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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 1 year

Note

List 72, prompt 5, and list 74, prompt 2. Pairing: hyunlix x reader, please!

Prompts: "Are those...bite marks?"

"You have to do your part, sweetheart. This goes both ways."

Members: Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix

Relationship: Fae Healer!FemReader x Hunter!Hyunlix

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Suggestive

Warnings: Injuries, Gore, Blood, General Predicaments of Various Unwellness (all the important people survive, don't panic),

You should be used to wounded fae stumbling through your door at all odd hours of the night, dripping blackening blood onto your floor, urgently seeking your profession's skills.

But there's still something about the pair of fae that crash through your front door tonight, one of them supporting the other, both covered from head to toe in some sort of gore and damp with rain, that catches you completely off guard.

The storm howls outside the open door, and still, you stand, staring at them like a new fawn, entirely shocked and shaken to your core, watching them drip a mixture of blood and rainwater onto your perfectly clean floor.

The blonde one-well, the blonder one-the one not currently being held up by the other, but the one doing the holding, moves into motion first, staring at you with something akin to almost open amusement in his gaze as he heaves the other man toward the nearest available surface, which just so happens to be your kitchen table.

He lays the other man down, who groans long and low at the jostlement, and turns to you, hands on his slender hips.

Gods, have you ever seen a waist so tiny? You don't think so.

Your mouth suddenly waters.

"You're a healer, correct?"

You pull yourself from your weirdly distracted thoughts and realize the man has been addressing you this entire time. You shake your head and instantly snap your gaze to his.

"Yes." You nod, and hurry to the table where the injured man still lies in a crumpled heap, suddenly transitioning into business mode as you bustle about, gathering basic supplies. "What happened?"

The standing man leans against the edge of the table, seemingly entirely unphased by both his companion's pained groaning, and your frantic flurry.

"Little run in with the wrong crowd." The man supplies vaguely with a slight shrug, and your fingers pause in their search of the dozens of bottles on your shelves as you glance over your shoulder at him incredulously.

He shrugs again.

"We've both seen worse."

You seriously doubt that, considering his friend is currently bleeding out on your kitchen table, but you bite back your retort and gather the rest of your supplies in tense silence.

Your mother had always warned you your sharp tongue and rash nature would get you into trouble some day, and you didn't doubt it, but at the time, her beatings had seemed like trouble enough.

You dump the armful of salves, herbs, and relics onto the table beside the other man and reach for another basket full of wound bandages, carefully curated earlier that morning.

You glance to the man standing beside the table, the frighteningly unbothered one, and then down to the other man lying on the table.

They're both wearing dark, black clothing, laced with straps and vests. You catch the hint of a dagger peeking from beneath the standing man's shirt, and you don't doubt that they're both absolutely covered in hidden weapons, though that fact doesn't seemed to have done the wounded fae much good.

You almost snort in amusement at the thought, but clear your throat instead and glance down once more to the injured fae in front of you.

There is dark blood still seeping from somewere you can't quite track because of his black clothing worn head to toe, and as you watch it puddle on the floor at your feet, you suddenly have a terrifying thought.

You don't know where to begin.

The lighter blonde leans onto the table, watching you with a sharp gaze. When he speaks, his words are slightly taunting in a way that make you itch with irritation.

"Aren't you going to, you know-" He shrugs and gestures to his friend with an arched, cocky brow. "-heal or whatever?"

"Yes, just give me a minute." You snap back testily before you can stop yourself, clamping your teeth down on your lips immediately when you realize your tone.

You don't know who these mysterious men are. They're clearly higher station than you are, dressed to the nines and touting expensive weapons, and you don't know what they could have done to you if you mouth off.

They could have you tortured. Or exiled. Or-worse.

You shudder at the thought, but the fae standing across from you doesn't seem angry, or even perturbed, by your sharp, out of line retort. In fact, if anything, he looks-amused?

He crosses his arms over his chest with a slight smirk. "Okay, you're the healer here. Just thought we might want to help him before he bleeds out all over your kitchen floor you know?"

You ignore his clear jibe and hold out a hand without looking up at him, your gaze scanning the fae lying still now on the table, assessing him how you've been trained to do.

His pulse and breathing are erratic, but that's normal, he's probably in shock. If you can find and stop the bleeding-

You glance up as your open hand remains empty and the man across the table continues to stare at you blankly.

You force down your irritation and motion with a jerk of your chin to the small table next to the kitchen sink, and coincidently to his left.

"Hand me a knife please."

A slight smile ticks the corner of his mouth at your obvious distaste in the polite word, but he reaches over and hands you a knife without so much as a word.

You thank the gods for that at least.

Turning back to the wounded fae, who you're fairly certain is unconscious by this point, you carefully begin to cut down the line of his fine tunic, tearing the fabric with nimble fingers to reveal his chest.

It's a shame to ruin such a pretty frock, but you're sure they have dozens more just like it.

Your eyes beg to get stuck on the defined ridges of the male fae's abdomen, the v of his lean, toned muscles where they disappear into the waistband of his breeches, but you focus, grounding yourself with running through a list of herbs that might be helpful, no matter what the wound, as you continue to shear through his tunic.

Marigold. Fane's Bane. Tempter's Snare. Lilac of Sumac.

Your thoughts come to a brief halt as your hand stills, your lips parting on a sharp inhale of breath at the sight of the man's torn lower ribcage.

You're absolutely gob smacked at the extent of the wound bared before you, entirely caught off guard that it hadn't torn the side of his fine tunic to tatters just like his skin.

The reddened gleam of muscle stares back at you, the blood sluggishly still sliding down the table and to the floor, and a hint of white bone flashes where it sticks through the tattered skin.

Or what's left of it.

The man across the table takes notice of your sudden freeze, and he leans over to get a better sight of what you're looking at.

A low whistle escapes his plush lips.

"Fuck. That's a nasty one." He exhales in a mutter, and you glance up at him, appalled at his obvious lack of concern and the blatant almost impressed lilt to his words.

You grab the mortle and pestle from where you placed it earlier, and begin to shred herbs into the bowl, working so quickly your hands are a blur, the motions almost automatic.

You have to stop that bleeding. And fast.

You pound the mixture into a pulp, then reach for a small decanter full of sparkling, shimmering liquid, and carefully pouring a tiny amount of the Moon Water into the bottom of the bowl with the rest of the herbs, you stir diligently until it resembles a thick, blue tinged paste.

Breathing out a harsh breath, you set aside the pestle and scoop the salve into the palm of one hand.

You're aware the fae across from you is watching your every move carefully, but there's no room in your mind for him right now.

Not when you're fairly certain his friend's life hangs in the balance.

Carefully, you pinch the ripped skin together as best you can, covering the gleaming bone and slick muscle, and smooth the paste slowly and thoroughly over the gaping hole in the male fae's side.

He gives a pained groan in response, and you know he's still unconscious, but you also know that this particular treatment stings like a bitch.

Pressing the palm of your hand down harder, so the salve seeps between your spread fingers and into all facets of the wound, you start to mutter the incantation beneath your breath that will stitch the skin back together.

The words flow over your tongue like water, familiar and sure, and beneath your palm, you feel his ribs begin to shift back into position, his muscle kneading itself right again, the skin pulling closed under your fingers.

