. The little boy had just decided to wake up in your lap.
And indeed, he looked completely in awe as he gazed up at you. You couldn't help but laugh.
"You might just be his first-ever crush," Cassian joked, which immediately earned him a fierce death glare from Azriel.
"You know what's happening, don't you?" you softly asked Nyx, reaching out to brush a stray lock of unruly hair away from his forehead.
Nyx just beamed back up at you, his smile all gummy and drooly.
A sudden gasp broke the silence.
Rhysand had actually gasped. His violet eyes were wide with shock, but they were already beginning to twinkle with pure joy.
"Holy gods," he breathed. He turned, pointing a finger down at Nyx. "He feels it." He looked up, his gaze locking onto Feyre.
Feyre simply nodded, her joyful smile shining.
"What?" Cassian asked, looking around the table completely dumbfounded by everyone's shocked, knowing expressions.
"I'm pregnant," you replied.
"Oh my gods," Cassian whispered, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Azriel.
"Oh my gods! How did it happen?" He surged out of his chair, startling Nyx slightly as he jumped a little in your lap.
"How do you think it happened, dumbass?" you laughed, smacking him playfully upside the head as he rounded the table to squeeze the both of you.
"Az, my brother, you actually know how to use your magic stick!" Cassian beamed, entirely unbothered by the swat.
"It's not a stick," you muttered under your breath.
Azriel shot you a warning glance, which you met with a teasing smile.
"I feel faint," Cassian continues to be dramatic. He immediately bombarded you with questions.
"How far along are you? Do you have any cravings yet? Morning sickness? Any weird food and smell sensitivities?"
"Cass, it's not your baby," Rhysand chimed in, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, it is! I'm going to be an uncle again!" Cassian declared proudly, throwing his arms around Azriel and hugging him tightly.
“You'll be a fantastic dad, Az. You took care of me and were always there for me. I know you're gonna take good care of your own baby, too,” Cassian murmurs against your mate’s shoulder.
Your eyes immediately tear up.
Azriel visibly tensed at first, but as the weight of Cassian's words truly sunk in, he relaxed and melted into the tight hug.
"Thank you, brother," Azriel said, his voice thick with emotions.
Everyone made their way over the two of you, enveloping you into hugs so tight and warm, tour heart squeezed inside your chest.
But it was Rhysand's quiet words that completely tore through your defenses.
"Thank you for making my brother happy."
You looked at your beautiful mate, this strong, fierce and loyal man, who keeps on bringing down to your knees, who makes your heart beat wildly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hi sol coming to u w another cassian request (there’s a serious lack of fics for him it hurts my heart :( )
but i always see this trope done w az where he’s 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 that’s what he knows love to be. that’s 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 “as long as he’s happy i can live with that.” and as time passes cassian realizes like no, this isn’t 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 isn’t 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 isn’t 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 he’s 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
—
You feel it before you ever see it coming.
This rift that forms, grows; solidifies between you and Cassian.
He doesn’t 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 you’ve 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. “Is everything alright?” 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.
“Fine.”
Even inch of you wants to believe him but his words are short, clipped; utterly uninterested. “Are you sure?”
His mouth purses, parts, closes again as if he’s got something to say but isn’t sure how to word it. “Everything’s alright—just distracted is all.”
Your head nods robotically, hearing but not believing. “You hungry? I can make you something before you go.”
“No need. I have plans.”
He doesn’t stay to watch the way your face falls. Doesn’t linger for a kiss or to brush pillow-mussed hair out of your face. Cassian’s 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 don’t even mean to find it—you 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. “Ow,” You hiss, inspecting a cut so shallow blood doesn’t even draw. Not until your focus shifts back to the crumpled paper that was shoved in the shadows.
Any comfort you’d accumulated promptly burns to ashes when you read its contents. The hope you’d latched onto smashes like glass, littering the space around you in glittering shards as you read Cassian’s blocky scrawl. It’s filled with confessions of a love not meant for you. Addressed to a name that’s not your own.
