#I just can't get over this Mor silence.

[readychilledwine]

Pieces of You pt 3

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - self doubt, slight manipulation, discussion of moving forward after the death of a spouse, hurt people hurting people, HOFAS spoilers *slightly* (a lot of us had this theory to begin with and I just played with it to fit this)

A/n - It can only be uphill from here, right?.. Special thank you to @honeybeefae and @thehighladywrites for helping me think through how quickly I should let reader and Rhys move on, and for convincing me that I should continue writing this. (Ps friends - sorry I can't tag you. I evidently hit the max tag amount with my taglists.)

✨️ Pieces of You Masterlist ✨️

The 3 month milestone had changed your and Morwenna's lives forever. Rhys had finally convinced you to move into one of his homes. He was insistently whispering to you over and over that the small cabin wasn't going to work anymore, that Cassian and Azriel barely fit inside it, that once his Little Mor and sweet Nyx began to move you four would need more space.

It had been also heartbreaking, entering the home Feyre had crafted, each room so individually thought of for who it was intended to belong to. Above all else, though, it had been lonely.

It wasn't your home. It wasn't the finely crafted wooden arches your mate had assembled by hand. It wasn't the rooms you had spent hours picking colors for. It wasn't cozy. That lack of security and warmth was why you were once again up at 3am. Despite the babies now sleeping for longer chunks of time, you never did. Regardless of if it was a night Rhysand spent at your side or one he spent tucked into the room he had shared with Feyre.

You leaned your head back against the exterior of the home, looking up at the glittering sky, and it finally happened.

3 months of mourning in silence. 3 months of screaming into your pillow. 3 months of stress, of anger, of overflowing love, 3 months of feeling like a shell of the female you were, of feeling as though your body was no longer yours, it crashed into you like a tidal wave. And it swept and destroyed everything in its path.

Rhysand shot awake in bed, feeling something was off. His chest ached, begging him to get up, to move, to search. He pulled on pants, glancing at Nyx and Morwenna sleeping peacefully, but you, once again, had not come to the room. He waited for the wraith to appear, feeling her just moments after he called. “Is it y/n,” Nuala nodded to the question, moving to admire the sleeping babes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. She is mourning. That is her right.”

Rhys sighed, moving to your room without hesitation. He had hoped getting you out of that house would help. He had hoped the luxury he could offer you would have helped. He knocked on the door, listening for the broken come in that followed. “Why haven't you come to bed?” You were taken back by the question, taken back by him holding that perfectly tanned hand out. “Come to bed. Let me hold you until those sorrows melt away for the night.”

He knew you didn't feel it. That soft string that had made him scream, made him question all he knew about love and life. Part of him hoped you never did. Part of him hoped he would never have to explain to his family how it had taken him a miniscule 3 month period to fall in love with you and for a Mother given mating bond to snap. Part of him hoped he would never have to experience losing you, to add you to his list of things he would bury too deeply to properly mourn.

“I was unsure if I was wanted there.” That hand reached for yours, clasping it. He was so warm. Always so warm. You could bask in his warmth like he was the sun if given the chance. You shook the feeling mentally, though. “It is-”

“Our room,” he finished softly. “It is our room. Where our children are sleeping. Come to bed.”

Morning came much too soon for Rhysand. It had come much too soon for you as well. You took both of the babes, laughing as they spoke to each other in a language only they knew. They had begun taking more interest in each other, in toys, in the world. They were making life the greatest adventure, even if a lingering pain came from both of you seeing them smile so brightly.

It happened at the worst possible time. You were holding Nyx, forearm under his little tummy and letting “fly” as he worked so very hard to stretch his growing wings. Rhysand was watching you from the doorway, Morwenna on his hip as she looked up at him. Her thoughts were jumbled baby speak, all so happy. Nyx's were elated and fast. When you looked to the doorway, your wide smile fell as that string finished itself and settled deep into your chest.

Rhysand had never watched someone's mental walls fall as quickly as yours did. The silence in the room almost made the giggles of the two unknowing parties fade to background noise. “I was shocked too, darling. It's okay.”

Rhysand had dinner without you that night. He flew to the House of Wind with Nyx to eat with the Inner Circle. He wanted to give you time. He remembered the moment Azriel and Nesta came home, questioning their bonds after exploring those damned caves with the Quinlan girl and learning how the Cauldron had been corrupted. He knew you needed to process. He had too after all.

He took his seat trying to ignore the one that sat empty next to him. Everynight a plate was still sitting there. Even when you came, that chair sat empty, plate untouched. It was a screaming sign that the Inner Circle had not moved in. That they may never move on.

“It just makes the two mates theory make more sense,” Cassian and Amren were deep in a debate again. “If the Daglan, asteri, whatever the fuck we want to call them, did something to the Cauldron to ensure the mating bonds were taken over by it's creation for breeding purposes, then the existence of a Mother Blessed Bond must also be there.”

Amren sighed, “So which do you two have then?” Nesta stiffened at the question. “A Mother Blessed Bond is meant to be true love. It's who we are technically meant to find as a soul mate. A Cauldron made Bond is evidently strictly for breeding. Which do you two share?”

The table hushed. It was a valid question and point. “To continue,” Amren took a drink from her glass before setting it down with a gentle click. “If we come out and tell other courts about this, how many other fae will begin to question their bonds? Kallias and Vivienne? Tamlin and Briar? Helion and Saraya? Lucien and Elain? How do we even begin to prove which bond is which? Does it mean they love that mate less? Rhysand would not have loved Feyre less regardless of the bond type. He will never remarry. Never move on.”

Azriel flicked his eyes to Rhysand. He knew about the bond Rhysand shared with you. He had given Rhysand his blessing to move on and pursue. He had asked his brother to find happiness again. He watched the words land on Rhysand's features, watched his eyes dull.

“If Rhysand did find a new mate,” Azriel spoke softly. “We would all support him moving forward with the bond.”

Nesta scoffed from next to Cassian. “Imagine being that poor female. Living in the shoes of Feyre Cursebreaker. No one could compare.”

But you did, didn't you? Rhysand's grip on his thigh tightened before relaxing. You were just as special, as kind, as loving. You were beautiful. Gods knew you were absolutely beautiful. You were selfless.

“I wouldn't want to try to sit in her place. I would reject the bond,” Mor sipped her wine, leaned back with one arm across her stomach.

Cassian and Azriel both looked to where Rhysand was dead silent. “I need to take Nyx home. He's getting hungry. I'll be right back.”

When Rhysand came back to the House of Wind without his son, he had no intentions of coming back to you that night. So, he never did.

3 awkward weeks passed between you and Rhysand. 3 absolutely strange weeks of either heated kisses and touches or nothing. Not even a good morning. You sighed as you laid Morwenna and Nyx down in the nursery before taking the few strides to Rhysand's office.

He was avoiding you, and it hurt. It hurt knowing your mate, this beautiful unasked for second chance was avoiding you. He was hunched over his desk, reading over some papers and signing a few. “Are we going to talk about why you are avoiding me?”

“I am not avoiding you. I am busy.”

“Yes, busy avoiding me.” You sat across from him, feeling so cold and informal. It was as if you were nothing more than his employee. “Our children are asleep. We should talk about this while we can. I deserve to know if I did something wrong.”

