summary: As the youngest child and sole daughter of a respected Fire Nation general, you have been desperate to prove yourself since the moment you were born — so when Azula offers you a spot on a mission from the Fire Lord himself, you accept without thinking.
But as you end up embedded in the front lines of the war your family has fought for decades, you begin to question everything you've ever known.
warning(s): lots of fire nation propaganda as reader comes from a military family. implied/past child abuse, anger issues, canon typical violence, r is weird about zuko and azula and they are weird abt her.
**note: though this is a reader insert so while i wont be describing her appearance much or even at all, reader is a traditional fire nation girl meaning i imagined her like that while i was writing this, and she has hair long enough to put in a topknot which is described in many chapters because we are all about our honor here!**
read on ao3 | spotify playlist lol i dont have the email for the atlabeth account anymore so i had to make a new one
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: In the 21st century, you are an archaeologist that travels with a group of fellow researchers to Frankenstein Estate for field research. Adam Frankenstein has acquired the estate but remains a shut in. The group's love of history strikes an interest in Adam, but you, you look at him and see a man, not a creature. For once, he may allow himself to fall and trust that he will fall into loving arms. But will unwelcome guests force Adam to indulge in his rage?
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Adam Frankenstein x FemResearcher!Reader
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ: comfort, hurt, strangers to lovers, some fluff, yearning, soft and shy Adam, violent and protective Adam, descriptions of blood and gore, sexual themes. MDNI
Hihi! I'm apple (she/her/they) Welcome to my sideblog <3 This is dedicated entirely to KPDH and will feature ships of all sorts. (Aka if I find the art cute, imma reblog it). I am a writer, gif maker, and general editor so I post a lot of my own KPDH edits and fics here, too!
There will occasionally be 18+ content on this blog, but I will do my best to make sure if it's something I reblog that it's tagged properly!
I absolutely love asks btw <3 Whether you wanna talk about my fic(s) or you just wanna chat KPDH - hit me up!!
Summary: As expected, you don’t react well the next morning. Azriel tries to win you back. Mor reveals some news, setting everything in motion.
Word count: 12.1K
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Sorry this took so long. Can you tell I gave up halfway through?
-
He sat in quiet contemplation the next morning as he waited for you to wake up. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. How could he after what had transpired last night?
You were still on the other side of his bed, far away from him. He wanted to reach out to you—to cuddle you and tell you that everything would be okay. But you didn’t want that.
The whole night, he had replayed what had happened in his head. You had kissed him. Not a real kiss on the lips, but you had kissed him all the same. His blood still got hot at the thought of it.
He had felt excited at first—excited because he thought that maybe you were finally reciprocating his feelings. But he couldn’t, in good conscience, have let you continue your drunken kiss attack. He had wanted to. Gods, he had wanted to.
After he stopped you, it had all gone to shit. He assumed that you were just overwhelmed by everything—the drinks, your feelings, your panic attack. But then you said you hadn’t meant to do it. It was all some big mistake. Just another drunken lapse in judgement.
“Don’t tell anyone,” you had said. You were embarrassed by it. Embarrassed by the idea of liking him, of being intimate with him.
Worst of all, you didn’t even feel the mating bond. He had hoped that you had been feeling something, even if you weren’t exactly sure what it was. Apparently, the bond is one-sided. You have no clue it even exists.
All hope was lost now. The only option is to continue on like normal, if that was even possible. Keep pretending that he was your friend and only that.
He’s really hoping that you don’t remember any of it, just like last time. It would make it so much easier to keep his head on straight. That would be the best case scenario. He just needed to forget about last night completely. He could deal with a one-sided bond, right?
Soon enough, he felt you stirring. His heart rate picked up as he braced himself for what was about to come.
He sat up slowly against the headboard. “Y/N?” he whispered softly, not wanting to startle you.
Your back stiffened upon hearing his voice. That wasn’t a good sign. That wasn’t a good sign at all.
He kept his distance, though all he wanted to do was pull you over to him. “Are you feeling okay this morning?” he questioned cautiously.
You flew up before he could even register what was happening, already halfway over the side of the bed.
No. He wasn’t going to let you run away like last time. He needed some kind of clarity as to how you were feeling.
His shadows caught your arm before you could get too far, dragging you back toward him. You thrashed against them wildly. He sent more shadows forward. They wrapped around your middle, pinning you down so that you couldn’t sit up.
”Stop it!” you yelled.
The bond protested against your cries, but he ignored it, grabbing your chin quickly. “Calm down, Y/N,” he instructed in a soft voice.
You did the opposite, continuing to thrash against the shadows with all of your might.
He cupped your face, leaning over you. “Hey, calm down. Just relax,” he pleaded, trying to keep his voice steady.
This was not a good position to be in. He was so tired of resisting the bond, so tired of holding back. Every instinct in his body was telling him to swoop down and kiss you. But if you didn't want him, he had to respect that.
You tried to pry the shadows off of you, but they held firm, staying in place.
He attempted to get your attention again, wanting you to settle down. You were looking everywhere but him. “Y/N,” he said louder, stroking one of your cheeks.
You screwed your eyes shut at the sound of your name on his lips, your hands clenching into fists.
His chest ached—actually ached. “Y/N,” he called again. “Y/N, just look at me for a second,” he begged.
You were panting now from your struggle with the shadows, but you slowly peeked up at him from under your eyelashes.
His chest tightened. You were so beautiful. So, so beautiful, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. This was torture.
He reluctantly brought his hands back down to his sides. “Do you remember anything from last night?” he asked gently. Please say no, please say no.
You gave a short nod.
Fuck. That just made everything ten times harder. Gathering his wits, he dug a little deeper. “What do you remember?” he pressed.
Your gaze turned downward as you answered him. “Most of it,” you murmured.
Great. Just wonderful. He breathed through his nose, trying to find a way to make the situation better. He had to make sure you weren’t going to beat yourself up all morning first and foremost.
“Alright, okay, that’s…” he trailed off, his mind drawing a blank. What could he even say to fix this situation?
He tried again. “I just—I just want you to know that you have nothing to be embarrassed about. We all have our moments. It’s nothing worse than what Cassian’s done while drunk,” he finished, hoping that would do the trick.
Your eyes met his. He noticed that your hands were clenching the sheets now. You inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m sorry for my actions last night,” you said stiffly.
Your words were so cordial, so unemotional. They weren’t you. He felt like he was going to vomit.
“It’s alright,” he lied. “You had a tough night last night. Your emotions were running high. Just…maybe lay off the drinks in the future,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.
You didn’t so much as crack a smile. He swallowed uncomfortably, scrambling to find words that could remedy this.
“Um, how’s your head? Any nauseousness? You drank those drinks pretty fast last night,” he rambled.
“I’m fine,” you mumbled.
You didn’t seem fine, but he didn’t push any further. He wasn’t trying to piss you off even more.
He nodded. “Okay. Do you want some breakfast? Or something from the bakery?” he inquired, hoping that they could just ease back into the way things had always been.
”No,” you replied. “I think I’m going to go train,” you continued, starting to push against the shadows once more.
Perfect. He made his shadows ease their grip, letting them slither back to him. He was already moving, pushing back the covers. “Okay, just give me a second, and I’ll get changed—“
“Alone,” you added firmly.
He froze, halting his movements. Alone. You wanted to train alone. Without him. This was worse than he thought. His mind spun in circles as he tried to think of a way to save this.
”Are—are you sure? Because I can always—“
”I’m sure,” you stated with finality.
Your face was a mask. For once, he couldn’t read it. He tried to keep his face neutral as he nodded, feeling the bond stir more. The bond didn’t like this any more than he did. Just go with it. Don’t make it weird.
“Okay. Have a good training session,” he finally managed to say, trying not to have a breakdown right then and there.
You scurried out of the room before he could think of something else to say.
He slid down under his covers. He could handle a lot of things, but this? The short responses, the lack of emotion, the lack of you. This would break him.
He had been so close to getting what he wanted. If not a reciprocated mating bond, then at least a friendship that sometimes crossed the line into something further.
But now…now you were closed off from him. He would have to learn to deal with it or suffer the consequences.
Holding his stomach, he ran to the toilet and puked up his guts.
—
You had been training for two hours. He didn’t want to bother you, he really didn’t, but you were doing it again. He thought he had broken that habit out of you, but apparently not.
You had been out there too long for his liking. He watched from his spot near the rooftop entrance as you punched and kicked at the training dummy with all your might. He’d been standing there for a while, debating back and forth with himself on whether or not he should intervene.
Screw it. He’d already royally messed things up anyway. Your health came first, and he wasn’t going to let you train yourself to the point of exhaustion.
He stepped over the rooftop threshold, whistling to get your attention.
You whipped your head around, eyes zeroing in on him. As soon as you registered it was him, you went right back to attacking the training dummy.
He grinded his teeth, strolling right up to you and crossing his arms. That wouldn’t do. He waited a couple of seconds to see if you would acknowledge him. You didn’t.
”You know you’re not supposed to be doing that,” he scolded.
You didn’t let up on the dummy. “I’m fine,” you insisted in between harsh breaths.
What a little liar. He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’re about to collapse, Y/N.”
You rolled your eyes, not even deigning to glance at him. “I can handle it.”
So, that was how it was going to be, huh? Short responses and angry words.
He stepped forward and saw you tense. A little part of him felt bad, but he ignored it. “Oh yeah? It doesn’t look like it.”
Your punches got harder. “I think I know what I can and can’t handle,” you argued.
You were being hardheaded. He hated when you got like this, absolutely hated it. You needed to stop now, before you injured yourself.
He took a deep breath, trying not to lose his cool. “Y/N, can you please just take a break at least?” he pleaded.
You kept throwing punches, your breaths steadily getting heavier. “I’ll rest when I’m done.”
His eyes narrowed. You didn’t seem like you were going to be done anytime soon, and he wasn’t going to let you run yourself into the ground. You could hate him all you want for this.
He grabbed your arm securely, preparing to haul you away. You pushed away from him like he had just burned you.
”Don’t touch me,” you snapped.
He blinked quickly. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside out. That was the second time in 24 hours that you had snapped at him. The urge to vomit again was steadily rising. He didn’t know if he could endure this treatment from you.
”Y/N,” he started, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. “This isn’t healthy. You know that. I know you do.”
“Just go inside, Az,” you replied in a tired voice. “I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.”
Az. Why did you still have to call him that? You were twisting the knife.
He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “Are you calling me a liar?” you asked, your voice raising dangerously.
He clenched his jaw. Why were you being so defensive? He wanted to scream at you.
“No,” he responded. “I’m saying that you tend to go over that couple of minutes mark every time you say that.”
You kept that same annoyed tone as you replied. “I meant what I said.”
He curled his hands into fists, willing himself to stay strong. This was not something he could back down from it. He had to be stern with you
”Okay, then you won’t mind me staying here until you’re finished.” He went to sit down on a nearby bench.
You were staring daggers at him. He stared right back, daring you to go against your promise.