You can feel the drain on your reserves with each word whispered, but you don't stop, not until the wound has all but closed, leaving nothing but a fresh, angry, red scar against his tan skin.

Pulling back with a sigh, you reach up with the back of your hand and swat aside a stray, irritant hair, before you glance at the other fae.

He's watching you with an odd look on his face, that disappears as soon as your eyes meet his.

You ignore the weird, low burn in your gut and wiping your messy hand on a nearby rag, lean low over the table, putting your ear close to the wounded-now healed-fae's lips.

You listen, taking stock of his rhythmic, even breathing, the slowing of his pounding heart, and feel instant relief soothe over your tired, stretched body.

He's okay.

"You know, if you wanted to kiss me, love, all you had to do was ask." A low, guttural voice rumbles hoarsely, and you start in surprise, your eyes snapping up to the once unconscious man's dark gaze, now staring right at you with a slight smirk on his full lips.

You realize then that you're incredibly too close to his face still, and instantly shove back from him, creating space between the two of you.

He chuckles, wincing slightly as the sound pulls at his newly healed ribs, and the blonder man steps forward then, slapping his hand into the other's with familiar camaraderie and slowly pulling him into a sitting position on the table, ignoring his slight groan of pained protest.

"Glad to have you back." The irritatingly cocky one says, and the one on the table gives him half a grin.

"Can't get rid of me that easily."

Both their gazes flit to you and you realize you're staring, trying to puzzle them out.

You quickly look away and move to start cleaning up your supplies, placing everything in it's acquired place, studiously avoiding their curious gazes, following your every move.

Finally, you've had enough of their silent perusal, and you turn, placing your hands stubbornly on your waist as you glare them both down.

"Well? Are you going to sit there or are you going to clean up the absolute mess you've made of my kitchen?"

You motion to the blood still dripping slowly and surely from the lip of the table, but all the standing man is chuckle, pulling up the other with a heave of effort so they're both on their feet.

Your glare doesn't waver, though you suddenly realize with a jolt that the previously wounded fae is still shirtless.

You resist the urge to let your eyes drop down the length of his hardened body, but only barely, and curse yourself as he gives you an arched brow and knowing smirk in return.

"Actually-" The annoying pain in the ass with the lighter hair says, reaching for his discarded bag and stepping toward the door. "-we have to be on our way."

You scoff, outrage filling your belly like a fire, and leap forward to slam the door shut once more as he pulls it open a mite to reveal the still howling storm outside.

"Really?" You growl out, staring up at him, trying to ignore how much taller he is then you, staring down, watching you like some predator assessing a future prey. You ignore the heat that thought lights in your belly. "I saved your friend's life and not even a thank you? Don't they teach you upper classes manners or some other useless shit for a situation like this?"

The man's eyebrow tics up at your words, but you don't think it's in surprise, and when he laughs, you realize you were right.

He's amused by you.

Like you're some sort of pet meant to entertain him with tricks.

The thought makes your insides sear with rage, and before you know what you're doing, you've balled your hand into a fist and moved to swing it right into the middle of his gut.

There's that impulsive side of you again.

Your mother is probably rolling in her grave right now.

As quick as lightning, the man catches your fist so easily it's pathetic, and you struggle against his hold, his long fingers on your wrist, as the other man gathers his own gear and watches on curiously.

He doesn't make a move to intervene.

"Let me go." You spit out on a hiss like an angry, cornered cat, and something akin to challenge flashes in the man's dark eyes as he leans toward you.

"No, I don't think I will." He practically purrs, and you want to rip his throat out with your teeth, wipe the lazy, confident smirk right off his perfect face.

He crowds into your space, and your back hits the wall beside the door.

"As for a 'thank you-'" He muses, reaching up to twirl a strand of your messy hair around his finger, and it takes everything in you not to bite said digit off. His gaze flicks down to your mouth and back up again, as if he knows what you're thinking. "-I don't know if you're quite ready to receive all that our gratitude entails just yet, little bird."

"Don't call me that." You spit out, but he merely laughs, releasing you and moving to the now open door beside the other waiting man.

He cocks his head and gives you a slight smirk, and you don't know if it's luck or fate, but in that moment, the lightning flashes, illuminating his handsome face and the dark, swirl of his eyes.

Something inside of you shudders at the sight.

"We'll be seeing you around, little bird. I'll make sure of that."

And then, another blink of lightning, and they're gone.

************************************************************************

The second time they come through your door in the middle of the night, there's less blood than the time before, but definitely a more generous plethora of colorful words that weren't used before, heating your ears and turning them red.

The one who was hurt last time closes the door behind him, and you scan him quickly, assessing silently, as the cocky one from before continues to swear low and steadily, settling into a chair in front of your small fire without so much as a lick of invitation.

You heave a sigh, biting back the irritation itching beneath your skin, and put your hands on your hips, bouncing your gaze between them.

"You know, you can't just barge in here whenever you please-"

The blonder one swears, more harshly this time, and shoots you a glare that doesn't quite hit when his features contort with a grimace of pain halfway through, his fingers flinching where they rest against the side of his throat.

"Save the lecture, birdie. I'm fucking on fire here."

You stare at him, shooting him a glare of your own in response, another retort on your lips, but the sharp words die on your tongue as soon as you see the dark tinged blood trickling from between his fingers.

You instantly jump into healer mode, hurrying to him and prying his fingers away from his neck in one smooth movement.

He hisses in pain, flinching as you tear his fingers away from the wound, and you gasp, eyes going wide as you glance at the injury once more, and then to the other man, standing nervously beside the fire, playing agitatedly with a dagger between his small fingers.

"Are those...bite marks?" You manage to get out, your gaze falling once more to the slowly oozing holes on the side of the sitting fae's neck, and he manages a laugh that ends in a groan as he winces with pain at the movement.

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and the only show of his discomfort is the whitening clench of his fingers on the arms of the chair as he smooths out his features, one by one, before looking up at you.

He gives you half a smirk. "If it looks like a mule, and sounds like a mule-"

You resist the urge to slap him, and instead, hurry to your herb cabinet, calling over your shoulder as bustle about, "What happened?"

You're not sure they'll answer, but you're surprised when he answers back between gritted teeth and on the end of an irritated sound, "Vampires."

The fae beside the fire sighs. "A hunt gone wrong. And vampires a ruthless fuckers at the best of times, but especially when they're cornered and wounded with no where to go."

"Bloody bastards." The sitting man growls in agreement, and you can hear the murderous rage simmering just beneath his words.

Your fingers still in shock, but you quickly shake yourself, melding together a poultice and wrapping it in a warm, wet linen bandage before you return to the fire and the fae waiting there.

You kneel down beside him and look up at him, and a dangerous, fire comes into his eyes as he stares down at you from his sitting position.

"I like you on your knees for me, little bird."

Fuck decorum, fuck being careful. You immediately slap the prepared poultice a little bit too roughly down on the wound on his neck and he visibly winces, which gives you some sort of sick, twisted satisfaction.

"Fuck." He grits out, and you shoot him a triumphant look as you hold the medicine in place.

"Don't antagonize your healer. That's rule number one on a long list of rules."