He didn't even look up at you as he replied. “You didn't do anything wrong. As I said, I am busy.” This wasn't the voice of the male who coaxed you to sleep. The one who whispered his dreams to you. “You can go.”

The dismissal made the bond go taunt, and when he felt the first wave of your confusion and hurt, he locked it down more. “Rhys-”

“I think we should sleep in separate rooms again. Our relationship has crossed some lines.”

You blinked at him. Stunned and almost dead silent. “I don't understand where this is coming from?”

“It's the truth. I am your High Lord. You are my subject.” It killed him to say it. His own heart was screaming to stop, but that first brick wall now stood, waiting for the other 3 sides. “We cannot continue blurring that line.”

“You're my mate,” your broken whisper almost made him stop, but he dug in.

“Something we will need to discuss at a later date and time. Surely there will be away for us to reject the bond without causing a downfall and hurting your ability to nanny Nyx.” A second wall stood in place of you and his heart. He knew it was a low blow, and he watched your brows knit and mouth slightly open.

“Rhysand.”

“High Lord,” he corrected.

“Why are you doing this?”

“The bedroom you were in previously is fine.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I am establishing a boundary, y/n.” He watched as you began to cry, holding in his own tears as he did. “Our relationship needs to remain appropriate.”

"Do you not want me? We are blessed with this second chance, and you are just turning your back on it. Please, is it me? I know I am not the beauty she was, I know I am not as special as she was. But I'd fight to make you happy, for our children-”

"Nyx isn't yours. Stop acting like he is.”

He watched as you crumbled inside of yourself, that last wall forming around his heart by destroying yours. He didn't mean a single word, but how else was he supposed to save you? All the Mother had ever done to Rhysand was take and take.

You recovered from the blow quickly, nodding as you aggressively wiped the tears from your face. "You have the weekend to find someone else to do what I am. Wen and I are leaving.”

"You can't just take her from me.”

"Yes I can," he knew what was coming, that new bond screaming for him to stop this all. "You aren't her father. Stop acting like it.”

You wanted to slam the door as you walked away before his act fell, before he gripped his chest and warded the room to sob. Little Mor had quickly become his everything. That dark hair, that button nose, those deep blue eyes. She looked like his sister, but you didn't know that when you threatened to take her away. Hadn't known why all three winged males so quickly became attached to her.

And now he was losing her. He was losing you. He was losing everything.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @la-petite-lapin @juniperberriesaries @anuttellaa @luvmoo @mirandasidefics @soph1644 @hungryforbatboys @awkardnerd @bruxa0007 @eerievixen @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @ghostlyrose2 @amygdtjhddzvb @marvelouslovely-barnes @batii-skies @emma-andrea1 @buckystevelove @slut4acotar @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @throneofshadows @sevikas-whore @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @why4anne @miadialila @12358 @blushingfawnsposts

✨️If you are not tagged but your name is listed, Tumblr will not allow me to tag you for some reason!✨️

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand fic

[foxylady13]

"A thing of secret, lovely beauty"

Artist: Kloartz over on IG!

~Gwyn nimbly rolled to her feet, grinning so broadly that Nesta was momentarily taken aback by it. The priestess had been pretty in the library, but with that joy, that confidence as she aimed for the three priestesses, she had emerged into a beauty to rival Merrill or Mor.

~Gwyn’s fingers slid into hers, squeezing tight. Nesta looked up to find her holding Emerie’s free hand as well. Gwyn smiled again, her eyes bright. “Our stories are worth telling.”

~Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high.

~Azriel had winnowed her and Cassian here after training, but hadn’t lingered. Apparently, Gwyn wanted him to go over dagger handling, so he’d left them with a promise to return in an hour.

From the bonus chapter: Which happens inbetween Ch. 58/59 of ACOSF

~His shadows peered over his wings at her.  The young priestess smiled--and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows.

~“Aren't you cold?" His breath clouded in front of him.  Gwyn shrugged. "Once you get moving, you stop noticing it."  He nodded, silence falling. For a heartbeat, their gazes met. He blocked out the bloody memory that fashed, so at odds with the Gwyn he saw before him now. Her head ducked, as if remembering it too. That he'd been the one who'd found her that day at Sangravah. "Happy Solstice," she said, as  much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing.  He snorted. "Are you kicking me out?"  (He's showing concern about her being cold and we have proof from Azriel he was there at Sangravah and Gwyn isn't making things up like the other side tries to say)

~Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he'd spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. "I can't  sleep without my favorite dagger."

"A comfort to every growing child."  Azriel's lips twitched. He refrained from mentioning that he did indeed sleep with a dagger. Many daggers. Including one under his pillow. (Azriel shows more positive emotions with his interaction with Gwyn than seemingly around anyone else)

~How was the party?" Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music.

~She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Do you, though?" she pressed. "Sing?" Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle. "Yes."

~Gwyn tried the movement as slowly as he had, and he watched her  self-correct, fighting against the urge to open up her wrist and rotate the blade. She did it three times before she stopped falling into the bad habit. "I blame Cassian for this. He's too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days." Azriel laughed. "I’ll give you that."  Gwyn smiled broadly. "Thank you." Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch.  

~"Happy Solstice," Azriel said before aiming for the archway into the House. "Don't stay out too much longer. You'll freeze."  Gwyn nodded her farewell, again facing the ribbon. A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone. Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer. (Again, Azriel is showing care/concern over Gwyn possibly being cold/out too long and just look at the wording used here)

How the bonus chapter ends:

Clotho's pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.

Something sparked in Azriel's chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to  the House proper. How Gwyn's teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason... he could see it.  

But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly. 

A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

These scenes take place after the bonus chapter:

~Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face."

~The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. In a hundred years, a thousand, this moment would still be etched in his mind. That he would tell his children, his grandchildren, Right then and there. That was when it all changed.

~Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift. As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved.

~Azriel clapped his hands, and all the females straightened. “You’ll work in groups of three.” Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?” Az’s shadows danced around him. “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.” Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. “We look forward to proving you wrong.”

~Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder. Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. “You have no idea what you just started,” she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway. “Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?” Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. “You’re the new ribbon, Az.”

~“The first had just unbuckled his belt when Azriel arrived.” Silent, unending tears streamed down Gwyn’s face. “Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate. But I could barely move, and when I tried to get up … He gave me his cloak and wrapped me in it." (Without hesitation, Azriel slaughtered all the soldiers and gave Gwyn his cloak.... similar to Lucien breaking free of his restraints without hesitation to get to Elain and give her his cloak)

After reading all this.... how can you NOT think Gwyn and Azriel are endgame? And this is what you missed on Glee......

#gwyneth berdara #pro gwyn #pro gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth #gwyn acosf #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel's shadows #azriel #gwyn #azriel and gwyn #gwyn and azriel

[the-kr8tor]

Between the Devil...

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW suggestive, TW blood, CW panic attack, TW death, CW violence.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 14 >>> CHAPTER 15

You wake up to home.

Hobie's arm is slung on top of you, hand holding your own even in his sleep. His leg lays over your own protectively like he's shielding you from unforeseen dangers that lurk in the drafty barn. His hot breath fans your nape, lips brushing along the skin like stone skipping on a lake. You sigh, squeezing his hand, head lying comfortably on his other arm.