He heard you inhale deeply before turning back to the punching dummy.
Before he knew it, ten minutes had passed and you weren’t showing any sign of slowing down. He knew this would happen. It was so obvious—he knew you like the back of his hand.
Sighing, he got back up to his feet and strutted over to you. “Okay, time to stop,” he demanded.
You didn’t acknowledge him, purposefully continuing your attack on the dummy.
What a little brat. He was starting to get really frustrated now. You never listened. “Enough,” he said sternly, grabbing you by the arms.
He spun you to face him. You started pushing against his chest almost immediately, but he didn’t let you get away.
”Stop it! Stop it, and go sit down,” he ordered, getting aggravated.
You just kept on resisting. Fine, be like that. See what happens.
He threw you over his shoulder, holding your legs down tightly. Your actions had to have consequences at some point.
You pounded your fists on his back furiously. “Put me down!” you screamed.
He cringed at the sound so close to his ear. Ignoring your futile protests, he plopped you down onto the bench he had just been sitting on.
Before you could get a chance to get up, he leaned over you, trapping your body in between his arms. Nudging your legs apart with his knee, he came to stand in between them. If looks could kill, he’d be dead by now.
”Listen to me,” he gritted through his teeth before you could get a word out. “I am sick and tired of you acting like your health is something to play around with. If you want to get stronger, this is not the way to do it. Good warriors know when it’s time to rest,” he lectured, reprimanding you.
You looked as if you were about to argue, but he didn’t want to hear it. He kept going.
”And if you’re doing this because you’re angry or frustrated, you come take it out on me. All you’re doing right now is hurting yourself. That’s unacceptable. Do you understand?” he asked, waiting for an answer. You better say yes.
You stayed silent, eyes ablaze with fury. Be angry. He didn’t care. All he cared about was you being safe.
He leaned closer. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer. Do you understand? Nod if you do.”
He waited some more. You stared at him for a long time, and he was about ready to give you another lecture before you finally nodded.
He let his body relax a little. His joints were starting to ache from how stiff he was. ”Good,” he continued. “Now answer me this—are you angry?” he asked directly.
You blinked slowly. Your body was just as stiff as his. “What?”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. ”I said, are you angry?” he repeated, expecting a truthful answer.
You looked away, your jaw clenching. “No.”
Not very likely. He grabbed your chin, turning your head toward him. “Bullshit.”
Your eyes blazed even more. He didn’t want to admit that seeing you angry pleased him the slightest bit. It was better than you ignoring him.
“It’s none of your business how I feel,” you said poutily.
”It is when you do stuff like this,” he replied, gesturing toward the dummy.
You averted your gaze, jaw still clenched. “I don’t want to talk right now, Az.”
No, talk, please. Complain, yell, he didn’t care. Just don’t shut him out. He had to keep your attention.
“Is it me you’re angry at?” he pressed. Why was he even asking? He already knew the answer.
You raised your head defiantly. ”Just leave me alone. Please.”
You were pleading with him to go away now. He couldn’t have that.
”I thought you wanted to hang out with me today,” he taunted. “You were practically begging me for it last night.” It was a risky thing to say, but he had no choice. Not if he wanted to keep you.
“I changed my mind,” you stated nonchalantly.
Yes, he had figured that one out for himself. ”Why?” he asked, continuing to interrogate you. He wanted you to admit it to his face.
You shrugged. “Because. I just don’t feel like it anymore.”
Liar, he wanted to say. You were either angry at yourself for your behavior last night or angry at him for shutting it down. Or both.
He reached out to stroke your cheek.
”Az—“
He shushed you, effectively cutting you off, face softening as he looked at you. It was taking everything in him not to do something stupid right now.
”Is this about last night?” he whispered. Gods, he was going to puke again.
Your face whitened. “Please don’t bring that up—“
”We have to talk about it,” he pushed. You were shaking your head, but he kept going, continuing to stroke your cheek soothingly. “I don’t want things to be different because of it.”
You looked just as sickly as him as you stayed silent, taking in his words with caution.
”You know I’m not going to judge you for something you did while you were drunk,” he continued. “You do know that, right?”
“I—I know that, I just…” you trailed off.
He frowned. “You just what?” he asked, encouraging you to speak your mind. Come on, spit it out. He couldn’t handle the anticipation. Always the patient one, except when it comes to you.
“I—I made you uncomfortable,” you finally said, your voice shaking the slightest bit.
He shook his head quickly. You had, but you had also ignited something in him that he wouldn’t soon forget.
“You were just drunk. I knew that. And I know that people sometimes don’t have the clearest mind when they’re drunk. We’ve all done things we regret while inebriated. It happens,” he finished, keeping his tone as casual as he could.
You looked sad. Why?
“I don’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage of you—“
”I don’t think that, Y/N. You were just feeling a little mushy. I didn’t mind it. I just didn’t want you to do something that you’d regret in the morning.”
Your brows furrowed. “You didn’t mind it?” you asked slowly.
Shit. That was not how he meant that to come out. Why couldn’t he ever talk smoothly in front of you? It was like his persona that he’d been carefully constructing for centuries just…crumbles when he’s with you.
”Uh, I just meant that I wasn’t offended by it,” he replied quickly. “I know you didn’t have bad intentions.”
He was really screwing this up. He peeked at you, hoping you had interpreted that the right way.
You looked wary, but less somber. He’d take that as a good sign.
He couldn’t resist stroking your cheek one more time. They were still hot from your intense training session. “Can we just forget about last night? At least the bad parts?”
You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”
Phew. Thank the Cauldron that was settled. If he had lost you…
He stepped back, giving you room to get up.
You got up on shaky legs, the exhaustion seemingly finally catching up to you.
He tucked his arm under yours. “You okay?” he asked with concern.
”Yeah, just tired,” you reassured him.
He nodded understandingly. You had been training for quite a long time. “Would you be mad if I hugged you right now?” he asked nervously.
He couldn’t not ask. It didn’t have to be a long one—he just wanted to feel you against him for a while.
You shook your head. “No, I don’t mind,” you said softly.
He slowly wrapped his arms around you, hoping you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest. He had the urge to wrap his wings around you, as well. You were so warm. He wanted to keep you here like this in his embrace, but he couldn’t.
It would be so easy to do what you did to him last night—kiss your jaw, your neck…maybe go a little further and kiss your lips.
He reluctantly pulled back before he could get any more bad ideas, trying to gauge your emotions. Your mood seemed much more improved than when he had come out here.
“Do you still not want to hang out with me today?” he questioned hesitantly.
You smiled warmly. One of these days, that smile of yours was going to give him a heart attack. “I changed my mind again.”
He chucked lightly. He was so relieved. That was all he could ask for. Normalcy was okay. He could handle having only that.
“Okay, well I’m not going out with you being a sweaty mess. Go take a shower…and maybe a nap. You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up.”
”Thanks,” you said sarcastically.
He smirked. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
—
Two hours later, you were looking refreshed and content. First, he took you down to the bakery that you loved so much. You got a chocolate croissant and he got a sugar cookie. He paid, of course, much to your dismay.
On the way out, he saw a “Now Hiring” sign. Nudging you, he pointed at it. “Look. They’re hiring.”
You looked back at the sign. “Yeah, are you planning on working there or something?” you teased.
He chuckled. “No, actually I was going to suggest that you work there.”
You paused in your tracks. “What?”
He stopped walking as well. You were so oblivious. “You like to bake,” he explained. “You said you wanted to earn your keep. This is the perfect place for you to do that. You can work part time. A couple days a week or only on the weekends or something,” he finished.
You didn’t look so convinced. “They’re looking for professionals. Not mediocre wannabes that barely have any experience baking.”
He almost rolled his eyes. When you were going to get it through your thick head that you were worth it, and not just to him?
“People loved your cakes at the Winter Solstice celebration,” he argued. “I know you can bake. I’ve had your cookies. I think it’s safe to say that you have a good chance of getting hired.
He didn’t know why he was suggesting this. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted things to stay just the way they were, but he already felt bad enough as it is. You spent so much time with him, that you didn’t really have time for much else. You need to find your own footing here. This was the perfect time to spread your wings and fly.
”Just take some time to think about it,” he urged.
You huffed. “Fine. Maybe, I’ll do it.”
He smiled, counting that as a success.
Next, he took you to lunch at a place by the river. It was very much reminiscent of the first time he took you into Velaris. It was pleasant. Peaceful. Just like old times.
Then, he took you to a little bookshop tucked into a side street. You got three new books, all of the romance variety, he noticed. He hoped, for his sake, that they didn’t contain the material that that other book you liked so much had.
By the time they got home, it was time for dinner. Everything was going well. You seemed comfortable enough, and he was having a grand time simply admiring you. Then, Mor just had to go and open her big mouth.
”Sooo,” she started. “I saw you two coming out of Azriel’s bedroom this morning. Got something to tell us?” She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously.
He watched as your face slowly reddened. His grip on his fork tightened as he shot a death glare at her, but she didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by it.
“She got a bit tipsy last night. Someone had to make sure she was okay,” he said flatly, not wanting to get into the reason behind why you had ended up in his bed. That wasn’t his business to share. Just drop it, he begged silently.
”Hmmm. You sure do have a habit of drinking and then ending up in bed with Azriel, Y/N,” she went on, sending a pointed look your way.
”Mor!” Feyre exclaimed, appearing absolutely baffled by Mor’s audacity.
His hand unclenched his fork, noticing that he had bent it. He set it down, sliding his hands under the table. Why couldn’t Mor ever keep her thoughts to herself?
Sneaking a glance at you, he saw that you were now red as a tomato. It wasn’t like the pretty blushes you saved only for him. You were embarrassed. “Cut it out, Mor,” he demanded.
”What?” Mor asked innocently. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two liked each other.”
Oh, he was going to kill her.
”That’s enough, Mor,” Rhysand said sternly.
Mor scoffed. “Oh, come on. Don’t act so coy, Rhys. Everyone here can practically smell the sexual tension oozing off of them. It’s no secret.”
He heard a chair scraping against the floor. Turning toward the sound, he watched in despair as you stood up from your seat and scurried upstairs.
“Y/N!” Feyre called after you, to no avail.
His eyes narrowed at Mor. He was practically fuming at this point. You were such a sensitive person. How could Mor not notice how her words were affecting you? Or did she just not care?
“Can you ever keep your big mouth out of other people’s business?” he gritted through his teeth.
Mor just smirked. “You’ll thank me later. I’m just speeding along the process. You should get up there and comfort her,” she suggested, emphasizing the word “comfort.”
He didn’t miss the unsubtle innuendo in her words. It only served to make him angrier.
“Nothing is happening between me and her. All you do is embarrass her. Some friend you are,” he replied coldly.
She stood up from the table, bracing her hands against the surface of it. “This is the thanks I get for trying to help you? I don’t know if you realize it, Azriel, but you’re quite obvious. I know about your little secret. You know, maybe I should go up there and tell her myself since you’re too much of a wuss to do it.”