He matches you stare for heated stare.

"What else is on the list?"

"None of your concern."

His brow tics upward, and a muscle in his jaw feathers at the challenge in your voice.

"Everything about you is my concern, little bird." He growls warningly, sitting forward toward you, even as the poultice runs with the movement and stains the fine black collar of his shirt.

"Hm. I must have missed that announcement." You sniff, refusing to be cowed, staring him down right back. "Maybe when I missed you introducing yourselves, or saying 'thank you' like civilized human beings instead of barging in here like savages and treating me like your own personal play thing."

He glares at you, hissing when you adjust the poultice rather harshly once more, but you match him step for step.

He's no match for you. You're not afraid.

You can feel the fae beside the fireplace watching the two of you with something akin to amusement as you bicker, and you're surprised when he suddenly announces into the tense, stiff silence, "I'm Felix."

The man in front of you flicks his gaze quickly to the other, and something he sees there must cement something in him, because with a defeated sigh, he sits back, away from you, and says with slight irritation, "Hyunjin."

You pretend you're not disappointed by the sudden space between you, and take in a long, deep breath before looking to the two of them.

Hyunjin arches a brow, staring at you sharply as you remain silent, studying them.

"Aren't you going to return the favor?" He asks with slight bite to his tone that makes you bristle.

You glance beneath the poultice, and satisfied the bleeding has stopped and the poison has been pulled from the bite, you remove your hand, shoving to your feet without a backward glance and heading toward the door.

You tug it open and turn to them expectantly, the cool air wafting in from the dark night and brushing your skirt against your ankles.

"No. You owed me, not the other way around. I owe you nothing. Now-" You motion with a jerk of your head and try to bite back a satisfied smirk at the annoyance that flickers across Hyunjin's features at your clear dismissal. "-please leave so I can go to bed."

Something akin to interest alights in Hyunjin's swirling eyes at your words and you already know what he's going to say before the worlds drip suggestively from his full lips.

"If you want to go to bed, little bird-" He starts with an arch of a brow, pushing to his feet in a predatory sort of way that makes you want to shiver, and not entirely in a bad way.

"-then she should." Felix finishes for him firmly, tugging him toward the open door and past you with a pointed stare, one which Hyunjin returns with irritation.

You bite back a grin and give them a flippant little wave.

"Please don't come back." You call out pleasantly, though you mean every word, and then you slam the door shut right on Hyunjin's fierce glare.

Locking up, you can't help the grin that creeps across your lips at his ire.

*****************************************************************************

They do come back.

Again.

And again.

And soon, it becomes routine-the door crashing in in the middle of some random night, one of them dripping blood onto your floor, as you assess the wounds and hurry to gather supplies.

It becomes routine to gather herbs that might help their specific ailments when you're out in the meadows during the day, or hunting through the village market in the early morning before the crowds descend.

Routine to keep things on hand that you know they like-the sweet buns Felix loves, the recipe passed down from your grandmother, held in a little basket beside the stove-the bitter tree bark from the aspens that grow all around the clearing of your cottage that Hyunjin likes to chew to paste between his teeth, especially when he's irritated or hurting, just to take the edge off, stuffed into a jar on the fireplace mantle.

You hate yourself for thinking of them often, knowing them so well, but another, smaller, more hidden part of you hopes they think of you as well.

Tonight, they've brought you a nasty arm slash, courtesy of a Changeling's wickedly sharp claws, and Hyunjin flinches slightly as you smooth a purple, foul smelling paste over the edges of the wound.

"You really are a big baby." You tease, as you reach for a vial of golden Sun Glow, tipping carefully measured drops onto the jagged edges of the largest gash that mars his forearm.

Hyunjin levels you with a glare and a protest that holds little heat, his gaze darting wildly to his counterpart who is lounged beside the roaring fire. "Not true! Felix was wailing last month over that banshee curse like a welp screaming for its mother's breast!"

Felix flips Hyunjin off lackadaisically, his feet propped on the opposite chair as he practically suns himself in the fire's flickering flames.

"Hold still." You chastise under your breath off handedly, concentration on the words you chant beneath your breath and the liquid you're now smearing across Hyunjin's torn skin.

He goes still as a rock beneath your fingers and something inside of you goes warm at the thought that he listens to you when he really needs to.

You finish smoothing the skin back over the torn muscle and sit back with a sigh, wiping your dirty fingers on your skirt as you take in your handiwork with a satisfied nod.

"There. Good as new."

Hyunjin flexes his fingers, the muscles in his forearms rippling, testing the movement, and you can't stop yourself from staring at the ropes of corded muscle as they shift beneath his tan skin.

You wonder briefly what they'd feel like beneath your tongue, or wrapped around your bare waist, or how they'd flex differently if he was using his fingers inside of your-

You glance up, and he's watching you with a knowing smirk on his plush lips, like he knows what you were just thinking.

Gods, you hope not.

Blushing, you duck your head and begin to gather up the mess of supplies, standing up so quickly that you nearly upend the basket in your arms, hurrying to put space between the two of you.

You feel hot all over, and it has nothing to do with the fire and everything to do with the still smirking fae currently sitting in your rickety kitchen chair.

You clear your throat, washing your hands in the bucket of water in the sink, and call to Felix over your shoulder, "Felix, do you think you could hand me the rest of those supplies that need washing?"

Maybe if you just stay in this dark little corner of the kitchen, dousing your skin in frigid water, the blush will leave your cheeks faster, and the heat lingering between your legs from your impure thoughts about the two men currently sitting in your cottage will dissipate like a banshee in the wind.

"You look like you need help, little bird." A low, lilting voice murmurs darkly in your ear, and everything inside of you instantly melts into a molten puddle that settles between your upper thighs as strong, corded arms slink around your waist.

Okay, so maybe not, damn them. You should've know they wouldn't make this easy on you. They're hunters after all, their entire profession deals around smelling out a prey's weakness and using it against them.

Only now, you're the prey in question, and the weakness they can smell all over you is the sinful, heated need slowly growing wetter by the second between your legs.

"I don't." You reply back, a little delayed and a lot more breathless than you had hoped.

Hyunjin chuckles against your skin, his breath warm, pricking goosebumps all up and down your arms as the delicious sound finds a home in your chest, sending your heart skittering like a frightened deer.

"What do you think, Lix?" Hyunjin asks smoothly, casually, as if he's simply discussing the time of day, not your current predicament, wedged between the warm, hard lines of his body and the stiff lip of the counter.

He glances sidelong, and you follow his gaze to see Felix there, watching the two of you with something sharp and delicious and promising in his eyes that has your knees instantly feeling weak.

You're glad Hyunjin is currently holding you up.

You watch as Felix's tongue darts out to slowly wet his lips, his pupils swallowing up the golden glint of his irises as he stares at you like you're his next meal.

You can't seem to bring yourself to care.

"I think-" He takes a step toward the two of you, eyes never leaving your own, and you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips as he comes closer, crowding you in like a predator cornering his prey. He licks his lips once more, as if tasting the sound on the air, and his pupils blow. "-she wants our help, Jin, craves it even, but she's too prideful and stubborn to ask for it."

