Hiiiii!💖💖 just read Nobody Else Az fic and OMG it is SO good!!! I absolutely loved it! First Az fic I've read in a really long time that I've actually loved. Can I humbly request a part 2?🥺💖
Hey, thank you so much! I’m currently in the process of writing part 2.
I’m hoping it won’t take too long but I really want it to live up to part 1🤍
Summary: It would only ever be you, no matter how much time had passed.
Warnings: fluff, angst, reader described to have the same eyes as Rhys.
A C O T A R M A S T E R L I S T
There had been many times over the course of being chained within the depths of this cave in which you had thought yourself to have officially gone insane but the moment you felt as though the shadows in the corners of this prison began moving was when you had accepted that insanity had taken over you but the moment you began hearing them whispering to you was truly the loss of all hope.
You had long since lost count of time, with nothing but darkness surrounding you and no hope for any light to work its way into this godforsaken pit, days were passing by without your knowledge. It had been years at this point, how many, you didn’t know but long enough for the world outside to be a distant echo and for your presence to have faded into a pitiful whisper.
Years passed by with only the reminders of your old life to keep you company; you often dreamed of those times your brother carved out time in his day to braid your hair or when you would both jump out of the windows late at night to fly over Velaris together. You’d dream of your mother, how she’d let you sit and ‘help’ her make dresses or that time you were so outraged when you were learning how to fly and she pushed you straight from the balcony of the House of Wind so that you had no choice but to fly.
Your days were filled with flashes of them all; your mother, Rhysand, Mor and Cassian.
You wondered how much of life had moved on without you.
Was Rhysand High Lord yet?
If he was, how had your father died?
Had Rhysand found his mate?
Had he made her High Lady like you both always spoke about?
In those extra difficult times that your control slipped even further, those memories of the Shadowsinger would linger the harshest.
You did not like thinking of how much his life had moved on without you.
Rhysand and Feyre stood together in the kitchen of the townhouse, looking through the window into the garden where Elain was tending to the flower garden and Azriel was sprawled out nearby, sunning his wings.
“Do you think the Cauldron can make mistakes with mates?” Feyre asked him, a look of confused anguish on her face.
Rhysand looked towards his mate, surprise dancing in his eyes at her question. “Nobody truly knows what makes the cauldron put two people together. They’re not always perfectly compatible, my own parents were examples of that, they never truly loved each other. Others, like us, are lucky to find love with their mate.”
Feyre continued looking out into the garden. “Why couldn’t the cauldron have made Azriel, Elain’s mate, instead of Lucien. Lucien is good but they look good together,” Feyre pointed out to where the Shadowsinger was still sprawled on the grass.
A pulse of pain pulled through their bond causing Feyre to snap her eyes back to Rhys. She was surprised to see the pain in his eyes, it wasn’t just any pain. It was the sort of pain that lingered and dwelled, a grief that would forever remain no matter how much time passed but there was also a subtle protectiveness in his eyes that could almost be missed.
Feyre was confused.
Rhysand swallowed a lump in his throat before speaking. “Do not mistake Azriel’s kindness towards your sister as affection. He is spending time with her because I ordered him too, to try and understand her powers. You’re reading into something that isn’t there.” His voice was stern but not unkind.
Feyre’s brows furrowed at his words. “It would be an honour for Azriel to find his mate, with anyone.”
“Azriel does not want a mate, Feyre.” The sheer confidence in Rhysand’s words only confused her even more.
“But why would he not want a mate? I thought everyone dreams of having one.” She questioned, looking out at Azriel’s figure in the garden.
She thought Azriel of all people would want a mate.
“Azriel has already had his great love,” Rhysand said. “No mating bond could ever live up to that for him. There are loves that even the cauldron cannot compete with.”
“What?” Feyre asked, shock taking over her face. “Who?”
That pain appeared in Rhys’ eyes again, a quick flash but it was there. “I meant it when I said I have no secrets to keep from you but not all stories are solely mine to tell. I am not going to tell you Azriel’s secrets.”
Feyre nodded silently. She understood, it didn’t diminish her curiosity but she would not pry for answers that weren’t hers to have.
Azriel’s footsteps were silent as always, shadows licking at his heals and fingertips as he walked towards Rhys’ office.
Not bothering to knock, his gloved hand unlatched the handle as he stepped inside. “You called, brother?”
Rhys was sat back in his chair, unsurprisingly dressed in his formals but the conflicted look on his face ruffled his demeanour. “I’d like to preface by saying you haven’t done anything wrong, my mate simply is too nosey for her own good and sees things she hopes are there rather than reality at times.”
Azriel’s face remained at an impasse other than the slight narrowing of his golden, hazel eyes.
Rhysand sighed. “Feyre is under the impression that you and Elain may make for a better match than her and Lucien.”
The control Azriel had on himself immediately slipped as he stepped back, eyes widening in shock, fists clenching by his sides as his shadows fluttered around him. “No. Rhys, I would never-”
“I know” Rhys interrupted. “I am not accusing you of doing anything, Az. I just thought it best to let you know.”
Azriel shifted uncomfortably at his words. “You know there is no one else, there never has been and there will never be anyone else.” He insisted, wanting his brother to believe him.
Rhysand’s gaze softened. “I know. I have never doubted that even though it would be okay if eventually-”
“No!” Azriel’s cut him off, “There will never be another.”
“Okay,” Rhys conceded. “I just wanted to let you know, Azriel.”
Azriel nodded his head, not hesitating in taking his exit, leaving Rhys there in a suffocating silence of loss.
“You’re distracted,” Cassian dropped his stance, looking towards Feyre intently.
His High Lady sighed in frustration, leaning back against the ropes of the sparring ring.
“What’s on your mind?” He asked.
Feyre pursed her lips in contemplation before relenting. “Did you three actually used do things in the same room as each other?”
Cassian barked out a deep laugh at her question. “That’s what’s on your mind?”
Feyre shrugged sheepishly.
Cassian shook his head, a large smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, Rhys and I did. It would be a bit weird and incredibly uncomfortable for us all if Azriel did.”
Feyre tilted her head curiously, “Why?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very nice for Rhys to see his best friend having his way with the girl he loves more than anything, would it?” He said, as though it was obvious. “Besides, Azriel has way too much respect for him to do that anyways.”
Feyre’s eyes widened in shock but there was also a sickening feeling of jealously bubbling in her stomach. “So, Azriel and Rhys loved the same girl?”
Cassian, way too focused now on stretching to acknowledge how his words had been interpreted. “We all love her but those two always have and always will love her most. She’s their number one girl.”
Number one girl.
Feyre did not like the sound of that at all. She hated it and she hated herself even more because of the jealously that gnawed at her. “They didn’t hate each other for that?” She questioned.
Cassian shook his head, mid lunge. “Azriel had no reason to hate Rhys. It was difficult for Rhys to accept in the beginning and Azriel understood that but Rhys saw how much love was there, it was impossible to miss so who was he to stand in the way of that?”
Feyre stood in thought for a moment. “So, Rhys loved her first?”
Cassian laughed. “Of course he did. It’s not really a competition though, is it?”
She didn’t answer him, she simply stood there, thoughts swirling.
Feyre hated herself, she hated that she could not stop thinking about this girl who must have been something really special for both Rhys and Azriel to both love.
She’s their number one girl.
No matter how hard she had tried to not think about it, she couldn’t help it.
“What’s on your mind, Feyre darling?” Rhys’ smooth voice slipped through the silence of their bedroom.
She looked up at him from her place at the edge of their bed. “It’s nothing,” she stated simply.
Rhys frowned at her dismissal, placing his watch on his bedside table before walking to stand in front of her. He pressed a palm to the side of her face. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”
She sighed, mostly in frustration at herself, partially in his insistence to talk about it. “Where you in love with Azriel’s mate?”
The utter bewilderment that appeared on Rhys’ face made her immediately regret her words and watch to shrink back in on herself. “What!?”
Feyre shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she tried to pull away but Rhys kept his hand on the side of her face, steadying her.
“Azriel doesn’t have a mate,” he told her, utter confusion lacing his words.
Feyre shrugged, “Were you in love with the same girl then?”
“I’m so confused, no?” Rhys said, having absolutely no idea where she could’ve gotten this from. “Where have you gotten this from?”
Feyre looked at him, frustration beginning to build within her. “I asked Cassian about how you used to do things in the same room, he said you and him did but not Azriel because it wouldn’t be nice for him to be pleasuring a girl that you loved! He said she was yours and Azriel’s number one girl.”
Rhys pulled his hand from her face and placed it over his mouth. The confusion in his eyes had faded into a an amusing sparkle as his shoulders began shaking with suppressed laughter.
“What!?” Feyre huffed. “What are you laughing at!?”
Rhysand released a full deep chuckle at her frustrations. “Cassian is an idiot and you are utterly beautiful when you’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous!” She argued.
Rhys simply raised an eyebrow at her, completely unconvinced. “You’ve completely misinterpreted Cassian’s words, Feyre darling. It is still not my story to tell but I can promise you that Azriel and I have never been in love with the same girl.”
It had been five centuries since the disappearance of you and your mother and Azriel had never been the same.
Long before he met you, Azriel had learned what it meant to live in loneliness with nothing but his shadows for company but loneliness in response to your absence was never quite something anyone could become familiar with.
It was an endless void of nothing. Normally the thread of silence would at least end somewhere; a place where you simply got used to the feeling of someone not being there; but not with you.
It had been five centuries since your last laugh and that entire time Azriel has spent sleeping in your room. The room that sat right next to his own where your beds were pushed against the shared wall so even in your own beds you would be sleeping as close as you could get to each other.
It remained exactly how you left it, the same books sat on the nightstands, the same jewellery littered across a dressing table and a beautiful dress of deep blue with glittering silver stars on the bodice hung from the door of the closet, preparing to be worn for a day that never came.