His heart stopped in his chest—actually stopped. She knew. She knew about the mating bond. How the fuck did she know?
He pushed off his chair as well, assuming the exact same position as her. “Don’t you dare,” he growled. He wasn’t playing around now. If she told you…
Mor smiled cockily. “No? You don’t want me to? Then how about you go up there and do it yourself?” she taunted.
She was really laying it on thick, wasn’t she? Someone had better hold him back before he does something he regrets. “Mor, I swear to the Cauldron, if you tell her, I’ll—“
”What the hell are you two arguing about?” Feyre interrupted, looking lost.
”I think I can guess,” Rhysand said softly.
He whipped his head toward his High Lord, on the verge of losing his temper.
Rhysand just stared back at him with a knowing glint in his eyes.
He took a deep breath, trying to soothe his rising emotions. This was getting way, way out of hand. He couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not after he had just made up with you. If you found out—
“Azriel,” Rhysand called quietly, disrupting his spiraling thoughts.
He slowly angled his body toward him. The male was still giving him that same look that made him very uneasy. Rhysand knew too, then. Or he guessed it. Either way, he was screwed.
He steeled his nerves. His High Lord had done everything for him. He owed him this one truth. Rhysand would never tell anyone.
Get it together. His nerves were shot. Reluctantly, he lifted his head and returned his High Lord’s stare, nodding subtly. That was all the confirmation he had in him to give.
“What’s going on?” Cassian asked cluelessly, bobbing his head back and forth between him and Rhysand.
He didn’t want to explain. No one was supposed to know. No one.
Rhysand cleared his throat. “Azriel. May I have a word with you?”
His wings twitched. He itched to fly out of the balcony doors, to get far away from everyone, even you. He could do that, but what good would it do? It was time to be a big boy.
Straightening, he walked out of the room, heading toward Rhysand’s study. It’d be best to get this conversation over with as soon as possible.
Rhysand entered shortly after him, his expression neutral. The male sat down in his chair, composed as can be. “Sit,” he ordered gently, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk.
He stayed standing for a moment, still debating if he should just leave right now and not come back. But there was no avoiding this now. He knew Rhysand could see right through him, so he sat down gingerly.
Rhysand clasped his hands in front of him, leaning forward smoothly. “How are you holding up?” he inquired gently.
How was he holding up? He was barely keeping it together. His mind was running a million miles per hour. The bond…the bond was even worse. It held more power over him presently than ever before. He had to fight with himself not to go up to your room right this second and confess to the existence of the bond.
”I think you know,” he responded stiffly.
Rhysand nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, I do. I went through the same thing myself once, as you know.”
He dug his nails into the side of his thigh. He was going to lose it. You were all the way upstairs and he was all the way down here. It was too much distance.
“How did you endure it?” he blurted out.
Rhysand gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to be a little more specific. There was a lot to endure.”
He sighed, trying to think of a way to explain the dilemma that he had been pondering over ever since the bond snapped. Where to even begin?
“How did you endure the waiting, all the while not knowing if she’ll accept the bond? She doesn’t know about it, Rhys,” he emphasized. “I can’t just tell her. She’ll freak out.”
Rhysand nodded understandingly. “That’s a good question—one I found myself asking a lot during those days. I couldn’t possibly fathom telling Feyre, and I assume you feel the exact same way about telling Y/N. I wanted Feyre to come to the conclusion that she liked me on her own,” he explained.
He inhaled impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know all that, but how did you deal with it? She doesn't even have a clue that anything odd is going on. I checked last night. And she seems to show no signs of liking me back. But—” he paused, gathering his thoughts. It was hard to put into words how he felt. Words didn’t do his feelings justice.
“—but the waiting is torture,” he continued. “There’s no point in her knowing about the bond if she doesn’t like me back. And I don’t think she does,” he rambled anxiously.
Rhysand’s brows furrowed. “What makes you think she doesn’t like you back?” he asked.
He resisted the urge to scoff. There was a never-ending list of reasons why you didn’t like him back. He could go on and on, but he didn’t want to remind himself of them.
“Many reasons. For one, she’s never admitted anything to me, never given me any hints that she likes me.”
”Neither have you,” Rhysand countered. “And I know you like her. Mor is right, it’s quite obvious.”
He glared at his High Lord. “What’s your point?”
Rhysand smirked, apparently finding his question amusing. “My point is that maybe she likes you too and you just don’t know it yet. You’re both very secretive people. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch.”
He shook his head. Rhysand hadn’t been in his shoes for the past couple of months. “She would’ve done something by now if she liked me. We’ve been hanging out for months now. I don’t think it’s very likely that she’ll suddenly change her mind in the future. I guess we're just destined to be friends forever,” he grumbled.
A pensive expression crossed Rhysand’s face. He knew that face. Rhysand got like that whenever he was thinking hard about something. For a couple of minutes straight, Rhysand didn’t utter a word. He was about to interrupt the male’s train of thought when the male finally spoke again.
“She’s never shown any interest in you? None whatsoever?” Rhysand inquired.
His face heated up. Last night came to mind. And that night at Rita’s. He still couldn’t control how his body reacted when he thought about it.
“Not exactly…only when she’s drunk,” he explained sheepishly.
Rhysand grinned like he had just found a pot of gold. “What has our little Y/N done while she’s drunk? Nothing too scandalous, I hope”
His cheeks had to be pink by now. He didn’t want to reveal all the things you had done when you were drunk around him. That was a secret between you and him. His to hold close and cherish.
“Nothing, really. She just gets a little clingy when she’s drunk,” he shrugged, hoping that would suffice.
Rhysand rolled his eyes, obviously not believing him. “Come on, Az, you have to give me more than that. You know I’m not going to blab to anyone.”
He took a calming breath. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. Of course he knew Rhysand would never blab to anyone, but sharing those intimate moments out loud made them all the more real. It wasn’t an easy task. He wasn’t used to divulging his feelings like this.
“Well, the first time nothing really happened. But she did say a lot of odd things. Nothing like a love confession, though,” he added quickly, knowing Rhysand would interrogate him about that comment if he didn’t stop him. “The second time…” he trailed off, not wanting to continue.
Rhysand leaned forward eagerly. “Go on,” he urged.
He dug his fingers a little harder into his thigh. He had vowed to himself last night to never tell anybody what happened between you and him. But Rhysand knew about the bond now. That changed things. A lot.
“You can’t tell anyone else,” he insisted. “This is between you and me.”
“When have I ever been one to spread gossip? Your secret is safe with me, my friend.”
Fumbling with the knife strapped to his side, everything started tumbling out all at once. “On Winter Solstice night she drank too much and she—“ he paused, trying to get the words out.
Gods, he was going to hell for this.
“—she kissed me,” he finished, eyeing Rhysand warily.
Rhysand’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.
He quickly started talking again before the male got a chance to comment on this revelation. “Not like you think. It wasn’t a kiss on the lips. She just kissed me on the cheek…and jaw…and neck,” he stated, each word getting quieter and quieter as he went on.
Rhysand leaned back in his chair, amazement written all over his face. “I see.”
He leaned back as well. The cat was out of the bag now. There was no going back. He wasn’t so sure that was a good thing, but he was surprised to find that it felt good to share his feelings on the matter with someone else. He didn’t know how badly he needed another person’s input until now.
“Drunk actions are sober desires, you know?” Rhysand suddenly said.
Rhysand was just egging him on now—probably trying to give him false hope.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong. It makes your judgement skewed. Believe me, her judgement was definitely skewed last night. She never would have done half the things she did if she was sober,” he argued.
Rhysand tapped his fingers on the desk in quiet contemplation. “Have you ever considered,” he started in a light tone, “that she’s just scared?”
No, he hadn’t thought of that. The idea had never crossed his mind.
“Why would she be scared?” he asked carefully.
Rhysand pointedly looked at him like the reason was obvious. ”You’re practically shaking in your leathers at the idea of telling her about the bond. What makes you think she’s not just as scared to tell you about her feelings?”
He was offended by the insinuation that he was afraid to confess to you. He was just protecting you. Right?
“I’m not scared,” he argued. “I just…don’t want her to feel forced to be with me.”
Rhysand stopped tapping the desk, a serious expression overtaking his face. “Listen carefully, Azriel. If you don’t tell her about the mating bond and she finds out about it some other way, she might feel betrayed that you never told her.”
He had never thought about it that way, but that didn’t make him any more convinced to confess to you. If anything, it made him want to tell you even less.
”If I do tell her, she’s not going to be able to handle it. Don’t ask me why, I just know she won’t, okay?”
Rhysand rubbed his temples slowly, like this conversation was taxing on him. ”Then you’re in a predicament. Let’s say one day she finds out, whether she discovers it herself or someone like Mor tells her.”
“If Mor even thinks about telling her—“
Rhysand held up a hand, stopping his rant in its tracks. ”I’ll put it this way, then. Do you want her to feel like she can’t trust you? Or do you want her to deal with a little discomfort for a while until she gets used to the idea of having a mate?”
“She’s not going to get used—“
”Just think about it, Az. I’m not asking you to make a decision right now.”
He scoffed at Rhysand’s hypocrisy. The male was acting like he didn’t do the opposite with Feyre, when he in fact did.
“You said yourself that you didn’t want to tell Feyre about the mating bond and you never did. She found out about it herself and things worked out just fine for you two. What makes my situation any different?”
“Feyre and Y/N are two very different people,” Rhysand said slowly, like he was talking to a small child. “For one, Feyre had just gotten over a psychotic ex and she thought I was some evil tyrant. Secondly, things weren’t fine at first. She was angry at me for not telling her.”
He sighed, staring down at his hands. As much as he hated to admit it, Rhysand did have a point. This decision weighed heavily on him. Very heavily.
“I can’t lose her, Rhysand. I can’t,” he muttered quietly.
Rhysand rolled his eyes. ”Azriel, she sticks to your side like glue. I don’t think you’re going to lose her.”
He stared down at his lap, keeping his shadows closer to him for comfort. Rhysand wouldn’t understand. No one could unless they’d been around you as much as he has. You were so different from your sisters.
“I don’t want to take that chance, Rhys. She’s not like Feyre. She’s very hesitant—about everything.”
Rhysand leaned forward, a soft smile painting his face. “I think you need to get some rest. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking about all the what-ifs. You don’t have to decide tonight. But you will have to make up your mind at some point…before it’s too late.”
He didn’t like what Rhysand was implying. Why was he being so ominous? He felt even more lost now than he was before this conversation. There was no obvious answer. He was split between two paths, both having the chance of ending horribly.
“You’re probably right,” he muttered. He rose from his seat. “Goodnight.”
Rhysand rose as well, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Azriel. The bond works in mysterious ways. I’m sure it’ll work out fine.”
Rhysand could stay optimistic, but he wasn’t so sure. He trudged upstairs grumpily.
—
It was 12am, and he hadn’t slept a wink. He couldn't—not when all he could think about was whether or not he should let you in on the existence of the bond.
