NEVER YOURS

NEVER YOURS

Pairings: Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain, Lucien x Reader

Summary: Azriel never regretted his decisions so much like he does right now.

Warnings: Angst (like a lot), fluff (also a lot because we need a balance)

Words: 6.1k (I got carried away, hehe)

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I was supposed to post the prequel to Second Chance (where the batboys find the reader), but I started writing, and this is what came out! It's different from the other two fics I wrote, but I kinda liked it, anyways I made a little reference to Percy Jackson. Enjoy!

You were born in Day Court during the longest and the warmest day of the year: Summer Solstice. Even though it's not a custom to exchange gifts on that holiday, your parents always told you that you were their greatest gift and that the sun shined brighter that day like he knew that you would be entering this world very soon. 

Your father was Helion's best and longest friend, and he had a place in his Court as his second in command and advisor. Your mother was the lead healer of the Court. She was one of the most powerful and talented healers of Prythian, being a very close second to Madja. 

Due to your parents' jobs, you grew up in the Day Court Palace and close to Helion, who didn't just happen to be your High Lord but also your godfather. 

Your parents reconsider that maybe making Helion your godfather had been a mistake because of how much he spoiled you. On your 4th birthday, he gave you a black baby pegasus as a present, which you decided to name him Blackjack. When he discovered that you liked reading, he had a private library built in your room with all kinds of books. When you were seven and heard an old male saying that females should only wear dresses, you only wore pants for the next three months and of course, Helion made sure you had every type of pants at your disposal. 

When your parents tried to scold him, he just scoffed with his only response being, "She's my goddaughter. What else am I supposed to do?" with a big grin plastered in his face.

You weren't Helion's child, but he always treated you like one, and that never changed, especially after your parents' death. 

Your favorite thing about your parents was their mating bond. After you learned that mates are rare and a blessing, it made every single thing about your parents' love even more unique and pure.

You saw first hand what true love is really like. You saw how much they loved, cared, supported, and protected each other. You saw loyalty and honesty in their deepest forms. Seeing your parents' mating bond made you wish to the stars for a mate, and that one day, you would be blessed enough to find him. 

But you also saw how deep a mating bond could go. You saw it first hand, too.

You saw it when your mother died after getting infected by a rare disease while trying to help her patients. Her death destroyed your father. The pain and the grief of losing your mother, his mate, and the love of his life were so big that your father followed her into the next life a few days later, so they could start their next journey together.

Before he died, your father made Helion promise him that he would take care of you, which he agreed without hesitation. He became more protective of you. He couldn't stop thinking how unfair it was for you to lose your parents at such a young age, only eleven years old, when Helion had them for centuries.

Your godfather made sure to provide you with anything you needed from the best education to the best clothes and when your healing powers start manifesting and you decide to follow your mother's steps, Helion called in a favor to Thesan to see if he could teach you himself. The High Lord of Dawn was happy to accept, and so were you at the thought of having him as your teacher.

You moved to Dawn Court for a year where you learned everything about being a healer, not only with the High Lord himself but also with his best healers. 

You became one of the best: talented, powerful, gifted, and wise. Just like your mother.

Madja was looking for an apprentice at the time you returned to Day, and when she heard about your skills, she asked for you. Rhysand reached out to Helion with Madja's offer: you would be her apprentice, work in the clinic with her but you would also assist her if she ever needed to go to a patient's residence, and would learn everything she could teach you. 

It wasn't needed to convince you to agree. You had heard about Madja and her healing, after Thesan, she was the healer you wanted to work with the most, so of course you were more than happy to have a chance to have her as your mentor. Rhysand added that you would be welcome to stay in one of his personal residences, the House of Wind, during your time in Velaris.

You were only supposed to stay in the Night Court for a year, but that was before you met the Shadowsinger. 

However, despite wanting the apprenticeship more than anything, if you had known what would happen when you agreed to go to the Night Court, you would never have accepted the offer.

-

Azriel couldn't sleep.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't. Not with tomorrow so close, not when he knew what was waiting for him in the morning. 

The past was haunting him tonight, his thoughts hadn't stopped since he had been informed earlier of tomorrow's meeting. So now, here he was, trying to keep his eyes open even though his body was protesting for him to do the opposite.

But he was fighting that need because every time he closed his eyes, you were all he saw. Your beautiful face with your sparkling eyes, your smooth hair, your pointy ears, your sweet voice, and your soft laughter. You were haunting his thoughts like a punishment for all those years ago. 

So all he could do now was to sit on the edge of his balcony with his legs hanging off while waiting for the sun to be born, and remember how things used to be before he destroyed everything.

 -

Everything was perfect in the beginning. Velaris was beautiful, the people were kind, and the pastries were absolutely delicious. 

The only thing you actually missed, besides Helion, was the warmth of the sun like no other Court had but the Day Court. But that was just the Day citizen in you talking.

Your apprenticeship was going amazing. You and Madja had instantly connected, and you were learning so much. Two weeks later, you were already attending your own patients without supervision. You really had a gift, and every time Madja complimented your powers, you gave all the credits to your genes, to your mom. It warmed your heart knowing that the Mother had blessed you with this part of her. In this way, it felt like she was always with you.

The House of Wind felt just like home, and you adjusted perfectly. The Inner Circle had welcomed you with open arms, and you got along with everyone. They thought you and Morrigan would be the closest of all, but they got a big surprise when it turned out to be you and Azriel.

The Shadowsinger was different from everyone you ever met. Everyone in Day was so loud, open, and extroverted. But not him. He was calm, reserved, and difficult to read, but with time, you ended up finding out that the two of you were more alike than you thought. You were able to go through the shell that Azriel had so perfectly built around him over the centuries. 

A friendship was born. Every day, Azriel would fly you to the clinic and then back to the House. You explored Velaris together and made your personal mission to try every single restaurant and bakery from the City of Starlight. 

You walked along the Sidra and even stopped once in a while to dance along the melodies that the musicians were playing. You would read together whether that was in the library, in your room, or in his. You even started training with him and sometimes, Cassian.

You became each other's person. When a day at the clinic was hard or you would lose a patient, he was there to hug and comfort you, and you found yourself doing the same for him about his missions. So you decided to take the next step and spoke about your parents' death, how much still affected you losing them.

And in that moment, Azriel realized how much trust you put in him, so he decided to return it and opened about his past, his family, and his hands. You listened to every word, cleaned every tear, and held him for as long as he needed.

You found yourself falling in love with him a little more day by day, and it only took you a few months to realize that you were completely in love.

The day the bond snapped was one of the happiest days of your life. It happened during the most beautiful celebration in the Night Court: Starfall.

Your hair was tied in a long braid that reached down to your waist, decorating the braid were small yellow daylilies. You were wearing a golden dress that fit perfectly against your sun-kissed skin. The dress had a slit on the left side that went up to the top of your thigh, a single strap held the dress on your right shoulder and when you turned around, whoever was behind you could have a perfect view of your naked back. Golden jewels rested on your ears and neck. 

You looked like a goddess, one blessed by the sun itself. You were shining just like a Day Court citizen should.

Azriel standed next to you in the balcony while gazing at the spirits passing. Both of your hands rested on the stone of the balcony, and when you went to adjust your hand, it brushed against Azriel's. At the new feeling, you looked up to find his eyes, only to see the Shadowsinger already looking at you. In that moment, with the touching of your hands and the meeting of your eyes, the world stopped.

Your hands start interviewing, and everything else just disappeared.

It was just the two of you and the sound of your heartbeats. And then, a golden thread appeared and started tying your hearts and souls.

Azriel held your free hand and pressed it against his own chest, right where his heart laid. You followed his action, freeing your intertwined hands and putting his hand on your chest, above your heart. 

With the final loop of the golden thread around your hearts, Azriel bent down and kissed you. 

That moment couldn't be more beautiful and magical even if you tried. You had finally found the mate that you had wished to the stars all those years ago. 

Everything was perfect. You had everything you wanted and more. You lived in a beautiful city that you learned to love and were starting to call it home. You had the job of your life, working alongside one of your idols. Amazing friends that made you feel welcomed and part of a little family. And finally, your mate, the male you were in love with, long before that beautiful and sacred golden thread. Everything was perfect.

But of course, nothing lasts forever. And all of that disappeared when Elain Archeron came into the picture.

-

Ten years. He couldn't believe that much time had passed. All those years without you.

It had been ten years since the last time he saw you. Ten years since he had heard something regarding you. Ten years since he had broken your heart. And ten years since he had made the biggest mistake of his entire existence.

You had moved back to Day Court after that day, after what happened and after what he did. 

The High Lord of Day had forbidden Azriel from seeing you and from trying to contact you in any way. And months later, when the rumors of a certain Shadowsinger flying above the Palace in hopes to get a glimpse of you reached his ears, Helion banned him from his Court.

Helion had always been a very charismatic and loving person. He's kind, generous, and a very good friend. He gets along with almost everyone, always joking around and laughing.  Some people may say that he's the nicest and kindest High Lord that Prythian has ever seen. 

When problems arise, he always tries to find a solution to solve them or if a solution is not possible, a way to improve them. But not this time. Not when it comes to you and his son, Lucien.

Because your heart wasn't the only one to be shattered that day, no, Lucien's heart was a victim, too. So, from that moment, everything that Helion did was to protect you and Lucien, to make sure that you felt safe, that you had space and time to heal. You thought that was ironic, considering you were a healer yourself.

Azriel's banishment wasn't the only consequence from the events of that day.

That day also cost the alliance between the Day Court and the Night Court, and when the alliance fell apart, so did Helion and Rhysand's friendship.

But Azriel wasn't the only one to blame for all of this. Elain Archeron was guilty, too. She, too, was banished from the Day Court and forbidden to contact Lucien in any way.

But unlike Azriel, Elain's actions cause far more consequences than his. 

The Autumn Court followed the same decisions as the Day Court. The banishment of Azriel and Elain and the prohibition of any kind of contact with Lucien. Eris, now the new High Lord of the Autumn Court after Beron's death, didn't take lightly to what happened to his little brother. 

The two of them had reconnected after Eris became High Lord. They talked through everything that had happened in the last centuries, made peace with their past, and decided to move forward together. Now, the brothers were inseparable and had the kind of relationship they had always wanted since they were younger. So when Eris heard what had happened, he considered those actions as a personal attack. 

He went as far as to offer Lucien the opportunity to choose the Blood Duel, which his little brother refused, saying that all of this had already caused enough pain. Eris wasn't angry just because of Lucien. He was angry because of you, too. You were the first person to give him the benefit of the doubt, the first one to not judge him, unlike the others you tried to get to know him, to be his friend and he let you. 

You were the first one to know the real Eris, to know what he hid behind the mask. Therefore, you had a special place in his heart. Even if you didn't share the same blood, you were part of his family.

But that didn't stop with Day and Autumn.  Spring joined them, too. 

Despite everything that happened and the fact that they were still working on their friendship, Tamlin's loyalty remained with Lucien. Spring had been Lucien's home for decades, and with that came a brotherhood between the two of them. 

Needless to mention that Jurian and Vassa's loyalties also remained with Lucien.

