• azriel only enters rooms after you; he waits, and always lets you take the initiative. after you sit down and get comfortable, he moves closer and stays nearby until the end.
• he watches you like someone remembering a dream, as if every glance were a small prayer.
• when you touch him — something simple like a light hand on his arm, or the brush of fingers — his shadows tense around him as if trying not to return the touch.
• he often has thoughts about you, as if he already had you. he thinks about how you’d look bathed in candlelight beside his bed. but then he hates himself for wanting you that way when he hasn’t even won your heart yet.
• he notices absolutely everything about you: the way you tuck your hands into your sleeves when you’re cold, the way you hum quietly when you’re lost in thought, how you look when you’re worried, happy, anxious. everything is noticed by his admiring gaze.
• his greatest fear is that you’ll choose someone else, and he won’t even have the right to be hurt.
• sometimes, he stands outside your door at night, not close enough to be seen, only close enough to know you’re safe.
• during meetings, when someone interrupts you or dismisses your opinion, he becomes still; his power barely contained. but his gaze is piercing, his shadows angry toward that voice he wishes he could silence just so he can delight in the sound of yours again.
• he dreams of you holding his hand without hesitation. saying that you see the worst parts of him, but choose him anyway.
Cassian
• cassian makes you laugh constantly, but inside, it hurts not being able to tell if it’s only friendship. if that’s all you see.
• he flirts as if it’s harmless, but his eyes always watch your reaction as if it matters more than anything.
• when you’re not around, he talks about you as if you’re already the center of his life. “she said something brilliant about that the other day, gods, she’s so intelligent...” and he ends up lost in affectionate daydreams about you and everything he loves and admires about you.
• he started wearing nicer shirts, slightly cleaner armor, neater hair just as a precaution, in case you notice (and you do.)
• he teaches you things — how to fight, how to fly, how to swear in three languages — not because you need it, but because it means spending time close to you.
• sometimes, he lets himself imagine; you in his bed, laughing beneath the morning sun. you sitting on the kitchen counter while he makes breakfast. he could spend the entire day lost in these imaginary moments with you.
• he tries not to feel jealous, after all, you’re only friends, but he fails constantly. the instant he catches azriel looking at you? or mor reaching her hand toward you? his stomach twists.
• if you’re tired, he notices first and will do the possible and impossible to help you with whatever you need. if you’re sad, he sits beside you and doesn’t leave.
• he looks at you as if saying, “i’m yours, completely, if you want me” and can hardly wait to say it out loud to you, without fear.
Mor
• mor watches you with silent amazement, as if she still can’t believe someone like you exists. she desperately wants to touch you — your hand, your cheek, the small of your back — but she never does. unless she knows you want it.
• when you’re laughing with someone else ( especially a man) mor turns away. she smiles and pretends it doesn’t shatter her while trying to avoid looking at you.
• she gives you small gifts: a warm cloak, a ring woven with silent protection, a piece of sunstone that she claims is “simply beautiful.” she never explains what they mean, but if you look a little closer, you’ll see that her heart comes with those gifts.
• she starts dressing differently when you’re together; softer fabrics, gold jewelry, a touch of vulnerability in her appearance. she wants to be seen, admired, but only by you.
• when she drinks too much wine, she almost confesses: “if you knew how beautiful you are when...” but she stops. always stops. and simply stares at you with eyes shining with love and longing.
• she writes your name in the margins of a journal. only once, but she keeps that page with her.
• every time you talk about the future, mor longs to ask: “can i be part of it?”
• she dreams of kissing you beneath the moonlight, but wakes before it happens.
• when she hears others talking about you — admiring you, wanting you — mor laughs politely. but inside, her heart breaks a little more.
Rhysand
• rhysand doesn’t flirt with you, not the way he does with others. he respects you too much to treat you like a game, and he wants you to know that he wants eternity with you, not just a moment.
• he becomes gentler around you; still intelligent, still powerful and perceptive, but with less sharpness, less mask, and more sensitivity.
• he watches how you move through a room; where you choose to sit, who you listen to, which subjects make your eyes light up. he notices everything.
• when you speak, he falls silent. even when others interrupt you, he never does.
• he starts writing again; poems, letters, fragments, and never sends them. you live in all of them.
• he doesn’t feel jealous, but he becomes quietly possessive. not controlling, but more attentive. when you talk to someone for too long, his jaw tightens and he analyzes every second of the interaction and how he can insert himself into it and have your attention again.
• when he talks to you in private, it’s never about power or politics, but about life. about your dreams, your past, what makes you feel alive. he wants to listen to you and know you like no one else does.
• he buys books, accessories, clothes, and anything he thinks you’ll like. he leaves them in your room without a note, but you know it was him.
• the idea of you choosing someone else doesn’t make him angry, it leaves him deeply empty.
• the first time you accidentally call him by a more affectionate nickname without title, without distance, he leaves the room, just for a moment, just to breathe.
• he hasn’t told you he’s in love with you, but his entire soul already has.
Lucien
• lucien falls in love quietly at first; not because he wants to, but because he learned that wanting something often means losing it.
• he memorizes you before anyone else does; the way you laugh at something you genuinely find funny (and how he catches himself smiling while watching you). the way you observe people when you think nobody is looking. he memorizes every detail and small things make him think of you; a beautiful song, an old but lovely book.
• his teasing becomes softer around you, less about getting a reaction and more about seeing you smile.
• he remembers every story you tell him, even months later, he casually asks: “how did that book end?” and you realize he had been listening the whole time.
• he gives you pieces of himself without realizing it; a favorite book, a special poem, a childhood memory. truths he never said out loud, but that he trusts you blindly to hold; he tells you stories late into the night. stories he normally keeps locked away.
• when you’re upset, he never pressures you. he simply sits beside you and waits until you’re ready. his presence is comforting.
• he starts looking for you unconsciously; in crowded rooms, at parties, even in places where he knows you won’t be. he’s always the first to turn his head whenever he hears your voice.
• his gaze lingers on you constantly, not possessively, almost melancholically.
• his greatest concern is that you deserve someone better than him. so he tries to improve, tries to change, tries to become someone worthy of your love.
• he would cross every court in prythian for you without hesitation.
Eris
• when he realizes he’s developing feelings for you, he actively avoids you for weeks. not because he wants to, but because eris knows exactly how dangerous love can be, and he doesn’t know if he wants to risk it — and risk you.
• around everyone else, he remains perfectly composed. around you, small cracks begin to form.
• he notices when you’re cold before you even realize it. a warm cloak appears around your shoulders. he pretends it wasn’t him.
• he memorizes your preferences with unsettling precision; your favorite wine, the books you reread, which flowers you admire during walks.
• nobody notices how often he watches you, but you do. and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do about it.
• his affection manifests in actions, never words; an obstacle removed before you ever encounter it, a problem solved before you know it exists.
• he becomes protective in almost imperceptible ways. if someone insults you, they often find themselves dealing with consequences they cannot explain.
• he respects your intelligence more than your beauty; your beauty unsettles him, but your mind captivates him.
• eris isn’t naturally gentle, but with you, something strange happens; his voice becomes lower, his temper calms, his hands become careful.
• he never assumes you need to be saved. he simply makes sure you always have a choice.
• he offers you honesty before he offers you affection. which, for eris, is the greatest gift.
Can I get HCs for the Bat Boyz & the autumn boyz (Eris & Lucien, my favourites) with this dialogue:
“There’s nowhere to sit” “My lap is right here.”
Bonus points: if it’s not always the boyz’ lap that’s being referenced here. Personally I think Lucien, Rhys and Cass would find it hilarious.