To make matters worse, you had gone down to the living room thirty minutes ago. He could never sleep when you were down there, always having to wait until you got back to your room.
The bond was running rampant right now. It’s not as if it could speak, but he knew what it would say if given a mouth to speak. “Go to her. Confess. Tell her.” It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t stand it.
After another thirty minutes of this, he ripped off his covers and crept downstairs. He had to do something to relieve himself, even if it was just sitting in the living room with you.
Of course, you were reading again. It was one of the books that you had bought at the bookstore today.
His shadows started stirring, wanting to go to you. He let them.
You peeked over your book when you felt a shadow swirl around your ankle.
He hoped you weren't still too embarrassed by the scene that Mor had caused earlier. She had flat out called out the tension that always lingered between them, tension that he naively thought wasn’t obvious to anyone but himself.
He hadn’t gone up to your room to check on you after that. If it was any other night, he would’ve, but he hadn’t felt particularly eager to see you after his chat with Rhysand.
”Hi,” you said softly.
His body softened. You always had a knack for making him feel better, even when you weren’t trying. He walked forward until he was standing in front of the couch. The bond settled with every step.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked tentatively.
You shook your head silently.
Thank the Cauldron. You’d both ignore that unfortunate situation at dinner, then. It was better that way. Easier. He sat down on the cushion next to yours, leaning back carefully.
You straightned. ”You need a book if you’re going to stay here,” you ordered.
He smirked at your demand, secretly loving when you bossed him around. It was quite…attractive.
“Why?” he questioned. “Am I not allowed to just sit here?”
”You’ll be bored,” you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’d just be sitting with your thoughts.”
That did sound bad. On second thought, he did need a book. “Fine,” he agreed. “Can I read one of yours?”
You hugged your book to your chest. “No.”
He eyed you suspiciously. What was with you and these books? He wasn’t some immature little boy. He could handle reading a bit of spice. Of course, it’d be hard to read around you.
”Why not?” he pushed back. He was feeling a boost of confidence all of a sudden.
You glanced away. ”Because,” you responded, your voice getting slightly higher. “It’s a romance.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ve already had this conversation, Y/N. I don’t mind romances.”
Still, you stayed on the defensive, despite his reassurances. “You wouldn’t like the kind I read.”
A smile slowly crept into his face. He had a pretty good idea why you would say that, but he wanted you to admit it outright. “Why?” he asked carefully. “Are they bad?”
You evaded the question, squeezing the book even tighter. ”No. You just wouldn’t like it,” you repeated.
Hmmm. You were being so evasive. He found your hesitance to share the type of book you were reading adorable. Two could play at the game.
”If you don’t want to give me one of your books, I’ll just have to go down to the bookstore and buy some copies,” he threatened. “You’re making me very curious now. I think I need to see for myself what’s in them.”
”No!” you screeched.
He put a finger to his lips quickly. The last thing he needed was for one of the others to come down here and find you two together. He’d never hear the end of it. No one else knew that he ventured down here sometimes, and he planned to keep it that way.
”No?” he continued taunting you, though now in a much quieter voice. “Why are you being so secretive? They can’t be that bad.”
You bit your lip, your gaze traveling down to the book. ”I told you, they’re good books, they’re just…” you paused, appearing as if you were having trouble getting your point across.
You had to stop doing that. You didn’t know it, but when you bit your lip, it did things to him. Bad things. Things that you would find appalling. Things that would make that pretty blush of yours bloom on your cheeks.
”Just what?” he pressed, staring at your lips distractedly.
A blush started to color your cheeks. There it was. Success. You were starting to make him come unraveled. Everything about you appealed to him right now. The fact that you were down here in your cute little pajamas, the fact that you were reading dirty books, the fact that you were blushing. He shouldn’t have come down here, but the bond had driven him to do it. He was getting too worked up.
You dropped the book in your lap in frustration. “They’re—they’re graphic, okay?” you finally confessed, avoiding his stare.
He sucked in a small breath. They were getting into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t help but tease you. ”Graphic. So, you’re into those types of books, huh?” he teased.
Your blush deepened. ”Stop it! It’s perfectly good reading material. Just like any other book,” you stated factually, attempting to defend yourself.
He smirked. He had you right where he wanted you. You were so easy to rile up.
”Really? Then let me read it,” he pressed.
You pulled the book back to your chest, refusing his request. ”You can’t, Az.”
”Why? Don’t think I can handle it?”
”Az, just drop it,” you pleaded.
He could tell you were getting embarrassed. You were too cute. It was almost too much to bear sometimes.
”Come on,” he insisted. “It could be fun. We could have a little book club.”
You scoffed, as if the idea was completely ridiculous. ”I’m not going to talk about them with you.”
He patted your shoulder. ”I’m just joking, Y/N,” he stated while rubbing your shoulder soothingly. “You can keep your dirty little books to yourself,” he added mischievously.
You snapped your book shut and smacked his arm with it.
He cradled the appendage to his chest. “Ow! What was that for?”
Your face screwed up into a scowl. ”For teasing me. I came down here to read in peace, not be judged for what types of books I like.”
”Okay, okay, calm down.” He tentatively reached out again to rub your arm lightly, hoping you wouldn’t hit him again.
You huffed and opened your book back up, now ignoring him.
For a normal pair of friends, this would be a comfortable atmosphere. However, this situation certainly wasn’t normal, and he was starting to think twice about calling you his friend. You two weren’t lovers, but the term “friend” just didn’t sit right with him.
As time passed, the bond got worse. Way worse. It had settled down at first, but now it was stirring again, practically begging him to make a move.
He clasped his hands in his lap, trying to appear nonchalant. He was at his breaking point. It was too much. He couldn’t take it.
“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice slightly shaky.
You kept your head down, engrossed in your book. “What?” you asked absentmindedly.
“I—I…”
He swallowed, clearing his throat. Fuck. Now was not the time to do this. He still needed time to think, but it was like he didn’t have control over his words.
“I…I need to tell you something,” he gritted out, feeling like his throat was closing up the more he tried to speak.
You glanced up upon hearing the odd way he spoke. “What is it?”
He continued focusing on his lap as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He couldn’t face you while confessing such a monumental thing. Not when your beautiful face was staring daggers into the side of his head.
“Well…” he paused again. His palms were sweating. He was lucky he hadn’t puked all over his shoes by now.
Your forehead creased. “Az? What’s wrong?” you asked with concern.
What’s wrong? Everything. Everything was wrong and yet nothing had ever felt more right. The bond practically rattled inside of him. He was going to have a heart attack.
You placed a hand on his forearm. “Az, what’s going on? Are you feeling okay? Are you sick?” you babbled.
Damn it. Why couldn’t he say the words? They were on the tip of his tongue, but he was so worried. Your touch wasn’t making things any better.
“You can’t get angry,” he blurted out.
Your face twisted in confusion. “Why would I get angry?”
Oh, his naive little mate. You were in for a rude awakening, and he didn’t want to witness it.
“Because you’re not going to like what I have to say. I don’t want to say it, but it has to be said. Please just promise me that you’re not going to freak out,” he pleaded.
Your face paled. You wrung the fabric of your nightgown between your hands. “You’re already freaking me out, Az. Why are you acting like this?”
He was praying now to whatever gods he could think of. Please let me get through this. Please don’t let her freak out. He lifted a shaky hand to cup your cheek. You leaned away, and he went with you.
“Y/N, just listen,” he begged. “And remember that you’re my best friend and that I would never do anything to hurt you.”
You let out a shaky breath, the cool air hitting his face. “Az, you’re scaring me,” you whispered.
Gods, you were killing him. He didn’t mean to scare you. He was messing this up big time, but he couldn’t help it. This moment had been building up for months and now that it was finally here, he still wasn’t ready.
He tried to explain his thoughts as best he could. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just trying to prepare you. Gods, I didn’t think this was how this was going to go. I wasn’t going to tell you. I was just going to—“
You grabbed his free hand, making his mouth snap shut. “Calm down. Please. You’re working yourself up. Take a deep breath,” you instructed.
He almost laughed at that. You were comforting him now. How did things get so mixed up? He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his rising anxiety. Your hand was like a lifeline.
You stroked his hand soothingly. That helped him some, but the thought of what he was about to do threatened to unravel him all over again. His shadows trailed down his arm, coming to wrap around your wrist. You didn’t seem to mind.
“There. Better, right?” you asked hesitantly.
He nodded slowly. “Yes. Sorry, you just make me—“
He cut himself off. No, that was definitely not the right way to start this conversation. He inhaled once more. Come on. He was the spymaster. A cold, calculated machine. He could do this. He had to. It was now or never.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he started again. “It’s been nagging at me for a while. I wasn’t sure if I should even tell you about it, but you need to know, even if you don’t like it.”
You tilted your head. “Yes, you’ve said that about three times now. What wouldn’t I like?” you asked tentatively.
Where to begin? He could cite a list for you if he really wanted to. He wasn’t sure you even grasped what a mating bond was.
“I know you're new to being Fae, so you’re not super familiar with all the ins and outs of what comes along with it,” he began. “There’s a certain phenomenon that can occur between two Fae. It’s not super common, but it can happen. We know two people very close to us that went through this.”
He peered over at you to gauge your reaction. You looked clueless, as usual. He wished Rhysand was down here to help him explain. Rhysand had a way with words that he couldn’t possibly replicate. This likely went much smoother with Feyre.
“Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Not a clue.”
Damn it. You were going to make him say the words, weren’t you?
He sighed, squeezing your hand. “Feyre and Rhysand have a bond. You know that, right?”
You nodded. “Yes. Feyre told me about it. Why? Did something happen between them?” you inquired worriedly.
“No, no, nothing happened between them,” he reassured you. “What do you know about the bond?”
“Um, not a lot. Why are you asking me about it?”
This would go by so much easier if you didn’t ask questions—that is, if you still wanted to talk to him afterwards.
“Please, just humor me. What do you know about it?”
Your face tilted up as you thought. “Uh, I know that Rhysand and Feyre have one. I know that it’s not very common. Feyre said it makes them have a “special connection,” whatever that means. That’s about it.”
Great. You knew next to nothing. He would have to fill you in, then. Luck just wasn’t on his side tonight.
“The mating bond is special. The bond is deeper than just a relationship. Some people like to compare it to soulmates, but I think that’s a bit far-fetched. Your mate is supposed to be your equal,” he explained.
“Okay…”
He gripped your hand, trying to find the strength to say the next part. He genuinely felt sick.
“The reason I’m telling you all this is because…because I’m your mate,” he finished quickly.
He peeked over at you, wondering how you were feeling. You just stared at him, no emotion on your face. He hadn’t expected that. You were supposed to be freaking out right now. Why weren’t you freaking out?
He leaned forward. “Did you hear what I said?”
You nodded. “Yes, I did. That doesn’t seem very likely, Az. I think I’d know if I was mated to someone,” you said slowly, like you were contemplating your words very carefully. “Maybe you’re imagining things—“
“No. I’m not imagining it, Y/N.”