You're careful when you shift your weight so that his arm won't fall asleep, but judging by the sun's rays entering the small window behind you— you're sure his arm is already numb.

For a split second from waking up, there's a small part of you that thought you'd wake up alone. You're glad that part of you is wrong.

As if his senses are attuned to yours, he wakes up with a sigh before you felt his smile on your nape. His piercing is warm as he leaves featherlight kisses on your skin.

“Good dream?” You say through the fog of affection.

“I didn't dream,” you twist in his arms to look at him. Those grey eyes you love do much are properly rested, pupils blown out, content and peaceful. “Don't worry, that's a good thing. I haven't slept this well since— a long time. The closest I got was on our island.” He smiles, hand cradling the side of your head, thumb nonchalantly placed on your bottom lashes, careful not to accidentally poke you. You trust him not to.

“You're welcome by the way.” You joke, resisting the urge to kiss the goofy smile on his lips.

“Yes, thank you for eating my face off last night.”

“Please, you loved it. And it's not like you went hungry last night either.” Your skin is still warm from where he touched you. Your lips still remember how he tasted and how he moved with you in tandem.

Humming, he pecks your forehead. “I think I'm gettin' hungry again.” With a laugh, he rubs your bare legs with his frozen foot.

“Your feet are cold.” Instead of moving away, you scoot closer, which was already impossible since you're already laying next to him chest to chest. You can feel his chest rise and fall against the thin cloth of your slip. Nosing his neck, he fixes your fallen collar to hide your shoulder away from the cold. “Hmm, your hands are warm though.” You coo, fingers subtly inside his shirt, fingertips dancing around his hip.

“Can't say the same thing for your hands.”

“You have cold feet but warm hands and I have cold hands but warm feet. We're perfect for eachother.”

Hobie chuckles, you can feel the deep rumble in his chest. “Put ‘em all together and we'd both have normal temperatures.”

Giggling, he buries his nose atop your head, letting himself drown in you. With the comfortable silence, the various animals below the hayloft huff and chew, the hay under your bodies are scratchy and pointy so Hobie lifts you up slightly so he takes the brunt of the pointed hay, so you don't get itchy from the dry material. Your chin rests just below his clavicle, hands caged around his head, lips curled into a smile.

His heart almost stops when the golden rays kisses your face, the light from the window hits your form perfectly, blanketing you in its glow. Eyes shining, linen slip leaving almost nothing to the imagination, dust flying around you like fireflies— he thinks he has died in his sleep and is now in front of heaven's gates. Standing and gawking at the marvelous sight.

“You alright?” You ask like you didn't take his breath away.

“Are you real?”

You snort, “of course I am.”

“Then I'm alright.” Hobie's knuckles knead at your lower back, warming you from the cold. Hand gripping your waist, you feel right at home.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you and Hobie take a minute to bask in the silence and the slowness of the morning; just like on your little island where you learned to appreciate and truly know each other, you both just lay there and stare tenderly like the other would disappear from view.

“I've been meaning to—” You both say at the same time.

Chortling, you gesture for him to go first, “Captain first.”

“Ladies first.” He smirks, patting your back.

“You and I both know I'm not a lady, you're not much of a gentleman either.”

“I know, a lady doesn't snog like that.”

“Fine, I won't kiss you like that anymore.” You joke, acting like you're about to sit up, he brings you back down tutting with a knowing smile. Your cheeks hurt from all the smiling but he quickly remedies that by stealing a kiss right under your nose.

Giggling, nose bumping, you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Giving him what he needed, Hobie grips your waist tighter as if someone would rip you away from him. With a deep groan, he lifts your face up to breathe. He finds that he loses his breath frequently when you're near him.

Staring at your kiss bitten lips, he flips you back to the makeshift bed, leg hooked around yours. You let out a surprised sound from the back of your throat to which he silences with a peck. Fingers twirling at the little baby hairs on his nape, he unwillingly lets out a laugh against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, you look at him playfully and he knows exactly what you're about to say.

“You're ticklish!” You exclaim, eyes flicking down to the swinging pearl necklace, it hangs above you and you resist the urge to pull it down so you could kiss him again.

“Just on my neck—” you're already wiggling your fingers, “—dont.” He warns you with a stern glare, but it doesn't last as he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Surrendering, melting into.

“Alright, I won't exploit that knowledge. For now at least.” Hugging him, it's your turn to massage his back. His dress shirt is wrinkled under your touch, you guess the random lord from last night had a very rude awakening when he woke up in his knickers.

“You really do love me.” Hobie mumbles into your skin with wonderment. He doesn't recognize your scent with all the perfumes they doused you in, but it's there, it's faint, yet it's still you underneath it all. Still the scuttlebutt he fished out of the sea.

“I think I proved that last night. Do you want me to say it again?” You're prepared to say it a hundred times a day for him, knowing that those three words won't lose any meaning; and with every utterance of it would set it in stone and in his heart.

He hums, content, the rumble echoing throughout your body.

“I love you.” You embrace his head and in turn, he buries his face into the crook of your arm. “Love you,” peppering the side of his face with warm kisses, you smile through it all. “Satisfied, cap’n?”

“Very.” He sniffs, trying to hide his lopsided smile and stuttered breathing. “What was it you were about to ask?” With a sigh, he lets off of you, now laying side by side, hip to hip. He slithers his arm under you to hold you against his chest while his other hand plays with your intertwined fingers. “Were you about to ask why I attacked Miguel first? I figured your injury made you forget.”

“No,” you stare at your dancing hands in the sunlight. He can feel your new calluses that match his own. “I don't wonder about that anymore.”

“You don't want to know about it?” Hobie cranes his neck to look at your content face. “You, who wants to know about everything?”

“It doesn't matter anymore, it got us here, right?” He nods, the creases in between his eyebrows flattens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Does it put us in danger?” He shakes his head. “Will it hurt me?” Shaking his head again, you continue. “Then it doesn't matter. I just know that the tension got you both riled up, and it was enough for you two to lunge at each other.”

“It was pride, love.” Hobie swallows thickly. “But you're right if you don't want to know then I won't tell you.”

“Thank you,” You squeeze his hand, fingers slotting perfectly on his own. “I was about to ask how you are. How are you faring in all of this? Everyone keeps asking how I am but no one has asked how you are. You keep dodging it every time I ask. ”

“Does it matter?”

“It does,” you say breathlessly with a sigh. “How are you? Truly?”

“Tired, I think I just want to stay here with you in this musty barn.” You blink, waiting for the rest. “But I'm alright, keep holding on to me like this and I'll be better.”

You smile, sitting up by your elbow to look down at him, to see him fully. “It'll be over soon,” hand on his chest, you feel his heartbeat. “I promise, then we can do whatever we want. Go wherever we want.”

“Do whatever we want?” He teases with a playful smile.

“Yes,” you lean down to rub your nose against his own. It makes him shiver, hands holding you tight on your waist. “I kind of want to stay at a lighthouse for a bit after we figure it out.”

“A lighthouse?”

“Mm-hmm, easier to defend while we plan out things. Plus,” you brush your lips over his own teasingly. “It can only house two people.”

Hobie's breath hitches in his throat. “What are we waitin’ for then? Let's go find the wanker and stay at our tower.”