To everyone outside the situation, all of this may seem overreacted and exaggerated. But to everyone involved, it's not.

After all, you and Lucien almost died. That's what happens when a mating bond is rejected.

-

Azriel couldn't believe things had turned out this way. He was so sure that the Cauldron was wrong, that he belonged with Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. How more poetic could it be?

There were signals everywhere: Feyre with Rhysand, Nesta with Cassian, and Elain with him. Elain wouldn't go close to Lucien or talk to him, but she would sit next to him whether during dinners or on the couch, she would talk to him, and requested his company when she went to the garden or to the city. Even his shadows disappeared every time he was with her.

Weren't those signals clear enough? They were meant to be. The Cauldron was wrong. 

So Azriel did what he thought was right. He rejected the mating bond with you, and Elain did the same with Lucien. 

He never thought that the rejection of the bond would've almost cost your life.

That memory still gave him nightmares to this day. How pale you turned, how you sank to your knees with your hand pressed against your chest, tears running free down your cheeks and muffled screams leaving your lips. How much pain you had suffered and how he had been the cause of it. How once, not that long ago, he had been the reason for your smiles, laughs, and giggles.

But that memory wasn't his. It was Rhysand's. Rhys, who had to go through your mind shields, and knock you unconscious so the pain would stop and that memory led him to another memory. 

The memory of that day and the things that had followed after he shattered your heart.

-

Azriel wasn't there the moment it happened. No, he was too busy kissing Elain after admitting how much they craved each other. 

And while he kissed Elain, he felt that golden thread tying the two of you breaking and start slowly to disappear.

Nothing could have prepared him for that last memory of you when he and Elain were summoned to the River House a few hours later.

Rhys had shown him not as a courtesy but as a lesson of how much his actions can affect others. But you weren't just some other. You were his mate. Former mate. Ex-mate.

Azriel made a move to go find you. He needed to explain it to you, and he needed you to understand, but you were already gone.

Rhys told him that after you regained consciousness, Lucien took you with him back to Day Court. 

Lucien. Who you had become instantly friends with since the male's arrival in Velaris. You had treated him just like you were when you moved to the Night Court. You showed him the city, the good restaurants and the best pastries, and also told him about Helion, now that he knew the High Lord was his father and he was his Heir. You wanted him to feel like home, just like you did. 

When Azriel made his intentions clear to go to Day and find you, Rhys showed him the letter Helion had sent. The one that forbidden him from seeing you and from trying to contact you in any way. The one that also had the same indications to Elain regarding Lucien. And that if any of them tried to disobey his orders, there would be consequences.

Azriel knew of protective the male was of you and that he would do anything to protect his family, so for a split second, Azriel found himself fearing the High Lord. 

Rhysand also ordered them to stay away from the two of you, stating that they had already created enough problems and the Night Court could not afford a war with Day. 

After they left his office, Rhys sat down on his chair, trying to think how he was gonna solve this. His mind kept going back to you and Lucien. 

He was there when Lucien came for you, the red headed male was also pale and every few minutes, his hand would press to his chest in pain, his eyes were still red, probably from the tears he had shed.

Rhys knew that Helion's letter wouldn't be the only one he would receive that day. And like he was right, three more letters arrived during it. First from Autumn, then Spring and the last one from the Band of Exiles. 

Rhys passed a hand through his black hair and released a long sigh, Azriel and Elain actions had just cost four allies to the Night Court.

-

When you and Lucien arrived in Day, Helion almost fell to his knees at your sight.

You were in Lucien's arms, your eyes half open with tears still following down your cheeks. One of your hands was against your chest, rubbing small circles in a way of trying to get rid of the pain. Lucien wasn't much better.

Helion headed towards you and started examining you for injuries, but he found nothing, and when confusion made his way to his features, Lucien told him everything.

The confusion was replaced by anger, but the anger wasn't just directed towards the Shadowsinger and the middle Archeron sister. Some of it was towards himself. 

Towards himself, because seeing you like that, Helion felt that he had broken the promise he made to your dad and that this was his fault.

Without giving time for any more thoughts to fill his mind, Helion led Lucien to your room, where the Heir laid you on the bed. You had fallen asleep in his arms with your cheeks still stained. 

Lucien sat on the chair by your desk that was placed in front of your bed and said to Helion that he would stay with you. Helion gave him a firm nod, remembering that Lucien didn't have a room yet in his Palace, but he was about to fix that.

Helion didn't waste any time after making sure that the two of you were okay for now. 

He called two of his servants to prepare a room for the young Heir and went straight to his office where he wrote the letter and sent it to Rhysand.

The next week's were a complicated ones but showed that time was the best healer. 

You no longer spend the days locked in your room alone. You started to eat properly again and went back to work. Day by day, you were smiling more and sometimes making jokes.

Lucien improved as well. He decided to live in the Day Court for the time being and took his place as Helion's second in command. His relationship with Helion was also getting stronger over time. They were making up for the lost time.

But that wasn't the only thing that changed. Your relationship with Lucien also changed.

You got closer than ever, due to the fact you were the only ones who knew what the other was going through.

You found comfort in each other's presence and started spending more time together to the point where you became each other's favorite person. 

Little by little, you start helping each other heal. You started putting back together the pieces that had been broken, and the pain started slowly fading until the day that it didn't hurt anymore.

You two mended your hearts and souls, and for the first time, in a long time, you were full again.

Your friendship grew, and so did your feelings for each other.

-

Azriel couldn't believe how wrong he had been. Because the Cauldron wasn't wrong, it had never been wrong. 

He was the one who was wrong. Right from the beginning.

He and Elain had tried a relationship after yours and Lucien's departure. It worked for six months until it didn't.

Azriel questioned himself why the relationship was starting to fail and why being with Elain was starting to feel wrong.

It didn't take him too long to understand the reason. It was because she wasn't you. He found out that the reason his shadows disappear every time he was with Elain wasn't because they were destined but because they were with you. 

His shadows would leave him and Elain to go find you, like they were stating that they wouldn't betray you, that they chose you. On the day he broke up with Elain, he found his shadows in your old room, which once was filled with colors, books, paintings, and light, and now was empty, dusty, and dark. The shadows were swimming around your Starfall dress, the one you wore on the day your bond had snapped. The sight of the dress was painful, and he understood why it had been left behind.

Azriel had tried to apologize, he flew to Day Court and around the Palace trying to find you but he never did and the next day Helion sent a letter with his and Elain's banishment, making Autumn and Spring to have the same decision. 

He understood why, they were trying to protect you and Lucien, and even though he didn't have the right, he just wanted to know if you were okay. Ironic, considering he was the reason you were suffering. 

He asked Rhys several times if he knew something about you, and Rhys revealed to him that you weren't talking to him or the other members of the Inner Circle either. You had stated that it was too early and still very painful. 

So they respected your decision and kept their distance. 

That had caused Azriel's guilt to grow even more. How he wished for Nesta to still have her powers so he could go back in time and repair all of this.

The light of the sun broke his thoughts. The sun was finally making its appearance in the orange and yellow sky. 

Azriel released a long breath and looked at the clock perched on his bedroom wall. 

The morning was here, and he was only two hours away from seeing you.

-

The Inner Circle stood at the entrance of the Day Court Palace. 

Helion had lifted the banishment for this meeting with yours and Lucien consent.

Both of you said that it had been a long time and that the past should stay in the past, but that didn't mean you would be accepting any apologies today.

Koschei was on the rise again, and Prythian needed to come together once more. Right now, your past didn't matter.

The doors swung open, and the Inner Circle made their way inside. A servant led them to the conference room located in the same hallway as Helion's office on the first floor of the Palace.

They sat at the marble table while the servant informed them, "The High Lord will be here in a few minutes." Receiving a nod and a 'Thank you' from Rhysand, the servant left.

Rhys started, "Y/N and Lucien will also be in this meeting. Now, Helion was nice enough to allow the two of you back here, so do not ruin this." He finished while looking at Azriel and Elain, making them both nod their heads.

Helion entered the room, and the Inner Circle raised from their seats. The High Lord of the Day Court made his way to the head of the table. He turned to the side where Rhys, Feyre, and his Inner Circle stood at his left before offering his hand to Rhys to shake it.

Taken by surprise, Rhys needed a few seconds to process what was happening before accepting his hand. Once they had shaken hands, everyone returned to their seats, but not before Helion sent a disapproving look in Azriel's and Elain's direction.

A few minutes into the meeting, the door to the conference room opened again. And there you were. 

You were dressed in Day attire, a beautiful white dress that hugged your body, with your hair loosen and golden jewelry adorned your neck and ears. Lucien was by your side also wearing Day attire, one that matched Helion's, with your hand in his.

The Inner Circle held their breaths at your sight. It had been ten years, but all the memories came flashing back to them. 

You looked the same, but when you two approached the table, that's when they saw it and shock spread all over their faces.

Azriel couldn't believe what he was seeing. He didn't know what he was expecting to see at this meeting, but it wasn't this.

It wasn't the golden ring that you and Lucien had matching on your left hands informing him that you were married that shocked him.

It was the small and round belly that your free hand was resting on and the sweet vanilla scent that was filling the air. The scent of yours and Lucien's baby. 

"Apologies for our delay," Lucien started, then looking in your direction with a smile continued "Someone had a big appetite this morning." He ended with a laugh.

You looked at his gaze, a genuine smile on your lips. "Shut up." You whispered.

Lucien grabs the back of your chair, pulling it to give you enough space to sit. "Thank you, my love." You said while watching him taking the seat at your right, making you stay seated between him and Helion.

For the first time since you entered the room, you looked at the people in front of you. "Night Court," you greeted with a small smile. 

Feyre was the first to say "Congratulations Y/N. And Lucien." 

Lucien spoke this time. "Thank you, Feyre." He rested his hand on your belly.

"How far long are you?" Rhysand's voice reached your ears.

Looking in his direction, you answered, "23 weeks. Lucien thinks it's a girl, but I think it's a boy," you added. That made Rhys smile.

"I always took you for a boy mom." Amren's voice surprised you and couldn't help but smile at her words. "Congratulations to you two, the Mother knows you deserve it." She finished with a genuine smile.

Lucien looked at Azriel and Elain before directing his eyes to the ancient one "Yes we do. Thank you, Amren." Lucien paused for a second before turning in Helion's direction and continuing. “Let's not keep holding on to the meeting. Please go on, dad." 

Helion proceeded with the meeting, but Azriel didn't listen to a word that was said. He couldn't tear his eyes from you and Lucien. 

There was no doubt of the love you two shared, not when it was written in both of your eyes. He didn't miss Lucien caresing your belly, and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, passing his thumb over your jaw and kissing your cheek after.

Or how you rested your right hand on top of his on your belly while your left passed through his long red hair before resting around his shoulders and your smile while doing it.

What bigger proof did he need of your love if not for the baby you were carrying? Lucien's baby, he kept telling himself. Not his. Lucien's.

Jealousy invaded his body, but there was nothing he could do. He made his decision ten years ago, and now he had to live with it.

Lost in his thoughts, he only realized the meeting was over when everyone started standing. Rhys and Helion were finishing talking, and when the doors opened one more time, Eris Vanserra walked in with a little ginger boy in his arms. He couldn't be more than five years old.