Thank you! 💀
“My lap is right here.”
Pairing: ACoTaR men x Fem!Reader (separately)
Summary: requested above.
Warnings: All fluff with some suggestiveness!
A. Note: this is just a little something for you guys while I finish my Azris x Reader story (it’s already 10k words…) it’s gonna take me a minute to edit that so enjoy this while you wait! :)
Rhysand
Rita's was packed, the music thrumming through the air, a bass-heavy pulse that vibrated through the floor. Laughter and conversation wove together, filling the space with an electric kind of energy. You should have expected this—should have known that a night out with the Inner Circle would be anything but quiet.
The lot of you had managed to snag one of the larger rounded booths, a semicircle of plush velvet meant for maybe six or seven people. But there were ten of you, and despite the shuffling, adjusting, and outright shoving that had taken place, only nine had managed to squeeze in.
Which left you standing there, arms crossed, staring at the filled seats.
"Well, where am I supposed to sit?" you asked, arching a brow as your so-called friends barely spared you a second glance. Even Amren—tiny, ruthless Amren—had somehow managed to claim a spot.
Before anyone could answer, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you forward with a familiar, effortless strength. A gasp left your lips as you tumbled into a broad, solid chest, your mate's scent of sea salt and citrus washing over you as he caught you with ease.
"My lap is right here, darling," Rhys purred into your ear, his voice a velvety caress. His arms caged you against him as he leaned back into the booth, utterly at ease with you in his lap. "This seat is always reserved for you."
A flush crept up your neck, heat coiling low in your stomach as his lips ghosted over the sensitive spot just below your ear. You swatted at his arm half-heartedly, though you didn't move away.
"Get a room," Cassian groaned, shaking his head. "Or at least wait until we've had a few drinks before you start eye-fucking each other."
"Oh, please," Mor cut in, already sliding out of the booth. "Tell me about it, Cass. I'm getting a round."
"Get us doubles!" Amren called after her. "We're going to need them." She sighed beneath her breath.
The table erupted in laughter, but Rhys barely paid them any mind. His fingers traced idle patterns along your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your ear.
"You don't mind sitting here, do you?" he murmured, the hint of amusement in his voice making it clear he already knew the answer.
You tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze, violet eyes dark with mischief. "I think you planned this," you accused, narrowing your eyes.
His smile was all wickedness and charm. "And if I did?"
You huffed, shaking your head—but you didn't move from his lap. And judging by the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, you doubted he had any intention of letting you go.
Let Mor bring the drinks. You had everything you needed right here.
Azriel
"Hi, handsome," you greet, a smile curling at your lips as you swing open the door to your apartment. The crisp scent of rain drifts in with the night air, mingling with the warmth of your cozy home. Azriel stands in the doorway, shadows curling subtly around him as if hesitant to cross the threshold.
His hazel eyes soften as he takes you in, lingering on the comfortable sweater you've thrown on, the glow of candlelight flickering in the background. He steps inside, shaking a few stray raindrops from his hair, and you close the door behind him, shutting out the storm.
"You're soaked," you remark, reaching out to help him shrug off his damp jacket. His fingers brush against yours as he hands it over, and even with the chill clinging to the fabric, his touch is warm.
"It's cold out there," he murmurs, eyes scanning the space around him. He's never been to your apartment before, and you watch with amusement as his gaze sweeps over the small but welcoming interior—books stacked in uneven piles, a few blankets draped over the couch, a candle flickering on the coffee table. A place lived in. A place entirely yours.
"But it's nice in here," he adds, his voice dipping lower as he turns back to you.
You barely have time to process his words before his lips are on yours—slow, deliberate, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw as he deepens the kiss. You melt into him for a moment, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest before you pull away with a playful smile.
"Come on," you say, tugging him toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable."
Azriel hesitates. It's subtle—the slight shift of his weight, the way his wings twitch behind him as he glances at the couch. It's not exactly built to accommodate a six-foot-something Illyrian warrior with a wingspan that could cast an eclipse over your entire living room.
"Uh... where should I sit?" he asks, the uncertainty in his voice so rare it almost makes you laugh.
You smirk, patting your lap in invitation. "Right here's an option."
His lips twitch in amusement, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he makes his decision—easing down onto the couch beside you instead. His wing unfurls slightly, shifting behind you before settling around your shoulders like a warm, protective cloak.
You hum contentedly, pulling a blanket over both of you and nestling into his side. The steady beat of his heart thrums against your ear as you relax into the comfort of his presence.
"Thought you'd take me up on my offer," you tease, tilting your head to glance up at him.
His lips brush against your temple, voice low and amused. "Maybe next time."
For now, you're more than happy with this—wrapped in the warmth of him, the scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to his skin, and the quiet, unspoken promise that he is exactly where he wants to be.
Cassian
"Babe, you in here?"
Cassian's voice carries through the library just before his head peeks around the doorway. You don't bother looking up, too engrossed in the book cradled in your hands—a detailed account of art created during the war. Nestled beneath a thick pile of blankets in a massive leather chair that practically swallows you whole, you simply lift one hand from the cocoon of warmth and wave lazily.
"Here."
He steps inside, brows knitting together. "I called you through the bond. You didn't answer."
"I'm reading," you murmur distractedly, flipping a page without sparing him a glance.
"Reading or not, answer next time. I was worried, okay?" His voice dips into something softer, more serious as he strides deeper into the room.
You hum in vague acknowledgment but don't respond, eyes locked on the words before you.
“Baby," he tries again, tapping a finger against the edge of your book.
You snap your gaze up at him, blinking as if just now remembering his presence. "Huh?"
Cassian exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "Okay?" he repeats, waiting for some kind of confirmation.
Not entirely sure what you're agreeing to but wanting to return to your book, you nod absently. "Yeah, okay."
He watches you for a long moment, his broad shoulders deflating when you go right back to reading. The silence stretches between you, filled only with the soft crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustle of pages.
"Aren't you going to ask why I was looking for you?" His voice carries the weight of expectation.
"...No." You shrug, completely unrepentant.
Cassian lets out a dramatic sigh, his hope for your attention swiftly diminishing. "If you look at me right now, I'll leave you alone with your book," he mutters.
Your head snaps up instantly, locking onto his warm caramel gaze.
"Cauldron, you're determined," he grumbles. Then, in one swift motion, he swipes your book from your hands and snaps it shut.
You gasp, eyes widening as you reach for it. "Cassian!"
"You can read later. Give me attention now," he hums, looking far too pleased with himself.
You narrow your eyes at him, lips parting to protest, but then an idea strikes. You soften your expression, tilt your head slightly, and give him the biggest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes you can manage.
His smirk falters. Then crumbles entirely.
"Okay, I'm sorry," he blurts, scrambling to return your book. He flips it open and, somehow, miraculously lands on the exact page you were on.
You blink in surprise before shooting him a suspicious look.
"What?" he says innocently, though the glint in his eye suggests he knew exactly what he was doing.
Still, you smile in triumph, sinking deeper into the chair and pulling the book back into place.
Cassian frowns at you, clearly still unsatisfied, and before you can react, he swoops in, effortlessly lifting you from your seat.
A startled yelp escapes you as he sets you on your feet, stealing your chair for himself. You huff but refuse to be deterred, standing directly in front of him, reading as if nothing had happened. Every so often, you flick a page, ignoring the weight of his amused stare.
A sudden shiver wracks through you, the realization settling in—you had been so warm under that blanket. You glance up to find Cassian comfortably wrapped in it now, looking entirely too smug.
"Give me my spot back," you grumble, crossing your arms.