You giggle whilst he kicks the thick blanket off you. “Or maybe a new ship.” He pauses, neck slowly moving to look at you with a face that says ‘go on.’ “With better defenses, a hundred cannons and a huge fucking sail that can take us anywhere.”

“You gonna build us a boat then? Made out of bricks and steel like your lighthouse?”

You scoff, “that'll be the day. My uncle has a ship docked in the capital, if something happens—”

“Nothin', nothin' will happen.” He pulls you in closer, heartbeats synching, fingers digging in your arm. Yet, he's careful to not leave a mark or make you feel the dull press.

“If, if something does happen, we'll meet there. She's called ‘The Osprey.’ You have my permission to take it, captain.”

“Why are you talkin’ like this?” Concern wracks his body. “Do you know somethin’ I don't?”

“No, it's just that…it's been too good, too plain sailing—” you've been too happy recently. “That I think something will happen, something that would make our plan fail.”

“What do you mean? You got hurt, that's not good, love.”

“I'll live. I meant that you and the crew got out without a hitch. You found me without getting caught and no one has even tried to actively kill me. And Miguel...he told me it might be the king who did all of it. Who commanded Mathias to do it because he wanted to marry my mother. That's what I'm worried about.”

“Do you trust his word?”

“I just think there's something else he missed. That he might be wrong.”

“Do you trust Miguel?”

“A part of me does, I don't know.”

“Who do you think it was then?”

You exhale sharply. “I think there's another cog we don't know about. Miguel told me the king is a buffoon, an idiot. And from what I've seen— do you think an idiot is capable of orchestrating it?”

“Idiocracy could be dangerous too. I'll dig around the estate.” Before you could protest, he gazes tenderly at your nervous eyes. “I'll be careful, I'll dress like the staff, if I get noticed they won't talk.”

You nod, trusting him.

Sitting up to cradle your head in his calloused hands, he smiles to reassure you, attuned to your own worry. “That won't happen. If somethin' does happen, I won't let it.”

“You don't know that, Hobie.” Your chest feels heavy, hands suddenly tensing up. “We failed the last time and the time before that. If it happens again— leave me.”

“No, do you think I crossed the bloody sea, rowed a million times to this city and fought with my crew— my family, just to leave you behind?” His voice is determined. “'m not leaving you.” Taking your tensed hand, he places it on his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm you, even though he's terrified too.

“No more sacrifices.” Hobie breathes out, hands trembling.

A tear escapes your eye. Nodding your head, you compose yourself, sniffing, letting the thumping of his heart wash over you. You're scared, rightfully so, knowing that you might be against the crown itself. A powerful being, whose word is law.

You finally have your reason not to flee and he finally has his reason not to carve like the knife that he is.

And you're both holding it in your hands.

“You're good to me, Hobie Brown. Too good.” With your confession, grey pools whirl into guit, he has something to confess too.

“Your mother's letter,” his words make your heart stutter. “She wrote not to trust anyone. I intended to hold that burden for you but it's not my decision, so please, don't trust anyone, Y/N.”

“I trust you.”

“And I, you. I love you, whatever happens, know that I do.” His grey eyes swirl with anxiety, hands trembling for fear of death. Not for him but for you, the thought of you lying dead in his arms burns him inside out. And he's more than willing to spread the fire, to burn everything around him if it happens. “I promise I won't let it happen.” He whispers, head placed on your chest, praying that if fate cuts your thread, that they'll cut his too. “We'll have our lighthouse and our ship one day. I promise.”

In that rickety barn, you whisper promises of life to each other.

—

Sneaking out was easier when you had the darkness on your side. Now that the sun has risen and the residents of Hazelside now flock the land, you skitter around to get back inside the estate.

With a quick peck on your lips that has your knees weak, (that shouldn't even be called a simple peck) he reluctantly lets you go. It's not like you wanted to leave him either when he looks properly kissed by you. With his dress shirt completely opened, chest exposed to the golden rays. Elbow propped up, he lounges on the hay with a grin, a picture of someone who's absolutely satisfied, who knows why your skin is on fire and why your hands shake as you come down the hayloft’s ladder.

You shake your head, waving the image away from your brain, tucking it under the folds like a secret. You have to focus, hands holding the blanket over your shivering body, (not to mention how exposed you feel in the almost sheer nightgown) you hide behind a tree when a worker passes by.

Then something in you clicks, you technically own the place so why should you be ashamed? Granted, you did slip away in the night to spend it with Hobie, but they don't know that. So why sneak when you can confidently walk back inside like you own the place. You do own it, your family owns it, so you straighten up your back with confidence, blanket draped around you like an expensive cloak, you strut back inside the little crevice you came out of.

There's goosebumps rising on your arms when you feel their eyes on you. They stop from harvesting the trees, gawking at the new (disheveled) barefooted duchess trudging the field. Scratching their heads, they shrug and just like you thought, they let you on your way without a word.

Speed walking back to the old wooden door, you tamp down a laugh from how ridiculous you must've looked like.

As you close the door, darkness greets you once again. And you already miss him.

Following the walls with your touch, you stop when you hear muffled voices from the other path that you didn't take last night. Straining your ears, you hear arguing. With your curiosity, you follow the sound.

The path leads to a deadend. Light filters through on your left, touching the wall— it's rough and wooden on your palm. It's a bookshelf, you surmise. Peeking through the cracks, you see Victoria and Frederick arguing. And his wife seems to be winning.

Your uncle has his head in his hands, sitting down on a plush armchair whilst his wife screams at him with urgent words.

“—word is law!” She yells, voice shaking.

“I know.” Frederick says in a defeated tone. “Fucking fuck!” He stands up abruptly, pacing back and forth. “Did my father tell you about it?”

“Me?” Victoria scoffs, “he's your father! Not mine!”

“How could he—” Frederick sounds like there's cotton in his mouth, sentence in full disbelief. “He was close to them…how could he—fuck! And here I thought— I thought he didn't have anything to do with it. I've always had a feeling but…” he wipes his oily face with his hands roughly. “The three of them, christ, that poor girl.” Your heart plunges in your stomach.

“It's either us or her.” Victoria shakes her husband. “What would happen to our children if we refuse? What of John and Collette?”

“I don't want to—” Frederick stutters when his wife holds his face softly.

“But we have to.” She nods and he follows.

The door to their chambers fly open suddenly, and out comes a smiling John, completely oblivious to what transpired.

“The artist’s here!” He pauses mid step when he sees his parents' faces. “Collette’s on her way to wake her up— are you both alright?”

“We're fine, Jojo.” Frederick pats his son's shoulder, “let's greet him.”

As they leave the room, with the door clicking softly, you feel for your dagger. The familiar shape of it is missing on your thigh, you rush towards your room with a heavy heart. Your weak leg hinders you from running full speed but you persevere before they could get to you first.

Wincing, entering your room through the secret passage, you fling the tapestry away. Collette greets you with a blinding smile and a lilac dress on top of your bed.

“Oh there you are! I see you found the passages. Where'd you go off to?”

“I think I need to go.” You rapidly take your sparse belongings.

“Wait—what?” She takes your hand away from your shoes. “Why? You just got here!” Her face contorts into worry and sadness.