He looked exactly like Lucien, except for his eyes. Those were yours. 

Azriel's heart sank, and it sank even more a few seconds later, when the little boy spotted you and Lucien. You already had a baby and you were about to have your second.

With a big smile appearing on his sweet face, the little boy almost shouted, "Mommy! Daddy!" The boy jumped from his uncle's arms and ran to you.

You bend down and gather the happy boy in your arms before standing again and passing a hand through his ginger curls and saying, "Hi baby." You peppered his face with kisses making him laugh even more "I thought you were having fun with your uncle." You said looking at your brother in law.

Your son pouted “Uncle Eris doesn't know how to play. He onlys wants to do the boring stuff mommy.”

Everyone in the room chuckled, Eris gasped with fake hurt “Excuse me?”

“Elijah.” Lucien chuckled and said to your son after joining your side “Don't be rude to your uncle.” 

“But it’s the truth, daddy.” Elijah hid his face on your neck. 

Eris approached the little family with a smile directed to his nephew. "Sorry. I tried to keep him entertained, but he just kept asking about you two." 

Lucien noticed his older brother had paint and glitter on his white shirt and laughed at the thought of his son giving him a hard time before exclaiming, "It's alright, brother. We were about to leave anyway." 

The little boy settled in your arms and rested his head against yours, Lucien started rubbing his back when the little boy caught the sight of his grandfather and asked before anyone could stop him "Grandpa, how was the meeting with the idiots from the Night Court?" 

The room went quiet, and a few gasps escaped. At your son's words, you turned to look at Helion, now on mom's mood. "Helion! How many times do we have to tell you not to speak like that in front of him?" 

The room erupted in laughter at your statement.  The air became lighter, and Helion put his hands in surrender, promising you that it wouldn't happen again. 

You gave him an incredulous look, saying that you didn't believe him. Your son wrapped his tiny arms around your neck and rested his head on your shoulder with a yawn leaving his lips. 

You rubbed your son's back while speaking to him. "Cmon Elijah, let's leave before your grandpa comes up with a new bad word for you to learn." 

“Bad grandpa” your son agreed with you while earning new chuckles from the Night Court. 

Even though he was trying to hold his smile, Azriel failed, your son was too adorable.

You turned your gaze to the Inner Circle and gave them a smile. "It was good to see you all." 

"You too, Y/N. I missed you." Cassian replied.

Your smile stretched before telling him, "I missed you too, Cass." 

The nickname made his heart ache. Maybe there's still a chance for you to reconnect.

You turned to look behind you, meeting your husband's eyes "You're coming Lu?" 

A pink blush made its way to Lucien's cheeks "Of course, my love" The Heir looked at his father "We'll see you at dinner, dad. Night Court." He said giving the Inner Circle a small nod before joining you and wrapping his arm around your waist and giving a kiss to your now sleeping son.

Amren spoke again “See I told you were a boy mom.” A smile never leaving her face.

“You're right. If this baby happens to be a boy as well, I'm gonna be in trouble.” You replied with a arm holding your son and while the other made it's way to your belly.

“No your not, you're gonna be great.” Nesta spoke, a genuine smile on her lips “We already can see you are.” She gestured to the little boy sleeping in your arms. 

“Thank you, Nes.” You were grateful for her words.

On your way out, you met Azriel's eyes but you couldn't find the words so you simply gave him a nod with a small smile and Azriel returned the gesture.

When the door closed, Amren was the first to break the silence "Well, the Mother has a sense of humor." 

Everyone turned to look at her but she focused her gaze on Azriel and Elain "You rejected them because you believed you belonged with one another only for your relationship to fail six months later. And now," she released a laugh "your former mates found their way towards each other. Fell in love, got married, had a son and have another baby on the way. Ironic isn't it?" She said with the feline smile returning to her lips. 

It was Helion who spoke next, amusement all over his face "Indeed. I guess karma is a bitch." He sent a disapproving look one more time in the direction of the two people who almost cost him his family before exiting the room.

Amren's and Helion's words stung but Azriel knew it was nothing but the truth. He realized in that moment, that despite your life now and how things turned out, you would never forgive him.

He had lost you forever and now he had to live with regret for the rest of his life. After all, you were no longer his. 

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I wasn't sure if someone wanted to be tag on this fic so I didn't do it. But I'm thinking in making a general taglist so if you wish to be added let me know. The next fic I'm gonna post will be the prequel of Second Chance. 😊

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

Beneath the Ashes (I/II) - Azriel x Reader

Beneath the Ashes Part I - Azriel x Illyrian!Reader

Summary: Azriel finally finds the girl he’s been looking for all these years—his mate. But unfortunately for him, his mate happens to be an Illyrian who, upset over the fact that he’s turned his back on his own people, wants nothing to do with him. (Enemies to lovers vibes, angst)

a/n: based on this REQUEST. This is going to be a two part story because I kind of went a little too hard writing this haha. Thank you for your request and the inspiration! (Also I know a lot of you asked to be on a taglist for this story but since it’s only 2 parts I’m not gonna make one)

warnings: misogyny, sexism

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Part I of II

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Azriel was not happy, to say the least. Not as he landed on the cold, hard ground of one of the Illyrian war camps in the northern region of the mountains. He internally cursed at Cassian for still being on his mating honeymoon with Nesta because now he was being forced to do things Cass would normally be in charge of—primarily dealing with the Illyrians.

It wasn't a secret that Azriel hated Illyria and all its people. Hated that he came from such a barbaric, backwards culture.  He knew Cass was trying to do all he could to break the traditions Illyrians held, but Azriel had always told him they were a lost cause. If he could never see these damn mountains again, he'd consider it a blessing.

But, evidently, that was not a blessing he'd be allowed—at least, not until Cassian returned. For now, he was the one who was being sent out on these missions by his High Lord. 

Rhys had gotten word that some commotion was happening in the camp that had its people up in arms about something. He had asked Azriel to go check it out and who was he to turn down a request from his brother? So here he was. He was just hoping to get this over with soon. 

He had tried sending his shadows ahead of time to collect intel, but they had been acting weird ever since they returned to him. They had swarmed him with their cryptic messages.

Beautiful.

Our master must see. 

Permission to kill, master?

Needless to say, Azriel had no fucking idea what any of that meant. He had given them no such permission to kill, at least, not until he could see for himself what was transpiring here. 

He was passing by the training rings, ignoring the stares of the brutes who were working out and sparring within them, when he heard several sets of loud voices. He quickened his pace, following the voices into the residential section of the camp until he finally beheld what was causing the commotion. 

Three males were on the porch of one of the cabins, restraining a female Illyrian, who was thrashing around like a wildcat, screaming, "Let me go, you assholes!"

Another male Azriel recognized as the War Lord of the camp was standing on the steps leading up to the small cabin, arms crossed and a sneer on his face. A male next to him was holding a blubbering Illyrian toddler, whose arms were outstretched towards the female with tears pouring down her chubby cheeks. 

None of them had noticed him yet which Azriel used to his advantage. His shadows were already wailing when he let them loose. They spiraled towards the group, swirling around the males holding the female and yanking them away from her. All of their heads snapped in Azriel's direction except for the female. She tumbled to the ground but quickly scrambled to get up and rushed towards the male next to the War Lord, not even sparing a glance at what had caused the males to unleash her. 

She went to grab the little girl from the male holding her but was quickly held back by the War Lord with a growl. The War Lord twisted her arms behind her back, holding her in place, but his glare was firmly set on Azriel.

Azriel's face displayed no emotions as he stalked forward, his hand ghosting over Truth-Teller. 

"Shadowsinger," the War Lord bit out in greeting. The other males quickly got to their feet and stood at attention. 

"Silas," Azriel said, not bothering to address him properly which made the male bristle, "Care to explain what is happening here?" 

"None of your business, Shadowsinger," Silas hissed. "I have it under control."

"Doesn't seem like it," Azriel replied, coolly. 

The female was still trying to break out of Silas's grip, cursing under her breath. He tightened his hold on her, causing her to hiss in pain as he twisted her wrists in his hands. Azriel's shadows seemed to hiss in response, poised to attack as soon as Azriel gave them permission. 

Azriel's gaze fell on the female, noting the frustrated tears in her eyes. It seemed like there had been a scuffle. Her hair was half falling out of her braid, she had scrape marks on one of her cheeks, and a bruise was beginning to form on her jaw. One of her wings was flared out proudly while the other drooped to the floor at a weird angle. His fists clenched at the sight and when she finally looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, the breath was completely knocked out of his lungs. 

Despite her tattered appearance, she was single-handedly the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He stood frozen for a moment, taken aback before he shook himself out of the spell she seemed to cast on him, realizing how inappropriate of a time it was to be ogling her. 

"Let her go, Silas," Azriel commanded in a dark voice.

"I don't take orders from you," Silas spat out. "Besides, this female has been breaking the law for months now. We're taking her into custody." 

"Fuck you," the female barked out, stomping on Silas's foot. The male cursed and went to strike her on the back of her head but Azriel's shadow caught his wrist in their grasp before he could. 

"I said," Azriel growled, lowly, causing the males to shift in place, "Let her go." 

"Fine," Silas sneered, though a tiny bit of fear flashed in his dark eyes. He pushed her to the ground in front of him. She was quick to spring back to her feet and rush towards the toddler who was still screeching. The male could hardly keep hold of the little girl.

"Let the babe go, too," Azriel snapped. The male scoffed but set the little girl down. She immediately ran to the female who bent down with her arms wide open, catching the little girl and standing with her firmly on her hip. The little girl's cries quieted down and she buried her small face in the female's neck. 

"Would anyone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Azriel snarled, taking another step closer. Half the males mirrored his step back and he fought the urge to chuckle. 

"Like I said," Silas snapped, "This female has been breaking the law—”

“What law?” Azriel asked, firmly.

“Females are not permitted to live alone nor own houses,” Silas barked out. “She has ignored our warnings—”

“My father left the cabin to me in his will!” The female shouted, causing the small toddler in her arms to whimper. She stroked the girl's hair, shushing her. “It belongs to me.”

“I don’t care what your father promised you,” Silas growled. “It is against the law for you to be living here alone. You must surrender the cabin and go live in the barracks with the other unwed females of marrying age. Your sister will be placed under the care of the matron.” 

“Like hell I’m leaving her under the care of that female! You’re just going to have her wings clipped and force her to do grueling chores all day! She stays with me!” 

“You are out of line! I knew your father wasn’t raising the two of you right. Ever since your mother passed away—”

 “Don’t you dare say another word about my parents!”  

The War Lord lunged towards the female with a growl but Azriel shadowed between them, unsheathing Truth-Teller and pressing it against the male’s throat. 

“Lay a hand on her and I’ll gut you right here in front of all of your brutes,” Azriel snarled. 

Silas stepped back with a scoff. “You want to stick your nose in our business? Fine, then she’s your problem. I expect her out of this house by the end of today, Shadowsinger, or there will be worse consequences.” 