"My lap is right here," he counters smoothly, patting his thigh.
You roll your eyes but don't hesitate long before crawling into his lap. His arms immediately come around you, securing you against his chest as he reclines the chair back. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your back, melts away any lingering annoyance.
Without another word, you resume reading, far more comfortable now than you had been before. Cassian presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair in a way that is both distracting and soothing.
You silently thank him for keeping your hair out of your face, appreciating, despite everything, that he always finds a way to take care of you—even when he's being insufferable.
Eris
The golden throne is a masterpiece—intricate carvings of twisting flames and autumn leaves adorning the armrests, the deep red cushions a striking contrast against the polished gold. But the true vision of perfection is the male seated upon it.
Eris, legs spread carelessly, his head resting against his palm, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. His auburn hair catches the flickering candlelight, a halo of fire framing his sharp, impossibly beautiful features. His amber eyes—always so sharp, always so calculating—soften slightly as they land on you.
You shift your weight, feeling oddly out of place as you stand before him. "So... do I get a throne too?" you ask, tilting your head.
Eris raises a single brow, amusement flickering across his face. "Why?"
You blink at him. "Because this is the throne for the ruler of Autumn," he explains, as if the answer is obvious.
"Right," you say, crossing your arms. "But I just mean... I'm High Lady. Shouldn't I have a throne too?"
It feels strange, asking for something like this, but before you were even married, Eris made it abundantly clear—you are his equal in all things. He's never once treated you as anything less.
He exhales softly, watching you as if he's trying to puzzle something out. Then, finally, he shrugs. "We share a bed. Shouldn't we share a throne?"
Your lips part in protest. "It's not exactly large enough—"
But before you can finish, Eris moves. With a fluidity that makes your breath hitch, he reaches forward, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward him. A startled gasp escapes you as you stumble, catching yourself on the arm of the throne just as you land in his lap, straddling one of his thighs.
The position leaves your faces mere inches apart—your wide eyes meeting his entirely relaxed, smirking expression.
His hands settle on your waist, fingers drumming idly against the fabric of your dress. "We can get you your own throne if you really want, pretty," he murmurs, his voice a silken promise. "But what's mine is yours. So share this with me—for now, okay?"
You stare at him, still slightly stunned by the sudden shift, the warmth of him seeping into you, the firm press of muscle beneath you. His scent—smoke and crisp autumn air—wraps around you, grounding you in the moment.
Slowly, you nod.
"Good," he whispers, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to adoration before he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.
A kiss that lingers, that tastes of fire and devotion.
And as you melt into him, you think—perhaps his lap as a throne was a perfectly good alternative.
Lucien
The gathering was already in full swing by the time you and Lucien arrived. The grand hall, adorned in golden candlelight and autumnal tapestries, was packed with High Fae from various courts. A long banquet table stretched through the center of the room, lined with platters of rich food and goblets of deep red wine.
You had expected a formal meeting—discussions of trade agreements, court relations, maybe a bit of posturing. What you hadn't expected was an entire buffet spread out on the table, and for every seat to be taken.
Lucien, of course, had found one easily, already seated comfortably among the dignitaries. His russet-red hair gleamed under the chandelier's glow, and he looked completely at ease, one arm draped over the back of his chair, a goblet in his other hand. He was already speaking with someone from the Winter Court, his voice warm and smooth—an effortless diplomat.
You stood at the edge of the table, scanning for an open seat. Nothing.
Lucien's keen gaze flicked to you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips. "Problem, darling?"
You crossed your arms, pursing your lips. "There's nowhere to sit."
Lucien took a languid sip of his wine, clearly reveling in your predicament. Then, with all the smugness in the world, he patted his thigh. "My lap is right here."
You shot him a sharp look, but he only raised a brow, entirely unbothered. His amber eye gleamed with mischief, the gold in it catching the candlelight. "Unless you'd rather sit in one of my brother’s advisor’s lap?" he mused, tilting his head toward the older men at the end of the table, who were giving you disgusting looks but thankfully too far away to catch wind of Lucien's ridiculous suggestion.
Your glare hardened. "Absolutely not."
Lucien grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Then by all means, make yourself comfortable."
You let out a long, suffering sigh before lowering yourself onto his lap, doing your best to maintain your dignity. His arms came around you without hesitation, one resting lightly at your waist while the other adjusted to make space.
“You know,” He started, lips brushing your ear. "You could have at least pretended to resist a little longer," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you.
"If this makes a scene, you suffer the consequences."
Lucien hummed in amusement, fingers absently tracing patterns against your hip. "I think I rather like these consequences."
You were about to retort when a voice from across the table chimed in. "Comfortable?"
You looked up to find Helion watching the two of you with raised brows, his expression far too entertained.
Lucien didn't miss a beat. "Very," he replied smoothly, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.
Helion chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing more. Like father like son.
You, on the other hand, were going to murder Lucien the second you were out of sight of the High Lords.
But for now, as the night carried on, his warmth steady beneath you, his presence grounding in a way you weren't entirely ready to admit—you allowed yourself to relax, just a little.
And if Lucien pressed an occasional kiss to your shoulder throughout the evening, well... you supposed you could let that slide.
Welcome to my lineup for October's ACOTAR fics! I’m so excited to participate, as this will be my first! Prompts may change. Some will be full length fics and others will be drabbles ♡
🌙 acotar boys as how i think they’d confess their feelings to you ✨
rhysand: after a grand gesture— he just seems like the type. you have been friends for a relatively short time, but it feels like decades. in just a couple of years he has been able to open you up and know you in a way nobody ever has before. you never expected to fall for your best friend’s brother, and yet here you are. neither of you says anything for a while (even though you both feel the same), too afraid to ruin the most beautiful friendship either of you has ever had. but one day, rhysand decides to take the leap. there’s music, dancing, delicious food, a night under the stars— a lovely party just for you. “just because,” he says with a soft smile. and when it’s just the two of you, slow dancing under the stars to a song only you can hear, he finally tells you.
cassian: a bit clumsily— he’s never really been good with words or with feelings. but with you he feels things he’s never felt before, sees things in a completely different light. his feelings for you catch him so off guard he finds himself at a complete loss for words anytime you’re near. you think something is wrong— suddenly he’s so different around you, almost withdrawn. when you get a job offer out of the city, you decide to take it. as soon as he hears, he’s knocking at your door, desperate. “it’s two in the morning, cass, is everything okay?” “i just, i—”. he stumbles through a blurted confession at your doorstep and gives you the sweetest kiss you have ever had in your life.
azriel: a little shy— azriel has never really been shy. quiet, yes, but never shy. that is until you came into his life. you are all smiles and sparkling eyes, soft words and friendly teasing— he finds himself blushing often around you (though he plays it off coolly (he thinks)). he has always been one to listen more than speak, he likes to observe, but with you he wants to speak. he wants to but… he finds it hard to focus on anything other than your lovely eyes and dazzling smile. he is the first to make a move. he confesses his feelings to you shyly at first and then confidently as he sees you blush a pretty pink at his words for a change. his shyness melts away, though, and your first kiss is something of a dream.
lucien: spontaneously— his feelings for you came out of nowhere. what started as a fiery rivalry that melted into a tentative friendship suddenly became so much more. as he became more comfortable around you, he realized just how wrong about you he had been— you were nothing like the idea he had made up in his mind. you won him over without even trying. he found himself looking for excuses to be with you, reasons to brush his hand against yours, anything to be close to you. when the thought hits him, that he might be in love with you, he says it. he turns to you, suddenly, and “i think i love you.” you’re surprised for all of a second before your lips pull up at one corner, your voice playful, “you think?”. you never thought you’d ever be friends with lucien when you first met him, much less that you’d be the one to kiss him first (but you are).
eris: desperately— i just want him to beg ok? betrayal always hurts— but it hurts so much more when it’s your lifelong best friend that does it. when you heard about it, you first wanted to believe it was a lie. and then you wanted to burn him to the ground. you confront him, “tell me it’s a lie”, “i can’t.” he never meant to hurt you (how could he ever?), but you hurt him first. it’s a whirlwind of emotions— yours and his— and in his frustration and desire for you to just listen and understand, he kisses you. you’re both stunned for a moment before you push him away from you and he blurts out his feelings. he wanted to do this a different way, but he is losing you. in his desperation he tells you right there. he tells you everything.