“I—” you heave from the exertion. “I'm sorry, Collette.” She's innocent from all of this, you thought as you grip her hand. You hear numerous footsteps outside the halls. It's too late to run. In a split second, you make a decision. “Can you do me a favour?” She nods tentatively. “Go to Miguel and tell him—” there's knocking on your doors. “Tell him I need him. Tell him my mother needs him.”

Collette shakes her head with confusion, her curls bouncing on her head as she moves. “Your mother?”

“Just tell him that, please? When you can…just please.”

He's your only hope, he has the power to take you away because he promised. Even if you and Hobie fight your way out of Hazelside, it won't be enough. Heart in your stomach, you fear for his life, not your own. You decide to act, to play the part until Collette brings Miguel back. So you play the perfect duchess like they've always wanted. For Hobie.

His words echo in your mind— ‘no more sacrifices’ and you apologize to him silently.

“I'll—” she understands the urgency in your tone and from your worried eyes. “— I'll tell him myself. You can trust me, cousin.”

“Thank you.” You embrace her, with an almost silent whisper, you tell her about him. Another promise broken at your feet. “There's a man staying in the barn, tell him to leave. Please.” She doesn't have enough time to reciprocate the hug as the door creaks open.

“Oh good, you're awake.” You don't miss how her voice wavers, so do her children. There's an army of handmaidens behind her, “we need to get you ready for your portrait.”

—

You sit stiffly on the velvet chair. The plush seat is in deep purple to match the soft lilac of your dress. The gown is tight on your body, bodice covered in gold stars and golden threads. Corset tight like a cage around your ribs. Sleeves fully puffed, ruffles looking like the waves of the salty sea. The skirt engulfs you, heeled shoes uncomfortable on your feet, making your weak leg shake under the mass of your skirt.

It all suffocates you as the artist forbids you to even move a muscle. Jaw clenched tightly, hand almost breaking the stem of the rose that they forced you to hold. The jewelry on your ears and neck is heavy, cold rubies making you shiver. With the finest garment and expensive yet heavy jewelry, you miss the weight of the dagger on your thigh. You couldn't get the chance to hide it under your skirt when all eyes were on you. Numerous handmaidens come and go from your room as their hands frantically get you ready for the portrait.

Just like the uneasiness in you, Collette stands shakily near her brother, eyes never leaving your stiff form, nervous and worried. And just like the dagger, she couldn't escape the dozens of eyes on her, she couldn't find the right time to escape and warn Hobie and Miguel. You trust that she will tell them, you have to.

Your mother's voice whispers in your mind, ‘Don't trust anyone’ you feel like you're drowning again.

You can hear Collette's deep sigh from across the violet room. The scratchy sound of the painter’s brush against the canvas irks you, makes your ears twitch from annoyance.

Your so called aunt and uncle sit on the couch like nothing happened, like they're not planning for your demise. A tower of sweets sits at the table, colourful cookies decorating their plates, fragrant teas in their opulent cups.

“Collette, darling.” Frederick calls, “you should play something on the pianoforte. I bet Sir Remus here would appreciate the soothing sound.”

“I prefer the quiet, Monsieur.” The artist says in a rigid tone. He dips his brush into a dollop of purple paint, smearing it on his pallet. You follow his movements like he's about to pounce at you and stab you with his brush. “If you don't mind— my lady, please refrain from moving.” He stares at you sternly, pointing his long finger at you accusingly.

“I wasn't moving.” You say through gritted teeth. He doesn't reply, returning to his canvas.

“Can I please be excused?” Collette asks timidly. Her tone raises an eyebrow on her brother's face.

“No, you may not.” Victoria scoffs out, you wonder if she knows.

The stem on the rose digs at your palms.

“But—” Collette turns to her father.

“Listen to your mother.” Frederick doesn't even look at her.

“It'll be your turn soon enough, Collette. Learn from your cousin, be patient and it'll all be fruitful.” Your aunt stares at you above her cup.

“What will be fruitful?” You ask, tone commanding, eyes alight.

“The portrait. You already look wonderful from here.” You can feel the lie in her throat.

“Bullshit.” Your voice echoes around the silent room.

Everyone pauses, frozen on the spot, eyes trained to your furious face. The painter scoffs with an amused smile.

“Excuse me?” Victoria clutches her pearls. “We do not use that foul language here, especially in front of a guest.”

“I'm terribly sorry. Please tell me what this portrait is for, aunt.” You fake a smile, clearing your throat.

She subtly shakes her head, offended. “It's simply for…” flicking her eyes towards her husband, he nods his head. You can see the guilt in them. “...your engagement.” Collette gasps whilst James blinks in shock.

The rose in your hand snaps in half.

“What?” You ask, breath stuck in your throat.

With a click of Remus’ fingers, a staff rushes in, exchanging the snapped rose for a new one.

“The Viscount called for you last night. He expressed his love for you with a proposal to which we…gratefully accepted.”

She stomps her pointed heel on your heart with every word.

“Who?” You ask tearfully, and the painter clicks his tongue, commanding you to not move.

“Viscount Eugene Thompson.”

“I just met him!” You scream, hands gripping the sides of your seat. “You have no right!”

“Madame!” Remus yells back. Instructing the staff to sit you back down. With their gloved hands, they grip your shoulder with a remorseful face, forcefully sitting you back down.

The walls of the purple room seem to get smaller.

Collette shakes her head subtly. James sees this and he immediately gets that something has gone wrong and it's not just the surprise engagement. His ocean eyes tell you to ‘play along.’

Exhaling, letting a tear escape, you act like the duchess you were supposed to be like if not for the past.

“You should've asked me, dear aunt, I would've gotten to know him more.”

“That’s what marriage is for, dear niece. You marry and then you know them after. That's how it's supposed to be for us who are highborn.”

“It's for the best.” For the first time your uncle looks up from his drink to gaze at you. His fingers tremble as he talks. “You get to be a viscountess and we get to stay here at Hazelside. No one loses.”

I lose, you furiously thought. You now know why they want to marry you off to a stranger. It's for them to keep their titles and house while you rot in somebody else's. Someone who might treat you less, someone who could hurt you. Someone who isn't Hobie.

With a cruel laugh, you cackle in your seat. “I get it now.” Your uncle's face contorts into shame while your aunt clenches her teacup hard with an angry sneer.

Collette turns away from you, hiding behind her brother. She knows and so does John who stares out the window, but will they still choose to help you? Or will they choose their titles over your freedom?

“You should be grateful.” Victoria says above the sudden silence. “With how…used you are, you're lucky that a viscount even wants you.” She says with a scoff. “If you weren't as used then you could've been married off years ago to a duke, an earl or even the prince himself.”

“...Used?” You ask rhetorically, making her say it again, making her face you fully with her cruel words.

“You've been to a pirate ship, I have no idea what your role was but I do know that it's impossible that you weren't soiled in that ship.”

You are scorched by the sun.

You almost pounced on her but a staff member suddenly appeared next to you. Her eyes are warm, jade eyes telling you to hold fast, hands telling you to stay down. She takes your bleeding palms, the sting you just now noticed from the spiked stem of the rose. Carefully bandaging your hands, she wordlessly nods at you.

Lips slightly parted, you have an urge to ask who she is and why she's helping you calm down. But you don't let yourself falter, taking this stranger's advice. With a nod and a familiar knot on your hands, she walks away from you, head down in respect or because it's what she's used to.