That was just his luck. You didn’t believe him. Why would you? You couldn’t feel the bond.
“I feel it. Maybe you don’t, but I do. I know it’s there,” he insisted.
You frowned. “How do you know? Where’s your proof?”
This was starting to feel like an interrogation. He squeezed your hand tighter, searching for an explanation.
“I—I just know, okay? I felt it. After you came out of the Cauldron.”
You rubbed his knuckles, appearing sympathetic. “Az, I think you’re just—“
He held up a hand. He didn’t need your pity. Maybe there was a way to show you.
“Hold still. Don’t say anything. Just close your eyes,” he ordered.
Based on your expression, he could tell you that you thought he was being absolutely ridiculous.
“Can you please just close them?” he repeated. “Just for a moment. I want to try something.”
Suspicion painted your face now, but you sighed and finally closed your eyes.
He screwed his own eyes shut, trying to focus. He sensed the bond, but how could he make you sense it? If the bond connected them, then some part of it had to be in you too. Maybe it lies dormant, but it’s there somewhere.
Minutes passed and nothing happened, even though he was searching for that connection with all his might.
“Azriel—“
“Shhh,” he cut you off. “Just a little longer.”
He heard another sigh come from you. He ignored it, continuing his search. Where were you, you little bastard? He searched and searched until he finally sensed some strange sensation within him. It felt like a thread of some sort, like if he pulled on it, there’d be something on the other side. He focused on that and only that as he pictured himself giving it a yank.
Movement came from beside him. His eyes fluttered open to see you already wide-eyed, clutching your chest tightly. Had you felt it?
“What the hell was that?” you sputtered.
So, you did feel it. It was there somewhere, deep down inside of you. He smiled. “That’s the bond.”
You shook your head, mouth open but not uttering a word.
His smile fell. He’d been so focused on trying to show you the bond that he forgot what would come afterwards. He was feeling jittery all over again.
“Y/N? You okay?” he asked, scared to find out the answer.
You shook your head again, totally silent.
Shit. You were going to freak out now, weren’t you?
“Y/N…” He reached out to touch you, but you were already moving away.
His heart started pounding faster as he followed after you. You had to hear him out. This wasn’t something you could just put off.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, this doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said soothingly.
You didn’t give him the time of day, heading toward the stairs. No, please don’t run away.
He stepped in front of you, cupping your cheeks lightly. “Just listen to me for a minute, Y/N,” he begged. He could still save this. He just had to be very careful about what he says.
You tugged on his wrists futilely, trying to pull his hands down. He tightened his grip a little—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from getting away.
“I need you to calm down. Let me explain.”
You appeared as though you were going to start crying at any moment. “Let go!” you yelled.
He immediately clamped a hand over your mouth. They couldn't be too loud. “Hey, shhh, you’re going to wake everybody up,” he whispered.
That only seemed to make you more worked up. You tugged on his wrists even harder. He couldn’t have you flipping out like this. Somebody was going to come down here if you kept that up.
”Come with me,” he said softly. “We can go somewhere more private.”
It was like you were deaf. You continued trying to fight him off, no doubt so that you could shut yourself away somewhere and never come out. Seeing no other option, he picked you up with his free hand, whisking you up the stairs, all the while still keeping your mouth covered.
You dug your nails into his arm. He gritted his teeth, enduring the pain.
When he got to the rooftop, he set you down gently, finally uncovering your mouth, but making sure to keep one hand on your arm.
”What the fuck?” you screeched.
His ears twitched from the loud sound. You had a right to be mad. He was bombarding you with life changing news in the middle of the night, not even a full year after becoming Fae. He started rubbing his hands up and down your arms soothingly.
“Y/N, you have to let me explain.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” you said in between harsh breaths.
The bond was like a vibration inside of his body. It was getting to be very distracting. He knew why it was so off-kilter. The bond knew how fragile this moment was, just as he did. It knew how easy it would be for you to reject it.
He blinked quickly, trying to focus on the task at hand. If he didn’t get you to relax, you were going to have a panic attack.
”Come here.” He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head against his chest. You immediately brought a hand up to push against his chest.
“Y/N, please stay still,” he begged. “I want you to listen to my heartbeat, okay?”
You let out a whimper, and that made his heart shatter. You were scared. He could see that. He was scared too. There was no way you weren’t hearing his heart pounding right now.
“Just focus on your breaths,” he instructed. “In and out.”
He took purposefully deep breaths, mimicking what he wanted you to do. After a couple of minutes, he chanced a glance at you. Your face was hidden in his shirt.
“Do you feel me breathing? I want you to copy that. Just do exactly what I’m doing.”
He just had to keep talking. You needed a distraction. He could hear you sucking in breaths like you had no air left to breathe. You poor thing. You were going to hyperventilate if you kept that up much longer.
“Slower,” he commanded gently. “Focus on taking slow, deep breaths.”
It took a bit, but your breaths slowly started to ease as you focused on breathing at the same rate as him. This was just as much for him as it was for you. You couldn’t see it outwardly, but he was going absolutely insane on the inside.
“Good,” he praised. “You’re doing good. Just a little longer.”
He made you breathe like that until you no longer sounded so breathless. Gently, he eased back from you. You were clutching his shirt tightly and your face looked pale.
“Is that better?” he asked with concern.
You nodded slowly.
Thank the gods. You had him really worried for a second there. And he was probably about to make you freak out again…
”Good. I’m going to talk and you need to listen. If you have any questions, just ask.”
You gave another small nod. You looked so pitiful right now. He brought a hand up to stroke your cheek. That always seemed to calm you down.
“I want you to know that this mating bond doesn’t have to mean anything, alright? Things can stay exactly the same as they have been. Being mated to someone doesn’t have to mean that you’re stuck with them. It’s completely up to you if you want to accept it,” he finished, his voice tight.
He wanted it to mean something to you, contradictory to his words. It meant something to him. If you rejected him, he didn’t know what he would do. It felt like his whole life had been building up to this one pivotal moment. He just wanted you to be his. He’d spoil you to death if only you’d let him.
You were chewing on your lip now. ”What happens if I don’t accept it?” you asked in a small voice.
He didn’t like how fast you jumped to that question. It was his worst fear, but he couldn’t let you know that. And if you knew what happened to males who got rejected, it would just add fuel to the fire.
He schooled his face, attempting to be as casual as he could. “Uh, nothing, really. We’d just ignore the bond and carry on like normal.”
You stared at him—really stared at him. It felt like you were staring into his soul. “You’re lying.”
Damn it. You could see right through him. He didn’t want to explain what happens to a slighted mate, but you deserved the truth.
He focused on the feeling of your body under his hands. It wasn’t skin to skin contact, but it helped. “If a female rejects the male, then…it can drive the male to madness,” he explained quietly.
You took a step back. He didn’t like the look on your face.
”What kind of options are those? So I just have to accept it or risk you going crazy?”
He tensed at the sound of your irritation. ”I wouldn’t go crazy,” he insisted, defending himself.
”You don’t know that.”
“I can control myself.”
”You don’t know that either,” you countered.
His heart rate was picking up now. This was not going well. He was going to lose you.
He tried to think of something to say to reassure you. ”I don’t want you to feel pressured to accept it.”
”Too late. I already do.”
Of course you did. You never thought about yourself. You never put yourself first.
”Don’t think about me,” he commanded. “Think about you.”
You were struggling to handle all of this information, that much he could tell. Your bottom lip was starting to look irritated from how much you had been chewing it.
”Why is this happening?” you mumbled in a shaky voice.
He sighed. There was no good answer. “Because the Cauldron thinks we're a good match,” he offered.
The lines of your forehead creased. ”How would the Cauldron know that?”
Your guess was as good as his. He was feeling so flustered. He didn’t know how to answer your questions.
”I don’t know,” he said lamely. “I can only guess. Rhysand’s theory is that the Cauldron tries to match people together who have the best chance of creating strong offspring.”
A horrified look overtook your face, and he knew that he had just said the wrong words. He quickly tried to remedy his mistake.
“But that doesn’t mean mates have to reproduce. Plenty of mated pairs never have children. It’s just a theory.”
Still, you continue chewing your lip, your brows furrowed in thought.
He brought his hand up to your chin, using his thumb to tug your lip out from between your teeth. “Stop that. You’re going to make yourself bleed.”
You stared up at him, eyes glistening. He waited for you to speak.
”What—what happens if I leave?” you asked tentatively.
His face fell. No. Not that. Anything but that. You could be mad at him. You could ignore him. But if you left, you’d leave a permanent hole behind.
He swiped his thumb across your lip gently, trying to find the courage to say the right thing, even though the thought of you leaving terrified him. ”I’d be sad to see you go, but I wouldn’t stop you. I don’t own you. You can still make your own choices.”
He could tell you were fighting the urge to bite your lip again. He kept his thumb on your lip, making sure it stayed out of range of your teeth. Your body was shaking slightly underneath his hands. He stepped closer, wanting you to feel comforted.
You were on the verge of tears now. ”Things were perfect just the way they are. Now everything is ruined,” you managed to say through shaky breaths.
His chest ached at your words. That hurts. That really hurts. He kept his thoughts to himself, attempting to reassure you. ”It doesn't have to be. We can pretend like this never happened,” he offered weakly.
You shook your head. “No, we can’t. Things will never be the same.”
”Y/N—“
”Is that why you’ve been treating me the way you have? Because I’m your mate?” you asked, raising your voice.
His stomach dropped. Once again, your doubts always seemed to come out at the worst times. How could you think that of him?
”No, of course not. I treat you the way I do because I like you.” He had said that statement to you plenty of times before, and he still meant it now.
You didn’t seem very convinced, like always. You tugged his hand away from your lip. ”You can’t be sure. You don’t know how the bond affects you.”
”Well, it obviously isn’t affecting you. You didn’t even know about it until I told you,” he argued.
You simmered down a bit, looking lost. He wanted to bundle you up in his arms, but he knew you wouldn’t appreciate that right now. He waited with bated breath for your response.
You tilted your head up, eyes wide and sad. ”I don't want things to change,” you mumbled.
He wasn’t expecting that response. You didn’t seem mad. You were just afraid. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of change. He was too. He didn’t like unpredictability.
”Like I said, they don’t have to—“
”Stop saying that! Just stop.”
He went silent, an ache bubbling up in his chest again.
You grabbed his hand. His eyes softened, letting you hold it as tightly as you wanted.
“Are you still my friend, Az?” you murmured.
How could you even ask that? He shook his head up and down quickly. ”Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be your friend. You can count on that.”
”Even if I don’t accept the bond?” you questioned, obviously still skeptical.
That would be hard on him, but he’d do it for you. He’d do anything for you. He nodded carefully. “Yes.”
That seemed to calm you greatly, but he knew you still had questions, and you would have many more in the days to come. He waited patiently for you to organize your thoughts.
You shifted from side to side, lowering your gaze. ”If I do accept the bond,” you started, “does that make us lovers or something?”