Summary: In the golden shadow of her sisters' post-war happiness, a forgotten Archeron sister slowly fades into the background of the Night Court, entirely unnoticed until she is captured by lingering enemies. When Azriel finally unravels the truth of her disappearance, he faces a family blind to their own negligence and a broken bond that can never be fully mended.
warnings : established rhysand!sister!reader, mention of suffering, torture, kidnapping (sort of implicit) and hurt with almost no comfort. fluff if you squint
The mountain air of Velaris was always crisp, but tonight, it felt entirely devoid of warmth.
In the months following the war with Hybern, the House of Wind had transformed into a sanctuary of recovery and joy. Feyre and Rhysand were inseparable, managing the court with a shared, unspoken language. Nesta and Cassian sparred with an intensity that burned bright, while Elain found a quiet, steady rhythm alongside Lucien. The bonds of mates were a physical force in the house, thick and consuming, anchoring everyone to a new, immortal reality.
Everyone except you.
At first, the isolation was subtle. An invitation to breakfast forgotten because a training session ran late. A conversation cutting off as you stepped into the room, not maliciously, but simply because the space had already filled with the heavy presence of coupled fates. The sisters didn't mean to do it. But the mating bond was a tidal wave, and you were a shorebird being slowly pushed inland, away from the water.
You became an afterthought in the very house you had fought to protect.
One evening, when the weight of the silence became too heavy to bear, you walked out onto the eastern balcony. The wind whipped at your hair, and you bit down on your lower lip, trying desperately to keep the tears from spilling over.
"You look miserable."
The voice came from the shadows near the stone pillar. You didn't flinch. You knew the cadence of that low, steady rumble anywhere.
"Thank you," you whispered, wiping your face quickly.
"It wasn't a compliment," Azriel said, stepping into the moonlight. His dark wings were tucked tightly against his back, his scarred hands resting lightly on the balustrade.
For the first time all week, a genuine laugh broke from your chest. It was small, but it was real. Azriel stared at you for a moment, his hazel eyes tracking the movement of your shoulders, as though he had forgotten what the sound of your laughter felt like.
Without another word, he vanished into the shadows, returning a minute later with a steaming mug of tea. He didn't offer a grand speech. He didn't make promises he couldn't keep. He just stood there, leaning against the stone beside you, letting his silence keep yours company. For someone who had spent weeks feeling invisible, it meant everything.
A few weeks later, the house was entirely empty again. Everyone had vanished into the city or the camps, leaving the halls echoing. You wandered into the library, seeking the comfort of old paper, and found Azriel deep in a stack of reconnaissance reports.
The quiet settled between you comfortably, the only sound the turning of pages. But the question that had been burning in your chest for months finally refused to be contained.
"Do you ever feel unnecessary, Azriel?"
The spymaster froze. The shadows swirling around his shoulders went entirely still, flattening against his skin. He knew that feeling better than anyone in the Night Court; he had lived in its grip for centuries.
He didn't look up from his papers, but his voice was a quiet, piercing truth. "Every day."
You closed your eyes, a strange sense of relief washing over you. You weren't fixed, and you weren't comforted, but for the first time since the Cauldron, you were understood.
But the comfort was short-lived. The next morning, Rhysand ordered Azriel to the Illyrian camps for an extended inspection—an assignment that would take weeks, possibly longer. And just like that, your one anchor was gone.
The weeks that followed didn't hurt because people were cruel. They hurt because people were careless.
You tried to reach out. You went to Feyre first, finding her at her desk in the townhouse, buried under mountains of post-war paperwork.
"Feyre, I don't think I'm doing very well," you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
Feyre finally paused, setting her pen down. She looked up at you, her expression softening into something so deeply empathetic that a sudden, fierce spark of hope flared in your chest. For a beautiful, fleeting second, your heart swelled—she was looking at you the way she used to. She was going to open her arms, pull you into her light, and tell you that she saw how hard you were drowning. You thought, Finally. Finally, someone understands.
Then, she spoke.
"It's probably just the adjustment, sweetie. Your Fae body is still settling."
The spark vanished, leaving behind an even deeper, freezing dark. The warmth in her eyes wasn't understanding; it was just a gentle, generalized pity.
"I've been adjusting for months."
"Y/N, you're immortal now," Feyre said, her tone shifting to a patient, slightly distracted murmur as her eyes drifted back toward her documents. "Everything feels overwhelming at first. Just give it some time."
Dismissed.
You tried Nesta next. She was out on the training rings, wiping sweat from her brow as Cassian adjusted her stance.
"Nesta, can we talk?" you asked, standing at the edge of the dust.
"Later," Nesta replied, her focus already shifting back to the wooden blade in her hand.
Later never came.
Desperate, you tried Elain. She was tending to the winter roses in the garden, a serene smile on her face. When you asked if she had a moment, she offered a warm promise: "Let's have tea tomorrow, Y/N. Just the two of us."
But tomorrow became next week. Next week became next month. Eventually, the weight of asking became heavier than the weight of the loneliness, and you stopped trying entirely.
One night, the three Archeron sisters sat in the small parlor, drinking wine while their mates were at a strategy meeting.
"She's having a difficult transition," Feyre noted, staring into her glass as she thought of your brief visit to her office.
"Still?" Nesta asked, leaning back against the cushions.
"She's always been sensitive," Feyre sighed.
"A bit dramatic, honestly," Elain agreed softly, setting down her teacup. "She always finds a way to make the silence feel like an accusation."
And just like that, the narrative was written. You weren't drowning; you were just being dramatic.
The hopelessness settled in like a thick winter fog.
One evening, you walked out of the townhouse, wandering aimlessly through the winding streets of Velaris. You weren't paying attention to the shadows, nor were you listening for footsteps. You hadn't cared about your own safety in weeks. If the world didn't notice you, why should you notice the world?
You turned down a quiet, darkened alleyway near the city's western wall. A heavy canvas hood was thrown over your head before you could even draw breath.
There was no grand struggle. Magic, cold and suffocating, bound your wrists. A sharp pain bloomed at the back of your skull, followed by a heavy, absolute silence. Then, nothing.
When you woke, you were underground. The air tasted of damp earth and old iron. Cold stone pressed against your back, and heavy chains bound your ankles to the wall. There were no windows, no torches—just the dim light of a single faelight sphere, and faces you didn't recognize. Hybern loyalists. Remnants of a broken army looking for a vulnerability to exploit.
The questions began immediately.
"What does the High Lord discuss during war councils?"
"I don't know," you rasped, your throat dry.
"What weaknesses does the Shadowsinger possess?"
"I don't know."
"How many soldiers serve the General in the north?"
"I don't know."
The interrogators didn't believe you. To them, you were an Archeron. You were the sister of the High Lady. Surely, you sat at the right hand of the Inner Circle. Surely, you knew their secrets. They didn't understand that you had been sitting at the edge of the room, invisible.