You take matters in your own bleeding hands.

“Why don't I meet him again? The viscount, so I could get to know him before I marry him.” You lie through your teeth. If you can't talk down your own family or get Miguel for help, then you'd take your chances with the viscount. Maybe he'll think twice about the engagement once you tell him you don't want it, or him. “For tea, perhaps?”

Victoria turns to her children who cower under her glare. “John, why don't you take Collette and send a messenger for the viscount? I'm sure he'd appreciate it if the invitation was sent by your hand, the future duke of Hazelside.”

“But—” John starts but Collette stops him by grabbing his arm.

“Will do, mother.” As the twins leave, Collette gives you a look, green eyes determined. With a nod, you know she's on your side.

“And Collette, darling, straight to your chambers right after.” As if your aunt knows, she forbades them from going out. With a nod to a broad footman, he follows the twins out of the room.

You indistinctly mouth Miguel's name, hoping Collette gets the message before she disappears from view. You wish that they can at least sneak in a letter to Miguel.

If she can't get to Hobie in time, you'll have to do it yourself. For now, you need Miguel back to Hazelside first and foremost. He might not like Hobie but he seems to care for you and your well being, he'll get you and Hobie out, you just know it. He has the title, the power to help you. And the stature that strikes fear into your aunt and uncle. You just hope that Hobie's in the barn, you'd run to him the moment you get the chance.

With your bandaged hands, you grip the arms of your chair. The velvet is slashed under your nails, fluff spilling out.

Victoria stands up, crossing the threshold towards you. “After your meeting with the viscount, there's no escaping this, no matter how you act. I know you're not one of us but you have to try. Marriage is the best option for the both of us. For the family.” She holds onto the back of your chair as you continue to stare at Remus.

“You’re not my family,” you look up at her with your burning eyes. “Whatever you're planning, you'll regret it soon enough. You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

She exhales through her powdered nose. “Hollow threats, dear niece.”

“It won't be, I promise you that.” You abruptly grab her wrist, nails purposely digging in. “If you're part of the reason why they're dead—” she tries to take her hand back but you're stronger. “I'll bury you under my grandmother's apple trees. Then you'll truly be family.”

Unknowingly, you embrace the same fire he has.

Frederick comes to Victoria's side, quickly making you unhand his wife by roughly unclasping your fingers around her.

Your nails scrape and leave a mark on her soft skin, to which you grin at. She has the look of a woman who's terrified for her life. Her husband shares the same look, but with regret in his eyes.

They leave the room, arms embracing each other, murmuring hurried whispers in their traitorous ears.

“Keep that look.” Remus cuts the thick silence. “I like it better.” He smiles, continuing to paint your likeness.

You wait and bide your time, waiting for your so-called aunt and uncle to fully disappear from the halls outside. You count to thirty.

Five.

You listen for their retreating footfalls.

Twelve.

The sound of the brush against the paper is the only thing that you can hear while you ignore your quickening heartbeat.

Nineteen.

Anger rages in you, Hobie finds something in the duke’s office.

Twenty-five.

You thank the artist for his time, using an excuse of not feeling well. His protests fall on deaf ears as you close the door behind you.

Thirty.

You run to him.

—

You try not to make it obvious as you sprint, only slowing down when someone sees you. After you're away from their view, you continue to run towards the barn like a moth to a flame. The ache in your leg is fiery. A harsh throb in your bones, the pain reverberating through your body.

It makes you wince and groan, slightly limping, you finally make it to your chambers. Quickly throwing off the blasted shoes, you immediately kneel down next to your bed in search of your dagger that you've kept hidden under the mattress.

Feeling the cool steel, you grab it, with no time to lose, you hold it in your hand as you head towards the familiar tapestry. Heart pounding like war drums, blood rushing in your ears, sweat dripping off your brows, you feel the fury in your lungs. It buries inside you, shoveling, tunneling, until it reaches your heart. You fight a sob when your knees almost buckle from under you.

Holding on to the walls, you go further inside the hidden path, in search of his warmth. His name echoes in your head, ‘Hobie, Hobie, Hobie’ it says, and you grip tightly around his name like it's your life line, your guiding light as you finally make it to the rotten wooden door.

The sun hangs low in the sky, the cold grass hitting your bare feet makes you gasp but it's not enough to stop you. It'll take more than that to stop you in your tracks, to stop you from reaching him.

The residents of Hazelside are far and few during this time of day. The ones who are left spare you a curious glance but they let you be whilst you run and run, until you reach him, until you reach your reason to live. You'll run forever if you have to.

Ankles burning, palm throbbing from the steel in your hand, you push the barn door open without a thought.

The smell of manure and hay hits your nose, the familiar scratch of a gun being unholstered rings in your ears.

Your heart finally finds reprieve when you see him bathed in the orange rays. Hobie points his gun away, holsters it once he lays his eyes on you. His pulse quickened further the second he spots the deep worry in your eyes. And how you heave like your lungs are about to give out.

Hobie leaves Bernard‘s side, letting the saddle fall on the horse’s back with a soft thump. Fast strides get himself in front of you at a quick pace. Grasping your face, tear stained cheeks tells him of what he feared, what you feared.

“What happened?”

“T-they're going to marry me off.” You weakly say. Holding his arm, you burst at the seams. The fire in you still burns, but you've had enough of its heat.

Now that you stand in front of him, the firelight in you dims, adrenaline fading, letting you be your true self.

You can't lose him.

“I'm sorry,” your hold on him gets tighter with every plea. You can't say it, say that you've given up even though you were forced to. But to you it's all the same. Failure means death, failure means they've died without justice. But failure also means you get to live, to continue to live with him. You're torn between the family you know and love, and the family you never got the chance to love.

And he understands completely.

You now see the cost of revenge laying at your feet, and it's him— Hobie's head rolling on the floor right next to Gwen's, Miles', Pavitr’s, James' and Yuri's. He has seen the same look in your eyes before in the mirror, the reflection cracked and broken. He can't let it happen to you, won't let the hunger burn you until you can't recognize yourself anymore.

And he can't lose you.

“That's alright,” Hobie embraces you, arms shielding you from everyone. Your face hidden in his leather vest, the familiar material helps ease you from the adrenaline rush. “Let's go then, fuck ‘em.” He says against your head. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

“Thank you,” you look up at him with tearful and restless eyes. “Thank you. Let's go look for the others.”

“I found something, but you're right, we need to go. Let me saddle him then we can—”

The doors burst open with a loud bang. The sheer force unhinges the doors from the frame. The sound scares the animals inside, their terrified cries rising above your own.

Hobie hides you behind him as a dozen or so guards filter through the doorway, their heavy boots thumping louder than the horse’s frantic stomping. They all raise their bayonets at Hobie while he stands with his own gun raised.

The men in uniforms yell at Hobie to let the gun go, to let you go like he's holding you hostage. But it's all muffled noise to you both, everything happens in slow motion. Dust floats in the air like it hangs suspended. You no longer hear the cries of the barn animals as you're more focused on Hobie, and he's focused on your safety.

He's calm amidst the numerous guns aimed at his head. He's in his natural state, but your hand around his arm makes him aware, aware that the bullets would pass through him and into you if they shoot.