Behind you, Hyunjin shifts, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip as you feel him press into you from behind, hard and eager.

"Is that true, little bird?" Hyunjin purrs, his fingers going up to curl around your chin, directing your gaze back to his, fiery and filled with promise. "Do you want our help-"

His gaze drops down your body, trapped between his and the unyielding sink, and something flashes in his eyes as a smirk crosses his lips, and then you feel it, the press of his thigh between your own, and you know, know by the way you shiver and the way he takes in a sharp breath, that he can feel your wet silent, plea through the thin material of your dress.

Something smug comes into his dark gaze at this realization, and he finishes his previous goading statement in a low, satisfied growl, his fingers tightening around your chin, "-with this?"

You find a tiny shred of will in yourself to be infuriatingly stubborn on the matter for just a bit longer, to hold out, even though you really want to give in to everything they're suggesting, everything they're offering, without a second thought.

"Aren't you the ones usually asking me for help?" You goad back, and something flashes in Hyunjin's eyes at your taunting tone, something that makes the heat between your legs flare with urgency. You tsk, relishing the way his heated gaze flares in response to your challenge. "My, how the tables have turned, hm?"

"Enough playing." Hyunjin growls, and instantly slings you over his shoulder easily, as if you weigh less than a sack of potatoes, toting you toward the hallway that leads to your small, modest bedroom.

You shriek and kick helplessly, succeeding in little other than hiking your dress up around your hips, and when you glance back at Felix, following closely, his gaze has moved boldly and unabashedly to the bare skin of your legs, and his expression has morphed into something akin to open hunger.

Heat curls low in your belly at the look on his pretty, delicate features, and the thought that you, and you alone, put it there.

Hyunjin tosses you onto the mattress that takes up the majority of the small room, and you breathlessly try to right yourself, not even thinking to ask how he knew where your bedroom was.

It probably wasn't that hard to put two and two together when it comes to your small woodland cottage honestly, especially for a man trained in the ways of observation.

"Who gave you the right-" You start to protest angrily, but Hyunjin is already moving to place himself between your thighs, unlacing his tunic in one smooth movement as he does so.

"You did." He pushes right back, his eyes trailing hungrily down the lines of your body, till they rest between your thighs where you currently ache, and you're not even sure for what.

He leans forward, his breath hot as it washes across your skin, and you resist the urge to tremble beneath him as he snakes a hand up to cup your jaw.

"You did-" He repeats in a growl, his eyes holding yours with fiery triumph. "-when your body reacted so perfectly to ours, little bird, like you were made for us."

You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips at his words, heady and almost dizzying like wine as they drip over your body and mind, finding a solid place in your chest beside the flare of something else that's been slowly building every time they've come to you in the night.

You can't deny it now, worming its way between your ribs, cementing itself into the crevices of your heart like the vines of WurstWood that trail the trellises of your small home, sealing every crack.

But you want to, because that's what you are, who you are-all sharp retorts and biting remarks and cracked, barely healed wounds.

Something determined cements in Hyunjin's gaze at the open war happening on your face, and then he pulls his tunic over his head fluidly, baring himself from the waist up.

All words of protest immediately die on your lips at the sight of him, bare chested, before you.

You trace the mounds of his firm pecs, then down the ridges of his perfectly sculpted abs, the deep v of his muscles where they disappear into the cinched waist of his breeches, and without thinking, down the hard, ready outline of where he strains against the expensive fabric, ready to spring free.

You swallow hard, and your gaze drifts back up to his face-the sharp slope of his nose, the full pink bow of his lips, the scar that marks the dark line of his elegant eyebrow.

You take in the scars that litter his bronze skin-the pale, silvery lines of old wounds, the jagged, angry, pink puckers of new injuries-and as you catalogue them silently, one by one, the realization that you've been there for most of them, run your fingers over each one of them, that you've healed most of them, steals your breath.

"Hyunjin-" You breathe out, not sure where you're going, but you don't have to find out, because his lips crash into yours then, silencing any further useless words.

His tongue slips between the part of your lips that was left behind by your surprised gasp as he devours you, and when he groans into the open seam of your mouth, you react without thinking, tangling your fingers into the long, platinum strands of his hair, tugging him impossibly closer to you, covering your body with the lithe, lean lines of his own.

You mold together like you were made for each other as he ravishes your mouth, and when he pulls back suddenly, leaving you gasping for breath, your breasts brush his chest with each panted inhale and exhale, and you can feel him pressed hard between your thighs as you groan with barely concealed frustration at the distance he's put between the two of you.

"I know, little bird." He chuckles, the sound hoarse, and leans forward to nip at your lips once more, and when you buck your hips up into his in retaliation, making him growl, long and deep in his throat with barely restrained desire, his hand goes to your throat to hold you still, pinning you to the bed, and he glares at you with a thinly veiled threat in his eyes.

"Careful, little one. I'll make you pay for that."

"Do it." You challenge back, your own voice hoarse and thin from kissing, your teeth tacky as you run your tongue over them, not missing the way his eyes track the movement, smugness flaring to life in your belly at the restrained heat you see in his gaze.

"As much as I would like to-" He warns, voice low and dangerous, sending heat right back between your thighs, as he leans forward once more, his teeth scraping across your throat in a biting, rough promise that has you whining and arching into him. "-I'm sure you understand, little bird, that I need to share."

His words send molten confusion through you, but when he sits back on his heels above you, smirking down at you, and Felix appears in your peripheral, still fully clothed, but just as worked up as the other hunter, suddenly, things slot deliciously into place.

"We share everything." Hyunjin says, voice like liquid heat, as his attention slides to the other hunter, the burning flame in his gaze not wavering as he leans forward, running a thumb along Felix's full bottom lip slowly, sensually, in such an intimate way that it has you rubbing your thighs together to get some much needed friction, hoping it will give you relief, just a bit, to the burning need that's flaring anew just from watching the two of them.

"Hunts. Quarries." Hyunjin continues easily, voice dropping to a sensual purr in his chest as he flits his gaze down Felix's body, the way his chest heaves beneath his tunic, the hard muscles of his chest beneath the thin fabric, the obviousness of the other man's breeches straining to contain him. "Kills."

"Each other." His gaze flickers back to you, and you resist the urge to whimper as he tugs Felix down on the bed beside the two of you, reaching for the laces of the other hunter's tunic, before he slowly begins to undo the closure at Felix's collarbone, the other fae's throat bobbing with a hard swallow as Hyunjin closes the distance between them, swiping his tongue up Felix's exposed throat, leaving a long, wet stripe on the bronze of his skin.

Hyunjin's gaze stays firmly on you-the way you writhe between his legs, looking for some sort of friction, for some sort of relief to the heat gathering in your core-even as his fingers continue to steadily unlace Felix's shirt, revealing the tan, scarred planes of his chest, before he finally tugs it off of the other man's frame with one easy, fluid motion, leaving Felix bare to the two of you from the waist up, just like the fae currently straddling you.

You resist the urge to drool as you hungrily take in first one of them, then the other, like a peasant eagerly taking in the sight of a splendid feast set before them after months on the street.

Just like Hyunjin, you recognize more of Felix's scars than not, the familiar marks on his rippling skin telling the story of your time together.