He stormed away, his entourage trailing behind him while sending glares to the female. Azriel waited until they were out of view before he turned to look at the female but she was gone from next to him, already walking up the steps to the cabin with the babe—her sister—on her hip.

Azriel went to follow her but she stormed into the cabin and slammed the door in his face before he could so much as utter a single word. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before he knocked on the door. When Rhys had mentioned a problem happening in this camp, he hadn't expected to deal with something like this. It would’ve been much easier if it had been a problem he could solve with his fists. 

When she didn't answer, he knocked harder—nearly causing the door to shutter. 

It flung open a second later, a seething female behind it. "I already told those assholes I'm not leaving. If you're here to tell me to pack up and move, you can kiss my ass."

Azriel had to stop his lips from twitching into an amused smirk at her words. He wasn't used to dealing with female Illyrians that had attitudes. Most of them kept their heads down and stayed quiet. His mother had been like that....

"I'm not here to tell you that," Azriel answered. "May I come inside?" 

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms and staring him down. He found himself even more amused at how she was trying to intimidate him. Most fae avoided him and his gaze. But a female, whose head barely reached his shoulders, seemed to be completely unfazed by him.  

"No, you may not," she snapped. "Anything you need to say to me can be said perfectly fine from where you're standing." 

“Can I at least bring a healer to come check out your injuries?” He eyed the scrapes on her face, the bruise and her drooping wing. Azriel’s chest ached at the sight and anger pulsed under his skin. He wanted to turn around and go rip those males apart limb by limb for laying a hand on her.

“I don’t need your help, shadowsinger,” she spat out.

"Fine," Azriel sighed. "I was sent by the High Lord because there's been reports of someone here causing disarray. I'm going to assume that someone is you." 

She shrugged, nonchalantly, her eyes flickering between his own and the shadows swirling around him that wouldn't shut up about how beautiful she was, how brave....They were singing her praise. It confused him. His shadows had never acted like this before. 

When she failed to answer, Azriel cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “Will you answer my question?”

“Aren’t you the spymaster?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be able to gather intel yourself and not rely on a lowly Illyrian female?”

“A lowly Illyrian female?” Azriel raised an eyebrow at her crass words towards herself.

“Isn’t that how you and all the High Lord’s dogs view us?” Her tone was biting, her eyes filled with hate.

Azriel shifted, at a loss for words. He was used to being met with hostility by the Illyrians, but never usually from the females themselves. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

It was a lousy response, but he truly had no idea what to say. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him and moved from the doorway, grasping the door. 

“Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t care enough to do so,” she snapped. “Now, if that is all, you can kindly escort yourself off my property, shadowsinger. Thank you.”

The door slammed in his face a second later.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Azriel returned a few hours later with a letter from the High Lord in his hands. He stormed through the camp, once again ignoring all the glares sent his way. He pushed his way inside the main war tent where Silas was sitting at his desk, twirling a dagger in his hands. His dark eyes looked up at him as he walked in, narrowing.

“You’re back,” Silas said, voice dripping with disdain. “I noticed that the female has still not been relocated from the cabin.”

Azriel strode forward and slammed the letter down on his desk. Silas’s eyes dipped down to it, quickly reading the short message before he looked back up at Azriel with a sneer. “What is this?”

“A notice from the High Lord and Lady,” Azriel answered, face unreadable. “Any laws that forbid a female from living alone or owning property are hereby revoked. This repeal shall be set in motion immediately.” 

"I can read just fine, Shadowsinger," Silas snapped. "I meant what the fuck is this? Does Rhysand think he can just snap his fingers and remove laws that have been around for centuries? I refuse to allow this."

"You'll address the High Lord properly or I'll cut your tongue out for your disrespect," Azriel growled. "The High Lord and High Lady can do whatever they want. You will abide by these new laws or your title of War Lord in this camp will be revoked." 

Silas looked like he wanted to say more, a vein in his forehead pulsing, but he only tightened his hands into fists and let out a long breath. "Very well then, Shadowsinger. I assume you've already informed Y/n of this?" 

"Y/n?"

Silas smirked. "You ran to tattle on us to the High Lord and didn't even know the name of the bitch you—"

Before anything else could come out of the War Lord's mouth, Azriel stalked forward and kicked his desk over, causing both Silas and all his paperwork and trinkets to smash on the floor. The War Lord let out a pathetic gasp in fear, scrambling to his feet and pressing himself against the back of the tent.

"Talk about her like that again," Azriel snarled. "And I'll rip out your throat."

Silas quickly tried to school his composure but Azriel could still see the lingering terror in his eyes. Silas straightened out his leathers before glaring at him. "It's nice to see the Illyrian is still in you after all this time, Shadowsinger. Once a brute, always a brute—isn't that what you like to say?" 

Azriel felt his pulse spike at Silas's words. He hated being reminded that he was Illyrian, even more so being compared to the worst of them. He wasn’t even sure why such rage had sparked in him in the first place. Silas's lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the way his words striked through him. But Azriel didn't wait around to hear what else the asshole had to say, letting his raging shadows swoop him into their darkness. 

He stepped out of the shadows and onto the porch of the cabin he had been at earlier. He took several breaths, trying to calm himself before gently knocking on the door. After no one answered for a moment, he lifted his fist to knock again but the door was pulled open, leaving his hand to hover in the air. He dropped it to his side, narrowing his eyebrows as he was met with no one.

"Hewwo."

Azriel nearly jumped in fright before his gaze dropped to the toddler that stood in the doorway. It was the little girl from earlier, Y/n's sister. He swallowed harshly, eyes darting around the foyer of the cabin in hopes that her sister would pop out any second but no one came. He wasn't good with children, and wasn't used to being around them. Nyx was the only child he had ever really been around and he was still a baby. 

Azriel sighed and crouched down on his haunches, making him more eye level for the little girl. Her shoulder length hair was the same color as her sister’s, her eyes too. The resemblance between the two of them was undeniable. 

"Hello there," Azriel said as gently as he could. "Is your sister home by any chance?" 

“Mhm,” the little girl hummed, busy watching the swirling shadows all around him. 

"Do you think you can go get her for me?" 

She shook her head no, her hair bobbing with the motion. 

"Why not?" Azriel asked, keeping his voice light.

"Cause I'll get in trouble," she said with a little lisp. "Mm not 'pposed to open the door." 

Azriel smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. He was surprised that she didn't seem scared of him or his shadows, as most kids were. "Don't worry, I won't tell her you opened the door for me. It can be our little secret."

She looked to be contemplating his promise, her little nose scrunched up. One of his shadows whisked forward and started swirling around her tiny frame. To Azriel's surprise, the little girl giggled, swiping her hand around to try and catch it. 

"Suri, what are you—Get away from her!" 

Y/n came thundering down the hall, yanking her sister away from the doorframe. Azriel stood to his full height, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as she glared at him before turning to look down at her sister.

"Suri, go to your room." 

"No," Suri pouted, crossing her little arms. "I wanna play with the shadows."

Azriel's lips twitched. This was quite possibly the first time a child had ever seemed anything but scared of his shadows. It was oddly endearing. 

"Go to your room," Y/n commanded in a stronger voice. "Now."

Suri stomped her foot but did as she was told, disappearing from his view. 

"What are you doing back here?" She hissed, once her sister was gone. 

Azriel pulled out the other parchment paper he had brought with him, the same notice he had given Silas. He held it out for her. "I came to deliver this." 

She took the paper from him, glancing at him suspiciously. Azriel watched as her pretty doe eyes scanned the parchment, reading Rhysand's elegant script. To his surprise, she started to chuckle to herself. She handed it back to him, her face twisted into a mocking smirk. 

"Do you honestly think this is going to stop them from trying to kick me out of this house?" She asked him, sarcastically. His eyebrows furrowed. "I'm guessing you're going to patrol this camp for a week or two to make sure they're adhering to the notice and then you'll wipe your hands clean of this all, pretending the High Lord solved everything. But you know the day you stop showing up here, Silas will be at my doorstep." 

"I can assure you that we'll do everything we can to make sure all the WarLords follow these new laws," Azriel said, his face unreadable and his voice detached. She shook her head with a smile that lacked any warmth. “I promise you that.”

"Right," she drawled out, "Well, thank you so much for your help, shadowsinger." 

She went to shut the door but Azriel stuck his hand out, catching it before she could. His gaze fell to her drooping wing, still bent at an awkward angle. "Please, let me bring a healer to attend to your wing." 

Her wing could heal on her own. It would probably only take a day or two, but just seeing it made Azriel's chest ache. He knew the pain she must be in. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend like you care about my wings." 

"I've broken a wing before, too," he explained. "I know how much it hurts. Please, let me help you." 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Do you want to know the difference between my wings and your's, shadowsinger? Your wings healed. You get to fly. Mine will never heal."

Azriel's gaze dropped back to her wings, now noticing the two scars—clipped. Her wings had been clipped. His heart dropped into his stomach, rage bubbling to the surface instead.

"Who?" he growled, his voice ice cold. 

"Like I said," she bit out, "Don't pretend like you care." 

"I do care," Azriel replied, fists clenching. And it was true, he did. Wing clipping was a heinous crime, one that had been outlawed since Rhys was sworn in as the High Lord of the Night Court. Of course, sometimes the practice of wing clipping still took place in remote camps that slipped through the cracks. "Wing clipping has been forbidden since—"

"I am well aware that wing clipping is forbidden," she snapped. "But like your stupid little notice, no one cares. And the High lord and all of his cronies, you included, Shadowsinger, have made it very clear that you don't either." 

"We do care," Azriel argued. "We do. But we cannot keep watch of all the camps at all times. We rely on people reporting it—" 

"Oh, spare me from hearing your excuses," she cut him off with a growl. "Do you want to know who did this to me? Here's a clue—go look in the High Lord's desk for a letter addressed from me. I've been sending one every single day for the past six years so there's bound to be at least one still around." 

"Six...six years?" Azriel questioned, quietly. "You've been sending a letter every day for six years and not one of them was ever answered?"

Sure, Rhysand had been gone for fifty years, of course and the rest of them had been unable to leave Velaris thanks to him. Then, they had been busy with the war and didn’t have time to deal with inner court problems. But it had been two years since then and she was still sending letters. Letters looking for justice for what happened to her. Letters gone unanswered.

"Not a single one," she huffed.

"Y/n...I am so sorry—"

"Save it," she barked out. "Now, if we're done here, I'd like you to leave." 

"Please, let me help you—"

Azriel choked in surprise as something within snapped. He couldn’t breath, taking a single step back as a golden thread weaved its way through the space between him and the female standing before him. 

Before his brain could even process what just happened, the door was slammed in his face. But Azriel stood frozen on her porch. Frozen in shock because he had finally found his mate. After all these years, he had finally found the person he had been searching for. 

And she absolutely hated him. 

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Your wing had healed enough by the next morning that you could lift it off the ground, though it was rather painful to do so. Your pride made you suck it up, not wanting to go to the healer and have anyone touch your wings. No one had laid a hand on your wings since the day they were clipped and you wanted to keep it that way.