Each morning that Azriel woke and got ready for the day, his last words to the House of Wind always remained the same. Leave it exactly how she left it, please.
The House always listened.
Whilst Azriel no longer slept in his own room, it had changed. The walls that were once a basic white had been transformed into a purple so unique it could only reflect the colour of your eyes.
In those rare moments that Azriel was able to relax away from the world, he would lay in his bed and stare at the walls of his room and whilst they could never reflect the light in a sparkle the way your own eyes could, the paint would simply have to do.
The winter chill of the Illyrian Steppes bit harshly into your cheeks as you ran through the thick snow into the forests surrounding the Windhaven camp.
The males were awful here, brutal even but even they knew to leave the daughter of the High Lord alone and so you were free to wander without the risk of your wings being torn from your back.
The trees created sanctuary for you here, as you weaved in between them you thought of your brother, Rhys and how quickly he would lose his mind once he found you gone.
A deep rooted feeling of being watched suddenly stirred in your stomach causing you to pause. It was the most subtle weight you had ever felt and yet you could not help but feel it as it settled into your bones.
You cast a quick glance up into the branches of the trees above you, where their leaves and twigs clashed and combined with one another, it took a moment for you to spot them but eventually you did.
Within a particular tall tree that was shaped in all groves and turns towards the top, deep within the shadows is where you saw him.
A male.
Sitting, observing.
“Hello,” you greeted softly.
No answer.
“What are you doing up there?” You asked.
The shadows fluttered and twitched at first before melting away into a black mist behind the males shoulders, revealing his face.
“Oh,” you whispered, taking in the hard expression of his face. He had hair of a dark midnight sky, eyebrows just a shade lighter that were furrowed deeply, shadowing his eyes that, against his dark features, seemed to glow golden when they narrowed towards you. He was all sharp lines and tensed muscles.
He shifted slightly in his place against the branches of the tree before stepping forward and allowing himself to gracefully drop down in front of you, merely inches away as he stared down into your eyes.
“How did you see me?” He asked, his voice was rough and deep for his age, possibly a couple years older than you, but his tone was steady.
“I didn’t,” you admitted. “I felt your eyes on me.”
It was then that you took notice of just how tightly his wings were pulled in at his back, a complete contrast to yours that were much more relaxed; pulled in just enough to protect them but let out enough that you didn’t have to consciously hold them in all the time, “you’ll get back pain holding them in like that,” you told him, pointing briefly at his wings.
They twitched in response, shadows fluttering wildly around the tips of his wings. It wasn’t a purposeful movement, that you could tell.
“I can’t control them,” He admitted to you.
Your brows furrowed, “what do you mean?”
“I cannot fly,” he said. “I never learned how to control them.”
You stepped back at his words. “You can’t fly!?” You spluttered in outrage. “Why can’t you fly? Are you injured?”
He shrugged in a way that showed this wasn’t a big deal to him, as though it was normal. “I wasn’t allowed outside,” he stated simply.
You frowned, the idea of not being allowed outside was unfathomable to you. “You weren’t allowed?”
“My father didn’t let me,” his words remained even, unaware of the turmoil that was stirring in your gut the more he spoke, a turmoil that you couldn’t quite explain.
“Why?” You asked.
“Because I am a bastard,” he said, his tone empty and detached, as though he had long since accepted that was all he was reduced to.
You did not like how he seemed to convinced that that’s all he was worth.
“You’re a Shadowsinger,” you pointed out, remembering old tales of myths and legends you had read before. “Those are very rare.”
The shadows clinging to him fluttered and preened at the tips of his wings and over his shoulders as though they understood your words.
Azriel nodded in response, feet scuffing into the dirt often forest uncomfortably at your words.
“That’s so cool!” You whispered in awe, the admiration you felt was completely authentic but you were also hoping it comforted him a bit.
He looked at you, the only hint of confusion on his face was the soft crease between his browns and the subtlest tilt of his head. “You’re not scared?” He asked.
“Of what?” You laughed, as though the idea was absurd.
“Of me,” he raised one of his gloved hands, tapping his index finger into his chest.
“Have you given me a reason to be scared?”
He paused at your question, internally baffled at this entire interaction. “I suppose not,” he muttered to himself, the idea of you not being scared simply just from his presence was beyond him.
“What’s your name?” You abruptly changed the subject.
He was silent for a moment, contemplating whether he should tell you or not. “Azriel.”
“Azriel,” you repeated softly, testing how it sounded. “That’s a beautiful name,” you told him.
His shadows twitched, his wings almost flinched at your complement, Azriel shifted uncomfortably.
“Do you want to be my friend, Azriel?”
“I’ve never had a friend before,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think I’d be good at it.”
You pursed your lips in response, looking around the forest floor before speaking. “I’ve never really had a friend either, there’s my brother, Rhys, but he doesn’t count. Do you have any siblings?”
Azriel tensed at your question, his entire body stiffening, hands clenching in his gloves. “No, it’s just me.”
“Well,” you began, “I’d be honoured to be your first friend, if you’ll be mine?”
You were beyond confusing to Azriel, the first person besides his mother to not look at him with fear or disgust, to look at him and just see a person.
Azriel did not reply verbally but he didn’t need to, you didn’t mind and so he simply nodded in response earning a beaming smile from you.
“Spread your wings out wide,” you instructed softly.
“They’re heavy,” Azriel muttered, wings spreading in stuttering movements, face twisting slightly as he concentrated on holding them.
Your eyes ran along his wings now that they weren’t tucked in painfully right, taking in the large span of them, they fluttered under your gaze, completely against Azriel’s control.
“That’s because your back muscles aren’t used to holding their weight, we’ll need to strengthen them,” you explained, eyes snapping away from his wings, towards his own hazel eyes instead.
“How do we strengthen them?” He asked.
“Exercises, most are trained from babies to use their wings so it comes a lot more naturally but we can do it together.” You smiled at him encouragingly.
You knew this was hard for him, you knew he thought he wasn’t worth your help and you knew that this entire situation was uncomfortable for him but you wanted to help him and you liked spending time with him.
“I struggled with flying at first,” you admitted, hoping it would comfort him in some way.
His eyes stopped glancing to the trees around you, now focused. “Really?”
You nodded. “Yeah, Rhys was flying before he could walk but I was too scared to do it. I didn’t trust myself. I kept imagining my wings just not working one day and falling to my death.”
Azriel shifted subtly, shadows restless. “How did you do it?”
“I had no choice,” you said. “One day my mother and I were looking at the stars from the balcony of our home and she just pushed me off, I had no choice but to trust my wings or fall and I flew for the first time that day.”
Azriel’s eyes widened. “She pushed you off the balcony!?”
You smiled widely. “Yeah, I was so angry, I didn’t speak to her for a week but it worked. I won’t be pushing you off ledges until you can hold your wings properly though.”
You could detect the subtle relief that reflected in the golden hazel hue of Azriel’s eyes, as though he expected you to be able to push him off of any ledge and force him to command his wings that didn’t seem willing to answer him yet.
At some point, you will take great joy in pushing him off a cliff.
Not yet though.
Only when he was ready.
“Where does my starlight keep running off to?” Your mother’s gentle voice filtered through your ears as she brushed through your hair carefully.
You were silent for a moment, contemplating whether to reveal your secret. “I made a friend.”
You felt the comb pause briefly against your head before it continued. Your mother hummed absentmindedly. “Did you? Do I get to meet this friend?”
You pursed your lips in contemplation, an unexplainable feeling of protectiveness surging through your body. “He’s shy, he doesn’t like being around people,” you told her.
You missed the amused smile that appeared on your mother’s face, no doubt intrigued at the strange protectiveness that you had for your age. “He?” She asked, almost teasingly.
You huffed in response but a smile grew on your face that you couldn’t stop. “Yes,” you said strongly before your tone shifted to pride. “He’s my friend, I’m teaching him to fly.”
Your mother paused entirely, turning your body to face her own causing your eyes to meet her own that held the same violet hue she passed down to you and your brother. “Teaching him to fly? How old is this friend?”
Your shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe Rhys’ age. His father never let him outside so he can’t fly.”
Worry clouded your mother’s face at your words. “Is he a good boy?”
A bright smile overtook your face at her question. “He’s the best! He’s very quiet but he still speaks to me and he listens to all of my complaining and his shadows play with my hair!”
“Shadows?” Your mother’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“He’s a Shadowsinger,” you whispered. “Those are very rare.”
“They are,” she repeated. “Don’t tell your father about him, starlight.”
“I would never,” you swore, your voice demonstrating the dramatic outrage of a child who couldn’t fathom sharing information like that to your father. “Mama?”
“Yes, starlight?” She asked, turning you back around so she could start braiding your hair.
“Don’t tell Rhys, okay?” You told her, your brother could get way too protective, it was embarrassing.
“I would never tell Rhys, starlight. Or Cassian.” She promised.
“Definitely not Cassian.” You agreed.
“I’m not ready!” Azriel protested, warily looking over the edge of the cliff you had pretty much dragged him too.
“You are ready!” You argued. “You’ve got great control of your wings and your muscles are as strong as can be!”
Azriel shook his head, shadows darting around him, showing his nerves. “What if I fall?”
“Then I’ll catch you!” You replied simply.
“I’m too heavy for you to catch me!” He protested.
“You are not, I’m strong!” You argued, outraged at his accusation. “I’ll hold your hands?” You proposed, already reaching out towards his own gloved hands.
Azriel looked down at your outstretched hands, hesitation clear on his face, he really wasn’t sure about this but he did really want to be able to fly.
He relented, placing his hands in yours, earning himself one of your bright smiles, stars twinkling happily in your eyes.