The days blurred into a singular, agonizing existence. Food arrived randomly, just enough to keep your Fae heart beating. Sleep was impossible in the freezing damp. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the quiet realization that grew heavier with every passing hour.
One day. Three days. Five. A week.
Nobody came.
The wards of Velaris hadn't flared. No armies were tearing the continent apart looking for you. The terrifying truth settled deep into your bones: nobody had noticed you were gone. They likely thought you were still in your room, being dramatic.
The interrogators grew frustrated with your silence. Your lack of answers was taken as stubborn defiance rather than genuine ignorance. They began to mock you, throwing words at you that cut deeper than any physical threat.
Worthless. Useless. Disposable. Dead weight.
The terrible part was that you didn't fight the words. You started believing them. They were the exact same phrases you had been whispering to yourself in the empty halls of the House of Wind.
Dead. Dead. Dead
Eventually, you stopped crying. You stopped screaming when they dragged you to the center of the room. When the cold iron bit into your skin, you simply bit down on your tongue, refusing to make a single sound.
Burdens complain. Burdens need saving. Burdens cause problems for the people who matter.
And you refused to be a burden anymore.
Two weeks after he left, Azriel returned to the House of Wind. He was covered in the dust of the Illyrian mountains, his wings aching from the long flight, but his first thought was of the balcony. He wanted to see if you were there, perhaps waiting with another quiet silence to share.
He searched the balcony. The library. The gardens. The riverwalk.
Nowhere. Your scent was completely absent from the common rooms, faded to a ghost of a memory.
He walked into the dining hall where Feyre, Nesta, and Elain were gathering for dinner. "Where is Y/N?" he asked, his voice cutting through the warmth of the room.
Feyre shrugged, adjusting a silverware setting. "Probably wandering. She's been doing that a lot lately."
Nesta didn't look up from her book. "She does that when she wants attention."
Elain let out a soft, dismissive laugh. "She's likely trying to make a point because we've been busy with the winter preparations."
The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Azriel's shadows didn't just rise; they exploded. Dark, suffocating midnight flooded the dining hall, extinguishing the candles and rattling the glass fixtures.
"What do you mean, trying to make a point?" Azriel hissed, his face completely pale, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, lethal light.
Nobody answered. The sisters shrank back, shocked by the sudden violence in his demeanor.
Then Feyre spoke, her tone exasperated. "Azriel, honestly, she's always been dramatic. She'll come back when she's done moping."
In that single second, every strange interaction from the past year clicked into place in Azriel's mind. The exhaustion in your eyes. The way you looked at your sisters as if they were miles away. The desperate, quiet question in the library.
He looked at the three sisters, and a horrifying realization struck him.
Nobody had actually seen you in weeks.
Azriel didn't waste another breath. He slammed through the doors of Rhysand's study, where the High Lord was deep in conversation with Cassian and Lucien.
"Where is she?" Azriel demanded, his hands trembling with a rage that shook the foundations of the room.
Rhysand frowned, standing up. "Azriel, calm down. What are you—"
"Your mate," Azriel snarled, pointing a finger at Rhys, then turning his lethal gaze to Cassian and Lucien. "Your mates. They let her walk out. They let her disappear because they thought she was brooding. They haven't looked for her in weeks."
Cassian immediately stepped forward, his jaw set, his defensive instincts flaring for Nesta. "Watch your tone, Az. Y/N is fine. Nesta said she just needed space."
"She isn't fine!" Azriel roared, the sound tearing from his throat like a wounded animal. "She's gone. Her room is freezing, her scent is dead, and your mates think she's playing a game for attention!"
The room went entirely still.
Lucien looked down at his hands, a sudden, sickening memory hitting him. Every time he had asked Elain where you were over the past fortnight, she had murmured that you were resting, that you didn't want to be disturbed. They haven't told the males anything. They had kept it to themselves, a small domestic annoyance they thought they were managing.
Rhysand's face went completely bloodless as he reached out with his power, sweeping the city's wards. There was no trace of your signature. Anywhere.
"She's gone," Azriel whispered, the absolute finality of the words freezing the room to its core.
The search was an exercise in pure terror.
For three days, the Night Court became a living nightmare. Azriel didn't sleep, his shadows tearing through every alleyway, every border, every whisper in the wind. Rhysand ripped through the minds of every traveler passing through the territory, while Cassian scoured the skies and Lucien tracked the physical borders.
Finally, deep in a forgotten valley near the cracked perimeter of the court, Azriel's shadows caught the faint, metallic scent of blood and old iron.
The assault on the subterranean stronghold was completely merciless. There was no negotiation, no questioning. Cassian and Azriel tore through the heavy stone doors like a thunderstorm, leaving the captors no time to even raise their weapons.
When the dust cleared, Azriel kicked open the final iron door at the end of the corridor.
You were curled into the furthest corner of the damp cell, your knees pulled tight to your chest. Your clothes were ruined, your skin pale and mapped with the physical toll of a two-week confinement. Your eyes were wide, staring unseeingly at the doorway, flinching violently at the sound of the heavy footsteps.
At first, your mind couldn't process the dark wings or the blue siphons. You just saw figures coming into the dark again.
Then, Azriel dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands shaking so violently he couldn't bring himself to touch you. "Y/N," he choked out, his voice cracking. "Y/N, it's me. I've got you."
You didn't cry. You didn't reach for him. Instead, a panicked, desperate expression flooded your face, and you tried to press yourself deeper into the solid stone wall.
"I didn't tell them anything," you whispered, your voice a ragged, broken thing that made Cassian freeze in the doorway. "I swear I didn't."
"Y/N, stop, look at me—"
"I know I'm not useful," you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a terrifying, rushed panic, your eyes wide and pleading. "I know I'm a burden. I know I don't belong here. But I didn't tell them anything. Please... please don't let them take me back. I'll do better. I'll stay in my room. I'll be quiet. I promise."
You looked directly into Azriel's hazel eyes, your lips trembling. "Don't let them do that again."
In that exact, devastating second, something primordial and violent snapped into place inside Azriel's chest. A golden bond of pure, undeniable light flared to life in the darkness, connecting his soul directly to yours.
The mating bond didn't bring warmth or celebration. It brought the collective weight of every single night you had spent believing you were nothing. It brought the echo of every silent tear you had shed on that balcony.
Azriel's shadows completely swallowed the room, turning the space into a void of absolute wrath. He lunged forward, gathering your fragile form against his chest, his wings wrapping around you so tightly that the rest of the world vanished. He buried his face in your hair, a low, terrifying growl vibrating against your skin.
"Never again," he promised against your ear, his voice rough with a lethal vow. "Never again."
They brought you back to the House of Wind, but the home you returned to was dead.
The physical wounds healed under the care of the healers, but the silence remained. Only now, it was a silence born of profound guilt and terror.
You didn't trust anyone. Especially your sisters.
Every time Feyre entered a room, you didn't yell or accuse her. You simply flinched, your shoulders tightening as you quietly stepped away toward the window. It wasn't anger; it was the simple, devastating memory that when you had begged for help, she had looked at a piece of paper instead. You remembered that nobody came.
Nesta tried to apologize one afternoon, standing at the door of your bedroom with her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes red. "Y/N... we didn't know. If we had only realized—"
You looked at her from the bed, your expression entirely hollow. "I know."
Nothing else. No anger, no screaming, no tears. Just an acceptance that cut Nesta deeper than any blade ever could.
When Elain came to your bedside, she broke down, weeping openly into her hands, overwhelmed by the horror of what her carelessness had allowed. You reached out, your pale hand gently patting her shoulder, comforting her out of sheer, ingrained habit.