"And now-" Hyunjin leans forward once more, his eyes flashing dangerously, his lips close to your own.

You fist your hands into the sheets to stop yourself from closing the gap to meet him, and lie still.

He smirks, watching the internal battle in your eyes, and you growl in response, as he tics an eyebrow upward at your unspoken, unfounded threat, the smirk only growing wider at your obvious agitation.

"-you, little bird."

He admires you for a moment, staring down at you as you hold his gaze, not willing to back down even an inch, and then he slides his molten gaze to Felix, slowly, casually, as if he has all the time in the world.

The ache between your thighs would like to argue that point immediately.

"What do you say, Lix? Wanna make our little bird sing?"

Felix must read the open invitation on Hyunjin's face because he turns his dark gaze on you, and there's something predatory on his features that wasn't there before, something that makes a pleasant and entirely anticipatory shiver roll down your spine.

He smiles, teeth flashing, and it does nothing to calm the sudden excited patter of your heart against your ribs.

"I dunno, Jin." He muses thoughtfully, staring you down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, making you clench up, and his eyes flash at your response, dark, warning, the gaze of a hunter. "Does the little bird's song sound like our names being screamed from her lips?"

Your throat goes dry at his obvious implication, and you want to say something along the lines of fuck you, and gods, yes, please all at the same time, so instead, you just let out a strangled sort of whimper from between your lips that has both hunters grinning in tandem dangerously.

"I think that's a yes from our little bird, hm, Lix?" Hyunjin queries as he arches a brow at Felix, and when he looks at you once more, his expression is all predator, and the pulse between your legs in response has you thinking that you'll enjoy being prey for the first time ever in your life.

********************************************************************************

You don't know what woke you from your sleep, until you hear the sound of something scratch against the front door, and everything inside of you instantly goes on high alert, all the fuzziness of remaining slumber washed from your limbs as you silently creep from the bed and down the hall on cautious steps.

It's not Hyunjin and Felix, here for one of their routine, middle of the night healing sessions.

They would have simply kicked the front door in with no pretense or any hint of stealth and demanded you help them.

Besides, they're away on a hunt, and told you not to expect them back till closer to the end of the week.

No, this is something far more sinister, you can feel it in your bones.

Holding your breath, trying to figure out the culprit of the noise, you crouch when you reach the front room and stealthily sneak behind the table in the kitchen.

The noise sounds again, louder this time, like some sort of claw being dragged down the wood of the front door.

You silently glance around the room for anything that you could use as a weapon, trying to remember what Felix and Hyunjin had taught you, and settle on a broom you find tucked near you between the sink and counter.

It's crude, and probably won't be much help, like your limited fighting skills, but it's better than nothing.

The lock on the front door jiggles, as if someone is trying to see how solid it is, and then it drops to the floor with a crash, skittering you into better hiding beneath the sink before whoever just broke the sturdy lock on your front door comes crashing into the front room and catches sight of you.

You quiet your breathing, making yourself as small as possible beneath the safety of the sink among the bottles you use for various healing methods, holding the broom out in front of you, and wait.

There is silence for a brief moment, and then the sound of the doorknob turning, and the front door creaks inward.

A heavy footstep.

And then another.

You hold your breath as the steps grow closer, and a stench washes over you that has you choking not to cough, biting back the urge to gag as you try slide further beneath the sink.

A large, clawed foot covered in coarse, dark hair comes into your limited line of view, and everything inside of you goes cold.

Werewolf.

There is a lone, far away howl from outside, and the beast in the room with you pauses and then answers back with a piercing howl of its own that threatens to burst your ear drums.

Your fingers tremble on the broomstick you still hold, and you fight your hardest not to cry out in fear as the beast quiets, snuffling loudly as it works its way farther into the room.

You whimper, and before you can stop it, the sound leaves your mouth quietly, audibly, and the werewolf freezes in its tracks.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You immediately slap a hand over your mouth and freeze, but it's sniffing the air now, long snout and yellowed fangs cocked, and it takes a halting step toward you, before it growls, long and low in its throat.

You have approximately ninety seconds before that thing finds you and rips you to shreds.

It takes another step in your direction, and shifts down to all fours, teeth bared and beady eyes scanning the room sharply, nose still quivering.

It can smell your fear.

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, you make a decision, and move.

Dropping the useless broomstick with a clatter, you duck out from beneath your hiding place and dart around to the opposite side of the kitchen, hoping to make a run around the wooden table and escape out the open front door before the beast can get its barings.

Your feet slide on the rug underneath the table in your scurry, and with a sharp cry, you go down hard, just as the beast rises to its feet with an angry roar and swipes at you with razor sharp claws at least ten inches long.

Glasses of herbs and salves go shattering as it down around you, and you scream as you cover your head from the brunt of the chaos, pushing yourself on hands and knees beneath the safety of the table, in between the legs of the chairs.

The werewolf bellows and comes down hard on it's front paws, putting it's weight on the table, cracking the old wood right down the middle.

You scuttle out and away from its angry rampage, and make another desperate sprint to get to the door, your lungs burning, your knee and arm aching where you went down on the floor only moments before.

You hear the beast turn and follow, barreling down on you, its paws slapping the floor, a growl in its throat, and you push yourself even harder.

You don't know if there's more of them out there, but your best bet is to get out of the house and try to lose them in the trees.

Just as your searing lungs get a taste of cold night hair, the werewolf swipes a large clawed paw out as it lunges with a roar, and your feet are swept violently out from underneath you, sending you tumbling to the floor once more with an exhausted scream of frustration and fear.

You lie there, seeing stars, willing yourself to get up, even as your body doesn't respond.

You can feel hot, warm liquid running down one of your calves, and you know the muscle is shredded from the hit from the werewolve's giant claws.

The werewolf chuffs approvingly, as if triumphant it caught you, and stands over you, your body feeling absolutely dwarfed and defeated between it's giant tree stump legs.

It leans over, snarling low, its teeth snapping in your face, and as hot drool drips from between its bloodstained lips down the arch of your cheek, you screw your eyes shut and take a deep breath.

This is it.

This is how you go.

Taken out by a werewolf? How stupid. How asinine.

The beast sniffs along your face, as if scenting you before it mauls you, and you do your best to remain as good as frozen under it's massive body.

Maybe if you stay still, it'll kill you quickly and not play with you before it decides to eat you.

I'm sorry, Felix, Hyunjin, you think helplessly, as the beast leans over, it's teeth going to your throat. I didn't want it to end like this, I didn't get to tell you-

Suddenly, there is a pained whine from the werewolf standing over you, and bright light floods behind your eyelids once more, as if its shadow has disappeared from on top of you entirely.

There is the agonized sound of another werewolf howling, somewhere far off, and then you hear another cry, closer, and much more familiar.

The wolf in the room with you snarls, and you crack open an eye in time to see Hyunjin leap over your fallen body and stand protectively in front of you, bow drawn and another arrow, matching the one already protruding from the werewolf's muzzle, already knocked and waiting.

"Fucking mutt." He growls, eyes flashing with hot fury as he circles the werewolf, waiting for its next move, his hunting leathers still cinched tightly around his legs and waist. "You won't live to regret this."