Your wings fluttered slowly, not enough to lift you off the ground, just enough to encourage Azriel to copy your actions.
You slowly increased the force at which your wings beat, air building with the crevice of each controlled flap of the membrane.
Azriel copied your movements, his own wings much larger in comparison to any you’ve seen on other children your age, your own were quite big for a female Illyrian so young.
Azriel felt the change in gravity, the way his feet were itching to leave the ground on their own accord, as though his body was fully attuned and aware to what was currently happening even if it was unfamiliar.
“You’re doing it,” you whispered proudly, your own feet lifting off the ground before Azriel’s but your hands stayed in his as you remained stationary in the air, feet just slightly off the ground as you waited patiently for his own body to rise into the wind.
“You’re so close, just a bit more.” You encouraged him.
The second the air swept beneath Azriel’s feet for the first time, it felt as though his entire body was about to fall backwards as he had nothing to stand on but your hands tightened on his own, keeping him straight as he unsteadily rose with you, trying to focus on keeping his wings moving.
“It’ll come naturally the more you do it,” you told him. “You won’t even have to think about it.”
Azriel wasn’t so sure about that but as he felt the wind beneath his wings as he became airborne for the first time, with your hands holding his, he chose to believe you anyway.
“You’re flying Azriel!” Sheer joy and pride filled your face as you looked at him, he thought you looked beautiful like this.
The wind causing your hair to flutter around your face, eyes sparkling at the freedom that flying gave you and your smile took up your whole face as it always did.
Distracted by the sight of you in your element, Azriel lost focus of his wings causing him to quickly drop a few feet but your hands tightened on his just as his heart dropped in his chest out of panic.
He concentrated on beating his wings again, fluttering slightly higher than previously.
But even as he concentrated on flying, his mind was also on something else.
You had caught him, just like you said you would.
Wake. Wake. Wake.
Their hissing little whispers nudged you from unconsciousness. The cold concrete of the cave dug uncomfortably into your back. You groaned, shifting as your eyes opened, adjusting to the thick, clouded darkness you had been forced to endure for five centuries.
Another day it remained the same.
A sharp, slithering coldness nudged against your cheek, and again against your fingertips. You looked down in confusion, taking in the grey-black strands of darkness fluttering around your hands.
You raised your hands slightly, it was hard to see clearly but they resembled beings you had not seen in a very long time. The dark strands fluttered around your fingertips as you stared intently at them and in a movement so sharp, one lone sentient being jumped to your shoulder.
Your head snapped to the side as you looked at it, moving around, nestling into your clothes that had long since been reduced to scraps of fabric.
The beating beneath your chest stuttered as you stared at them.
Shadows.
They were shadows.
Master. Master. Master.
She hears us. She hears us.
They fluttered around you in a way that seemed to portray excitement.
Was that them talking?
“Azriel?” You whispered, broken yet that sick part of you still held a bit of hope.
Many years you had locked out memories of the Shadowsinger yet it never worked too well, you could never forget him and you would never forget the sentient beings that obeyed him either.
No.
They almost sounded like hisses.
“Not Azriel then.” You muttered. It did not surprise you, not really.
You didn’t understand.
“Another Shadowsinger?” You asked, it earned that same excited fluttering dance as before. Yes.
But who? You wondered.
It seemed they knew your thoughts too.
You. You.
Your face contorted into confusion. You weren’t a Shadowsinger.
You allowed yourself to think of Azriel again. Not of him exactly or the feeling of his love that had faded long ago but of his story.
Azriel had not been born a Shadowsinger.
How had Azriel become a Shadowsinger?
He had been locked in a dark cell for eleven years and had no choice but to find companionship within the darkness itself.
Oh.
“You’re my shadows.” You did not question this time.
Yes. They hissed again.
“But the faebane chains?” You wondered aloud.
“Shadows are not magic, they’re simply part of me.” Azriel had told you that before.
You studied them again, more intently this time and whilst they resembled the shadows of Azriel’s so very much there was the slightest hint of a difference; they weren’t just a grey-black, they had the slightest underlying tint of purple.
They truly were yours.
Release chains. They muttered, not to you, to themselves, fluttering around frantically.
“I can’t,” you whispered in long accepted defeat. “They won’t come off, someone else needs to do it.”
Your newly acquired shadows ignored you, muttering to themselves.
Shadowsinger will do it. Spymaster will do it.
But your energy was draining again, conscious slipping into darkness, your shadows slipping through the cracks of the cave without you knowing.
Azriel had been born alone and he would die alone.
He had accepted that was all life was made for him, there were those years he had you, moments were he thought he’d have you forever but you were taken, brutally slaughtered along with your mother in the spring court.
He had never and will never forgive himself for not being there to protect you. Truthfully he did not know how Rhysand could go on with life after that, not that his High Lord and brother didn’t deserve to live, he did, but how had grief not taken his sanity Azriel would never know.
He would never know how Rhys could look in the mirror and not see the shadows of his mother and sister, not when some days Azriel could not look into his eyes and see the very reflection of the young woman he lost, his woman.
It would forever just be Azriel and his shadows.
Another night that Azriel slept in your room alone, beneath your sheets, on the pillows you always hid that ridiculous stuffed bat beneath.
When he awoke this time though, it was different.
His shadows, usually fluttering lazily were muttering and batting around recklessly, their unease settling in Azriel’s chest, having the spymaster looking around the room carefully.
The only thing that seemed wrong were his shadows themselves, it was as though they were fighting each other?
Intruder. Intruder. They hissed, flying into each other as though they were in a sort of disorientated state. Azriel had never seen anything like it before.
Deep down, Azriel understood that there was no intruder in the House of Wind but he did not understand what they could be referring to.
The bond between himself and his shadows was strange. They told him things yes, but a lot of their communication came down to feelings, he felt their unease, their frustration, as though they were participating in an internal battle.
But why?
He sat up in your bed and observed them closely. He too, could see that there was something off but couldn’t quite put his mind to it.
Intruder. But where?
The shadows hissed at each other, floating around the room in distress, it was when the golden rays of the morning sunrise shone through the balcony window that he saw it.
His eyes, always so sharp, caught that difference in his shadows. Not his shadows, he concluded. Eyes widening, he reached out to that invisible thread and called his shadows back to him with a snap.
There it was.
A small cluster that did not return to him, a cluster of shadows that looked just the slightest different to his own. That underlying purple tint was not his.
He tried to reach out, tried to find that tether to them.
Nothing.
They did not seem threatening though.
They fluttered and danced around before him, as though they were trying to communicate with him but could not.
Help. His own shadows muttered.
“Help?” He questioned.
They plead help. They hissed into his ears. Another Shadowmaster. Trapped.
Azriel shook his head, he was the only shadowmaster.
No. They hissed, more stern this time, as though telling him he was wrong.
Azriel removed himself from your bed, pulling on his Illyrian leathers as quickly as possible, not even strapping his weapons to himself. Instead he simply grabbed Truthteller alone into its sheath.
He approached the bedroom door, turning to see if those other shadows would follow, they were.
He let himself out of the room, shadows, his and not his following behind closely, he barged into Rhys’ study causing the High Lord to jump, not that he would ever admit.
“Azriel?” Rhys greeted, looking up from his papers in barely concealed surprise. “A knock would be nice.”
“We have a problem.” Azriel simply responded earning Rhys’ full attention.
“What is it?”
Azriel held out a gloved hand and while Azriel had no means to communicate with these shadows, they understood him and gathered into his palm, fluttering into a rounded shape.
Rhys simply looked at them in confusion. “What am I looking at? New party trick?”
Azriel shook his head, face contorting as he studied them. “They’re not mine, I can’t communicate with them.”
“What?” Rhys uttered to himself.
“There’s another Shadowsinger out there,” Azriel responded, mostly to himself. “They communicate with my shadows but I can’t understand them myself.”
“Another Shadowsinger?” His High Lord mumbled, shaking his head. “No, you’re the only Shadowsinger alive.”
“Not anymore,” Azriel argued, his and the guest shadows beginning to flutter wildly in their own disagreement. “Apparently they’re trapped.”
Chained. His shadows corrected. Caved.
“Chained,” he spoke aloud.
“Perhaps for good reason,” Rhys argued, whilst Azriel was his brother and he trusted him beyond measures, he was well aware just how powerful Shadowsingers were, if this other Shadowsinger was locked away then perhaps it was because it was deserved.
Azriel shook his head, a sort of confused anguish taking over his features as he observed the shadows sitting in his palm. “They don’t feel threatening, or evil. They’re scared, pleading for help, for freedom.”
“How do you know they’re not pretending? That this other Shadowsinger hasn’t sent these here to play a ruse just to get their freedom?” Rhys asked.
The guest shadows in his palm shrunk down in defeat whilst his own fluttered in agitation around his shoulders and the tips of his wings.
She doesn’t know they’re here. She can’t control it yet.
Azriel listened to their whispers with widened eyes before looking at Rhys. “She cannot control them, this ability must be newly manifested, they came here on their own. Besides, shadows don’t work like that, they can’t fake feelings or emotions.”
“She?” Rhys sat up straighter in his chair at the newfound information.
“I can’t explain it, Rhys,” Azriel muttered, deep in thought. “I have this feeling that I need to free her, I don’t know why, it just feels right to.”
Those lone little shadows of yours clung to Azriel in the following days, against your knowledge. Azriel spent that time preparing himself for rescuing you, not that he knew it would be you he was rescuing, trying to gain as much information as he could through his own shadows translating messages back and forth with yours.
It was strange for Azriel, not only that there were sentient echoes of darkness that for some reason he could not communicate with but also knowing that somewhere out there, trapped and alone, there was another like him, another who could communicate with the darkness and melt into the shadows, even if it was a new manifestation.