And that act completely destroyed the house. Because even now, broken and hollowed out by their neglect, you were still the one taking care of them.
Months passed.
The seasons shifted toward winter, and the house remained quiet. But you were never alone. Azriel never left your side. When the nightmares woke you in a cold sweat, he was sitting in the chair by the hearth. When the panic attacks made it impossible to breathe, his shadows gently wrapped around your shoulders, muting the sounds of the world just as he had promised. He said very little, but he stayed. He knew you no longer believed in words.
One night, months after the rescue, you found yourself standing on the balcony where it had all begun. The stars were bright over Velaris, casting a silver glow over the snow-dusted rooftops.
The shadows shifted, and Azriel stepped out beside you, his presence a steady, familiar warmth against the winter chill. Neither of you spoke for a long time, watching the city lights twinkle below.
"Did you know?" you asked quietly, your eyes fixed on the horizon.
Azriel's breath caught in his throat. He turned his head to look at you, his features soft in the moonlight. "Know what?"
You didn't look at him. You just kept staring at the city that had forgotten you. "That I was disappearing."
A long, agonizing silence settled over the balcony. The wind sighed through the chasm of the mountains.
"Yes," Azriel whispered, his voice rough and thick with an old, lingering grief.
You closed your eyes, a single, hot tear slipping down your cheek. For the first time since you had been taken, the tight knot in your chest loosened slightly. You weren't crazy. You hadn't been dramatic. Someone had seen you slipping into the dark.
"I just didn't realize how far you'd fallen," Azriel added, his hand finally reaching out to cover yours on the cold stone.
And there, under the indifferent stars of Velaris, you finally let yourself cry. Not from fear, and not from pain, but because someone had finally admitted the truth. They should have noticed. And sometimes, that is the only apology that can begin to heal the break.
A/N: IM BACKKK Y'ALL, some of you may have noticed that anchor was deleted with the exception of the first part, i am aware of this but this was mainly done because i feel like i have grown a lot from the time i took a break and feel the idea did not do my writing justice, so i present this piece of work!! english is not my first language so please tell me if i made grammar mistakes anywhere. also lmk if you want to be added to the permanent taglist!
Summary: Burdened by guilt and fear, Lucien keeps his mate at a distance, burying the bond that burns between them. What begins as quiet moments and stolen glances slowly unravels his silence, until he can no longer deny the mating bond aching to be claimed.
She had fought harder than her sisters, screamed louder, clawed and thrashed as they dragged her forward.
The youngest Archeron, the one Feyre had sworn to protect, was thrown first into the Cauldron’s boiling black waters.
Lucien still saw her face from that night.
The Cauldron's magic had made her thin, white nightdress sheer, the wet fabric leaving her more exposed than any eighteen-year-old girl should be.
Drenched and trembling, she lay sprawled across the stone floor of Hybern’s throne room, her body shuddering with every breath.
The Cauldron had transformed her, in blood and flame: her skin shimmering in shades of gold and red, smoke curling past her lips.
Fire in human flesh.
“Divine,” the king said, his gaze lingering for too long. “I think I might keep this one.”
Lucien couldn't hold back the snarl that escaped his lips.
“No.”
The word meant nothing, not to them, not as they dragged her sisters forward.
Her eyes searched the room, desperate for escape, instead they found his.
In that instant, the bond snapped into place.
His chest tightened, his mouth went dry, and his magic flared uncontrollably.
My mate.
Before he could move or remove his coat to cover her trembling body, she was gone.
Taken away by the Night Court.
One year later.
The war had ended.
Hybern had fallen, and the Cauldron had been repaired.
Everyone had survived.
Everyone was healing.
Everyone except him.
Time had not dulled that memory; if anything, it had sharpened it.
Each day without her pulled the bond tighter, until he wondered if it might strangle him.
He had watched her grow from the trembling girl dragged before the king into something untamed and impossible to ignore.
She was loud, bright, and impossible to ignore. She laughed loudly with Cassian, who teased her like a sister.
Even Azriel, the shadowsinger who rarely smiled, allowed his mouth to twitch upward whenever she was near.
The sight burned into something hot and ugly in Lucien’s chest.
She had smiles for everyone, everyone but him.
Never for him.
He watched silently from a distance. Every word he might have spoken was caught in his throat.
He told himself the distance was better for them both.
That she deserved distance.
That he had no right to demand more.
Yet, sometimes her eyes lingered. Just for a heartbeat. Long enough for the ache to return, that merciless tug in his chest.
Lucien wondered if one year were enough for forgiveness, or if her heart had already decided it would never forgive.
He had avoided her for months, not because he wanted to, but because he felt undone each time she was near.
That evening, at the annual Solstice dinner held at the River House, there was no escaping her.
The Inner Circle gathered, laughter echoing through the halls.
Lucien kept to his corner by the window, a glass of wine in hand, watching, waiting, hiding.
Until she appeared at his side.
The youngest Archeron sister.
His mate.
Her hair gleamed in the lamplight, eyes fixed on him.
She didn’t sit.
Didn’t smile.
She tilted her head slightly, considering whether he was worth the trouble.
Her lips curved, not the sneer he expected, but something that looked almost amused.
“You have a habit of lurking in corners,” she said.
Lucien tensed and raised an eyebrow.
“Do I?” he said, too fast and defensive.
She hummed, hair falling over one shoulder. “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think.”
It wasn't cruel words. If anything, they sounded more like playful teasing.
His mouth formed a half-smile. "I thought brooding silence was one of my better qualities."
That earned him a soft laugh, a sound he never thought he’d hear directed at him from her.
"I don't particularly enjoy silence," she responded, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
He should have said more. The words he had repeated in his mind over the past year.
The apologies, explanations, and confessions.
Instead, all that came out was:
“I thought you preferred it that way.”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise, but before she could respond, Cassian's voice echoed across the room, calling her name.
She glanced back at Lucien once, as if considering saying more, but she shook her head and turned toward the sound of laughter.
Lucien couldn’t look away.
Cassian grinned, leaning close to murmur something that made her laugh. Azriel sat beside them, shadows curling lazily, his hand draped across the back of the sofa, close enough that his fingers brushed her arm.
She leaned in closer and whispered something that made the shadowsinger smile.
Lucien’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass until it threatened to snap.
He had no right to feel this way.
That’s what he told himself, but the words felt empty as her gaze returned to him, lingering a heartbeat too long.
It knotted his chest with a feeling dangerously close to jealousy.
Possessiveness.
A claim he had no right to make.
As the night continued, gifts were unwrapped, wine flowed, and laughter echoed throughout the house.
Lucien remained in the shadows, with his glass emptied and forgotten.
He convinced himself that it was enough to see her alive and hear her laugh, even if it wasn’t meant for him.
By the time the fire burned low, Morrigan clapped her hands, with a wide grin.
“Rita’s. All of you. No excuses.”
Cassian slammed his fist on the table. Azriel nodded as he finished his glass. Elain smiled and nodded in agreement. Nesta groaned but stood up anyway. Feyre and Rhys exchanged a glance before also standing.
She stood at the back, her cheeks flushed, her hair cascading in loose, messy waves, and her eyes sparkling with wine warmth. For the briefest moment, her gaze met with his again.
He thought she might ask if he was coming, but she turned away laughing when Cassian called her name.
Lucien slipped out before anyone noticed.
No goodbyes.
No gifts.
Nothing.
The wind from the Sidra was sharp against his face as he followed the river. Above, stars shone brightly, while the moon cast silver light across the path.