You got ready for the day, putting on one of your mother's old white, chemise dresses. It fell to the top of your boots, swishing around your ankles. You layered a dark blue skirt over it before putting on a front lace-up corset. You grimaced as you did up the buttons under your injured wings before you tightened the corset until it fit snuggly. Lastly, you threw on a cloak. It was snowing outside today and the last thing you needed was to freeze to death.

You stepped in the hallway, the cabin quiet. You went to wake up Suri to get her ready for the day. Normally she was still asleep, so you were surprised when you heard her voice the closer you got to the door to her bedroom. 

"Bad doggy," she babbled, her voice muffled through the door. "You can't go in there." 

Your eyes widened, realizing she was talking to someone or something. You quickly slammed her door open, eyes darting around in concern. Suri jumped as her door banged open, spinning around on her bed to look at you. A small shadow wisped behind her, like it was hiding. 

"Suri?" You questioned. "Who were you talking to?" 

"Issy!" Suri sang out, jumping off her bed in her little pajamas. She still called you issy, unable to pronounce your name easily or the word sister. "The doggy came back!"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The what?"

The shadow darted out from behind Suri, swirling around her and causing the little girl to giggle, "Doggy!"

Your eyes narrowed. One of Azriel's shadows had not only lingered behind, but had been staying with your baby sister. You felt your pulse spike with anger. As if it could sense your emotions, the shadow stopped swirling around and instead pressed itself on the floor like it was bashful and guilty. 

You scoffed, "Go back to your master! We don't want you here." 

The shadow wisped upwards, disappearing through the ceiling. A realization had you clenching your fists. Suri pouted. "Issy, you scared the doggy away!" 

"That was not a dog—" you cut yourself off with a sigh. "Suri, go brush your teeth and your hair while I get breakfast ready, okay?" 

"No," Suri grumbled, her tiny nose twitching. "Not unless you get doggy back!" 

"If you do as I say, I'll make you strawberry pancakes for breakfast." 

"Strawb'rry pancakies!" Suri squealed, the shadow momentarily forgotten. Satisfied with your deal, your sister rushed off to get ready. You left her to it, stalking outside through the backdoor. You walked a few paces away from the cabin, staring up at the roof, using a hand to block the rising sun from your eyes.

"I know you're up there!" you shouted. "Don't bother trying to hide!" 

Footsteps were heard and then there was Azriel, peering down at you from his perch on your roof. His annoyingly beautiful face was near unreadable, his hair in a bit of disarray like he'd ran his hand through it one too many times. Dark circles were underneath his hazel eyes and those familiar shadows were whirling around him.

"Why are you on my roof?" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Good morning, Y/n," Azriel said, his voice low and husky from disuse through the night. "I've been keeping watch. I wanted to make sure none of those males would bother you again." 

"I already told you I don't need or want your help, Shadowsinger! Now get the fuck off my roof," you snarled at him. You didn't want him here. You didn't want his stupid shadows near you or Suri either. Besides, since when did he care what happened to you or any other Illyrian females? He had turned his back on his own people the day he ran off to the High Lord's perfect little city, pretending like he wasn't one of you, wasn't Illyrian. 

Easy for him. He was a male that could get siphons to use his powers correctly, a male who hadn't been forced down and clipped. He could fly wherever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. He had money and resources you wouldn't even bother dreaming for. Azriel could wipe his hands clean and pretend like he hadn't been born in these mountains and hadn't left anyone behind to suffer when he left. 

It was one thing to escape this brutalizing, barbaric way of living. It was another to gain power and influence within the court and not bother to help your own people. Azriel was a traitor and he could go to hell for all you cared. 

You hated him for it. Hated him and all of his friends. Hated the High Lord and Lady who did little to help anyone here. Hated the General for leading your father to his death in the war. You hated them all.  

Azriel let out a quiet sigh. "I know you don't need my help, but I... I can't just leave knowing those males might come back and hurt you again. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it."

"I don't care about your stupid promises," you bit back. "Get off my roof and go home, Azriel. You're not wanted here." 

"I know you hate me and I know we've all let you down," Azriel replied, guilt shimmering in his eyes. "I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, Y/n. I promise." 

"Again with the promises! Your words mean nothing to me," you grumbled, tossing your hands in the air. "I don't have time for this. You know what? You want to spend all of eternity sitting on my roof, you go ahead! But I would really appreciate it if you would just fuck off!"

You didn't bother waiting for his response, storming back into your house and slamming the door shut behind you. 

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

A week went by and Azriel kept watch over you the entire time. Every day you would walk outside and peer up at the roof to see him perched there, oftentimes twirling his dagger in his hand lazily. He'd give you a small smile that looked more like a grimace and you'd roll your eyes and go back inside. 

You hated that some part of you did feel better knowing he was there. You knew his reputation and you knew none of the males in this camp would bother you as long as he was there. But it still infuriated you to see his face every morning. To see him shake the snow off his wings. To see him glare down at everyone in your camp like you were all beneath him. 

You especially hated how much Suri had come to love his shadows, always chasing them down the hallways of the cabin. You just wanted him gone. 

And it seemed like you got your wish two weeks later.

It was nighttime, the house quiet now that you'd coaxed Suri into going to bed. You were getting ready for bed yourself, dressed in a nightgown and putting out the fire when a series of soft knocks caught your attention. You frowned, pausing to look at the door. Who would be coming by at this time? Certainly no one good. 

You were debating on ignoring it when a dark shadow whisked its way underneath the door. 

"Y/n," Azriel called out. "It's just me." 

You rolled your eyes and opened your door, knowing he wouldn't leave until you did so.

"What?" You eyed him, taking in his disheveled appearance. You wondered how he survived spending the night in the snow. Just the small draft that came in from opening the door had you shivering. You hugged yourself, your hair blowing gently in the ice cold breeze.

Azriel seemed at a loss for words for a second, his eyes roaming down your body before he met your gaze. His cheeks turned a bit pink as you raised an eyebrow at him. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion.

"I need to leave for a few days," Azriel finally said. "The High Lord is sending me on a small mission. I...I would feel a lot better if you'd let me take you and your sister somewhere else while I'm gone. I can set the two of you up in a nice inn or tavern in Velaris. Or you could stay at my personal residence. Just for a few days." 

You stared at him utterly perplexed. "You're...you're joking, right?" 

He shook his head looking dead serious. "No, Y/n, I'm not. I worry what will happen if I'm not here to watch over you. Please, just...just let me help. It might be nice for Suri to take her to Velaris and let her see the city." 

"You're out of your mind," you hissed. "I'm not leaving my house and certainly not with you. I already told you I don't need your help."

You went to shut the door but Azriel reached out and grabbed it before you could.

"Please, I just want to help—"

“Azriel, I have survived here on my own for the past two years since my father died in the war,” you growled. “You can't sit on my roof forever. If you truly wanted to fix things, you would've done so centuries ago. So just leave, Azriel. And don't bother coming back." 

“I do care,” Azriel pleaded. “Please—”

"I am not leaving," you snapped. "I am not letting those stupid males run me from my own home. I don't know why you even care! And stop with the whole 'I promised you' thing. You don’t even know me!”

He opened his mouth to say something else but you slammed the door shut in his face. You locked the deadbolt before letting out a sigh. 

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Azriel was worried. Worried and scared and angry. Worried that Silas and his goons would bother his mate while he was gone. Scared that they’d hurt her. And angry at just the thought of that. His chest ached as he thought about his mate and her clear hatred towards him. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right. He had abandoned Illyria a long time ago. 

But that needed to change. He needed that to change. Not just for his mate’s sake but for her sister, for Nyx, for all the females and children whose lives were awful because of the males in charge of all their camps. 

She had been the wake up call he needed. He had the privilege of being a male in Illyria. He got to keep his wings. Got to work at having a different life then the one he was born into. His mate hadn’t had those opportunities. She was flightless, stuck to the ground and stuck in her miserable camp. 

Azriel wanted nothing more than to just grab her and her sister and get them far away from Illyria. To bring them to his apartment in Velaris where he could take care of them, could keep them safe. 

But his mate didn’t trust him. 

He would do anything to prove himself to her. Prove that he did care for her and all the other Illyrian females. No matter how much hate he was met with, he’d keep crawling back until he earned her forgiveness and a chance to give her a better life. 

She deserved that more than anything. Not just because she was his mate but because she had been so strong all these years, standing up to males twice her size and keeping her sister’s wings from being mutilated like hers had been. She didn’t choose to be Illyrian anymore than he did. 

And Gods, he wanted her to stop hating him. He wanted her to give him a chance. Just one chance to show her what she truly deserved. He had learned so much about her by just watching her this week and he knew that no other female would come close to capturing his heart and attention the way she had in just that short span of time he’d known her. 

Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her or her forgiveness. He knew she was too good for him. Too beautiful, too pure of heart. He could see that just by the way she took care of her sister and the other females in her village, despite the torment it brought her from the males. 

He let out a sigh, his eyes still locked on the camp of Autumn Soldiers. He was doing a reconnaissance mission. Beron was up to something again and these soldiers had been spotted on the coast. 

It had been two days since he left his mate and so far, nothing had been unknowingly sent down the bond except for her normal moods she fluctuated with during the day. 

He just needed to finish this mission and rush back to Velaris to drop off his report to Rhysand before he could get back to her. He normally liked to take his time on his missions but this was quite possibly the first time he ever had a want to get back faster. He was hoping to sneak into the River House and set his report on Rhys's desk without seeing anyone. He'd been ignoring and skipping family dinners for the past week and knew they'd have a lot to say about it. 

Azriel faltered as a wave of fear crashed through him. No, not fear. Terror. Unbridled terror and then pain. He sucked in a breath, nearly falling from the tree he was perched in. He was frozen for a second before he realized what was happening---his mate was in danger. 

It took him less than a second to decide to abandon the mission and shadow all the way back to the Illyrian mountains. Azriel let out a curse when he stepped out of the shadows in front of his mate's cabin to see it covered in flames. Someone had set it on fire and it was quickly crumbling under the flames. His heart was beating in his chest as he strained his ears to make sure no one was inside.

But then the most heart-stopping, chill inducing sound was heard ringing through the camp.

His mate's screams.

He sprinted towards the sound, his boots pounding against the cold hard ground. It led him to the town center where a crowd had formed, males hollering and shouting encouragement at whatever was happening. 

Azriel pushed his way through the crowd, shoving aside male after male until he reached the front. His heart dropped in his stomach as he beheld what was happening before him. 

His mate on her knees, holding up the tatters of her shirt to maintain her dignity. Silas standing behind with a whip in hand, raising it in the air again. Blood all over the white snow around his mate, staining it red. Tear streaks running down his mate's face, her beautiful face pale and twisted in pain. One of Silas's commanders holding a crying and screaming Suri, her tiny fists pounding on his chest. 

Azriel wished he knew what happened next. Wished he had this memory to look back on whenever he remembered the rage he felt. But one second he was standing there staring at his mate in horror and the next second, he was surrounded by dead bodies with Truth-teller in his hand dripping with blood. The camp had fallen silent and his ears were ringing, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. 

Suri had been dropped in the chaos and had rushed towards her sister, throwing her small arms around her neck as she sobbed.

And his mate.