The cave you were imprisoned in, he learned, was located somewhere in The Middle, because of course it was.
What other place would be sick enough to have trapped a person so long that the shadows had sought them out?
Trapped for centuries. The shadows had told him.
Bound by faebane chains, tormented by memories of a time that had long since faded.
Azriel, in all he had been through and in all his grief and terror over the years, could not imagine being trapped within the same four walls for hundreds of years.
He had barely lasted eleven, Rhys had hardly lasted fifty and yet out there, a poor woman had lasted hundreds of years, alone.
A woman of his kind.
The cave, as Azriel stood before it, was hardly a cave. It was more a carved hole in the ground, hidden by overgrown moss and shrubbery that even he, a spymaster, would have overlooked had he passed by without your shadows leading him to it.
He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to squeeze his overgrown body into it.
Your shadows shot forward like whips, diving into the underground cave, no doubt snapping back to you, even though your lack of control, they were drawn to you, desired to be close to your being.
Azriel crouched down, inspecting the gap in the ground, his own shadows fluttering around in agitation, some even darting ahead into the cave. He peeled off his outer layers that he strapped his weapons to, sending them down into the cave before him.
Risky, no doubt, but he felt no threat towards whatever presence was inside this cave, only an innocently, trapped Shadowsinger.
One that meant no harm, only desiring freedom.
He heaved himself through the gap, the concrete lining the underground cave scratching against his arms and shoulders as he dragged himself through, gravity doing most of the work, allowing him to drop down onto solid stone and rock.
It smelled awful; blood, dirt, faebane and a hell of a lot like someone had long since lost the will to live.
He saw the chains, loads of them, hanging from the ceiling, from the walls, even some bound to the ground with bolts.
Even as someone bound by shadows and member of the Night Court, Azriel could not see clearly in the darkness of this pit but his shadows led the way, they led him to your shadows.
Your shadows that covered just about every part of you, hiding you as though attempting to protect your presence from anyone who could possibly mean harm, leaving you just the image of a darkened, fuzzy blur.
“I will not harm her,” Azriel promised. “I only want to free her, take her back to the Night Court, help her heal and gain control.”
He saw the way they hesitated, how they debated whether they had made the right decision in finding him or not.
She trusted you. They whispered, confessed. His own shadows translating. Long time ago.
Azriel did not know what they meant by that. Had he known her once upon a time?
It was when they finally relented and made the decision to fade away from covering your body that Azriel, despite all the gore and torment he had witnessed in his life, felt like he was going to be sick as his eyes fell upon the battered figure of a young, fae woman.
His fae woman.
No. He shook his head, as though it would shake the sick illusion from his mind.
Yet you remained in his sight.
He knew that figure, that hair, those lashes. It has all haunted his every sleep and movement for the last five hundred years. The colour beneath your eyelids that he had drenched his walls in, that he would look upon every morning and every night.
Even unhealthily slimmer than you had been five hundred years ago, there would not be a single moment or a single version of you in which Azriel would not recognise.
The first person who had shown him grace, who had shown him that kindness and love does in fact exist, the person who had given him the family that he still clings to today in hopes of grasping at every last remainder of you that he had believed was long lost.
Your name was a ghost on his lips as he surged forward, shadows following, your own fluttering at his shoulders now as he unsheathed truth-teller and sliced through the chains binding you to this sick prison.
The dagger you had given him.
The first gift he had ever received.
He collapsed to his knees beside your battered, unconscious body.
Your breaths shallow, wrists and ankles raw from centuries of imprisonment, body all but skin and bones.
He smoothed a marred thumb over your cheekbone, hands shaking as he took you in, your body surrendered to his touch as though finally, it had found something safe it could relax itself in.
And though you were unaware, still in the depths of your mind, your eyes had fluttered open, a deep purple hue that he had missed for hundreds of years.
Azriel choked on a sob as he gazed upon you again, his soul shattering open at the sight of the only person he had ever loved in his five hundred years walking the lands of Prythian.
He felt the moment part of his soul tore from his chest and landed straight into yours, a golden thread deep within him keeping it tethered to himself even though it now sat with you.
Because even though Azriel had never needed the confirmation of the Cauldron to know what you were to him, why had it taken him finding you after so long to finally snap into place?
I don’t know if you take requests, so ignore this if you don’t haha 😝 but I love you stories and thought about this one:
Driver!reader who makes her debut around the same time as Seb. And she falls in love with Jenson (maybe little age gap). Anyways a story about how reader grows in f1, from start to retirement. (Maybe, first win, first outing as couple, him defending her with sexist interviewers, Jenson interviewing her when he retired but she stills races, grill the grid moments) 😬
Hope to read more of your stories xxx
RACING THROUGH TIME| J.BUTTON
Pairing: Jenson Button x fem!f1 driver!reader
Summary: Yours and Jenson’s life throughout the years in formula one and after.
Warnings: sexist comments, swearing
F1 Master List
2008
You could hardly process this strange reality that you were currently living, your entire life had been filled with the hard, gruelling effort and training, all working towards this very moment.
You could feel your heart pounding mercilessly in your chest as you walked through the doors of the Honda Racing headquarters.
For the last two years, you had been the reserve driver for McLaren and whilst you were grateful for the opportunity you had received the impression that they weren’t actually serious about you or your future.
Now, Rubens Barrichello was retiring and this was your chance to break through the door and Ross Brawn was taking a chance on you.
It was pretty much set in stone, negotiations had happened, expectations were spoken, handshakes had been shared, all that was left to do now was sign the contract.
Your soon to be new team principal was already waiting for you, a welcoming smile on his face. "Nervous?" He asked, as you both walked through the building towards his office.
"Terrified," you admitted honestly.
Ross laughed in understanding, "Well it’s a big moment, not just for you but for us as well, try not to worry too much about it."
You appreciated the slight comfort that his words brought you, if you were being honest, you think you really lucked out, Ross Brawn was possibly the kindest person you could have as a team principal and to have him guiding you in your rookie season was probably the best for you.
Entering his office you both went straight for either side of the table, not wanting to waste any time, he reached for a stack of paper and handed it to you.
"It’s quite simple from this point onwards, once you sign the contract, you’re officially a formula one driver and we’ll immediately get your seat and suit fitted and then the media stuff starts."
The next twenty or so minutes were spent in pretty much silence as you read through the contract thoroughly, the only time the silence was interrupted was the moment you picked up the pen and scribbled your signature on the last page.
Ross Brawn looked at you with a hearty smile, "Welcome to the world of formula one."
A couple of months later
The past couple of months had been a whirlwind, between photo shoots, fittings, interviews and race weekends there was hardly time for you to sit down and breathe.
It was different than what you had expected it to be, it was still the beginning of the 2008 race season and whilst your days have been filled with crowds of people, you had felt more alone than ever.
You weren’t disrespected like at McLaren, not really, you weren’t really interacted with at all to be honest. Your team were nice enough, they didn’t ignore you when you spoke, they relayed everything to you that they should but outside of that they didn’t really interact with you whatsoever.
Ross Brawn was still the nice guy you had interacted with leading up to your contract signing, he still laughed and joked with you, he hadn’t changed one bit, maybe it was just stupid of you to believe the entire team would behave like him.
It’s not even like you were performing badly, it was your first formula one season and you were doing really well, as well as you could with the car you had at least.
You had finished each race with no real issues, even scraping for points a couple of times, it wasn’t great but your teammate wasn’t doing great either because of the car.
Jenson Button, you hadn’t really exchanged more than hellos, goodbyes, respectful smiles and subtle nods of the head, he wasn’t rude and he wasn’t mean and he was always respectful to you. In photoshoots he didn’t get closer than he needed to, his hands never lingered more than necessary on your back but he was always distant.
You didn’t really know what to think of him.
You didn’t really know until that one day.
The press conference room was filled with chatter and cameras when you walked up to the stage with a table were Sebastian and Mark were already sitting, you took a seat beside Sebastian who have you a bright smile in greeting before giving Jenson, who was following closely behind you the same welcoming.
Your teammate took the seat on the other side of you as the four of you sat forward in your seats and adjusted the microphones as you prepared for the questions.
“Mark, you managed to get to P4 today, do you think there’s any chance of a podium next week or anywhere in the near future?” A journalist started the conference off.
It was pretty boring for a while, not many questions were asked to you or Jenson which was expected considering the two other drivers were actually scoring points, Mark in P4, Sebastian in P5.
“And for the Honda drivers, the last couple of races you’ve seemingly had a lot of struggles with the car and getting it up into the points, is there any hope for improvement?”
A typical question to be asked, nothing special. You glanced over at Jenson who gestured for you to start off, you leaning forward into the mic. "There’s constantly work going on behind the scenes to see if there’s way for improvements to be made, the team is working really hard on the car and as drivers it’s our jobs to push it to its limits every weekend and get the most out of it."
There wasn’t really much else you could or should say, Jenson sat straighter as he leaned forward to expand on your answer as much as he could.
You never really liked the questions that were aimed towards you alone, sometimes they were okay.
What did the car feel like you to out there? Is there anything you could have done to improve? How is the team going to manage this going forward?
Those questions were fine, but it was the other ones that bothered you.
What extra steps are you having to do to stand a chance against the men? Do you think you’re a liability to the team?
And the worst one yet.
“What is it that you wear underneath your race suit?”
The sound of the conference room had faded completely from your ears as that question was asked because why was that important?
The worst part about it wasn’t even the men who ask questions like that, it’s the women who believe that those style of questions are any less offensive because they’re the ones who are asking and it couldn’t possibly come from a negative place because they’re women.
Wrong.
The three drivers around you stilled as the words left the reporters mouth. Silent. Speechless. Disbelief.
A hand found itself on your shoulder, comforting. Sebastian.