Suddenly, hands are on you, and you're dragged to a corner of the room, away from the werewolf and the hunting Hyunjin.

Your body feels like lead, but when you look up, Felix is crouched in front of you, shielding you from the danger and the werewolf with his body, his arms caging you in, his eyes full of open concern.

You want to cry, you're so relieved to see them.

"Are you hurt?" Felix is asking, scanning down your body, as if looking for a reason to join the fight right alongside the enraged Hyunjin.

You laugh, a watery, panicked sort of sound and shake your head as you draw in a shuddering breath. "I should be asking you that."

"Fuck." Felix swears, having caught sight of your leg, and he rushes to press his hand to the still oozing wound, applying pressure, even as you hiss in protest. "You're bleeding."

You want to tell him that he's stating the obvious, but your head feels fuzzy and your mouth is full of cotton, and the sound of the werewolf snarling as it battles Hyunjin seems to be growing farther away by the second.

You reach up a finger, swiping away the streak of fresh red blood that adorns Felix's high cheekbone.

He holds your gaze seriously. "It's not mine."

You stare at him, everything relaxing inside you slightly at the knowledge, and then without thinking, you blurt out, "I think I'm in love with you."

Okay. This is a more stupid way to go than the werewolf.

Felix stares at you with his mouth slightly agape, and you don't know if it's the blood loss or the sudden bravery etching through your veins, but you hold his gaze, unwavering, until a small smile finally lifts the corner of his pretty mouth.

"You think?" He repeats back, as if he can't quite believe it, or maybe he's berating your word choice.

"I don't know!" You throw out your hands, and wince when the movement jostles your injured leg, your voice rising with irritation. "I don't know what love feels like, but I would assume this is it? I don't want either of you to get hurt and I miss you when you're gone and I really never felt lonely living here alone but now I do, and I know all your favorite things and could trace every scar I've ever healed with my eyes closed, and when I thought I was going to get eaten tonight, I realized that I never got to tell you any of that."

Felix is still staring at you, expression unreadable, and you huff and fold your arms over your chest, glancing away from him at his lack of response.

Gods, you really hope he just lets you bleed out.

Hyunjin appears then behind Felix's crouch, wiping a bloodied blade on his tunic before he sheaths it and glances down at both of you. His face is splattered with dark red blood, and you blame it on the blood loss for thinking he looks even more attractive covered in gore.

"What's going on here?" He asks with a curious look between Felix's frozen state and your petulant pouting.

Felix shifts, the movement making you hiss between your teeth, and glances up at Hyunjin with something akin to amusement on his features.

"She 'thinks' she loves us." He says without any preamble, and you almost choke on your own spit.

You'd get up right now and kick his ass if it weren't for your bum leg.

Hyunjin snorts, glancing down at your shocked face and then he sighs, crouching down beside Felix, his eyes searching your expression for something you're not sure he finds.

His lips lift into half a smile as he studies you, but his dark eyes are nothing but intent, serious, truthful.

"The night I brought Felix to you. The first night we met." He starts, and you nod, acknowledging you remember. He cocks his head and his eyes brighten slightly. "You didn't take one ounce of shit I gave you, and I respected the hell out of that."

You scoff, moving to roll your eyes and look away, but his fingers capture your chin and keep you in place.

Your feel your breath stutter in your chest at the look that washes across his face as he glances down at the blood slowly oozing from your leg between Felix's fingers.

"And then tonight, I came in here, and I saw you on the ground and I thought-" He pauses, taking in a deep breath, and you're fairly certain it's the first time you've seen him even look remotely vulnerable.

He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Anyway." The hint of a smile is back and he reaches up with his thumb to wipe a splatter of blood from your own cheek.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, little bird, is that I've been in love with you since the first time you gave my shit right back to me from across that table."

Your chest collapses, and tears fill your eyes.

Felix reaches up to carefully wipe away the moisture, his own lips pulled into the hint of a soft smile now.

"And I was a goner as soon as I woke up and saw those perfect, plush lips so close to my own, love."

You laugh a little, swiping at your eyes, and bite back a grin that wants to tear your face in half.

“Now say it back. Without the ‘think.’ Hyunjin commands, but his eyes are teasing and warm. “You have to do your part, sweetheart. This goes both ways.”

"All right, fine." You admit teasingly. "I guess you're all right. You did save me from a werewolf after all."

Hyunjin growls playfully and swipes at you, and you manage to evade him, even with your useless leg.

Felix glances down at the wound and you sigh, glancing around at your wrecked home, the dead, bloodied body of the werewolf slowly dissolving to ash in the corner, the pile of broken bottles on the ground by the cracked table.

Hyunjin leans over and swipes one last stray tear from your eye, and when your gazes meet, he gives you a smile that sends warmth all the way through your body.

"C'mon. We'll help you clean up." He wags a finger in your face as Felix helps you stand. "But only because we love you, and only this once."

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fanwarriorfictions · 26 days

Text

Not Again- Part Four

Summary: With the discovery of a special book, Y/n is one step closer to home. The inner court learns even more about her family back home. And Azriel needs a babysitter of his own

Series Masterlist

-Part Four-

Amren found them in the kitchen, food had been waiting for them on the counter before they’d even arrived, the house it seemed was sick of her not eating as well. She’d simply laughed at the nagging presence and started filling her plate. Azriel had entered moments later, a small scowl on his lips from being left in her dust. He’d huffed and quietly filled his plate, he wasn’t kidding when he said flying worked up his appetite.

“I have use of your stray, boy. Go find somewhere else to be.”

Azriel gives the small female an unimpressed look, “nice to see you too, Amren.”

Y/n pushes her half eaten plate away, waving off the wisps of shadows that angrily dance around her at the action, “Did you find something?”

“I had that insufferable songbird pull any books she could find with your Wyrd marks,” Amren says, snapping her fingers.

A pile of books fall onto the counter, old withered pages that look like they hadn’t been opened in many many years. A plume of dust flies off them and Y/n wisks it away with a small breeze.

“Can you read them?” Azriel asks, eyeing the pages one book that’d fallen open.

“I thought I told you to find somewhere else to be?” Amren snaps, though there’s no threat behind it.

“My babysitter here is vigilant in his task,” Y/n sighs ignoring the withering look Azriel gives her, she takes one of the books into her hands and flips through some of the pages, “My mother taught me what she knew of the marks. Protection, locking, unlocking, many things like that, but we never covered gates, it simply wasn’t possible, and she didn’t want me testing fate.”

“Well to bad, it would’ve been useful to know that now,” Amren sighs, picking a book out of the stack, shoving it towards her, “Gwyn said this one practically jumped off the shelf at her.”

Y/n eyes the title and almost drops the book in shock. Azriel takes a casual step closer to peer over her shoulder at the book, a shadow finds her arm and gently wraps around it, a comforting touch.

“You know it?” Amren asks, giving that wisp of shadow a curious look, “I couldn’t read it, what is it called?”

“The Walking Dead,” Y/n answers breathlessly, “in my native language.”