His beautiful mate was staring right at him, eyes wide from witnessing the carnage he had just unleashed in this camp. Silas laid dead behind her, his shadows still ravaging his body. Slit throats, broken necks on all the other males that laid dead at his feet. But his mate was looking at him.

Azriel took a step towards her, watching her carefully as she weakly wrapped an arm around her sister's body while her eyes never left his. And he knew the mating bond had just snapped for her, could see the realization in her eyes. 

"N-no," she stammered out, her voice cracking. "No. Not you. Not...Not you! Anyone but you!"

Azriel could feel her dread pouring down the bond amidst the pain and terror she felt. He felt his heart crack in his chest, heard his shadows wailing as they too felt her pain and sorrow. 

But his broken heart at finding his mate and hearing that she didn't want him was not important in this moment. Not as his mate's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped to the ground.

Azriel rushed forward, scooping both his unconscious mate in his arms and her crying sister before disappearing in a whirl of screaming shadows. 

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

------------------------------------------ 

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

false god | blaise zabini x reader

song; false god [taylor swift] pairing; blaise zabini x pure-blood!slytherin!fem!reader genre; arranged marriage, angst, hurt comfort, fluff, sort-of-e2l word count; 4,7k timeline; deathly hallows warnings; swearing, references to sex/hook-ups, references to battle injuries, questionable views on muggle-borns summary; you had been betrothed to blaise zabini practically your whole life, and while you moved in the same friend group, he had always avoided you. you tried to understand, you really did, but were you really so undesirable?

happy belated valentine's day!!

masterlist

"they say the road gets hard and you get lost when you're led by blind faith."

——————————————

The ring of plated white gold and emerald jewels had sat comfortably on your left ring finger ever since you had been big enough to wear it. It was worth a fortune, as your parents frequently reminded you, so it would be disrespectful to the Zabini family to not wear it with pride. You obeyed, even though Blaise - your affianced - had not worn his (more masculine) twin ring for as long as you had known him.

Sometimes you would catch the pitying looks of your mutual friends whenever the sun shone just right on the piece of jewellery, catching everyone's attention. They all knew that Blaise avoided you, never spoke to you, but it was an unspoken matter. You did your best to never show your hurt on your face, and be a strong and positive woman, like your parents had raised you to be.

You just wanted to make them proud.

It's not that you were in love with Blaise, not by any means. You would have to have actually spoken and bonded with the man to reach that stage. Regardless, rejection hurt, especially when you had no part in the arrangement of your marriage either. You were in the same position as he was, yet he acted as if you were at fault for the situation he found himself in.

You weren't a bad person, and you were at least decently attractive - was it really so bad to be betrothed to you? Why couldn't he just make the best of a bad situation and try to get to know you?

***

The Hogwarts Express had never been colder, even the warm red seats looked sallow and grey, reflecting the sullen looks on everyone's faces. You let out a sigh, pulling your thick jacket tighter around you and sinking into the cushions. Pansy was sat next to you, chewing on her lip thoughtfully as she stared at the water droplets cascading down the window. You hadn't said a word to each other apart from a greeting.

In fact, everyone on the train seemed to be sitting in silence.

Slytherin was the only house with almost full attendance from its students, as even the families who didn't support the death eaters felt confident in the safety of their children thanks to their blood status. The same couldn't not be said for the other houses, which had lost a good chunk of their students due to parental fears. Especially the muggle-borns - every single muggle-born you knew in your year had not shown up to catch the train.

It wasn't a mystery as to why: showing up to the school that was now overseen by Voldemort as a muggle-born was a death wish.

Despite its pure-blood status, your family didn't support Voldemort. That's not to say that they didn't have prejudices against muggle-borns, or that they would let you marry one, but they certainly didn't wish death upon them and would likely be okay with you befriending them. Just as long as you kept your bloodline pure.

The L/N family had remained a neutral party during the First Wizarding War, and were doing the same now during the second.

"Have you seen Draco?" Pansy asked, not even looking at you.

"I think I saw him at the platform at one point."

She hummed, and the silence fell again.

You began biting your nails.

***

The reign of Severus Snape as headmaster of Hogwarts had officially begun, casting an even more intense shadow over the school. As a Slytherin, this was actually quite good news, but you weren't so selfish that you could disregard the wellbeing of the other houses. Plus, the subject changes like Defence Against the Dark Arts becoming simply- the Dark Arts- were quite jarring.

"Can someone pass me the roast potatoes?" the emotionless voice of your fiancé rang out, signifying that he was talking to you. Normally, when talking to your other friends, he would smile, say please, even laugh. But when he was talking to you, he would do so indirectly and without emotion.

Sure enough, you were the person closest enough to the roast potatoes, but you decided to hold back in fulfilling his request, instead locking eyes with him. "Say please."

His eyes bored into yours for a few moments, before he scoffed and said, "Please."

"Was that so hard?" you mumbled, passing over the potatoes. Your friends had gone silent during the exchange, some of them sending pitiful glances your way. You were sick of being treated this way, both by Blaise and your friends, even if your friends did have good intentions.

You resumed your meal, aiming to at the very least enjoy the food of your last ever welcome feast at Hogwarts.

***

All you knew about Blaise was what your parents and friends had told you.

He was a pure-blood, and the son of a beautiful witch who had been widowed seven times under suspicious circumstances and become richer every time. As far as you could tell, it was highly likely that one of these dead husbands was Blaise's father. Admittedly, it made you nervous to marry into such a family, so perhaps it was a good thing that Blaise was so unwilling.

But your mother had told you that you had nothing to worry about, as Ms. Zabini only ever married bad men, and used it as a means to eradicate them.

"A noble cause."

Still, you had the rights to be nervous.

"Back to school party tonight," Millicent bounced up to you and announced, "Just us Slytherins."

"A party?" you had forgotten that such an event existed, given the misery of the world.

"I mean, yeah, we all need a pick-me-up," she shrugged, "It'll be in the common room. Bring firewhiskey."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, but ultimately decided that drunkenness was just what the doctor ordered.

***

In your defence, you had started off slow with the drinks, mixing with lemonade and gradually sipping over a long period of time. However, once that system had (slowly but surely) gotten you drunk, all bets were off.

"Shots!" someone had shouted, and next thing you knew you were downing your sixth shot, after however many mixed drinks you had.

You stumbled away from the dancers to where some of your friends sat chatting, having the sudden feeling that you weren't too far away from passing out.

"Pansy..." you slurred, flopping on to the sofa next to her.

"Salazar, Y/N, how much have you drunk?"

Ignoring her question, you mumbled, "I feel amazing."

"A little self-control next time, yeah?"

You waved her off, no longer feeling like you were about to pass out so stumbling to your feet. You looked around the room with your eyes squinted, deciding that another drink was an excellent idea.

As you were on your way over - your friends calling after you - your vision became blurrier, until you bumped into a hard chest.

"What the fuck?" you cursed, narrowing your eyes and looking up at the person who inconvenienced you.

"Zabini," you muttered.

"Should you be getting another drink?" he asked.

You blanked him, "Does it kill you to be nice to me?"

He said nothing, biting on his inner cheek.

That was when the feeling of passing out returned, only this time in tenfold, making you drop forward. Your eyelids were heavy, you had to close them, and your body was heavy too, too much effort to remain stood up...

The only things you remember seeing after that were flashes of the stairs down to the dormitories - but you weren't walking, so how was that possible? And then throwing up in a toilet bowl, with your hair for some reason out of the way.

And then cushions, and quilt. But not yours: they smelled gorgeous, so you nuzzled your head into the scent and sighed dreamily.

***

When your eyes slowly peeled themselves open the next morning, your head was pounding and you were quite disoriented. Initially, you seemed to be tucked up in your own bed, but upon closer inspection you realised that the forest green decor was not in the usual place of the Slytherin seventh year girls' dormitories. In fact, this was a room that you had never seen before.

"You're up."

Your eyes shot towards the entrance to the connected bathroom, and every limb in your body froze as you laid eyes upon Blaise Zabini, already showered and dressed even though it was a Saturday.

"What- I-" you stuttered, sitting up in bed. You were relieved to see that you were still in the party clothes from the night before: you weren't opposed to a hook-up, but you would've liked to remember it.

"Relax," he sighed, "You blacked out last night. Carried you down here because I can't go down the girls' stairs."

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together the events, "Right..."

He said nothing, moving over to the dresser to spray a fragrance on his wrists. He truly was your typical classy rich boy. You took this opportunity to look around at the other beds in the room, seeing that the curtains were drawn around one in particular.

"Your beloved Pansy is in there."

Salazar, had she and Draco had sex while you were sleeping in the same room?

"At the very least they put a sound-proofing charm on," Blaise confirmed that thought, and you couldn't help but remark that this was the most he had ever spoken to you.

"Where did you sleep?" you had to ask.

This time, Blaise blanked you, his dark oak eyes void of emotion.

"Next to you," he eventually said, making your breath hitch. "Like we're not engaged, L/N," he scoffed, making you scowl.

"Since when have you acted like it?"

He didn't reply, and you decided that if you let it escalate to an argument, you might wake up the others. So, you forced yourself out of bed, picking up your shoes and leaving without another word.

Walk of shame, here you come.

***

Typically, if one of the girls in your dorm stumbled in the morning after a party in their clothes from the night before, there would be immediate questions of what happened and with who. But, when you entered your dorm, you were met with silence. Partially because half of the girls were still asleep, but mainly because the girls who were awake avoided looking at you.

Daphne was the only one forward enough to say something. "I saw Blaise carry you down."

To be fair, that would explain the lack of questions about hook-ups. They hadn't suspected that the two of you had sex. You simply hummed in response, just wanting to strip yourself of your clothes and makeup and crawl under your own duvet.

But Daphne still wasn't forward enough to ask if that meant your engagement had become a less cold one, as that would be entering the territory of the unspoken agreement to never mention the elephant in the room of Blaise's unwarranted disdain for you.

So, you were able to settle into a new slumber unhindered.

***

The party had been a pleasant but unfortunately temporary distraction from the miserable atmosphere that was Hogwarts. Learning the dark arts made you feel dirty, unclean - like you were announcing to the whole world that you were a death eater. You knew you weren't, and that you would never receive the Dark Mark, but you couldn't help but feel like a bad person.

You knew, however, that being a Slytherin meant the other houses looked at you with disdain, and also that many of your friends weren't entirely opposed to the Dark Lord's cause. It was something that made you sick to your stomach, yet you refused to voice these thoughts to anyone.

Not even Christmas could cheer you up, when before the colourfully decorated castle walls had filled you with a joy like no other. It didn't even feel like Christmas, it was as if all the saturation in the world had been lost, leaving behind a cold, dull grey hue. You had never been so sure of the fact that you would go home for Christmas than you were that year. At least your home wasn't shadowed by the rule of Voldemort, even if it was a tad cold and empty.

"I'll see you in the new year, yeah?" Daphne said to you, pulling you into a hug, "Have a good Christmas."

"You too," you returned the embrace, "And happy new year."

She smiled at you, and that was when you caught sight of Blaise in the corner of your eye. You hadn't spoken since the events of the Slytherin party, primarily because you had avoided him. But, he was walking towards you.