But the man on your right, he was raging.
“Are you taking the piss?” Jenson scoffed. “What sort of fucking question is that?”
The reporter stuttered in surprise.
Jenson cocked a brow at the lack of response. “What? You just go around asking everyone what they wear under their clothes? No you fucking don’t so I don’t know why she’s any different, you ask about the car, you ask about the team and you asked about the drive, that’s it.”
He got up from his seat, putting an immediate end to the conference, he pressed a light hand to your shoulder, indicating you to get up too before leading you out of the room.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you spoke quietly after a couple minutes of silence.
He didn’t reply immediately, the silence dwelled between the two of you but it wasn’t uncomfortable, eventually it broke, not with some grand gesture or words of heroism, simply understanding. “I know.”
And that was it, he didn’t have to do it, he chose to because you deserved a whole lot more than being violated like that by ignorant journalists for the entire world to see.
That moment seemed to have changed everything for you, it wasn’t all at once, it was gradual and subtle but polite nods and smiles began to grow into hellos which grew into small conversations and somewhere along the way those small conversations were catalyst to your entire future.
2009
Jenson was thriving, he had won every race so far this season and though you never voiced it you just had this feeling that this would be the year he became world champion. You had every bit of faith in him.
It was safe to say that this season had ignited a lot more excitement within yourself and the team than last season, the celebrations and the trophies were arguably addicting and a reward that none would tire of soon.
Your own improvement was astronomical, from scraping at points last year to scraping at podiums this year, the change was immense but welcome nonetheless.
One thing you tried not to focus on was the way things felt between you and Jenson; it wasn’t anything drastic but it was hard to ignore the unspoken tension that seemed to lie thickly between the two of you.
The way he had defended you last year had not wavered and it hadn’t been isolated to just that one moment either. Neither of you spoke of it; the way he always cut in before a journalist or someone else could even finish asking anything inappropriate or say anything insulting towards you.
He defended you, you thanked him, that was it.
Because Jenson did not defend you for your thanks, he didn’t defend you for his image or for any internal longing he had for people to see him as a gentleman.
He did it because it was right and because it was what he believed.
He didn’t even have to think about it. He just did it.
It wasn’t simply a teammate relationship between the two of you, it wasn’t just a friendship or a simple respect. It felt more than that, none of those things seemed to live up to the extent of what was between you both.
It didn’t feel as though there were suitable words to describe it.
So it remained unspoken.
For now.
A few months later
Gods you knew he could do it, you had no doubt in your mind that this season was his.
Jenson was the 2009 formula one world champion.
You, yourself had done well for your second season, managing to secure the P3 spot, right behind Sebastian.
You couldn’t keep the smile from your face as you clambered out of your car, the cheering from the Abu Dhabi crowd a deafening roar throughout the circuit.
Hands thudding against your back from your celebrating team members, yet your focus was on him, standing atop of his car with his hand clenched into a fist at his side as though having to restrain himself from showing too much emotion.
You hated that.
He did not have to hold back.
Not now.
He achieved what every driver dreams of, becoming world champion.
He’s focused and trained so hard the entire season, he deserved to let loose and celebrate.
And as though he felt your presence, heard your thoughts. With his helmet still on his head, Jenson turned his body in your direction, looking down at where you stood next to your own car. Whilst you couldn’t see the expression on his face and he could not see yours, it still somehow managed to feel like time had paused. Maybe the face behind the helmet beheld the same expression yours did, an undying longing that neither of you had wished or had the bravery to acknowledge.
But it seemed Jenson did not fear anything today, not with the adrenaline of success running through his veins. He jumped down from his car, with as much grace as one can have when they’re so overwhelmed with emotion and the urge to get to you.
That’s what he did, everything else had cleaved from his mind as he ran to you. Your teammate. He crossed the pits between you in seconds, crashed into you and wrapped his arms around you in utter bliss. He lifted you off the ground as he held you to him, spinning the pair of you around in celebration. You clutched his shoulders in surprise, a laugh bubbling out of your chest just as he set you back down.
“You did it!” Your voice was muffled through your helmet, but he heard you, you could tell. “Congratulations, world champion.”
His hands rose to clutch either side of your helmet. Jenson bent down to press your helmets together. “Thank you,” he muttered. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He always said things so plainly, as though his words didn’t ignite a thousand feelings within you. As though he wasn’t grasping your heart each time he defended you or said things like that.
He did not say things with the expectation of anything else in return but each time he did, he unknowingly gained a piece of your heart.
And when you stood on the podium and felt his hand slip around your waist for a photograph, he gripped you just a little tighter than normal and ever so subtly, you leaned into him.
2010
The next year felt different for you, Jenson was at McLaren, you were now driving for Mercedes. It was strange, it felt as though things between the two of you could possibly lead somewhere but then you both headed into different directions.
You didn’t want it to increase a gap between the two of you that was just starting to close, maybe it didn’t have to but you couldn’t deny the instinct you felt to pull away and the thoughts of things being doomed to end before they’d even started.
How could anything possibly happen when you were in two different places?
When you didn’t have a reason to be near each other anymore.
Well, Jenson had decided that he didn’t need a reason.
His name lit up on your phone, you were three races into the f1 season and you both hadn’t spoken much at all.
Jenson: Is it wrong to say that I miss you?
You smiled down at your phone screen, relieved and glad that it wasn’t just you that felt that way.
You: Only if it’s wrong to say that I miss you too.
Jenson: Being on two different teams doesn’t mean you need to avoid me
You: I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what it meant now that we had no reason to interact with each other.
Jenson: I didn’t know we ever needed a reason to
You: I guess we didn’t.
Jenson: So, you’ll have dinner with me?
You: I’d love too.
It ended up being more than just one dinner. One dinner turned into weekly and then it was no longer just dinners, it was coffee shop dates, relaxing in each others hotel rooms, him bringing an extra coffee to media day for you to stop you from falling asleep mid interview.
And he never stopped defending you either.
He showed up, always. Never once did you have to question how important this was to him, how much he wanted you because he never failed to show you.
But god did he make you wait for it.
Two months in and every time he was a perfect gentleman, he walked you back to your hotel room, made sure you knew how much he enjoyed spending time with you, he’d wish you a good night and slowly let his fingers slip from yours before leaving.
He did not kiss you.
You were going insane.
You refused to wait any longer.
One particular night, after he had thoroughly wine and dined you, he walked you back to your room but this time, after he had completed his ritual, you did not let him slip his fingers from yours. Instead, you held on tight.
He titled his head to look down at you, that soft furrow of his brow whenever he was slightly confused.
“When are you going to kiss me?” You asked him, letting the frustration of the last two months slip into your words slightly.
His lips parted, slightly in surprise, mostly in want. His face drew together like a man in pain. “I wanted to do it properly, I wanted you to know how serious I am about you. This is real for me, I want to know you. All your likes and your dislikes. I don’t want to know you just from your body.”
You looked up at him and god it looked like the stars were shining in those eyes of his. “This is real for me too. I never doubted that for a second but please don’t make me wait any longer.”
How could he ever deny you that?
His right hand cradled the side of your face so gently as he finally, finally lowered his lips to yours. You could not hold the sigh of relief that came from you as you finally felt his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.
His left hand braced against the wall behind you, right next to your head as he closed in on you.
You felt every pent up feeling of his flood into you from the depth of his kiss. It was everything and more.
He pulled back slightly, not enough for you to truly miss his touch, just enough for him to whisper against you. “You’re amazing.”
You smiled at his words, mind hazy but entirely focused on him alone. “You’re everything,” you muttered back.
2012
And he truly was everything.
Life was a blur from then on. Things between you and Jenson only got better from that night.
He made you wait another entire month after that kiss in the hotel hallway before he asked you to be his girlfriend during the summer break and what made you love him more was how much this man cared for you, your reputation and your career. It was him, who told you that if you wanted your relationship to be hidden then it would be, if you wanted it public then that was okay too. He was okay with any decision that you chose because he understood what the stakes were for you.
And so it had remained hidden.
Not from family and not from friends but hidden from the fans and the formula one dynasty itself and he never let you feel guilty about it, he ever felt like a ‘dirty little secret’ because he knew and he understood. The love between the two of you was enough for him, he didn’t need the world to know about your relationship to know that it was real because you showed him you loved him in every other way that mattered.
He still defended you, that part of him would never change. The pair of you still ran to each other first after a win, you didn’t go out of your way to hide or avoid, you simply didn’t announce anything.
Until now.
Because Sebastian Vettel had been a pain in your arse this season, the championship title had swayed back and forth between the two of you all season but by the gods you had fought with every last inch of your talent and it had paid off.
2012 formula one world champion.
You dragged yourself out of your car with the little body strength you had left, tears streaming down your face beneath your helmet. You did not care about your team in that moment, or the crowds, the only thing you cared about in that moment was him.
Jenson.
Jenson, who had held you in your hotel room after every race, who had rubbed every ache out of your sore body, who had reminded you to eat and make sure you got sufficient sleep.
He was standing a couple of feet away, already waiting, utter pride on his face as he took you in.
In that moment, you didn’t care about secrets or reputation, you just wanted him.
You borderline ripped your helmet from your head as you ran to him, and whilst he held out his arms, expecting a hug, you dropped your helmet to the ground without care and crashed into him, hands gripping his face and hauled him down to your level, crashing your lips against his. He grunted in surprise, body tense but he soon relaxed, hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer.
The startled gasps from the crowds and the teams around you all felt so distant as you lost yourself in him but eventually he had to pull away, gasping for air. He looked at you in utter bewilderment, so much joy and pride in his face but also a ridiculous amount of confusion. “I thought we agreed not to?” He questioned, not at all caring about the thousands of people around you both.