You’re 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 it’ll change who they’re 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 energy—energy that had been leached from your bones, leaving behind nothing but the husk of who you’d once been.
“How long?” 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. “A few months.”
“A few months.” 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. “Then this isn’t just you being overly flirtatious. This is…there’s feelings involved here.”
“I can explain.”
You can’t 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 easy—the power entirely too addicting. “To explain, not apologize.” The breath you take is heavy, settles in your belly like lead. “You’re here to end this?”
Cassian takes a step closer and instinctively you take a step back, arms crossing over your chest in attempts to hold yourself together. “I have to.” It’s then that you pick up on the scent that sticks to him. One you recognize. One that doesn’t belong to you or the bottles of perfume you keep. “I think she could be my mate.”
You can’t 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. “Okay.”
He reaches for you, fingertips millimeters away from brushing the curve of your cheek but you flinch away—creating space. His spine sags with remorse, shoulders set with shame, hand falling limp at his sides with regret pooling at his fingertips and you’ve had enough when hazel irises fill with pity. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be sorry, Cassian.” Your voice breaks, your smile shakes but it still doesn’t rob you of the kindness that drew him in in the first place. “Just be happy.”
—
The shift that follows is immediate, all of his things boxed up and left in front of the door of his old room. You don’t fuss or fight, you don’t 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 family’s attempts at comfort, brushing off any and all inquiries on how you’re 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 didn’t deserve this—how they wanted to make it right for you. “Don’t bother,” The words come out so softly, laced with such defeat its devastating.
“No!” Mor can barely contain her disdain, brows furrowed and lips twisted in a sneer. “This is wrong. What he’s doing—what they’re doing is wrong. You and Cass have loved eachother for decades all for him to throw it away over some cauldron-made floozy? I can’t just sit back and watch that happen.” She’s pacing, heels clacking against the hardwood floors so harshly you’re sure dents begin to mark their way through the shinny finish. “Why are you so damn calm?”
“Because, what’s the point?” You shrug, red wine swirling in your glass. It’s strong, a little bitter but it numbs you so gently, like morphine injected directly into your veins. “How 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.” Your eyes are distant, fixed on a random spot on the freshly painted walls in the new apartment Rhysand insisted on funding. It’s bare; empty, walls void of character and atmosphere sucked dry of all care. “He thinks she’s his mate Mor. Her. I just don’t understand why he can’t see—“ Your head shakes left to right, chest caving in. Wine quickly fills that chasm, glass refilling every time you reach the bottom.
You don’t 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. “Can’t see…that you’re his mate.” 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. “There is a bond. You are his mate—he just doesn’t know. You never told him.”
You don’t so much as flinch at her conclusion. Only sigh, prettily painted toes grazing through the fluff of your throw rug. “Doesn’t matter much now.” More wine fills your glass until the decanter runs empty, the corners of your mouth tugging down in a frown. “I don’t think it ever even mattered at all.”
The flowy fabric of Mor’s 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 doesn’t share, just drinks straight from the source. It’s 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. “Just say something to him.” She urges, her tone pleading; eyes begging. “Say anything. I can’t stand to see you like this.”
“Say what?” Your head falls back in something worse than defeat; something more like acceptance as your neck rests on the lip of the couch. “No bond forces two as one, and he wants her.” Fresh tears gather in your waterline, sliding down your cheeks so silently you barely notice them. “He wants her.”
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.
“You know what, if he’s happy, then I’m ecstatic. I have so much free time now.” 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. “I can pick up a hobby or travel or something—I’ve always loved Summer and I’m sure Rhys could use someone to start mending the rift between the courts. It’ll be like a paid vacation.”
It’s obvious your friend wants to object. Wants to call you out on the avoidance that begins to take place but for some reason she doesn’t bother. Maybe she see’s that you can’t take much more—that the flame of your fight has been snuffed out and you’re 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. “How long of a vacation?”
“However long it takes to be able to be in the same room as them without feeling sick to my stomach.”