For the first time, his hand shakes around his gun.

Outnumbered, he clasps your hand behind him, squeezing once. You already know what he's about to do.

“Hobie, please.” You whisper as you look over his shoulder. “No more sacrifices.”

Your words wake him. The fishbone is stuck in his throat once again. Choking him, strangling him as realization hits him.

It's the end.

“I can't,” you see tears in the corner of his eyes. “I can't let them have you.” There's desperation and grief in his voice. He can't lose you.

“I’m so sorry.” Kissing his clothed shoulder, you whisper a goodbye. “I'm so fucking sorry.” You don't want to lose him, but fate has other plans.

“Unhand her!” Frederick appears like he actually cares for your wellbeing. “Fucking scoundrel! I knew you were up to something, dear niece. Glad I got my footman to follow you. I thought you were just gonna run away on a horse but I did not expect to see the red hydra under my own roof.”

Without a second thought, you stand in front of Hobie. Protecting him with your own body. “Let him go, uncle, and I'll marry Eugene.”

“You know I can't do that.” He points his finger at Hobie. “He has a bounty on his head, you see.” He beckons you over. “Come, Y/N, we're gonna need the money for your upcoming wedding.” When you don't obey, his eyes flashes with remorse that's quickly replaced by the need for survival.

“Let him go!” You scream like a knife twists in your gut. Hobie tries to hide you behind him but you fight him. “Please,” your voice falters with desperation. “Please, uncle. Let him go and I'll marry Eugene, I won't fight it anymore. Just let him go.” You're ashamed, but it's needed for him to live.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but you don't hold the cards here.” Your heart falls in your stomach, it dissolves in acid. The duke cranes his neck to the officer near him. “Seize them, don't harm a hair on her but take the red hydra to the capital.”

“No!” You try to swipe with your dagger but it's fruitless as the uniformed men yank you away from Hobie. The steel clunks loudly on the ground as Hobie tries to hold onto you, the sleeves of your dress rips away as the men take you away.

His gun falls as one of the taller men punches him in the gut. Hobie spills crimson from his lips but he continues to fight the men. He kicks, scratches and bites. Getting a few hits in, he yells for you, calls your name with desperation.

Almost all of them hold Hobie down, but even with their numbers they still can't keep him still. Using all his strength, he fights back with sheer will alone. His elbow meets a face, nose crunching. His knee smacks someone on the groin, knees buckling. He draws blood with his nails, his mouth snapping at anyone who gets close. Someone made the mistake of getting too close, now the captor's ear is in his bloodied mouth.

Reaching for you as two men try to drag you away, your heels dig in as you try to reach for him too. Fingertips brushing along yours, eyes glued to your terrified face, he decides that his final words to you shouldn't be filled with agony, but with something that should help you survive, something to keep you alive once he can't be your reason anymore.

Because he's a knife born to cut and bleed, not to love. Or to be loved.

“It's not him!” Hobie screams as they continue to drag you away. “It's her! It's—!” A bag is put on his head, shutting him up with the rope tied around his neck. The men laugh menacingly as they cinch the rope tighter.

Hobie tries to resist, clawing at his captors, guttural screams let out from the same lips who called your name softly in his sleep.

“No!” You continue to thrash, nails digging into the arms of your captors. “Hobie!” Your voice cracks as you hear him start to choke.

“Oi!” The duke yells towards the guards. “Bring him to the king first! He needs to stand before him before you bloody execute him! What will he say if you bring the most wanted pirate in the country dead in front of the whole court, hm? You know how much he likes the theater of a trial!”

Air rushes in your lungs as they untie the rope. He coughs, spit darkening the bag. You yell for him again before a bag is placed on your head. Darkness invades your senses, and you're afraid of the unknown, afraid of what they're doing to him as they tow you away on the moist ground. Throat clumping up, hyperventilating, you try to desperately breathe. The guard's hold on you tightens and in turn, your throat tightens, shutting off your air. Heaving, ears ringing, your own breath fans on your face while you hastily try to take breaths in. Black dots dance around your vision until you fall unconscious.

This is the end.

—

You've been staring at the same spot for hours, blank stare, red eyes. Legs tucked, arms enveloping around it, your mind runs like an unhitched horse. Hobie's face is seared into your brain. You can see his wild eyes with every blink of your own. His screams echo in your ears like a death rattle, it might as well be if his fate is to be decided by the crown who hates every fiber of his being.

The soft bed doesn't provide comfort, the blankets don't shield you away from the stern stare of the guards guarding every single opening in your chambers. A behemoth of a man stands in front of the unicorn tapestry, his cutlass on his hip shines in the moonlight as well as your own dagger.

The once comforting eyes of the sea snake around the hilt now mocks you. You did this, you did this. You've killed him, your hubris killed him. You might as well follow him towards the end.

There's no more tears in your eyes left to be shed. Every muscle in your body aches from your wracking sobs. Your nails leave crescent shapes in your palms, tiny dots of crimson drips on the expensive silk bed sheet.

Yet, you want your mother.

The one who truly knows you, the one who saved you all those years ago. There's a part of you that wishes she didn't, that she left you alone in the arms of your doomed birth mother. But there's a bigger part of you who seeks Jessica's comfort. You seek her warmth from her embrace, like you once sought out your family. Family who turned their backs on you, family who locked you in your chambers like a princess in a fairytale. But this isn't a fairytale, it's real, and you can still hear his screams.

You would've given everything to meet your family back then, if only you could warn your younger self to come back to that small cabin in the woods, to beg Jessica to take you back. Even if it means you've never met him, even if it means you'll never feel his touch again as long as he's alive, knowing that he'll survive is enough. You now wonder if you didn't jump on that net that day, would everything still happen? Would Mathias still find the revenge? Would Finn and Ned still be dead if you just ran the other way?

It's too late to come back, it's too late to save them, to save him.

A bird passes by your window, and it's just now you realized it's dawn. The rose-pink sky upsets you further. Your brain concocts an image, an image where everybody lives. Where Finn and Ned drink on the revenge, where the trio plays cards on the rickety table. Where Hobie has his hands around your own as he guides them on the helm.

You haven't moved an inch from the bed, yet you stand in front of the mirror wearing a white dress.

With every pull of the ribbons behind the wedding gown you feel like they're gutting you like a fish ready for supper.

Silver threads weaved around the golden violets on your bust, the fabric is airy yet heavy and suffocating on your form. White gloves decorate your hands to hide the crescent shapes. There're heeled shoes underneath your feet to prevent you from running away, heavy perfume to hide the iron lingering on your skin. Make-up to hide your sorrows, jewelry to get people's attention away from the tears in your eyes. Top it off with a bow on your back and a golden tiara on your head— you're dressed properly for the slaughter.

And Hobie is too. If he had a mirror in the dimly lit prison they threw him in, he'd wonder who's looking back at him. He doesn't look like the captain he was supposed to be, doesn't *feel like the captain he was supposed to be. He's been beaten, his own ichor flowing out of his mouth and open wounds. Body shaking from the cold, he misses your fire.

He's not terrified of the blade that would kiss his neck, he's afraid to leave his family in this world. Afraid to leave you in this world.

He hates the fates for weaving him like this, to let everyone he has ever cared about die or be given a fate worse than death. Why did they shape him to be a knife that kills instead of something better? Something smoother around the edges, something that doesn't let everything he touches die?