You smiled so brightly at him, filled with adrenaline, tears still running down your face as you shook your head. “I don’t care, I don’t care about any of it. I love you! I don’t want it to be a secret anymore, I want everyone to know that I love you!”
“You’re mad!” He laughed, shaking his head at you. He wiped the tear stains from your face, shook his head at you once more before pulling you into another kiss.
2015
Toto Wolff did not fire you, in his own words ‘I’d need to get my head checked If i was to fire a driver that just won me a championship.’
And two more championships you had won.
It had been a crazy five years since that first kiss you and Jenson had shared but the best five years of your life. After the very public hard launch right after winning your first world championship and the relief of not having to hide how much you loved each other, you had both bought a house in between the Mercedes and McLaren factories and it was the best decision either of you had ever made.
Currently, Jenson was vibrating with nerves as he stood in the living room of that house, waiting for you to get home. The large sofa and coffee table had been pushed as far away as possible; the floor littered with the dried flower petals you had kept from every bouquet he had given you, lights turned off and candles lit on every nearby surface. His fist closed around the box in his hand, maybe this was all too much now that he thought about it.
Should he have done something a little more subtle?
It was too late now.
You stepped through the front door, immediately throwing your bags on the floor. “Baby, you’ll never believe the day I’ve had, I’ve spent all day sat across from-” the words died in your throat as you looked up at Jenson standing there surrounded by candles and flowers, looking as though he was debating throwing up or launching himself out the nearest window.
“What’s all this?” You asked, although you had a very good idea what all this was. Your own heart beating faster in your chest as you approached him.
“Come here,” he beckoned, holding out his hand, ignoring your question.
You listened, grabbing his hand and letting him pull you into him, your hands ending up resting on his chest as you looked up at him.
Jenson swallowed the lump in his throat before he spoke. “You know, those two years that we were teammates, before I plucked up the courage to make something of us, I fought with myself every damn day to not feel something for you, i tried so hard to feel nothing for you but it was so fucking useless because I was drowning every time i looked at you. I didn’t want to admit that you intimidated me because you were so head strong and so focused but I couldn’t help but feel for you, especially when i got so angry every time the light in your eyes dimmed when you were asked some dumb question from some nobody. Then you went to Mercedes and I missed you so much i didn’t know what to do with myself, I thought I lost my chance but getting to know you know in those small moments we stole afterwards, those were the best parts of my week and god, after your championship when you stormed right over and kissed me with no care in the world, i knew then that I wanted to marry you and every day since has just solidified that decision.”
The raw look on his face broke something within you because you loved him so much and you knew that nobody could ever see you the way he saw you. He took a deep breath and knelt down on one knee, opening and presenting the box that you hadn’t even realised he was holding. “Will you marry me?” He asked.
“Yes,” your response was immediate. “Yes,” you nodded, tears gathering in your eyes as you looked down at him, you didn’t even care what the ring looked like, you just wanted him, forever.
Just like that day three years ago, when you won your first world title, you launched yourself at him. The two of you went tumbling to the ground into flower petals, his arms wrapping around you as he took the impact. You both laughed, you holding yourself up on his chest as you pressed kisses all over his face causing him to laugh even more. “I would love nothing more than to marry you.” You whispered against his lips.
2020
You and Jenson married the year after, it was a small celebration on your land around your home, consisting of just your friends and family but it was the most perfect day.
The year after that, Jenson had made the decision to retire, as upsetting as it was you fully supported him. The good news was that Sky Sports F1 had immediately picked him up afterwards so he was there for every race to celebrate every win with you. Your schedules differed slightly so you didn’t travel together all of the time but it was a blessing when you could, mainly for you when you could use him as a foot rest on your flights.
You walked into the dingy room that the social media team filmed their ‘grill the grid’ videos in, you greeted the small crew as they clip the mic onto you, listening to their quick debrief as they started the camera. You were so focused on practicing your lines that you didn’t notice your husband sneaking in and retrieving the questions from the camera guy.
As soon as you got a thumbs up you started speaking. “Hi, I’m Y/N Button, I’m a formula one driver for Mercedes AMG Petronas f1 team and my f1 knowledge is about to be tested.”
“Okay, first question,” your head immediately snapped up at the sound of your husband’s familiar voice, looking at his cheeky smile in utter shock. “Jenson!? What are you doing here?”
The crew, along with your husband all laughed at the utter bewilderment on your face. “They asked me and I would never pass up on the opportunity to interrogate my wife.” He said, a smirk growing on his face as the mock panic grew on yours.
“Oh god, okay, what are these questions?”
“First question,” Jenson began, a massive smirk on his face. “Who is the most handsome driver on the current F1 grid?”
“Jenson!” You gasped, mouth dropping open in shock. “That is not written down on there!”
The crew in the room all laughed at your reaction as Jenson raised his hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence. “The people want to know what they want to know.”
You gave him a deadpanned look. “That is not a serious question and besides I wouldn’t answer it anyways because I am a very taken woman.”
“Absolutely right, you are,” Jenson waved a finger at her before settling down. “Okay, real questions now. By how many points did you win the 2012 championship against Sebastian Vettel?”
“Oh god,” you muttered, very much aware you’re not going to do a good job with this quiz.
2022
How Jenson has managed to restrain himself for this long has been a wonder to not only the fans but to even himself.
The entire formula one and Sky Sports dynasty was well aware of the dislike Jenson Button held towards Danica Patrick, not only was she not at all knowledgable enough to be providing insights on the sport but she was also just plain annoying.
Whilst he hasn’t done a great job in controlling his facial expressions around the woman whilst he was presenting, he had managed to control his mouth.
Until today at least.
After all, he was just a man.
Jenson, Danica Patrick and Simon Lazenby were currently doing a segment summarising the events of the last race and what they could possibly predict happening this race weekend.
“And we’ve got Y/N on pole again this weekend!” Simon enthused to the camera. “That’s every single race so far this season, she’s managed to claim that P1 spot in qualifying, do we think she’ll be able to continue that streak this weekend?”
Jenson smiled, clear pride in his eyes even though he always ensured his words were unbiased. “Well, the Mercedes have really built a brilliant car this season, they’re performing really well and Lewis is managing to qualify for some higher positions as well so I think it wouldn’t be surprising if either of them manage to qualify P1 this-”
Danica cut him off, “Speaking of the Mercedes car this season, I’ve been wondering, is it the actual car that’s good or is it just a result of reckless driving? The highest Lewis has qualified is P3 and that’s only happened one, his race results have been at the middle of the points every single race-”
“What are you insinuating?” Simon asked, casting a confused glance between Jenson and the rolling camera.
“That Y/N is getting quite risky with her moves on the track, it’s borderline dangerous at this point. I mean, look at what happened in Australia at the start of the season. Her and Max with that gruesome battle, it ended up with them both out of the race-”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jenson butted in, an unimpressed look on his face. “Everyone, including both Max and Y/N said that it was neither of their faults. Max’s car understeered, Y/N’s breaks were locked up, both cars had faults.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s constantly being reckless, she’s pushed drivers off the track countless times, caused so many accidents, you know I think there is good reason as to why we haven’t seen women in formula one-”
“And this is where I’m going to stop you from talking,” Jenson looked down at the woman with a sharp glare. “I’d like to remind you that Y/N is a five time world champion who knows exactly how to handle a car and I really don’t think you should be providing advice on a sport that you’ve had zero participation in and as a woman yourself you should know how much she’s worked and gave to get to where she is today. I’d also like to remind you that that’s my wife you’re insulting so I’d choose your next words wisely.”
Danica stood there with a dumbfounded look on her face, very much aware that the live camera has captured every second of Jenson’s confrontation.
Simon bit back a laugh and turned to the camera with wide eyes. “I think we’re about to hear from Martin who’s managed to speak to a couple of the drivers before qualifying.”
Later that day.
You entered your shared hotel room with Jenson, a bounce in your step and a very delighted smile on your face as you saw him sprawled out on the bed.
He looked up from his laptop when he heard your footsteps, shooting you a confused look. “What’s that smile for?”
Your smile only grew as you threw yourself down next to him, mirth shining in your eyes. “A little PR manager told me, that you caused quite the stir today.”
A faux innocent look immediately took over your husband’s face that you did not believe for a second. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
You hummed in response. “So you’re telling me that you didn’t finally put Danica Patrick in her place on live tv because she insulted me?”
“Do you really think that’s something I would do?” Jenson asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.
You pulled a thinking face. “You mean, my husband who has spent the better part of 14 years defending me to brainless journalists and presenters? Yes I do think that’s something you would do.”
Jenson tilted his head back against the headboard of the bed. “Not only will I never let anybody insult my wife in front of me but she was wrong about your driving and I’m not saying that from the perspective of your husband. I’m saying that as a racing driver myself, you are not reckless and you are not dangerous. You’ve earned every win you’ve ever had and I’m not going to let her stand and say you’re not meant to be part of this sport.”
He defended you the way he had all of those years ago, the way he always had, as though it was nothing.
Your heart swelled with love and warmth at how lucky you were to have him.
You loved this crazy journey you were taking together.
Summary; There has always been something unspoken between you and Remus Lupin.
Pairing; Maraudersera!Remus x Fem!Potter!reader
Warnings; none, fluff
HP/Marauder Master List
There were five marauders; Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and the Potter twins. There was a bond between you all that always delved deeper than simple friendship, it was pure, deep understanding and respect between you all.
There was no concept of leaving a fellow Marauder behind within your group of five however there were bonds between each individual Marauder that differed.
James was your brother, quite literally the other half of your soul and he was there to share every moment of happiness and every burden of pain with you, there was no possible competition against that bond the two of you shared.
Except there was another person who sang to your soul.
There had always been something unspoken between you and Remus Lupin from the moment you met in first year. A quiet understanding and a delicate bond that had immediately existed.