"Merry Christmas," he said monotonously, and Daphne took that as her cue to disappear.

"Merry Christmas," you said curtly back, picking up your trunk as you prepared to get off the train.

"Our families are having dinner together over the holiday."

You hesitated in your movements upon hearing that, but decided against replying, instead leaving him stood there with an expressionless face.

***

It wasn't that your parents didn't love you or care for you by any means, you knew that if you refused to marry Blaise Zabini they wouldn't disown you. But, they were raised with certain values and customs, and you had been raised into them as well. You wanted to make them proud - you just wished that the husband they had picked for you was a more willing participant in the arrangement.

So, when Blaise Zabini and his recently widowed (for the millionth time) mother arrived on your doorstep, the smile on your face wasn't entirely false. There were some truth to your emotions, despite the current state of the world.

"As you know, Blaise and Y/N are in their final year of Hogwarts," Ms Zabini spoke proudly once you were all sat around your dining table, "I believe it's time we start planning the wedding."

"I couldn't agree more," your mother replied, "It should be an elegant affair."

"That goes without saying."

You chewed on your lip.

"Y/N, what colour theme would you like?" your mother asked.

Your breath hitched, as you tried to scrape together a daydream of your dream wedding.

"Maybe pastel green?" you suggested timidly, "Since we're both Slytherins."

Ms Zabini nodded her head approvingly, "Is that agreeable to you, Blaise?"

The man shrugged, "Whatever Y/N wants."

"That makes things easy," the widow said, "It shall be a wonderful event."

***

After dinner, your collective parents had left you and Blaise to your own devices, suggesting that you show him your room. Part of you was surprised they were allowing a boy into your bedroom with no supervision, but you supposed some formalities were wavered due to your engagement to be married.

Blaise snorted when he entered your room: covered in moving posters and animated Lego sets, your four poster bed being pink and frilly with enchanted butterfly decor all around the wood.

"It's a bit mismatched," he said simply.

"It's home."

He raised an eyebrow at that, and silence consumed the both of you. The tension that hung in the air was thick, making you feel like you would go insane if you didn't say something.

"I'm not that bad, you know."

Blaise turned to face you from where he was sat at your desk, meanwhile you had perched on the end of your bed.

"I get that being tied to someone not of your choosing is a bit suffocating - believe me, I know - but you could make it easier for yourself by actually trying to get to know me."

"I do know you."

You rolled your eyes, "You know what I mean, Blaise," his first name was a foreign taste on your tongue, "You could have a worse wife than me."

He appeared to ponder your words for a while, stewing in the dampening tension of the atmosphere meanwhile you anxiously awaited his response. It was as if every action he took was intentional in making your nerves spike.

"The truth is, Y/N, I resent you."

You sat, stunned.

"My freedom to choose has been taken away from me."

Your blood boiled, making you stand up, "And I'm to blame for that? I'm in the same situation as you are, you knobhead."

He said nothing.

"I wasn't the one who made the decision. Stop acting like you're the only one here who's having a hard time."

Blaise went to open his mouth, but you carried on.

"Not to mention, there are people out there dying in the war right now," you vaguely gestured towards the window, "You should count your lucky stars that the biggest problem in your life is having to marry me!"

You scoffed, watching as he stared wide-eyed at you. After you realised he had nothing to say, you left the room to head down to the kitchens. Salazar, you needed a cup of hot chocolate after that whole ordeal.

***

The dark grey clouds cast a grim shadow over the once buzzing atmosphere of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and they only seemed to get gloomier by the day. It was all you could do to stand on the sheltered bridge as you watched rain pour down, even though it was meant to be Spring. The mood of the wizarding world had always had a strange effect on the weather.

Your gloveless fingers were beginning to grow numb in the cold, but you didn't move, nor make any attempt to warm them up. You just wish that you could say that your low mood was for something as selfless as the current danger muggle-borns were in. But, no, you were egotistically thinking about your own qualms - i.e. your upcoming wedding with a man who hardly looked your way.

Ever since the argument at Christmas, he had gone back to disregarding your existence, apart from the few occasions you would catch him staring at you when he thought no one was watching. Aside from that, both your mother and his were frequently owling you about decisions for the wedding, which was making the whole ordeal seem a lot more real than it did before.

"L/N," the last voice that you expected to hear called out from beside you.

Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to turn around, as if you were paralysed.

"You'll freeze to death out here," he spoke again, this time closer to you, "Everyone's wondering where you are."

Slowly, you turned your head to look at Blaise Zabini, your sallow eyes boring into his.

"They're looking everywhere for you."

"Tell them I'm fine," you eventually spoke.

"I don't think you are, though," he sighed, "You look like you're one minute away from hypothermia."

You shrugged, "Nothing magic medicine can't fix."

Blaise rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand, "Fuck, you're like ice."

That was when he started dragging you back to the castle, and you didn't have the energy to resist at all.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?"

You scoffed, "Like you couldn't guess."

He didn't reply to that statement, instead saying, "We're getting you warmed up."

He sat you in front of the fire in the Slytherin common room, wrapping a forest green blanket around you and placing a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hand. Your friends gathered around you, asking questions about where you had been and if you were okay, but you replied to none of them. Eventually, Blaise urged them all to give you space, letting out a sigh in the process.

Your heart twisted, and you attempted to suppress the pain by sipping on the drink.

It burnt your tongue.

"Careful," Blaise murmured, sitting on the sofa behind you.

You didn't even have the energy to scowl.

"We have our NEWTs soon, you have to take care of yourself."

That wasn't the only thing you had soon.

"You don't have to pretend like you care," you eventually forced out between chattering teeth.

You paused - waiting for him to say something. Anything. Part of you was praying to the gods above that he would say he wasn't pretending, that he did truly care. Instead, his silence was deafening, and your heart twisted and turned all that more. Why couldn't you just hate him?

Who would have thought it would be such a curse to have feelings for your fiancé?

***

Dust swarmed your senses, wrenching at your lungs and causing you to cough horrifically like you were a seasoned chainsmoker; you could barely see a metre ahead of you, and it was all you could do to shield your eyes with your arm as you progressed forwards. Through the crumbles and cracks, you could hear yells of Latin, thrown aggressively and with raw passion that had your blood spiking.

As far as you could tell, you were still in the dungeons - but you needed to get out of them, as they appeared on the verge of collapsing. You hadn't particularly engaged in any duels yourself, both because you were a coward, and because you lacked duelling skills. However, you had aided some students against the death eaters here and there on your progression through the castle.

You couldn't take a completely neutral stance like your parents.

You coughed harder, spluttering as your feet found stairs and began to climb up them - stumbling, but not falling.

"Help," a strained voice called out, making you assess the situation around you as best you could. As you inched further towards the left, you could make out the figure of someone stuck under rubble halfway up the staircase. You moved even closer.

"Blaise?" you croaked out.

A groan.

"Fuck," you mumbled, quickly muttering a spell to lift the rubble off of him. You saw the blood staining his clothes and gasped.

"It snapped my wand," he said, wincing as he tried to move.

You did your best to help him up, letting him rest his weight on your shoulders as you continued to push up the stairs.

"The dungeons are about to collapse," you said, carefully navigating your way around the corner once you finished the stairs.

"The whole-" he groaned, "-castle is."

You grimaced, "You need a healer."

But getting to the makeshift hospital ward without getting caught up in a duel would be quite a challenge. Then, it suddenly hit you.

"Which side are you on?" you quickly asked.

He scoffed, "Which side do you think? I'm still here." He then hunched over with an even louder groan than before, you swiftly moved to support his weight more.

Most Slytherin students who were either neutral or on the side of the death eaters had abandoned Hogwarts instead of staying to fight. You were a coward, but you would never have been able to forgive yourself if you had left. Instead, you found yourself stuck in the dungeons, some way, somehow.

"You stayed to fight," you murmured.

He went to say something, but another sharp pain coursed through him.

"Fuck," you cursed.

***

By some miracle, you reached the hospital ward with minimal further damage, and managed to get Blaise seen to instantly. You were amazed that they didn't question two Slytherin students being on their side, but you supposed it made sense: they were the good guys.

As you watched them take his shirt off to assess the damage, a glimmer of something against his chest caught your eye. It was connected to a thin silver chain that dangled around his neck, showing slight signs of wear and tear, implying he didn't even take it off when showering. When your vision cleared, you realised that the shimmery object along the chain was none other than the white gold band of green jewels that was the matching pair to the ring on your finger.

A lump caught in your throat, "You're wearing it," you choked out.

Blaise's eyes were shut, but he smiled tiredly, "Always."

Tears pricked at your eyes.

***

Eventually, what would be known as the infamous Battle of Hogwarts ceased fire: Lord Voldemort had fallen at the hands of Harry Potter. But there weren't cheers.

There was only devastation.

The wreck that the once majestic Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had become, and the subsequent deaths of thousands of kind-hearted people who had so much life to live. It was the epitome of bittersweet to watch people going around clearing up after the battle. You were grateful to be among the living, sat next to Blaise as he slept restlessly on a mat on the floor.

There wasn't really anyone else for you to talk to in the aftermath after all: Slytherins were quite isolated from the other houses, and hardly any Slytherins had stayed.

You allowed yourself the luxury of taking Blaise's hand in your own and squeezing it gently, letting a solitary tear cascade down your cheek. Was it relief? Was it hope? Was it happiness? Or was it sadness? Melancholia? Regret?

You didn't know, you simply allowed the feeling to wash over you.

"I didn't stay to fight," Blaise said out of nowhere, his voice gruff and quiet.

"Hm?"

"I stayed because you stayed."

Your heart jolted at his words, "Really?"

"Of course," he peeled his eyes open, "'Til death do us part."

You squeezed his hand again, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you act like you hated me?"

He sighed, appearing to be gathering as much energy together as he could, "I resented you, yes, but I- I was also scared of hurting you. You know what everyone thinks of my mother - that she's a-" he coughed, "-serial killer. Killing her husbands."

You admired his smooth face, despite its cuts and gashes.

"I was scared of becoming her, and I didn't want that to be your fate."

You reached out a hand to graze his prominent cheekbone, letting the tiniest of smiles tug at your lips.

"We'll be okay, Blaise," you murmured softly, "You're not like her."

He smiled slightly, wincing in the process. "No arranged marriages for our kids?"

You nodded, "No arranged marriages for our kids."

***

Your parents walked either side of you as you made your way down the grassy aisle, the summer heat blazing down on to the prettily flowered meadow. In your hands was a bouquet of white and pastel green peonies, and on your figure was a gorgeous princess ball gown that cost a small fortune. All your family and friends were stood up from their seats, gazing at your every move. Blaise, proudly stood at the altar in a black suit with a mint coloured waistcoat, was no exception. His eyes were trained into yours, making your heart flip tenfold.

Meeting him in front of the officiant, you passed your bouquet off to Pansy before allowing yourself to truly smile in your fiancé's presence. He took your hands into his and squeezed ever so slightly, as the officiant began to speak.

It felt like forever before the vows.

"I, Mr Blaise Zabini, promise to take Miss Y/N L/N to be my wife, and to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part."