He tightened his coat and quickened his pace as the chill crept higher along his spine.
“Lucien.”
A voice cut through the wind.
He turned.
She stood there, her cloak pulled close, cheeks flushed from the wine and firelight, her hair wild in the breeze.
She had followed him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
A smile tugged at her lips. “Are you really leaving without saying goodbye?”
His chest tightened. The cold bit at his skin, but all he felt was her: her fire, her voice, her laugh, and their bond, a tether he had spent a year trying to smother.
She stepped closer, the heel of her shoe crunching against the stone path.
“Are you coming with us to Rita’s?”
Lucien shook his head. “I’m not much for crowds. Best let them have their fun without me brooding in the corner.”
“But you do brood so well,” she teased.
His eyes found hers.
The silence filled the air, the river rushing behind them, her cloak tugging in the wind, her hair swirling around her face.
She sighed and turned away.
"Suit yourself," she said.
Her silhouette gradually faded into the soft glow of the faelight at the River House.
Lucien stood where she had left him, the ache in his chest heavy and trembling, not from the cold, but from her.
Since that night, he had started to fall apart more each day.
He told himself it was just the bond being starved of her. Yet, the bond howled when he discovered the gift on the step of his apartment.
At first, he nearly stepped over it.
A small box, neatly wrapped in shimmering silver paper and tied with a ribbon.
A tag dangled from it: Happy Solstice.
His hands trembled as he carried it inside.
At his desk, he untied the ribbon and removed the wrapping as if it might crumble in his grasp.
Inside was a sphere of silver, etched with delicate carvings that caught and bent the light. When his finger brushed it, the orb hummed, then rose into the air.
An orange and gold flame glowed within its centre, alive and dancing.
Her fire.
Like dawn's first rays, soft and steady golden light spilled over the walls.
Lucien sank into his chair, chest burning as if the bond itself were reaching for the flame.
Her flame.
That night, he watched it until the warmth blurred his vision and sleep finally pulled him under.
When morning came, the sphere still shone on his desk, its golden glow warm and bright against the morning light.
He hadn’t slept much, with the bond tugging in his chest and that beautiful sphere of firelight watching from the shadows.
It was during those early hours that the summons arrived: Rhysand’s request for breakfast at the River House.
By the time Feyre opened the front door, Lucien could hear Cassian’s booming laugh echoing down the hall.
“Thank you for coming,” Feyre whispered, guiding him inside.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Lucien replied with a slight bow.
A sigh escaped her as Nesta’s voice cut through the house, answered by Cassian’s roaring laugh.
“They’ve been at it all morning,” Feyre muttered as she led him to the dining room.
The Inner Circle was already gathered, their noise and warmth filling the long table.
“Please, sit,” Feyre said, gesturing toward the only empty chair.
Lucien hesitated before taking the seat, his eyes searching the room until he saw her.
She sat across from him, her hair still damp from a bath, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks.
He tightened his grip around the porcelain teacup, forcing himself to look away and focus on the petals floating in the steaming tea.
The bond burned deep within his chest.
Eventually, his restraint broke, and his eyes betrayed him.
She was already watching.
Her gaze was fixed on the cup that was halfway to his mouth before their eyes met. The corner of her lips tugged upward into a small, knowing smile before she turned away, as if he hadn’t noticed her staring.
Breakfast continued, and laughter filled the room. Stories were shared across the table. He listened and nodded when spoken to, and yet, even from across the table, he felt her presence.
When their eyes met again, she slowly lifted her teacup. She darted her tongue to moisten her lips before drinking.
It was just a subconscious movement; still, Lucien’s pulse thundered as if she had tugged on the end of the bond, beginning to unravel him thread by thread.
At last, the breakfast came to an end.
Lucien rose with the others, already planning his silent departure.
“Did you like your gift?”
Her voice cut through the noise of the others, all of whom fell silent at once.
Lucien froze.
Cassian muttered to Nesta across the room, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
“She gave Fireling a gift?”
Nesta smacked him hard in the chest.
Cassian hissed, “She didn’t even give me anything—”
“Cassian,” Nesta snapped.
Lucien turned back to her, noticing her beautiful smile fade as she searched his face in silence.
“Did you not like it?” she asked, head tilting slightly.
His voice was low and rough. “It was beautiful.”
Relief washed over her features, brightening into a grin that made his chest tighten.
“I was going to give it to you on Solstice,” she said, “but you seemed… distracted.”
She didn’t step back; if anything, she took a half step closer, looking up at him with eyes that were too soft.
The others left one by one, their glances lingering. At last, only Rhysand and Feyre remained, whispering near the door.
She shifted closer still.
"You’re brooding again," she teased, her voice low so only he could hear.
“Apologies,” he murmured with a soft laugh.
Her gaze dropped to the floor, lingered there for a moment, before lifting to meet his gaze again.
Neither of them spoke.
He didn't know if she wanted him to stay or leave.
Finally, she spoke. “I was thinking of exploring Velaris today if you wanted to join me. Azriel mentioned a bookstore near the market.”
She hesitated.
“Unless, of course, hiding in your apartment is more appealing.”
The bond burned hot, tugging, tightening.
“Would you like to go now?” he asked, the words escaping before his reason could stop them.
Her smile widened, unrestrained, a grin he had never seen before. The sight stole the breath from his lungs.
"I'll get my shoes," she said, her voice filled with excitement.
Lucien nodded, every muscle tense, as if one wrong move might destroy the delicate moment between them.
Before he could let his thoughts spiral, she stumbled back into the room, hopping as she pulled on her boots. Her cloak was wrapped around her shoulders and fastened at her throat.
“Are you ready?” she asked as she moved toward the door.
Lucien nodded and walked alongside her as they stepped into the chilled air. The breeze was sharp and biting as they walked together.
They followed the winding path of the river toward the heart of Velaris.
Their arms brushed with each step, each soft touch sending sparks across his skin.
The city was bright and loud as they walked deeper into the center of town. The shop windows were filled with clothing, books, food, and trinkets.
She moved closer, and without thinking, his hand shifted, his fingers gently brushing against hers. She didn’t hesitate; her hand slipped into his, fingers threading through his own.
Her fire, Cauldron-born and untamed, threaded itself through him.
His grip tightened instinctively, desperate for more.
She breathed out softly, shoulders relaxing, her body leaning into his side.
Lanterns flickered above their heads, fogging the glass of the shopfronts. The scents of roasted chestnuts, fresh coffee, and sugared pastries filled the air as the city hummed alive around them.
Her boots clicked against the stone as she guided him along, but her eyes always found his. Each time they did, her smile widened, and Lucien’s chest tightened until it ached.
“Lucien,” she said suddenly, tugging at his sleeve and pulling him toward a flower stall. “Help me pick some flowers.”
He stood beside her, watching as she lifted each bundle to her face, inhaling their sweetness. The blooms she selected were delicate pinks, pale blues, and whites.
They reminded him of her, bright and wild.
Lucien picked flowers in deep red, burnt orange, rich gold, and russet hues, colours of autumn and fire.
As she reached for her coin purse, he moved quicker. He pressed a small bag of coins into the vendor’s palm before she could object.
“Thank you,” the older fae said with a warm smile. “You make such a lovely couple.”
Neither of them corrected her; they only smiled faintly, glancing at each other before looking away.
“You didn’t have to,” she said as they stepped away, reaching out to take the flowers.
Lucien carefully lifted them into his arms, interlocking their fingers once more.
His touch had become an addiction, a necessity he wasn’t sure he could live without.
They moved from stall to stall, her questions coming quickly, her laughter following right after.