You say it like a joke but nobody laughs.
—
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 you’ve been granted permission for an all expense paid trip for his favorite —only— 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 don’t even linger long enough to say goodbye.
Given the fact that there’s 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 can’t help but admit the distance is a indescribable relief. Perhaps, it’s 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 he’s 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. “Do you ever come up for air?” 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 they’ve lived without given the strain. “I can hold my breath for quite some time, you know. Nowhere near the end of my reserves yet.”
It’s 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.
“I can see that,” 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. “I suppose, I’m just worried you’ll burnout if you keep at this pace.”
“The wellbeing of your people is important,” You insist, one hand blindly reaching for a flute of champagne and orange spritz. “They’ve gone without for much too long.”
He hums, nodding softly in agreement. Under the table, his foot nudges your own, forcing your attention to him. “And you? What of your wellbeing?” Your brows furrow in confusion. “You haven’t mentioned a word of your family since the first week you arrived. No letters, no visits—your birthday is tomorrow. Were you planning on going back to celebrate?”
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 you’ve upheld towards the people you love back home. “How do you know about that?”
“Rhysand sent over a summons for your return for the special occasion.”
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.
“Well, some greeting that is.”
You jump at the sound of a familiar voice; it’s 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. “Mor? What are you doing here?”
“I’m your summons.” 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 you’ve let your roots grow out. “Rhys had a feeling you might ignore him if he only sent a letter.” You’re too stunned to stand but it doesn’t 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. “How proactive of him.” The words grit out like sand stubbornly stuck inside a shoe. “But, I hadn’t really intended to come back until I finished things here.”
“Boo!” She protests, swiftly snagging the glass of champagne you’d been nursing before her arrival. “If I accepted that answer, you’d never come home!” 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 she’s afraid you’re going to disappear without a trace. “Please? It’ll 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.” She goes on for a few minutes, words running a mile a minute, more pretty promises spilling free until she see’s 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. “Mor, I’m only going to be home for the night, two nights max—you’re packing my bag like I’m gearing up for war.”
“Just wanted to make sure you have options.” A white lie that’s easily detected, especially when she spends too much time collecting your usual jewelry from the dish resting on your bedside. “Speaking of options, how often do you and the High Lord of Summer spend breakfasts together?”
Shoulders shrug, your ass plopping onto the generous cushion of your mattress. “Everyday.”
A perfectly plucked brow raises. “Oh, really?” A conspiratorial smirk lives in the glossy corners of her mouth. “And does he always arrive at these breakfasts so….scandalously dressed?”
“This is Summer Court if you hadn’t noticed—can you blame the male for showing off a little chest?”
“A little chest?” Mor scoffs, hair flicking off one shoulder. “There’s 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. Don’t even get me started on his piercing.”
Eyes roll, a hint of a blush growing along the curve of your ears. It’d been so long since you’d had anything remotely close to girl-talk. “It’s perfectly normal here for males and females to have their belly’s pierced.”
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. “You’re going to give the boys back home a heart attack when you come through wearing these.”
“I don’t wear them to catch attention, I wear them to work on my tan.”
“And tan you are, one could mistake you for an Illyrian with that hue—it’s pretty. Makes your eyes pop.”
“You know what’ll 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?” You’re 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. “Happy birthday to me—have 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.”
Content with her pickings of your items, Mor leaves them by the door, following your lead to the balcony attached to your chambers. There’s 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. “Since when do you dabble in powder?”
“Since I found out my mate had been cheating on me with another female.”
It’s said so casually Mor freezes in place. Blue eyes slowly flicking over to you but you’re 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.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have a problem or anything. Powder didn’t agree with me much.” 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. “Mushrooms were fun at first, until I started hallucinating images of my ex making out with his newest conquest in vivid detail.” 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. “Liqour 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.” You finally meet her gaze. “That’s why we have breakfast every morning—why we seem so close? He’s babysitting me so I don’t do something stupid to myself.”