He slipped the ring on to your finger, where it settled above your engagement ring.

The attention was then on you.

"I, Miss Y/N L/N, promise to take Mr Blaise Zabini to be my husband, and to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part." You pushed the larger ring on to his finger.

"I now, by the power vested in me, pronounce you husband and wife."

Blaise swooped down to kiss you warmly on the lips as cheers erupted from the crowd, and you found yourself smiling into his lips.

"I love you," he whispered. Words he had never spoken before.

"I love you too."

'Til death do us part.

—————————————

masterlist

written; 27/12/2023 —> 15/02/2024 published; 16/02/2024 edited; —/—/——

*+:｡.｡ A Scent of Desire ｡.｡:+*

Pairing: Academy! Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Notes: only one bed trope, childhood friends to lovers, sfw

Summary: You come from a very wealthy family in the Capitol, but despite this, you and Coriolanus grew up with an impossibly close relationship. However, as soon as you both joined the Academy and you naturally grouped with the other wealthy academy students, Coriolanus kept such interactions at a minimum and therefore spoke with you less and less. Years after you regrettably drift apart, his small family of three find themselves evicted from their penthouse. Your family graciously takes his in, but there’s only one problem: there are only two spare rooms, and Coriolanus insists on leaving those for his Grandma’am and his cousin. So of course, you offer your room to him, and that leads to something you’ve both been dreaming about since you were young.

Word Count: 1.9k

A.N: I feel like this was a little bit longer than I intended for it to be but I hope you all enjoy it anyway 😭💕

Request: from @javierpenasredshirt

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

When your childhood friend Tigris Snow approached you one day after years of only communicating through letters, the desperation in her face worried you to your bones. Telling you with evident humiliation that she’d been evicted from her penthouse not too far from your own, you’d instantly offered respite to which she responded deeply graciously. Her cousin, however, was much more resistant. He’d tried as hard as he could to find another place to stay, but after they all came to the same end, he relented. Which is why he was finally sitting in your living room with his family and yours after eating the first full meal he’d had in a while.

“Darling, with Tigris and her Grandmother in the spare rooms, you’ll let Coriolanus stay in yours tonight, won’t you?” your mother arranges, sending an expectant look your way.

“Yes, of course. I can stay in the front room. I’ve got a lot of work to do anyhow, so I won’t be sleeping much either way.” you reply, Coriolanus instantly straightening his back in defiance.

“I couldn’t possibly. I’ll stay in the front room, it’s no bother at all,”

“I’ll have a maid set up one of the couches and you two can decide between yourselves who’s to take what, the rest of us should like to retire to our own rooms i should think,” your father says. He’d always had a knack for avoiding difficult decisions, and you didn’t know how intentional that happened to be.

So, after everyone had gone to rest, you and Coriolanus were alone in the kitchen so you could get yourselves a glass of water.

“You can stay in your room, I couldn’t possibly invade your privacy more than I already have.”

“I’d love to disagree with you but I highly doubt you’ve gotten any less stubborn over the years, Coryo.” you laugh, bringing the cool glass to your lips. In doing this, you missed the way his cheeks subtly flushed at your use of his nickname, having not heard it from you in much longer than he’d prefer.

“Of course not,” he chuckles, clearing his throat in an attempt to rid himself of any bashfulness you caused him, “I may have gotten more stubborn in fact.”

Barely more than an hour later, you couldn’t force yourself to concentrate on the Communications work in front of you. It was a class Coryo excelled in ( along with the rest ) so you quietly made your way from your room and back downstairs to ask for his help. As soon as you caught a glimpse of him from over the bannister, your breath caught in your throat the same way it always did when you saw him. You’d had feelings for him since before you’d even learned what love was, and you regretted nothing more than how you allowed your relationship to weaken the way it had. Even though you knew he didn’t have feelings for you, just talking to him was often enough to satiate your need for his closeness.

“Coryo?” you quietly called out his name as you approached him. He was looking upon the burning fire in the hearth before him, the light from the flames reflecting on the side of his face as he turned to face you sparking a pink blush upon your cheeks; you thanked the stars it was too dark for him to see. However, you soon found yourself regretting not putting a sweater over your pyjamas, as you were only going to sleep in a shirt slightly too big for you that covered the small shorts you wore underneath.

“Do you think you could help me with the homework for Communications? I can’t seem to grasp it,” you politely ask, trying your hardest to fight the nervousness biting at your words. He was still in his academy rouge, telling you that he’d never intended on trying to sleep. He had, however, discarded the skirt and the blazer leaving him only in his red dress pants and pale blue button-up, the sleeves of which he’d rolled up to expose his forearms.

“Of course. Do you have it with you?” he asks, and you curse yourself for not bringing it. It appeared as though you were too eager to have an excuse to talk to him to collect your bearings.

“No, I’ve left it in my room, I’ll just go and grab it-”

“We could just do it in your room if you’d like. It requires a few textbooks, and they’re terribly heavy to have to haul around,” he suggests, standing up and gesturing towards the staircase when you failed to give a response.

Truthfully, you knew if you spoke it’d come out a nervous mess, so all you did was nod and led the way back up to your bedroom. He’d been this way countless times in your youth, but this time was completely different. You’d both grown up since the last time, and the thought of him seeing such a vulnerable space made you much more nervous than you thought was rational.

You both settled onto the foot of your bed where there were multiple open textbooks, a collection of pens and a notebook open to a page full of crossed and scribbled out sentences. He began right away to help you with the work, and somehow - even with your nervousness - he managed to explain it in a way that had you questioning how you were ever confused.

After you’d finished and Coryo had helped you put everything away, he began to make his way towards the door and say goodnight, but you stopped him.

“You can stay in here, with me, if you’d like. I certainly don’t mind. The bed’s big enough for the both of us,” you offer, instantly internally cringing at how desperate you sounded. He stays silent for a second and regret begins to seep into your chest until he releases the door handle and a small smile makes its way onto his pink lips.

“If you certainly don’t mind, then neither do I.” he teases, stepping away from the door towards your much smaller, now embarrassed figure. “I’ll have to take off my clothes though. I didn’t bring anything to sleep in,” Were you going crazy from the blood rushing to your cheeks or did Coryo’s voice almost sound seductive at the end?

“Whatever is most comfortable. I’ll be in the bathroom to give you some privacy,” you calculatedly respond with a polite smile, determined not to embarrass yourself any further.

After you were sure he was in your bed, you re-entered your now darkened bedroom to find Coriolanus with your comforter only pulled up to his stomach, revealing his pale, toned chest, moonlight filtering through your window across his skin. With a difficult swallow, you wordlessly join him right at the edge, despite the valley of space between you.

“Goodnight, Coryo.” you manage to utter, your parents raising you to be polite overpowering your intense nerves.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice now deepened with fatigue.

A few minutes pass in silence and the only thing you can concentrate on is Coryo’s scent of something so inviting, a cologne made of desire or the like. However, your pining is interrupted by his voice softly breaking through the darkness.

“Thank you. I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” he says, and you smile at his admittance of gratitude.

“It’s no problem, Coryo. I’d never want to leave you without a place to sleep.” you respond quietly, turning over to face him despite the fact that you could see hardly anything of his face.

“I don’t just mean tonight. You’ve never told anyone at the Academy about my… situation, and you’ve been genuine when no-one else in that place has. That’s what I’m thanking you for,” his further admittance stuns you to silence, as it was never anything you’d ever even thought about doing. In your mind, your keeping of his secret was less of a respectable act and more of just unspoken, common decency. You acknowledged his gratitude anyway.

“Can I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you’ve always been so… nice. You’re not as nice to anyone at the Academy as you are to me.” he was right. You didn’t respect any of your classmates so while you’d be friendly to their faces, you detailed your disdain for them in your letters to Tigris. He must’ve read some of them. Or perhaps he’d just noticed the subtle way your expression would sour as soon as you exited a conversation with any of your classmates. Or how it never soured after you’d spoken to him.

“I respect you more than I respect them, Coryo. That’s all there is to it.” you simply reply.

“That’s all there is to it? Nothing more?” he almost sounds disappointed, but you just agree, horrified at the thought of accidentally revealing your feelings for him. But apparently the fact that neither of you could clearly see each other inspired a sort of confidence in the blond man, as the next thing he said made your heart stop.

“If it were down to my interpretation, I would’ve guessed you had feelings for me.”

Silence enveloped the room the way it had before while you desperately searched for a response to disagree with him. How humiliating it would be for him to know and to have to let you know he didn’t feel the same.

“Well, thankfully it isn’t down to your interpretation then.” you shakily respond, turning onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

“What a shame. If you did have feelings for me then I’d be able to tell you I returned them. But I suppose all of that’s irrelevant, as you don’t,” he replies, and you can hear the smugness dripping from his lips teasingly as your cheeks flush impossibly bright and your mind races with as many thoughts as you could possibly handle.

Seconds pass in silence, and you don’t move until you feel his weight shift next to you and the chill of his hand brush against your shoulder. It travels up past the sensitive skin of your neck until it lands on your jaw and after finding what he was looking for, he turns you gently to face him in the darkness. As your eyes meet, the moonlight illuminates the side of his profile in such a way that you can’t bring yourself to look away from the sight in front of you. His lips close around yours and your hand reaches to tangle in his blond curls that you’ve loved since your first time seeing them. He tastes of something sweet, something you’ve craved for so long.

He pulls away much too quickly for your preference before shakily exhaling.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he admits in such a low whisper that you could’ve easily missed it.

“Me too, Coryo,” you reply, relief blooming in your chest at the realisation that you no longer have to conceal your feelings for him. “How were you so sure I liked you?”

“You weren’t exactly brilliant at hiding it,” he jokes, laughing at your indignant scoff, before continuing “I’m kidding. I heard Arachne tease you about it after History. And Tigris left one of your letters out where you mentioned it.” You don’t hesitate to retract your hand at his admission and he laughs again before placing another small kiss on your lips.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s cute how much you think about me while you’re sitting in class.”

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

back-burner | myg

sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, sorta frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, smut, fluff

WARNINGS. one-sided pining (?), longing, sibling jealousy, insecurities, miscommunication, family trauma (it's not as bad as it sounds!!!), explicit language, eventual smut, eventual fluff, MAJOR ANGST, sexual harassment, mentions of poor mental health, alcohol as a coping mechanism (minor), mentions of poor health, neglecting one's health [warnings to be added!!!]

STATUS completed

BACK-BURNER PLAYLIST made by the lovely @purest-expressionofgrief

main story

01: drunk words can get you in trouble

02: some shine brighter than the rest but it gets dark sometimes

03: use your words

04: just for tonight, you'll try to forget

05: you give and you give until you have nothing left for people to take

06: you were a fire, and you burnt anything that came in your way

07: what you know, isn't always the truth

08: hidden conversations and truths

09: how much would you let yourself go?

10: two broken hearts

11: you were the sun; he'd burn to keep himself close

12: what is free, will sometimes hurt

13: do it for you, if not for anyone else

14: when one door closes, another one opens

15: [epilogue] to begin; again

drabbles

i: yoongi doesn't like christmas that much; but he loves you—that much

Ask My Muse Responses