You knew that somehow there was an invisible string that was wrapped around your heart and connected to his and it was like each year it pulled tighter.
It started out when you discovered his secret.
Remus was a werewolf.
It was just the two of you then, in the boys dormitory in first year. The friendship between all of you was still so new, too new for you to be having a conversation that carried so much weight. You were lying on James’ bed, he was on his own, staring at the ceiling when you just blurted it out.
“You know, I don’t care that you’re a werewolf and I don’t think any of the others would either.” You looked over to his bed with the calmest expression imaginable as Remus nearly threw himself onto the floor at your words.
The look of horror on his face remained ingrained into your mind for the years after.
You hated how he felt as though something that was such a small part of who he was determined his right to have true friendship and brotherhood because he was so much more than just a werewolf to you; he was soft and kind, he would sneak chocolate into lessons and read poetry and classic romances before bed, he folded his socks and he was always there in the quiet, grounding presence that your brother had way too much energy to be for you.
He was everything.
Even now, years later, no longer were you a group of stumbling eleven year olds but maturing sixteen year olds, young adults bracing for the real world and the real fights. A group full of hidden secrets, four out of five of you breaking laws and becoming animagi, all five of you having put an essence of your magic into the marauders map, readying to leave your legacy at Hogwarts behind in just a year.
You and Remus however, that bond remained no different, still the same gravitational pull towards each other, that same ability to have entire conversations without any words actually needing to be spoken.
You weren’t like James who loved loudly, too loudly for his own good.
You loved in memories, in subtle gestures and in learning every piece of Remus Lupin’s soul.
You loved in acts of squares of chocolate kept in the front pocket of your bag, in passing pain potions the entire week before the full moon, in placing your hands over his ears when the boys were just a bit too loud too close to the moon becoming whole.
“You’re spiralling,” he spoke in that quiet reassuring tone that Remus always did, a tone of everlasting patience and comfort.
You looked up from the potions textbook that you hadn’t been reading for Merlin knows how long, looking into those honey coloured eyes that were a mirror to every galaxy, every lifetime that you hoped he had also found you in.
“How do you always know?” You asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. Not denying, never denying because he did always know, he always knew every little thing about you.
He smiled that half smile he tended to settle on most days, glancing down shyly to his own book before looking at you again. “Your eyes weren’t focused, you were in your head again,” he said simply but then an almost teasing look took over his expression.
“And I’ve been trying to ask you about the draught of living death for the last ten minutes and you didn’t hear me. What were you thinking about?” He asked.
“You,” you replied. “I was thinking about you.”
A subtle flush of pink appeared on his cheeks, he never did quite get used to confidence of the Potter family. “What about me?”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his dumb question. “Remus, do you ever think about what we’ll do after Hogwarts?”
“All the time,” he whispered, the caring look on his face always gave you the urge to just cry and ask how such a beautiful soul could possibly exist.
You looked at him so plainly, so raw as you spoke. “I don’t want there to always be something unspoken between us, I want to love you wholly, in the way you don’t think you deserve but you accept it anyways because you love me too. I want us to graduate together, leave Hogwarts in love and build a life together. I don’t want to wait around for the ‘perfect moment’ that could never exist with a war going on and could leave us with nothing.”
His mouth was parted in surprise? Shock? Relief? “I want that too. I want you. I want what our life could be, I want whatever we can make in the time we have left.”
You smiled so brightly at his words. A smile that he mirrored, no half smile, no smirk, this was a full blinding smile that he rarely let take over his face.
First of all, HAPPY NEW YEAR! 🥳🍾🎇 May the new year fill you with happiness and laughter, and may all your goals come true!
Last year, I really hold myself back from sending you messages about Part 3! Believeee me! And don't get me started on how many times I re-read those two chapters!
Nevertheless, as usual I'm eagerly waiting for Part 3 and to all of your new works!
Summary: Toto starts his journey in earning your forgiveness, bonding with his newfound daughter and telling his children of her existence
Warnings: none.
F1 Master List , Part 1 , Part 2
A couple months after part 2
Alina Schumacher was no joke, in the last couple months the little girl had gone from a calm happy baby to an absolute terror filled with copious amounts of energy that it felt like it was never ending.
Y/N was losing her mind, it felt like there wasn’t a moment of peace for her, little Alina was constantly rolling around in piles of toys, trying to throw herself off the sofa and would not stop grabbing at her mother’s hair.
Things had progressed with Toto, not in a romantic sense, more in a co-parenting sense. After finding out about his second daughter’s existence he had been putting in the effort to see her and bond with her and it’s safe to say it had been going well, Alina adored him.
Whenever he was around she was filled with goofy smiles and high pitched laughs.
He had been making an effort to earn Y/N’s forgiveness too, after she made a point of showing that he cannot in fact buy her forgiveness with luxuries he had been proving that he did completely regret his actions and acknowledge they weren’t appropriate or were the right thing to have done,
Y/N didn’t hold anymore anger or bitterness towards him for it although she couldn’t say she was ready to try again with him, she didn’t even know if she wanted to, how was she supposed to not think about the possibility of him just leaving whenever he gets scared about something?
As much as she would have loved to hold her grudge against him for the rest of her life, it simply wouldn’t have done her or her daughter any good.
Forgiveness however was another thing.
He was getting there, that was something that she couldn’t deny, he had been there in the ways that counted.
He made sure he attended every baby check up and was present for all of the important milestones but he was also there in the ways that counted to Y/N.
He made sure that she was okay and healthy and ensured that she wasn’t overwhelmed or that she didn’t feel alone, he made sure she knew he was there, whether that be at two o’clock in the afternoon or two o’clock in the morning.
It had been a hard decision to make when choosing if she wanted to remain at Mercedes or not. Even though her and Toto had cleared up most of the issues between the two of them and neither of them had any problem being around each other, Y/N in particular, she still didn’t know if it was a good idea to work under someone that she had such personal relations with.
Y/N had decided to give it a go though, she wouldn’t know if you didn’t try it.
Today was her first day back, she had been back in England for a couple of weeks and during that time Toto had been incredibly helpful, he had spent the majority of his time outside of the office with Y/N, helping her put together a room for Alina considering throughout the entire pregnancy and her life so far, Y/N and her had been in Switzerland.
Y/N walked into the Mercedes headquarters with Alina strapped to her chest in a baby harness, which might seem unprofessional but she would be staying with Toto in his office all day whilst Y/N worked, he was going to be multitasking today.
It wasn’t long before they had attracted a crowd, all desperate for some baby cuddles which only made Y/B happy knowing truly how much of a family this team was to her.
Stepping into Toto’s office didn’t feel nearly as daunting as it did all that time ago, that was in the past.
The man was immediately on his feet, taking all of Alina’s things from Y/N’s arms and setting them down on the small sofa he had pushed up against the wall. Y/N lifted Alina from her carrier and gave her a bunch of little kisses on her cheek making the little girl giggle loudly before she was passed off to her father.
She was immediately entertained, reaching out her little hands in an effort to grab at his nose and ears which Toto tried to dodge. “Don’t worry about her at all today, I have it handled, if you need anything don’t hesitate to come and get me,” he told Y/N who laughed and shook her head.
“Toto, I’ve worked here for nearly a decade, I think I’ll be fine but thank you, have a good day,” she simply replied before walking out.
Have a good day.
He doesn’t think he’s had a single good day since he fucked up so bad, it’s been nearly two years and the guilt continue to eats away at him.
He looks at Y/N and whilst he’s consumed with a feeling of love he’s never felt so deeply, the guilt then settles in too, the reminder of the heartbreak and pain that he added to the already large pile of things that the woman had went through.
Then he looks towards Alina and he’s only reminded of it further, reminded of all that he missed because of his rude dismissals and fear to face his own issues.
He deserved it, he deserved every missed moment of Y/N’s pregnancy and the first three months of Alina’s life and the moments he continued to miss because of the distance between the both of them but Y/N and little Alina didn’t deserve his silence or isolation.
The progress between Toto and Y/N’s uncertain relationship happened slowly, it happened in small moments and subtle exchanges between the two.
In quiet hours during Alina napping, they found themselves sitting in the silence of one or the others living room, sometimes they’d speak, either about work or family, other times they’d say nothing and watch tv.
In team briefings they’d find their eyes locking across the table, subtle exchanges and understanding of the lingering emotions that still shined in their eyes.
Race weekends were filled with lingering touches between passing Alina between the two of them and calming hands being pressed against each other within crowds, careful not to lose each other.
It wasn’t perfect, it never would be but it was better and it was growing.
It was towards the end of the season things truly changed.
At a post race-win celebration they had both found themselves straying from the rest of the time, both embracing the outside breeze, the music from inside still continuing to pulse through their emotions, their thoughts however were on each other.
"I’m glad you decided to come back," Toto’s accent cut through the silence, his words settled over Y/N in a warm embrace.
She smiled, resting her head back against the brick wall of the club. "I’m happy I did too, I was worried about how things would be working with you after everything but I’m glad I was worrying over nothing."
"I would never want to be the reason for you leaving Mercedes, you belong here, you’re a big part of this family," Toto’s responded seriously.
Y/N was silent for a moment, pondering his words before turning her head to look him in the eyes. "Well, I suppose we’re actually family now."
Her words lingered between them in the night air, both their hearts thumping aggressively in their chests as they each admired the way the moonlight graced each other’s features.
"I always saw you as part of my family, Y/N. Your friendship has saved me, even when you didn’t know you were doing it. My only regret is ruining it all before it could become something more." Toto confessed, voice heavy, portraying the guilt that still consumed his being at his past actions, even after all of the time that had passed.
Y/N swallowed thickly at his confession. She could strike him down right now, put at end to the unspoken question between them for the past year. Could they be something?