He swallowed, blinking slowly. “Lovers” was a very weighted term. The fact that you were even asking him that question gave him the tiniest bit of hope.
He shrugged casually, not wanting to come off as being too pushy. “That’s one way to look at it. It can be whatever you want it to be.”
”It wouldn’t make you uncomfortable?” you asked softly.
He almost chuckled. Being your lover would be the highlight of his life. If only you could see that.
”Not at all,” he said truthfully.
Your brows furrowed, like his nonchalance confused you. ”Why?”
He stared down at your pretty face. It was simple, really. He didn’t have to fake his sincerity when he replied.
”Because I think it’d be easy to love you.” He already did, he wanted to add.
You tugged your hand away. ”You can’t just say things like that,” you grumbled.
He frowned. “Why not? It’s the truth.”
You ignored his question, starting to pace around the rooftop. ”I don’t know what to do.”
He felt awful for putting you through this. Your nerves must be running wild. He came to stand in front of you again.
”You don’t have to make a decision right now. Take as long as you need to think about it. And if you have any more questions, I’m always here,” he promised.
Your hands fidgeted by your sides. He ached to grab one again.
”How will I know if I like it?” you blurted out.
His brow cocked up. ”Like what?”
”Being mated to you,” you replied matter of factly.
He didn’t really have an answer for that. Whenever he imagined this moment, he’d always expected you to immediately reject him. He hadn’t put much thought into how things would be if you said yes.
He cleared his throat. ”Um, that’s a good question. I guess we’d just have to see where things go…”
You put your hands over your face, getting frustrated. He knew you were probably tired right now. It was getting very late.
He rubbed your shoulders. ”Just think on it, Y/N. Okay? That’s all I ask.”
You stayed silent, not acknowledging his words.
Not knowing what else to do, he slowly leaned in, pulling you back into him. He needed this. This may be the last chance he got to hug you before you reject the bond.
You leaned into him, to his surprise. He allowed the corners of his mouth to lift up the slightest bit. His shadows slowly slithered around the both of you, cocooning you in darkness.
He stayed like that with you for a while, wanting to bask in this moment as much as he could. You didn’t complain. If you asked, he’d stay like that the whole night, but he knew he had to let you go.
Reluctantly, he stepped back, locking eyes with you. You looked like a lost doe. He risked tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
”You need to go to bed. It’s late,” he said.
You nodded, taking a step back as well.
He expected you to say something—wish him goodnight or something. But you just walked away silently. He watched you go wistfully.
𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭: Sloane is going through her first year with everyone avoiding her like the plague. All because she wants to find out the truth about her sister who died in an accident for war games. But the scar across Liam's nose tells her something different.
[Name] didn't die in an accident. If she did, then why not tell her the whole story? Why is everyone so damn secretive? For now all the answers must be in [Name]'s letters and Sloane will find out the truth.
After all, there is one person who can tell her what happened to her older sister. Or should she say, dragon? Sloane will bond with Lenin in Threshing if it's the last thing she does.
for all my tagged riders, if you're no longer interested in this upcoming series, let me know! I will erase your name, but thank you for being a part of the Cloak of Shadows series! Much love to each and every one of you!
After losing her mother and witnessing the execution of her father, Wrenley Tavis just wants to get through her time at Basgiath bonded to her mother’s dragon and dating her longtime boyfriend, Xaden Riorson. But when Violet Sorrengail joins the Riders quadrant and bonds the mate of Xaden’s dragon, Wrenley finds herself pushed to the sidelines as her world begins to unravel
"Oh I'm running after something, trying to catch your ghost / holding onto pictures and the smell of your clothes" - Chasing Shadows, Alex Warren
Series Warnings (updated regularly): spoilers for all books, smut 18+ MDNI (begins in prologue) , accidental choking, violence, death, swearing, torture
Wattpad | AO3 | Playlist | Pinterest | Wrenley Character Board | Masterlist | All The Ways We Stay
summary: You’re five years old when Darth Vader kills your mom. Or — so you think — your parents.
pairing: han solo x skywalker!reader (eventually), platonic skywalker family x reader
word count: 4.3k
warnings: so many feelings, reader's anakin and padme's daighter, also she's a itty bitty haunted by the force, anakin and padme die but it’s not really explored much (yet), mentions of childbirth, nightmares, mentions of anakin’s demise on mustafar, one swear word i think
author's note: I know y'all want an update on the heir and the wolf and that the star wars fandom is as dead as pope francis but PLEASE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE 🙏🙏🙏 this is for the 2 people that said they would read it lmao
divider from @saradika
You’re four years old when your mum comes back to your apartment on Coruscant with the happy news.
She nears your room, where you're trying to screw back together a toy lightsaber that you somehow managed to dissect — tongue sticking out of your mouth, a concentrated pout prominent on your face. You’re really your father’s daughter, she ponders sometimes, thinking back to that blonde boy on the sand planet that managed to build a whole robot with scraps. The nurse droid, RO-N4, is dutifully watching your work, assuring that you don’t hurt yourself in the process and hinting at the pieces that should go back together; she raises her head when she sees that Padmé has returned.
You jump up when you notice her, running to give her a big hug, almost making her lose her balance; but she’s used to it, and wastes no time in hoisting you on her hip. The robot stands up, ready to gently reprimand you, but your mother gingerly shoos her away with a smile. “Why don’t you go out with Threepio on a walk? I’ll stay here with her. We have something to discuss.” she winks at you, “Some serious girl talk to do, am I right?”
You giggle — that childish, innocent laugh that makes hours of relentless debates in the Senate worth going through — rubbing your cheek against hers. “Yeah! I have shoooo many things to tell you, mama!”
The robots follow the senator’s suggestion, stumbling their way out of the door, and you soon go back to the area dedicated to your toys to show her your hard work. “Look, mama!” you’re basically jumping up and down in joy, holding up the pieces of the once toy lightsaber. “This is the cyber crystal–”
“Kyber crystal, sweetie.”
“Ky-ber crystal. And then this is the one part of the handle with the switch–”
You could go on and ramble for hours, she thinks. She’d happily listen to all and any of your thoughts and wonders and never get tired from it. Soon enough, Padmé’s lying down on the soft sponge puzzle pieces of the playmat that serve to prevent any possible injury from falling over. We’ll need to change those soon, she thinks absentmindedly, she’s already grown out of the always-falling-over phase.
She isn’t sure of how much time passes; at some point your ramblings slow and you scoot closer to her, sniggling in her lap. “Mama,” you mumble, yawning. “‘m so happy that you’re here. I missed you a lot today.”
Her heart breaks. A hand carding through your locks, she smiles sadly, “I know, sweetie, I’m sorry that mama has to work so much. But I promise it’s just so that once you grow up you will be able to live in a peaceful Galaxy, without ever worrying about learning how to fight like your papa.”
You perk up. “But I wanna be like papa when I grow up.”
She shakes her head, feigning her best scandalized expression. “How dare you? What am I, chopped liver?” she takes you in her arms and blows raspberries in your cheeks, making you squeal and thrash around. “Nooo! Don’t, mama, it’s ticklish!”
“What about being a senator, mh?” she offers, not unkindly. “We can fight too, you know.” She puts on her best imitation of Palpatine and presses a matter of utmost importance, “Senator Skywalker, what do you think we should have for dinner as of today?”
Your chuckle makes your little chest rumble against her belly. Your surname is not Skywalker — it is Amidala, often Naberrie when on Naboo, but never have your parents referred to you as that; they mostly leave it out when asked, avoiding the question but never stating either the truth or the cover-up. There’s still hope to change the Order, Anakin always says, that one day she can wear my surname without it causing a scandal. And Padmé believes him: and she believes that when the time comes, you’ll be rightly known as Senator Skywalker.
Suddenly, you go quiet. “I want papa,” you whisper it like it’s forbidden — it kind of is, but you shouldn’t know that. Padmé’s heart breaks a little again. Anakin was sent out on a mission two weeks ago and hasn’t even been able to keep in touch ever since, making you miss him terribly.
She laughs as softly as she can — she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. “No can do, sweetie. Papa isn’t due to be home in at least another three days, but I’m sure that once he’s here he’ll be elated to spend some time with you. Besides, you can’t eat papa for dinner.” she rests her cheek on her hand, patting the free space next to her. “Until he comes back, it’s just you and me. What would you like to do tomorrow? I have no Senate meetings.”
You scoot closer, lying down on the spot she just patted, curling against her chest, “Can we see Ahsoka, then?”
She chuckles a little quieter now. Her and Anakin still don't know how to explain to you that she left the Order a while ago and has no intention on returning to Coruscant any time soon. “Ahsoka’s away like papa, honey. But I’m sure that once she comes back, she’ll be just as happy as he will to spend time with you.”
She smooths your hair back, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, pressing her hand up and down your back. She wonders how good of a sister you’ll be; and even if she knows you’ll be wonderful with the new baby, she still can’t bring herself to say it out loud. “How about I make some shaak meat and then get you prepared for a good bubble bath?”
You look up at her, pouting, “But I’m big now! Do I really have to bathe?”
Padmé bursts out laughing. “You’ll have to clean yourself your whole life, sweetheart, to hopefully not smell like a bantha.”
You huff, glaring at her. “Papa barely even showers.”
“Papa stinks. He was raised on a planet with barely any water and still considers showers optional. Do you ever hear me tell him how I love his perfume? No, that’s because he doesn’t use any. You hear me sending him to sleep on the couch because he smells terribly, though.”
You end up eating your dinner — vegetables included — without a fuss and going to take your bath like a champ. Somewhere along that timespan both the nurse droid and C-3PO came back home to be of help in cleaning the kitchen as Padmé prepares you for bed, lying down next to you and reading to you one of the stories in the hologram that Anakin bought on one of his last missions.
MId-story, she notices you get eerily silent. She carefully turns her head, trying to understand if you’re already sleeping, only to find you more awake than her, eyes open wide. “Is… is everything alright, sweetie?” she asks, a bit bewildered– just a moment ago, you looked like you were about to fall asleep, and now you look like you’re ready to fight everything that could be thrown at you.
“Mama,” you whisper it like it’s a secret, “I just remembered. How are they?”
She blinks, confused. “Who?”
“The twins,” you say, “Luke and Leia.” you pat her belly as if to state the obvious.
She looks at you, horrified — she found out she was pregnant today, and no droid or doctor mentioned twins. “I– sweetheart, what?”
You lean your head, confused. “I saw them yesterday in a dream. They asked me about you.”
Her heart almost stops. She laughs nervously, looking at you with wide eyes, expecting you to say something about the weird and absolutely not real dream that you had, but instead you just stare at her, completely serious. “What… what do you mean?”
You frown. “If you don’t know, then I can’t help you. Nighty night.” you tuck yourself under the covers and curl above her chest once again, sighing happily.