Azriel couldn’t read the book, but he still looks over her shoulder periodically as she flips through each page. She’d been at it for hours, taking notes on the scraps of paper littered over the dining room table. Amren had taken the remaining books to look over, most had been fae scholars from this world musing over the marks, nothing quite as useful as the book in Y/n’s hands it would seem. Amren would also look over the Book of Breathings, see if anything jumped out at her.

Y/n had barely spoken to him the whole time, quietly mumbling to herself once in a while as she wrote. Azriel noticed that her notes switched between his language and her own in sporadic patterns, sentences switching back and forth, one word in one language then the next in the other. Swirling letters that connected in long strokes of her pen. The words were close together, she hardly lifted the pen as she finished one to write the next, like her brain was moving faster than her hand could keep up.

She was so focused that she didn’t notice Azriel slip out the door, didn’t notice when Rhys had appeared and waved him towards the hall.

“How’s research going?” The High Lord asks, “Amren has yet to find anything useful.”

Azriel turns an eye through the door, at the female still engrossed in that book, “nothing yet, though it seems Y/n may put Amren to shame in relentless focus. I don’t think she’s looked away from that book for more than the few seconds it takes to write something down.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Amren she has the competition,” Rhys chuckles, “I hear you two went for a flight today. All over Velaris people are talking about the almighty Shadowsinger chasing after a bird all afternoon.”

He gives Azriel a shit eating grin and Az scowls back at him, “she was determined to leave her babysitter in the dust.”

His scowl deepens when Rhys just laughs, “what? Don’t like chasing after pretty females?”

“I’m sure his ego is just bruised cause he can’t keep up,” Y/n’s voice calls out from the room behind them, “Big strong males tend to dislike being shown up by us pretty females.”

Azriel glares over his shoulder at the female who hadn’t even looked up from her notes, “I can keep up just fine.”

“Sure you can,” she laughs, turning a page, “I won’t hold back next time if that’s what you wish.”

His shadows laugh in his ears and he turns his glare on them. Rhys next to him grins as he walks into the room, eyes taking in the mess of papers full of Y/n’s half put together thoughts. She finally looks up then, acknowledging the male with a small nod of her head.

Her eyes are tinged red, like she hadn’t even blinked in the time she’d been sitting there. She glances at him, grinning at the scowl still on his lips. He glares harder, shoving his shadows down as they continue to laugh at him.

Rhys looks between them, “found anything useful?”

It breaks their stare and her smile falls. Azriel gets the strangest sense that he wants it back.

“Yes and no,” she sighs, “I recognize a lot of it, this was the book my mother learned a lot of what she knows of the Wyrd marks. She used it to open a gate to the place souls rest once to talk to… a friend. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere, I just need to keep looking.”

He notes the pause, the shift of her tone, whoever Aelin had tired to talk to, it was a sore subject. Take a break, she’s sad again, sad, she needs to rest, working for hours, hours, break. Azriel is half tempted to hiss at the nosey little shadows. They’d been at it for the last hour, as soon as the sun started to dip below the horizon, it’s like they switched into nanny mode. He wasn’t sure why they were so concerned anyway, she was more than capable of taking care of her damn self.

“The gates are the tricky ones,” she continues, grabbing pages of notes, “I’m close to figuring it out, I could probably open a gate, but to get to the right place is the hard part is opening one to the right place. I could just as easily walk right into a hell realm as I could into my own. And as fun as that seems, I’d rather not test my luck.”

“How many realms are out there?” Azriel asks.

“Who knows,” she shrugs, “my mother remembers falling through many, she couldn’t even describe most of them because of how fast she was falling. Give me a day and I think I could figure this out-“

“You’ve been at it for hours,” Rhys cuts in, “surely you could take a break. Maybe join us for dinner? We’ve all stewed up more questions for you, Cassian has a list.”

Yes, yes, yes, dinner, she didn’t eat enough, yes. Mother above, he wished he could get the shadows to shut up.

Y/n hesitantly glances at the papers surrounding her on the dining room table, “I seem to have commandeered the space. I’d hate for it to get stained.”

Azriel could tell that what she really wanted to say was, I need to keep working so I can get home. It was written in the longing glances at the book, in the way she flew towards the horizon like home was on the other side, the way she looked at the sky expectantly, searching for something he couldn’t quite figure out.

“We’ll eat at my home,” Rhys shrugs, “your research will be here, exactly where you left it when you return.”

She looks ready to argue, to deny, to beg to stay, but instead she sighs, “Is dinner a casual affair, or does your lot like to preen?”

Rhys laughs, “It’s whatever you like, preen as much as you wish.”

She hums, “My babysitter and I will be there shortly then.”

Mother, give him strength. She pushes to her feet, giving him that saccharine smile as she walks past him towards her room. Her scent lingers as she leaves, that hint of embers stronger than usual. He can’t help the subtle intake of air, nor the shadow that grazes her wrist like it would wrap around and make her stay.

She’s barely out the door before Rhys is clapping him on the shoulder with a quiet chuckle, “do you need a babysitter? I’m sure Cassian would like to return the favor.”

Azriel snarls at him, “We’ll see you at the house brother.”

Rhys just laughs again, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he moves towards the door, “take your time. I wouldn’t blame you for being a little late.”

“Get out.”

Azriel waits for her in the living room, she’d still been in her room when he’d gotten dressed, which wasn’t surprising since it only took him a few minutes to change into a slightly nicer shirt, he didn’t bother with the preening, Rhys did that enough for all of them.

Heel clicks on the floor alert him to her approach, she turns the corner into the room and Azriel couldn’t stop the way his body goes absolutely still.

He thought night court black suited her but he was wrong, she looked good in it but it didn’t compare to the way she looked in this dress. Deep green of a forest, the silk fabric flows with her body like water, showcasing each of those curves like currents, with accents of silver thread and shining jewels that glow in the light like the stars above. She’d lined her eyes with kohl, giving them that sultry look that could drive a male wild. And her lips, Mother help him, her lips were painted a deep wine red, so dark it could’ve been black.

Gorgeous, she was absolutely gorgeous. He’d known she was pretty, he wasn’t blind, he’d noticed when he’d found her laying in the moonlight, even covered in blood she was beautiful, but it didn’t strike him till now exactly how attractive she was.

“You like what you see shadowsinger?” Her grin is feline and lethal, voice dripping with honey, “I told you I was your type.”

He doesn’t respond, simply continues to look her over. There’s a fire in her eyes that has his shadows whirling around him and when her head angles in that predator way, he’s almost willing to be the prey.

House wasn’t a good discriptor of the giant building that sits before her. Manor maybe, but Azriel had called it the River House. Rhys and Feyre’s personal residence that Feyre had apparently designed herself. The garden in the back had been where she’d fallen into this world, she’d been to frantic to really appreciate her surroundings. It was absolutely beautiful.

Azriel led her through the front door and the interior was just as magnificent as the outside, intricate and elegant, yet it still felt warm and lived in. A multitude of paintings lined the walls as they walked to the dining room. From their conversation earlier, she assumed they were done by Feyre herself. The High Lady had mentioned her art studio, she had a class this afternoon that she would be teaching. Y/n had leaned towards musical arts, but she always loved going to galleries with her aunt Lysandra. According to Rhys, there was a section of Velaris called the rainbow, the artist quarter of the city. She assumed she’d flown through it today with Azriel, the place had been alive, filled with music that she couldn’t help but be drawn to.