Mor’s mouth opens, closes; tears welling up in her waterline. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Legs cross over the other, frame situating itself in the floating wicker chairs cushioned with pillows the shade of teal. “Wouldn’t be great for Court diplomacy if Night’s emissary died on Summer’s turf.” Your shrug on the topic is annoyingly flippant, worryingly detached, painfully numb. “Anyways, how’s home? Anything new?”
She swallows thickly, searching for composure, pushing blonde hair away from her cheeks as the summer breeze shifts through the fabrics of her dress. “It’s really not the same without you there. Things are quiet—tense even. Like a machine trying to move without a vital piece.” 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. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t write. Didn’t visit. I—we miss you, you know?”
Vision blurring, throat working over the emotion beginning to knot in it, you nod. “I miss me too.” You brush the vulnerability off as quickly as it appeared. “It’s nice to see you though, hadn’t realized how much until you got here.”
To keep your hands busy, you already begin rolling another, opting to let Mor keep the first to herself so you don’t have to keep passing back and forth. So you don’t 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.
“Do you know how much longer you’re going to be here?”
“I’m 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 t’s and dot my I’s before it’s time for me to move onto the next.”
Mor sits up straight, ash pooling into a little mountain in the tray. “To the next? You won’t be coming home right away?”
Utter silence fills the gaps, fingers fidgeting as you pick at your cuticles until they bleed.
“Are you ever going to come back?”
“We’ll be heading over after we finish these, I reckon.”
You know that’s not what she means.
You don’t 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. Mor’s next pull is vicious, compulsive; smoke huffing out her nostrils like an angered dragon fighting not to breath fire. “Suppose I’ll just have to cherish you while you last then.”
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. “Guess so.”
—
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 doesn’t last nearly as long as you’d hoped.
Perhaps it’s 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. “You actually came! I was so worried you wouldn’t.”
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 eyes—shown 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 who’d forgotten how to bloom. “I trust Tarquin’s been taking good care of you?”
“More than good,” You fix a smile on your face to soothe his concern. “He hovers worse than you do.”
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. He’s 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 woman’s hands touch what used to belong to you. Cassian’s voice is all but a whisper when he finally works the nerve to use it. “You came back.”
“Didn’t have much choice, Mor wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”
Her arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close like she can tell your knees are going weak at the sight of him. “Damn straight.” 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 can’t 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 he’d intended dies in his throat as he looks at you like it’s the first time but you’re already turning the corner before you dare to figure out why.
“Where’s Az?”
“Finishing up some final touches for tomorrow. You’ll see him later.” Excitement bleeds through her every move, the contents of your bag on the bed like a kid sifting through a candy store. “It’ll be really casual tonight, family only—just to catch up. Hope you’re hungry.”
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.
It’s the first thing Feyre brings up when you enter the dining room. “Do they hurt?”
More wine is poured, an abundance of food being portioned off and placed before you. “Couldn’t say, I was a little wasted when we got them.”
“We?”
“The High Lord of Summer is incredibly daring off of faerie wine.”
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 Cassian’s 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.
Everyone’s celebrating, conversations carrying, voices overlapping, laughs bleeding into one another and yet you cant shake the irritating hyperawareness of Cassian’s eyes on your body. Subtly, you search for Nesta, scanning the room for her steely gaze and perpetually elegant updo’s 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 many’s 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 it’s 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. “Are you with him?”
Your jaw clenches, lids narrowing. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“I think you and I both know exactly why it is my business.”
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.
“I’m going to grab more ice, drinks getting warm.”
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 doesn’t render you useless.
The double doors open behind you, a slightly annoyed sigh escaping you. “Mor I—“ Morrigan isn’t the one standing behind you. Elain is, watching you with a knowing look in her doe eyes. “Elain? I’m sorry —“
“You know,” 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. “I dream about you sometimes.” Your jaw clenches, brows scrunching in slight confusion and yet you say nothing. “Of you and your mate.”
Your blood runs cold, heart all but stopping in your chest. “What did you just say?”