Padmé’s heart feels heavy. It’s happening again– you murmur something about having had a dream, say something even more alarming, then completely ignore what you just said and act like nothing happened. It’s getting worrying — Padmé managed to get you out of the Jedi program last year just because of her status as senator, but she is sure that this year, she won’t be as lucky. The quantity of midi-chlorians in your blood can’t be hid, unfortunately, and in probably less than a year she will be forced to give you up to the Temple.
Anakin’s sure you will make a great Jedi, but your mother’s worried — and how can she not be? Her husband’s more away than he is at home, and with the war going on, it’s already a miracle he manages to visit Coruscant. The fact that you seem to possess your father’s horrifying ability to dream about possible futures doesn’t ease her worries.
“I’m just worried about her–”
“But why? She’s young, she’ll be trained–”
“She will, but I don’t want her to be haunted by the thoughts of possible futures and whatnot.”
It’s late. You’ve already gone to bed, shushed by Anakin’s stories and anecdotes from his latest mission, and even if this should be a carefree and happy moment because her husband has managed to come back home unscathed again– your mother just can’t get something out of her head.
Anakin huffs and puts his hands on his waist, looking at Padmé like she’s crazy — there it is, where you got your attitude from. “I can always call one of the Temple guards and tell them that there’s a Force-sensitive kid here. They can train her until I can take her as Padawan; it’ll take, what? Six, seven years? Hopefully I’ll be done with the war by that time and will be able to focus on her as my padawan.”
His wife crosses her arms, glaring at him, “I don’t want her as your padawan,” she grits out, “I want her safe, here, where we can have a decent relationship and she won’t be stripped away from my arms.”
He leans his head and raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I can’t make her dreams go away. I don’t even know how to make my nightmares go. But at the Temple, they can teach her how to control them, how to use them for her own good– for the Order’s and the Republic’s own good–”
“You say that just because you wouldn’t have any problems in seeing her,” she sniffs, “you’ll be a welcome, familiar presence in the Temple — but it is known that they don’t let anyone outside of the Jedi enter.”
His shoulders drop, and he starts shaking his head. “Padmé…”
“Don’t. Don’t tell me that we have to give her up to the Temple, because I don’t want to and I won’t–”
“But we’ll have to, Padmé, they’ll teach her everything she’ll ever need and–”
She bursts out crying. It might be the pregnancy, or the fact that she still hasn’t told him about it and it’s eating her alive, but she’s much more emotional than usual. “I don’t want them to take her away from me!”
Anakin’s eyes soften, his posture breaks, “Oh, dear,” he mutters, pulling her in his arms and letting her cry out in his chest. “It’ll be alright,” he murmurs, lips pressed to her head, “we’ll find a solution for everything.” He still doesn’t know when or how, but he’ll try with everything he has to solve this situation to the best of his ability.
He had honestly thought Padmé was exaggerating when she said that you were having visions, probably thinking it was just baby babbling or something, but he is proven wrong that same night, when he is abruptly woken up by the sound of the door of their bedroom opening.
“Papa?” you call out from the doorstep, voice sleepy.
He manages to get himself out of bed — when he’s home, night duty is always on him, as Padmé already deals with it enough while he’s away — and, yawning, he walks off to you and kneels down to your level, sending a glance to your bantha plushie safely tucked under your elbow. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Blank stare on your part, you look at him like a war veteran would. “You were being burned, papa.”
He blinks and counts to five before accepting that it’s way too late in the night — or early in the morning, he has no idea — to deal with this type of shit. “Okay, listen– how about we go catch some fresh air outside, hm?”
You let him pick you up without any protests, curling up in his arms as you whimper quietly. He drags his feet along the pavement of the apartment, sliding open the door to the terrace that overlooks the whole city; it’s like it never sleeps, always someone going around and about with their speeders, lights often left on in the apartments below. The night air sends a chill down his spine and he instinctively holds you tighter in hopes to shield you from the cold.
“Mum told me about these dreams you’ve been having,” he starts slowly.
You hum, pressing closer to him, the plushie squashed between you two. Your eyes look tired, almost older than you actually are, and his heart squeezes at the sight. “Papa, do you know Darth Vader?”
His heart skips a beat. He knows no Vader, surely not a Sith named like that, but the fact that you dreamed about it almost makes his knees buckle. He mentally promises himself to make some digging in the archives and reports for any Vaders that might be hiding out there. “I don’t, sweetheart. Do you?”
Your brows furrow, your little hand patting the skin above his heart. “I don’t think I do.”
He presses his lips into a thin line. “Well, what does he do in your dreams?”
Your frown deepens. “I never see him. But Obi-Wan’s afraid of him– or, or angry at him, I’m not sure. Maybe both.”
His frown mirrors yours. You’ve never met Obi-Wan aside from a time or two when he was assigned as bodyguard to your mother, but that was years ago; you shouldn’t be able to remember him. “How do you know who Obi-Wan is, sweetheart?”
You stare at him like he’s stupid. “Isn’t he a friend?”
“I mean, I guess he is, but you’ve never actually met him, have you?”
“Then I think I will.” you cuddle back on his shoulder like nothing happened.
Yeah, we gotta send this one to the Temple, he bitterly thinks. The thought of your mother alone in this apartment after years of having you around makes him sad, but there’s no one else apart from the masters there that could help you — he would try to, if the war wasn’t stripping him of all of his free time.
Anakin has no time to properly train you. As of now, he could manage to give you chopped notions and barely any principles; in the Temple, all the Jedi solely focus on the younglings’ training, a luxury he can’t afford right now.
She’s still so young, Padmé’s voice rings in his head, I don’t want her to forget about me.
Six years old might be already too old for a youngling, Anakin ponders, but five years old would be perfect. They still accept kids that age.
Another birthday for Padmé, he decides, another birthday and then off to the Temple she goes.
Except, he doesn’t know there’s no time for another birthday. Not for Padmé, anyways. Nor for him, too, some could argue.
“Papa,” you mumble, “could you sing me that lullaby?”
He chuckles affectionately. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for that?” He teases, with no actual intent in ever stopping to sing Ghost Star to you. You could be forty and him on his deathbed and, if you asked, he’d still sing it for you. “Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me…”
You do end up properly meeting Obi-Wan. That is, unfortunately, after — for what you know — both your parents die.
The air in the spacecraft is eerily still, as even C-3PO is stunned to silence. The tears on your cheeks have long since dried, and you keep fidgeting with a small, faintly glowing cube in your hands — the only thing you managed to take with you when your mother loaded you into the spaceship directed to Mustafar. She’s — was, was, was — able to open it, but you still have no idea how to do it; your father promised he would have taught you to, but… well. He now never will.
The cries from the med bay stopped a while ago. And while you’re still so young, you know that the silence means nothing good. You might not be a master of the Force, or know enough about it to understand fully what it means, but you’ve felt it — your mother’s presence slipping away in favor of two smaller ones.
Finally, after a time that seems never-ending, Obi-Wan emerges from the door connecting the hallway with the infirmary, his expression full of sorrow. He looks surprised by your calmness, almost as if he had expected you to have gone crazy by now. “Hi,” he breathes lowly, tired and remorseful. How do you tell a kid her mother’s dead when just a few hours ago you had to break the same type of news about her father?
After he understands that you’re not going to reply, he gets closer and kneels in front of you, taking note of the cube you’re holding in your hands — a holocron. Does she know how to open it, yet? “Hey, kid,” he tries as softly as he can, “I…”
“Mama’s gone, isn’t she?” You interrupt him. Obi-Wan almost stumbles; the look in your eyes is scaringly similar to the one Anakin had sometimes, strangely old for your age. “I felt her slipping away like papa did.”
His lips are pressed into a thin line as he puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” he says it even though he knows it won’t change anything. “We tried everything, but even the medical droid had no idea what to do.”
“Oh,” C-3PO mumbles as R2-D2 beeps sadly. “This– this is horrendous news.”
You nod absentmindedly, like you’d seen it coming. “Are Luke and Leia okay?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Who?”
“The twins. Are they okay?”
As even Padmé looked surprised by the fact she was having twins, he wonders how in the world you knew and gave them names. Your mother left no names behind, and he had thought about just naming them after your parents, but if you already had names picked out… then it’s not his place to name your siblings, is it?
“They are.” C-3PO sighs in relief as R2-D2 lets out a happier beep. “Would you like to see them?”
You nod timidly, almost stumbling as you stand up from the chair you sat in and taking Obi-Wan’s hand when he offers it to you. You’re still gripping on the holocron like a lifeline, its dim glow faltering every now and then. “Do you know what that is?” He asks, pointing at it as the door to the infirmary opens.
You glance at it, unsure. “Dunno. Mama always played the hologram inside when I missed papa, but I tried opening it and it didn’t work.”
If Padmé managed to open it, then Anakin must’ve programmed the holocron so that the Force frequency needed to open it was small enough that she could play it; even if you were a prodigy like your father, though, it would be impossible for you to open it without directions or a minimal training.
The nurse-droid your mother brought with her is feeding some milk to one of the twins when you enter — Obi-Wan guesses she might have had it with her the whole time, because he doesn’t remember this ship having such a thing as baby formula in its stocks.
RO-N4 places the infant back in the cot with the other twin as soon as they burp, and since you’re still too short to properly look at them Obi-Wan has to take you in his arms for you to have a good peek.
“This is Leia,” he murmurs softly, pointing at the baby with small tufts of brown hair. “She was born first.” He then points to the smaller, uglier and balder twin, “And this is Luke; he was born right after.”
You coo, pushing your index finger against Luke’s cheek. “They’re so ugly,” you state, not exactly with the intent of insulting them– just saying what’s in your mind.
Obi-Wan chuckles fondly. “Well, I’m sure you were at least as ugly as them when you were this little. Pretty much everyone is.”
You turn to him, holocron still in hand, hesitantly nudging it to him. “Mister Obi,” you say, calling him with the nickname that later on will stick to him for pretty much your entire time spent with him, “do you know how to play this?”
He nods, taking the holocron in his hand and changing his hold on you so that he can use his other hand while still keeping you upright, “This is a holocron. It’s used by Force users to store information and files, and it opens if infused with the Force. Let’s see…”
He concentrates on the cube, focusing a small amount of Force within it, then delicately twists the corners as it starts to glow steadier. Just as he expected — the smallest amount of Force that even Padmé could’ve been able to conjure up. The holocron starts to float, projecting a hologram in the dim-lit room.
It starts with Anakin, clearly just knighted as a proper Jedi: he’s still a bit scrawny, his hair’s yet to grow after the braid and the small ponytail for padawans had been cut. He looks a bit embarrassed to be in front of the camera as a small baby’s cries echo in the recording. “Do I really have to do this?” He mutters.
A laugh comes from the side, and the baby’s cries get louder — maybe closer to the camera. “Of course you do!” It’s Padmé’s voice, amused but clearly tired, stabbing directly into Obi-Wan's heart. That poor, poor girl… “It’s the only way she’ll stop crying, and since you’re mostly off-world, she’s mostly crying. This will solve a lot of my problems — even the droids are starting to go mad.”