As they moved down the hall she could hear the sounds of the Inner Court, as they called themselves, growing closer and closer. Their laughter reminded her of home, of dinners with the cadre and her uncles visiting from Adarlan, or even Nesryn and Sartaq all the way from the southern continent. They were never quiet affairs, always full of laughter and teasing, usually from Fenrys and Dorian on the later.

The last dinner like that had been little over a month ago. She’d dressed up in a gown this exact color. Her aunt Elide had helped her do her makeup, she’d practically had to hold her down in her chair so she could finish, to excited to sit still. It was her favorite nights of the year, these dinners, seeing her family come together all in one place. Sometimes they’d even convince Manon to join them, never aunt Manon, though she’d gotten away with that once when she was a child. It was always magical seeing her and Dorian dance around each other as if they weren’t desperate for the other.

She would sit there and watch her family, watch the way everyone loved each other. How her parents would stare into each others eyes and grin like someone had told a joke. How her uncle Aedion would dance with her aunt Lysandra to music only the two of them could hear. How uncle Chaol and aunt Yrene would bicker together with smiles still on their lips, to the utter annoyance of her cousin, Josefin. She watched them all, and hoped one day she would have someone who would love her just as fiercely

“Where’d you go, princess?”

Her mind drifts back from that far away place across the stars, finding Azriel’s gaze on her. Stoic as always, but she could see the bit of concern behind those whiskey eyes. It warms something in her, just barely, just enough for her to give him a small but genuine smile.

“Home,” she says quietly, “I was home.”

“So you’re telling me, a demi fae is one of your strongest warriors,” Cassian says, throwing quotes around the words, “and the guys power is death, just pure death? And he’s how tall exactly?”

Y/n laughs, “My uncle Lorcan has described it to me as death, I’m not sure what that means exactly, it was a gift from the old God of Death, Hellas. It looks like Azriel’s shadows, though they’re not sentient little creatures more like whips of shadow that he controls. I don’t know how tall he is exactly but he’s taller then you, he’s taller than all three of you males, actually. You should see the height difference between him and Elide.”

Azriel couldn’t help the small grin on his lips as his brother continues to pester Y/n over the apparently giant uncle of hers. It’d started with him asking about her father, and then the rest of his cadre. She’d told them all about the mighty warriors. Fenrys, who she could only describe as very very pretty, he could shift into a giant white wolf, and winnow, though not quite as much as those here could. Lorcan, the giant shadow wielder, who’s name is apparently Lord Lorcan Lochan, to everyone’s utter amusement. And a mysterious figure named Vaughan, who she admits wasn’t around a lot when she grew up, usually away in Wendlyn, he could shift into a massive osprey.

“There’s no way, he’d have to be like seven feet tall,” Cassian argues, mouth opening to ask yet another question.

Nesta elbows him in the side, “I want to hear more about the shapeshifter.”

“Lysandra,” Y/n supplies the name with a warm smile, “Her favorite form is a snow leopard, lethal creatures, but the softest fur you’d ever felt in your life. When I was a child she’d let me cuddle up next to her by the fire to take naps.”

“You’d mentioned a sea battle earlier,” Mor chimes in, “what was the creature she shifted into.”

Y/n’s eyes light up, “One of my favorite stories, I would beg to hear it again and again. It’s called a sea dragon, the companions of the Mycenians of old Terrasen. When they were banished from their home centuries ago the sea dragons all died out and it became legend that once the dragons returned, so would the Mycenians.”

Azriel watches her, enraptured by her stories. It had been like that the whole night. She’d been stolen away by Feyre as soon as they’d arrived, more and more questions being thrown at her throughout dinner. He’d taken a seat across from her next to Cassian, who had by far asked her the most. But she met each one with a story, that look in her eye from out in the hall hidden but not gone. She’d seemed lost, far far away, and so sad. He’d almost turned around and brought them back to the house of wind just so she could keep looking for a way home, just to erase that look. But when she’d smiled at him, all he could do was stare.

“During the war my mother had traveled to Skulls bay.” She talked with her hands, Azriel noticed. “One of the missing Mycenians was there, she’d figured it out a long time before that when she was still an assassin, when she’d wrecked the whole port to free hundreds of slaves. Captain Rolfe, the pirate lord, was not happy to learn the assassin who’d ruined his island was actually the long lost Queen of Terrasen. He refused to send aid, so my mother did what she does best, she schemed. Her and my aunt devised the plan to bring the sea dragon back. The battle didn’t go quite as planned, the valg had sea wyverns, vicious and powerful. But that sea dragon form, huge and magnificent was stronger, smarter. She used them against the valg forces, sending those beasts straight into the hulls of their own ships. My mother tells me that she could barely keep up with Lysandra’s speed, if you blinked she was gone. It was close, she was badly wounded, but she won.”

“Wow,” Elain breathes, eyes sparkling, “That’s amazing.”

“My uncle Aedion tells it better,” Y/n shrugs, smiling at the memory, “He always told me that it was then that he decided he could not live without her. When he saw her bleeding on that beach still in that huge form, half wild from the fight, he wasn’t afraid of her even though she looked ready to bite his head off.”

Cassian laughs, hooking an arm over the back of Nesta’s chair, “I know the feeling.”

Nesta looked half tempted to bite him right then to prove his point. Cassian simply grins at his mate, that telltale look in his eyes that would usually have the pair leaving early at any moment.

Azriel rolls his eyes at the pair, looking towards the female across from him. To find Y/n already looking right back. She’s got that overly sweet smile on her painted lips that she knows gets under his skin. He gets the sense that she enjoys it, the way he glares at her, it’s like a game. See how much she could push before he finally pushed back.

Rhys leans forward, that knowing grin on his lips again, “How fast can you fly in that hawk form? You said you went easy on poor Az earlier.”

She laughs and somehow he doesn’t care that it’s at his expense, “Very very fast, I can shift the air under my wings to go even faster. I could make it to the house of wind in less than a minute if I wished.”

“Impressive,” Azriel says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh don’t be a sore loser, Az,” she taunts.

It’s the first time she’s called him that, he quite enjoys the sounds of it, “Is it really losing if your competitions got a boost?”

“Only using what’s in my arsenal,” she shrugs nonchalantly, taking a sip of her wine.

Azriel’s eyes zero in on the motion, appreciating the way her lips rest on the edge of the glass. He was right, that color stained.

Careful brother, Rhys whispers in his mind, Or I really will send Cassian to babysit you.

He glares at the high lord, I do not need a sitter.

That’s what Cassian said, Rhys shrugs, Now look at him.

And it’s like a timer goes off on his patients, Cassian stands from his chair, taking his mate’s hand in his own.

“Well I think it’s time for us to go,” Cassian declares, he’d lasted longer than Azriel thought he would.

Nesta turns her eye on Y/n, “We train at the house of wind every morning, 8 am sharp, be there.”

Y/n grins, baring those sharp canines, and Azriel has the good sense to be wary of letting those two near each other in a sparring ring.

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@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 @fussel9913

#there’s some tension here and it’s mostly coming from azzie #hot lady wears some lipstick and this man is on his knees #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin

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