Her joy was infectious.
“Cinnamon cakes or honey rolls?” she asked.
He brought her both.
Every brush of her shoulder and each glance thrown his way, leaving cracks in the mask he had worn for years.
By the time they reached the bookshop, her cheeks were flushed from the cold, his arms full.
She pushed the door open, golden light spilling across her face. She looked back at him then, that smile curving her lips, the one that made his heart ache in his chest.
The cracks didn’t spread.
The mask he wore shattered.
Lucien lingered on the step, watching his mate, his fire, his undoing, before finally stepping inside.
They explored the city, visiting bookshops, market squares, and the Sidra River.
By the afternoon, his arms felt heavy with bags and flowers; she had stopped arguing about carrying items hours ago and only smiled when he offered to help.
He led her toward the River House as the sun set, painting the sky a burnt orange.
They paused before the front door.
“I don’t understand you,” she whispered. “For the past year, you’ve ignored me. You avoided my eyes, walked away when I came near, and barely spoke to me.”
Her fingers tangled nervously in her hair.
“Then Solstice… I left you a gift: my flames. I knew that if I felt like I was falling apart without you, you must be feeling worse.” Her voice cracked.
Lucien felt the world shifting beneath him.
Her words, filled with accusation, hurt, and hope, were like a knife to the ribs.
"Do you feel like you’re falling apart without me?" he asked, struggling to find the right words.
You’re my mate," she whispered. "I can hardly sleep at night. My heart aches whenever I see you. I thought maybe you felt the same way. I thought you wanted me to be your mate.
Tears welled in her eyes.
He could no longer hold back.
The bags of clothes, sweets, and flowers tumbled to the ground.
He closed the distance.
His mouth found hers in a desperate kiss. His hands gripped her waist while hers tangled in his hair.
She tasted of strawberries and vanilla cream.
She rose onto her toes to meet him, and when they broke apart, they were both trembling.
“How long have you known?” he asked, forehead pressed to hers.
“Since Hybern,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his. “I had been waiting for you to say it.”
For a long moment, all that could be heard was their heavy breathing.
Kiss me again," she whispered. "Kiss me until I taste nothing but you.
He did.
He kissed her passionately until everything around them felt like fire and skin.
That night, as the fire burned low, he gave her the Solstice gift he had hidden for months: a simple silver chain with a single ruby, red as flame.
He had convinced himself he would never have the chance to give it, but as her eyes filled with tears, the bond thrummed between them while he fastened it at her throat.
Two weeks later, she had nearly moved into his apartment.
They picked out rugs and furniture, filled cupboards with her favourite teas and sweets.
He learned about her fears, her nightmares, the music she loved, and the romance stories she devoured.
She learned about him too; his scars, his court, and the pieces of his past he had never shared with another soul.
The bond, once neglected, now burned with desire, need, and comfort. It was something he had never allowed himself to hope for.
Weeks turned into months.
On the anniversary of that night, a ceremony was held in the gardens of River House beneath the stars and a full moon.
Surrounded by flames, they whispered their vows, their hands bound by the priestesses, the bond finally sealed.
The bond burned brighter and louder, no longer burdened by guilt or fear, but alive with a care so fierce it left him trembling.
That night, in the estate that Rhysand and Feyre gifted to them, they fully surrendered, body and soul, to the bond that had always belonged to them.
I just know this man has a breeding kink. He would love to take his time fucking you slow then hard then back to slow again.
He would like for you to feel all of him. Each vein rubbing deliciously against your walls.
You whine as he slows down again and his cock hitting that exact spot that has you seeing stars.
He groans and rubs your clit under the pad of his thumb, making your legs quiver around his waist.
"Rhys," you mewl.
"Just hold still for, daddy. Let me take care of this sweet needy cunt."
You wanted to cry at how good he felt, the way his tip rubs your walls.
The squelching noises of your slick makes your eyes roll back as he pushes in deeper.
His moans are music to your ears as you try to meet his thrusts.
"I'mma put a baby in you with how much I'm cumming inside you."
You had forgotten at what round you two were on but you were so impossibly wet which made the sensations feel so much more heightened.
You wanted all his cum inside you. It was a primal need and it was like your body craved him.
Rhys pumps faster and your moans get louder as skin slaps against skin.
He growls and kisses your neck, "My fifth load is going to be the one to get you pregnant. I know it."
You can tell he's getting closer at just how sloppy his thrusts are becoming.
In a split second he pinches your clit which has you seeing stars and him roaring as his cum painted your walls.
cassian —
Cassian would know exactly when your ovulation day was.
His primal urges make his cock jerk and throb.
He needs to take you and do it now.
You were in the bedroom, rubbing your clit when a knock came from the door.
You let out a soft whine and you threw the blankets around you as you pad your way to the door.
Once you opened it, Cassian's scent made your head dizzy. Dizzy with lust.
He growls and walks you back into the room. Your pussy becomes even more slick as he looks deep into your eyes.
Your breasts felt heavy as he snatched the blanket away from your body and groaned.
The tent in his trousers made your head spin.
You need him in you.
He grabs you by the hair and ghosts his lips on your neck just over your pulse point.
"Cass–" you whine and struggle in his hands.
"Let me take care of your little issue, baby. Let me put a baby in you."
Your cheeks heated and you laid back on the bed as he stripped from his clothes.
His cock slams into you over and over all night long. At one point you lost all coherent thoughts and could think of what he felt like inside you, along with the feeling of his cum filling you so full.
azriel —
You felt so cock drunk as azriel pistoned his hips into you. You two had been going at it for hours and you didn't want him to stop.
Your body craved to been ravished and groped.
Moans, mewls, and whines fell out of your lips as he held your hands behind your back.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he railed into you.
"Fuck, Azzy. I need it rougher." You moaned and cried as he slammed into you harder.
He grabbed your throat and fucked you into oblivion. Your legs were shaking and you could hardly hold yourself up but he helped you.
He held you up by your hips and throat.
You panted as you met him thrust to thrust.
"You're my little slut when you're fertile, aren't you?"
"Come on, bunny, answer me."
You whined and begged for his cum. You wanted him completely dry when you two were done.
It was with a shout that he coated your walls in his thick ropes of cum.
eris —
Your hands were tied up by fire and bounded to the bed as he devoured your core.
You moaned and bucked but he held your thighs firmly to the bed as he ravished your pussy.
His tongue lapped and sucked at your clit. You were a quaking mess and you were so sensitive from his ministrations that you began to cry.
He kissed your thighs then rubbed the head of his cock against your clit.
"I can't wait to breed your sweet tight cunt."
You moaned at his filthy words and squirmed, "Please, Eris–"
That's when he sank into your pussy so quickly and hard, that you lost all train of thought.
Your tits bounced as he thrusted his big veiny cock inside your small pussy.
You squirmed and stuck out your tongue which he took between his lips and sucked.
"I love when you're so needy for cock and cum that you let me do anything to you."
lucien —
Lucien would instantly have you in a mating press, his cock slowly entering you over and over.
You panted and moaned as you felt each inch of him. He was torturing you and making you so impossibly wet that wet noises were all you heard other than both of your moans.
"So fucking beautiful," he moaned.
His thrusts grew harder and rougher as he got closer to his climax. You whined and gripped his biceps as his hips slammed into yours.
You came so hard as he continued to fuck you mercilessly. "Lu—" You gasped and squirmed but he had your hips pinned as he continued to fuck into you.
Moans echoed off the walls and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he coated your walls in his hot thick cum.
He didn't stop until cum was spilling out of you from being so full.
It went on like that all night and you couldn't think straight by the time you two were done.