"I don’t think there will ever be just friendship between us again, Toto," she responded truthfully.
Toto looked at her questionably, not entirely sure what she meant by that and also not wanting to make any assumptions, assumptions were what ruined them in the beginning.
"I didn’t want to forgive you," she continued. "I didn’t want to let myself feel for you again, not after what happened but it’s useless, I love you, Toto and I forgive you, for all of it."
For the past year whenever Y/N had looked at him, Toto had felt like she had wrapped her fist around his heart and squeezed as tight as she could so that maybe he could feel a fraction of what he had made her feel that night in Abu Dhabi, but now, it wasn’t a painful squeeze, it was her embracing his heart and washing away the guilt that gnawed at him.
Y/N pushed herself from against the wall and walked over to him slowly, her eyes never straying from his. "If you still feel for me what you said you felt last year then I would like to try and be something, to be a family."
Toto swallowed, his heart was pounding, his head felt fuzzy struggling to process what was actually happening but no part of him would allow her to slip away from him again.
"You have no idea how deep my feelings run for you, Y/N, of course I want to try, all I’ve wanted is to be enough for you and our family."
A weight had lifted from both their shoulders and it felt like the fog between them had vanished. Y/N reached up and wrapped her hands around the back of Toto’s neck, hauling herself up onto her tiptoes as she brought his head down and connected their lips together.
It was slow but it was sure and it was filled with all of the unspoken emotions and built up admiration between them from the last year.
Their lips separated but they kept their foreheads pressed together and interrupting the silence between them Toto whispered, quiet enough just for her to hear.
Hey could you do fic for Kimi Raikkonen with wife reader during his time at Ferrari? She was stealing his sunglasses like she crash his interviews just for it and he's not doing anything about it. Even when he's wearing it at night like at Singapore GP. So he's got a matching one for her. And they rocked together. Just something fluff and cute. Add something else to it if it's not right. Tag me later!! Thanks :))
NOT YOURS, OURS|K.RÄIKKÖNEN
Pairing; Kimi Räikkönen x Wife!reader
Summary; In which you’re constantly stealing your husband’s sunglasses so he gets you your own matching ones.
Warnings; none.
Author’s note; take a shot everytime the word sunglasses is mentioned.
F1 Master List
Kimi was constantly wearing sunglasses, it was his signature look and it wasn’t very often you’d find him without them, even if he wasn’t wearing them, they’d be there resting on his cap or hanging from his collar.
Even now, as the two of you stood at the entrance of the garage, watching as the rain fell down into the track, wrapped up in his arms as he wrapped the edges of the coat he was wearing around you to keep you warm, he had his sunglasses on.
Not bothering to fight your temptations you pulled back causing his grip on you to loosen and you reached up, taking the sunglasses from his face and putting them on your own.
He looked at you with a raised eyebrow but you simply smiled and posed for him. "How do I look?"
Kimi smiled and shook his head at your silliness. "Beautiful." He replied.
Your smile brightened at his words, stomach fluttering from his compliment as you leaned back into his embrace.
You couldn’t see a thing from the darkness of the sky and the sunglasses mixed together, you didn’t know how he walked about like this but that was a question for another day.
Kimi was out unwillingly doing some interviews so you made the decision to go and roam around the track with absolutely no destination in mind when you saw him in the middle of the track doing a sit down interview with Jenson for Sky Sports.
You smirked as you walked closer. Approaching him from behind, you stepped into frame and wrapped your arms around him to remove the sunglasses from his face, catching him by surprise but as soon as he noticed it was you he relaxed.
Watching as you placed them on your own face, giving him a smile and a cheeky wave before walking away, leaving him shaking his head at you.
"What was that all about?" Jenson asked, laughing.
"Bwoah, i don’t know." Kimi shrugged.
You were in Singapore and the sky was pitch black but the track was lit up reading for the race to begin, Kimi was standing in the pit lane and even though the sun went down long ago, his sunglasses remained on his face as he spoke to his race engineer.
Walking to to him, you didn’t hesitate to reach up and take them from him, the man not even flinching as he continued with his conversation as though nothing had even happened.
You smiled as you placed them on your own face, the dark shades blocking everything but the lights on the track.
When he was finished talking he turned to you with a pointed look. "Those are mine."
You shook your head. "Not yours. Ours."
Kimi hummed. "This is becoming a habit now."
"I like them." You simply told him.
You were in Qatar and the sun was glaring down on you causing you to scowl in annoyance, looking around with your hand raised above your eyes, you spotted your husband.
He was dressed as he always was, red cap, red shirt, black shorts, black sunglasses. You walked towards him with a spring in your step.
Just when you were close enough to reach up and grab his sunglasses from his face, Kimi grabbed your hand to stop you.
As a pout began to form on your face, your husband simply shook his head and reached into his pocket. In his hand was a pair of sunglasses, an exact replica of the ones that were currently resting on his nose and under them to you.
“You have no reason to steal mine now,” he huffed but there was the slightest hint of a smile growing on his lips.
You took the sunglasses from him and placed them on, not acknowledging his slight dig at your antics.
“How do I look?” You asked him the same question you did a couple races ago.
I really love your content about F1 especially about Toto!! Your take on his personality is amazing!! Keep up doing what you are passionate about. Good luck in the future for whatever you're doing!! 💪🏻🫶🏻:)))
Thank you so much!
He’s probably one of the people I find easiest to find motivation to write about 🤍
Summary: The entire firm knew how temperamental Harvey Specter was and whenever he was in one of those moods, they knew it was going to be a painful day, until they found the only thing that could calm him down.
Warnings: none.
Suits Master List
Harvey Specter could be described as many things; arrogant, rude, uptight, stone-faced and most certainly hot headed. It wasn’t hard to piss him off but it was certainly difficult to calm him down and once his mood was ruined the entire day was doomed.
It was quite frankly anyone’s worst day whenever Harvey wasn’t in a good mood because they always took the brunt of it and there was no way to fix it.
Or so they thought.
If there was one thing anyone would say about Donna Paulsen, it was that she knew everything, which meant she knew exactly what would calm Harvey Specter down.
His wife.
Y/N Specter wasn’t a lawyer, she was an aerospace engineer which was just as, if not more impressive than being a lawyer and Harvey Specter worshipped the ground she walked on.
After watching Mike Ross leave Harvey’s office with near tears streaming down his face, Donna had enough and picked up the phone.
Y/N’s attention was momentarily drawn away from her computer at the sound of her office phone ringing but continued looking through data as she answered "Y/N Specter speaking."
A sigh of relief was heard through the line before Donna’s voice filtered through. "Y/N! Thank god! I don’t know what the hell is up Harvey’s arse today but he’s nearly made Mike cry three times and it’s only 10 o’clock, can you please come and save us," her husband’s secretary practically begged.
Y/N smiled, leaning back in her chair, work forgotten. This wasn’t the first time she had received a phone call like this and she found it hilarious just how much fear her husband built within people, he was a real softy around her.
Luckily for her, she had a lot of freedom in her role, she had proven herself for many years before that she was now able to come and go from work as she pleased, being fully trusted that no matter how often she was here her work was always done.
"I won’t be long," she said before hanging up, not wasting time in grabbing her things to make her way to her husband’s workplace.
As she walked towards her husbands office, Y/N bit down her laughter as she saw the obvious signs of relief on everyone’s faces as she walked by.
"Y/N you have no idea how happy I am to see you," Donna greeted her as she approached her desk, "He’s miserable in there."
Y/N looked through the glass into her husbands office and found that the redhead was telling the truth, the heavy frustration on her husband’s face was hard to miss.
She gave Donna a smile before making her way into Harvey’s office.
The man sighed heavily hearing his office door open, not looking up from the case file open in front of him. “I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
Y/N smiled, “and does that include me?”
Harvey’s head snapped up at the sweet, smooth tone of his wife’s voice, feeling the tension in his shoulders deflate just from her presence. "Y/N?”
“Hey handsome." She smirked slightly, walking around his desk, he turned in his chair just as she stood in front of him.
He looked up at her in the same way he always did, there was nothing but pure love in those eyes, “What are you doing here?"
Y/N smiled lovingly at him, stepping forward to stand between his legs, wrapping her arms around the back of his head. “You’re scaring your colleagues.”
Harvey rolled his eyes, sitting up to rest his hands on her waist. “They’re ridiculous.”
Y/N hummed, “maybe, but how could I deny the chance to come and see you?”
“Fair point, I can understand the struggle of not seeing my handsome face for a couple hours,” Harvey replied, dead serious, smiling as his wife rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle slap to the shoulder.
“What’s got you all worked up, darling?” She asked.
Harvey released a deep breath, sparing a glance to the case sitting open on his desk. “I didn’t even want to represent the guy but Jessica knows him, I know him to be a complete prick."
Y/N thought for a moment before inviting herself further into his space, forcing her way into his lap, not that he was complaining, he just tightened his grip around her, leaning back into his chair. “Well, how about I treat you to lunch?” She proposed.
Harvey smiled tiredly. “I’d love that, baby." He replied, earning a bright smile from his wife who leaned forward to press a loving kiss to his lips before standing back up, pulling him up with her,
“Come on then, we’ve kept Ray waiting long enough.”
The smile on Harvey’s face was a stark contrast to the frustration he had been hounding earlier and it was all down the angel in front of him who wouldn’t even allow him to grab his coat, too persistent in dragging him through his office door.
As they made their way out of the building, they paid no attention to the uncomfortable weight that seemed to lift from everyone’s shoulders.
One thing for sure is that the entire firm were relieved for the existence of Y/N Specter.
The entire firm knew how temperamental Harvey Specter was and whenever he was in one of those moods, they knew it was going to be a painful day, until they found the only thing that could calm him down. Harvey Specter x Wife!reader
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