A pair of arms and a swoosh of a dress appear to the side, and suddenly a crying infant is trusted into Anakin’s hands. It’s you, his master realises, crying as if the world’s about to end, face all red and pudgy, definitely a bit less ugly than your siblings. Your father’s eyes soften in a way that makes Obi-Wan’s heart ultimately crumble.
“Hey,” he murmurs, cooing and humming as he presses kisses all over your cheeks. He winces as your face contorts even more, “Now, c’mon, don’t look at me like that,”
“Please, Master, just sing the song!” It’s C-3PO’s voice in the distance, full of despair and anguish. “Another sob and the metal holding me together might just turn to rust!” R2-D2’s beeping seems to be of the same idea as him.
Anakin huffs, glaring down at you with no real hostility. “You’re one hell of a spoiled baby, you know that?”
Your cries continue nonetheless. He glares at the camera. “Padmé, I love you, but if anyone else ever sees this, I’m divorcing you,”
“You would never,” your mother’s knowing voice is a mere rumble in the distance as Anakin settles to hold you tight to his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead before starting to sing.
“Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me. Ghost star, hiding in the night, all your friends are all so bright… when the sky is clear, I can sense you near, looking down on me. Ghost star, silent in the sky, now I start to wonder why. Show me your light; I've waited all night. Ghost star, won't you sing with me?”
He sings the lullaby multiple times until you’re completely knocked out, dismissing Padmé when she offers to take you back to your room, preferring to keep you close for another while. His stare as he looks at you is so tender that Obi-Wan can’t believe he just had to leave him to die.
Soon enough the recording restarts, the same banter and song again, but he lets it play. Every word is a guilt trip, every laugh a stab in his chest, and the image of Anakin with a baby happily sleeping against his chest might just be the end of him.
By the time he finally shuts the holocron off both you and the twins are passed out; he tries to convince himself that the hole in his chest isn’t gnawing away at the last bit standing of his sanity. He looks at you, carding a hand through your hair, of the same tenderness as your father but with the same curl of your mother's, and decides here and there to never tell you about what really happened on Mustafar. Not that he really had the intention to do, as of now, but… you don’t deserve to know about Vader. Obi-Wan won’t let you live with the knowledge that your father killed both himself and your mother, no.
And so, the lie about Darth Vader killing both Senator Amidala and her loyal guard, Anakin Skywalker, who lost his life fighting for hers, is born.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 'a million people around all i see is you'
pairing ; king!coriolanus snow x debutante!reader
in the glittering world of panem high society, you were raised to be perfect — the prized daughter of a powerful family. your family was prepared to make the match of the season. but when king coriolanus snow arrives unexpectedly, announcing his intention to marry, everything changes.
✰ tags ; bridgerton au, strangers to enemies to lovers, smut, angst, draaaaaama, century specific misogyny, fluff, regency era.
summary: You and Coriolanus Snow having been dating, but your father disapproves of it, leading to an Ultimatum. Will the deal be secured? Or will the 10th Annual Hunger Games ruin it all?
includes: each chapter includes its own warnings, so please read beforehand!
➼ kyoya ootori x fem!reader
➼ last updated: 29.1.25
➼ genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut maybe
Prologue
Part one: Starting today you are a host!
Part two: The job of a highschool host
Part three: Beware the physical exam!
Part four: Attack of the lady manager!
Part five: The twins fight!
Part six: The Gradeschool host is the naughty type!
Part seven: Jungle pool SOS!
Part eight: The sun, the Sea, and the Host club!
*Bonus chapter*: Last night at the beach house
Part nine: A Challenge from Lobelia Girl's Academy!
Part ten: A day in the life of the L/N family!
Part eleven: Big brother is a prince!
Part twelve: Honey's three bitter days (coming soon)
“I have a question about the report you submitted last Tuesday.”
“What is it, father?” Damian stopped sharpening his blade and looked up at Bruce, still in his cowl from patrol.
“Could you please explain this… Fox… you wrote about?” He asked, carefully picking his words.
“What about it?”
The cave was filled with silence as they stared each other down. Bruce contemplated how to proceed.
“Damian, foxes can’t do these things. They can’t understand human speech to the degree you described, they don’t exchange food for services, they can’t point you to the joker.”
“Are you calling me a liar father?” Damian snipped back.
Bruce didn’t answer.
“I didn’t lie,” Damian seethed through clenched teeth, “You can ask Grayson if you don’t believe me. But I did not lie.”
Bruce contemplated that reaction. Perhaps it wasn’t just a ploy to get a new pet. “Foxes can’t do those things,” he repeated, a silent question hanging in the air.
“I know.”
~~~~
Jason did not yelp. He did not jump and definitely did not scream like a 5 year old watching a horror movie. In fact he did not react at all when he walked into his safe house, turned on the light, and heard the gravelly voice of the 6 foot tall hell beast behind him calling his name. Nope. Not a single reaction. Not even a flinch. Totally. Definitely.
Which is why Bruce’s current expression is completely unwarranted. It was the expression he made when Jason ate 5 plates of pancakes in one sitting two months into living with him. It was the expression he made when Jason lost his tooth naturally for the first time — rather than in a fight. It was the expression he made when Jason cried over a bruised knee when learning how to ride a bike. It was the expression he made when Cass fell asleep against him during a movie, close and comfortable. It was the expression he made when Stephanie would show off a new skill she learned or hobby she picked up. It was the expression he made when Tim would show off his photos, or when Babs would take a break to read a new book. It was the expression he made when Damian would ask for a play date, or Dick would show off new clothes. It was the expression he made when his kids, his family, acted like normal people, and not vigilantes burdened with a fight they could never win. And there was no reason for him to make that awful, soft, sappy, expression now because Jason did not scream.
“The fuck you want?” Jason snapped (because he was upset about being intruded upon, and definitely, totally not because he was embarrassed about squealing like a little girl. Which is something he did not do, by the way.)
“I wanted to ask you about something,” his voice was clear and stern, but still held concern and care.
Jason tilted his head toward Bruce, urging him to continue. “Damian wrote a report I found… odd. It was about your informant,” That idiotic fool “I was hoping you could clarify something.”
Jason signed, he’d reem the little twerp later, and plopped himself down on the ratty once-beige couch. “Alright. Shoot.”
~~~~
The clothes were itchy. Unbelievably so. They were baggy, but the intentional kind. The kind that hid how malnourished you were, rather than highlighting it. They were new, unwashed, ugly, and would likely be returned the next day, if the tag digging into your back was any indication.
“How are things going dear?” Asked Ms.Kelsey, a naive younger woman with a brown bun and thin purple glasses, “are you liking your stay with Neels?”
“It’s not the worst home I’ve been in,” you answered smoothly. That wasn’t a lie. Despite the fact you could only shower on Wednesday mornings, they confiscated your phone two days in, and they seemingly despised the idea they had to feed you, it still wasn’t the worst home you’d been in. Not even top five.
“That’s good to hear!” Ms.Kelsey, your current social worker, celebrated. She was new to the job, only a year in, and annoyingly cheerful, but she was visibly trying her best. You appreciated that. “How’s school been going?”
“We’re reading Shakespeare in my English class,” you offered.
“Oh! And how are you liking it?”
“It’s alright, but I really like my English teacher, he makes it fun.”
“That’s wonderful sweetie,” Ms.Kelsey grinned, “Let’s go join the family for dinner,” she directed, standing from the worn brown armchair in the living room and heading towards the dining room where the Mr. and Mrs. Neel were seated beside their son, George.
You took your seat at the stubby table, across from George. The table was dressed with a tacky floral tablecloth, and covered with various mismatched bowls of sides surrounding a rather large chicken. The food was, as typical for Mrs. Neel, simultaneously overcooked and raw. You plopped a spoonful of soggy broccoli on your plate, followed by a serving of (unintentionally chunky) mashed potatoes. No chicken, you weren’t willing to risk salmonella or the screaming fit that would follow. Only simple sides that they have plenty of, so they wouldn’t get mad at you.
The mashed potatoes crunched when you took a bite, and you tried your best to ignore it. They tasted wet and sad, and far too salty. Chewing was both difficult and necessary as parts of the food slashed down your throat with little resistance, and others put up a fight when you tried to chew them. But this wasn’t the worst home you’ve been in. Far from it in fact. At least the food isn’t moldy! And there’s no— no, wait, yup that’s hair. You decided to risk the chunky potatoes swallowed down your mouthful with a glass of water.
Ms.Kelsey and the Neels exchanged pleasant conversation, while you picked at your food, taking small mouthfuls fast enough they wouldn’t ask questions, and slow enough you could carefully examine all the food. The evening passed in a swift haze, with no mistakes on your end. After Miss Kelsey left, you helped clear the table, pack the food away, and retreated to your rarely used bedroom.
The bedroom had bare white walls, an uncomfortable bed, and a small dresser you kept your clothes in. It was fine. Everything was fine, you kept repeating to yourself. It could be much, much worse. It has been much, much worse. Be thankful for what you have. At least tomorrow you’ll see your friends again! That’s gotta count for something, right?
~~~~
“They… didn’t come today…” Damian rarely allowed his emotions to breathe freely, so seeing him look so defeated was odd.
“It happens from time to time. ‘Bout once a month,” Jason clumsily tried to comfort, “they’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Do you think they’re ok?” Damian asked, almost pleading, and looked up at Jason.
“I— ummm — ya,” he awkwardly placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, “I’m sure they’re fine.” He was not sure, actually, but he hoped it was true. “Let’s leave the food here, so they’ll have something if they drop by later.”
Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💚
Notes:
I put this elsewhere, but in case you haven't seen it: I'm having some technical difficulties with responding to comments, but I see them, and I appreciate them <3
𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ꥟ It had been years since you ran away from Joel Miller, a hunter, frightened for your own life and of who he had become. Before the infected roamed he was the grumpy single father of a chirpy and sweet little girl who lived across the street from you and kept himself to himself… until he didn’t, not with you at least when you began watching over Sarah while he couldn’t. He became someone who you could talk to, a friend dare you say, a silly little crush and your lifeline at the beginning of the apocalypse.
Now you are residing in Jackson, a slice of heaven in a cruel world, the perfect distraction from your past and the hell you went through to get away from it. However, you realise that the past really does always come back to haunt you when all too familiar faces arrive at Jackson and you have no other choice but to face Joel again, who makes it his mission to fix your broken friendship.
Unable to fight your heart, feelings resurface and lines blur when it becomes clear that you are just as much Joel’s lifeline as he is yours.
𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!
𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ꥟ Horror themes, not following the second season/game so kinda au, reader can sing and play guitar, weapons, bad language, death, angst, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, blood, violence, nightmares, PTSD, a lil smidge of dark!Joel, Jackson!Joel, soft & protective with a bit of a dad bod Joel, unrequited love until it isn’t, jealousy, mutual pining, age gap (reader is 36 and Joel is 56) and smUUUUT (‼️) so you must be 18+ to read❗️