Hobie whispers your name in the dark like you would materialize right next to him. The ground is wet under him, iron fills his nose, he wonders how many people lived and died in this cell. He feels the ghost of your touch on his hand, and he cracks at the seams.

Victoria appears next to you like a gust of wind. She fixes your mother's necklace on your neck, hands cold, nervous, terrified.

“You have a guest.” She says lowly, like she's already mourning.

For a moment hope blooms in your chest. Is it him? Did he escape to save you? Is he alive?

But if it was Hobie, Victoria wouldn't announce it. He would come to you like a dream, quick and quiet, touch soft and careful as he takes you away from your hell.

You have no fight left to scream at her, to claw at her painted face. She leaves before you could find the fight in you.

With gloved hands from the handmaidens, they guide you outside. Face blank and limbs limp, you let them.

They halt by twin doors, gold outlining the shape, birds carved on the dark wood. Eyes solemn, you only now notice the finely dressed man in front of you.

Eugene calls your name softly, like how someone would utter a person's name who's currently rotting six feet below the soft ground.

You are scorched by the sun. And you're ready to burn everything in your path.

“I'm so sorry about this—” Your knuckles hitting his cheek makes him stagger on his feet. He spits out blood, crimson coating the polished floors. “I deserved that.” He groans as he tries to straighten up with grace. With one look towards the staff, they all filter out of the hallway, leaving you alone with the object of your ire. “Listen, I didn't intend for this—”

“What did you intend then?” Your voice breaks from all the screaming and the sudden silence you sported after it. “Hm? Wed and bed me for what? Satisfaction? To breed me like a broodmare?”

“That—no! It's not like that!”

You wish you had your dagger to cut him right where he stood. Standing toe to toe with Eugene, he backs away from your heated glare. “What is it then? They're going to execute someone very close to me just because you wanted to marry someone you've only just met—”

“I fancy you and I had every intention to court you properly!” He sighs, and you notice the darkness under his eyes. “But this wasn't my intention. Getting someone in line for the gallows wasn't in my plan, or anyone's plan!”

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, he continues. “Listen, I gushed about you to my family.” There's no lie in his tone, but you still doubt him. Your punch leaves a mark on his posh face. “They encouraged me to call for you, knowing that I needed to marry or my title and estate would be in danger. When my godfather heard your name he did more than to encourage me. He's the one who orchestrated this…quick marriage. Not me.”

“Godfather?” You ask breathlessly.

“He's inside, I have no idea why he would do anything like this! I promise you, I had no hand in this. I was forced, if I had a choice I would have courted you then let you decide if you wanted to marry me or not.” He tentatively takes your hand, “I'd take care of you though, I promise.”

Frowning, you grip his hand in an iron grip. Eugene winces, eyes darting around for help. “You do have a choice, Eugene. You always have a choice.” Your voice shakes. “It's not too late, call off the wedding and we can forget this ever happened—”

“I can't. Your family already paid the dowry, and we already paid our dues.” He says through the pain, voice faltering. You still won't let go. “My godfather did all the work, it's all set in stone. The priest is already waiting at the altar, your family and mine are already there. I'm sorry, Y/N, if the circumstances were different—”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes boring holes in his skull. Nails digging in, refusing to let go. “There's a part of you who wanted this, you're a man and a viscount, you had a choice. Yet you let it all happen.” Eugene frowns deeply, trying to get his hand back from your grip, head turned away in shame. “You were not forced, you're just as bad as your godfather, whoever he is, I'd like to face the fucking asshole.”

Pushing him away and away from the door, he sighs in relief, clutching his hand. You shoulder the heavy doors. Revealing a room that's finely decorated for the reception.

A sparkling chandelier hangs above, your ancestors’ portraits watch on from the walls. White lilies decorate the expansive room, violets are laid on every table. The fine table setting would've taken your breath away if not for the man sitting at the head of the table.

“Hello, little birdy.”

It's the end.

#bdas #between the devil and the sea #between the devil and the sea chap 14 #between the devil and the sea series #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #pirate au #pirate! hobie #pirate! hobie brown #pirate hobie x reader #fanfic #hobie angst #tw blood #cw panic attack #cw violence #hobie x reader #tw death #pirate hobie brown x reader

[acourtofmarvels]

You Called

Rhysand x she/her POV

Warnings: Miscommunication :D

Word count: 2746

Rhysand watched as she danced under the starfall. Absolutely beautiful. The most beautiful female he'd ever layed eyes on.

She was his mate.

That word seems foreign in his head. 200 years old, he never thought he would ever find his mate.

She didn't know though. The bond hadn't set for her. At least thats what he thought. He'd known for about 20 years now. His brothers had some suspicion but he didn't tell anyone.

He tried for about 15 years to get the bond to set for her. He wanted it to come naturally and not be the one to tell her. It's not the right time, he thought. So he gave it a rest for now.

He couldn't be around her though, so he distanced himself for 5 years. Only approaching or speaking to her when needed.

Her POV

"Did I do something to Rhysand?" It was late at night, Starfall was over. I had drug Mor to stay with me in the House of Wind. Usually we would stay at the townhouse but I wasn't feeling entirely sure I was welcome.

"What do you mean?" Mor mumbled. She was very drunk and trying to sleep. I didn't drink much tonight, which was not normal for me. I always go all out for nights like this like but I had to much on my mind tonight. I couldn't even fully appreciate starfall.

I had a nice night, don't get me wrong. But the whole time I just had this aching pain in my chest I didn't understand. 

"He just seems different. He barely talks to me anymore. Barely even acknowledges me. I don't know what I did..." He can't possibly know. 

"Babe, just relax. It's probably nothing. He gets in moods sometimes." More voice was quiet. I know she was fighting sleep to talk to me. I shouldn't have had this conversation at a time like this.

"Some long ass mood..."

***

"Az! Please wake up! Open your eyes, Azriel." I shook his shoulders. We had been shot down from the sky. When he hit the ground he was knocked unconscious. Even with the ash arrow through my wing I was still able to land.

We had been on a mission for the past 2 weeks. We were flying home from Spring Court when multiple ash arrows started flying through the air. Azriel blocked most of them from me but I still got shot. I couldn't grab him in time before he hit the ground.

It was night time. I could barely see anything through the trees and the dark sky.

I could hear footsteps and voices getting closer. I must protect Azriel. I'm wounded but I won't go down without a fight.

I needed to get help. I covered Azriel's body with my own as I closed my eyes. Rhys. I wasn't sure if I could reach him from this far. Rhys I need you. What if he has me completely blocked out? Rhysand please, they're coming.

The footsteps were close. I pried myself off of Azriel, pulled my sword off my side and stood up straight. My body ached. I could feel the poison from the arrows weakening my body, making me sicker by the second.

I think I blacked out, fighting these people, whoever they were. I didn't stop, couldn't stop. My body was drenched in their blood, or maybe it was my own blood.

I was overpowered. Knife to my throat. This was it. This is where I die. I can't save Azriel. I can't save myself. Killed by men in masks.

"Cowards," I choked out, blood dripping from my mouth. "Show your faces."

"Illyrian scum." The one holding the dagger to my neck said viciously. "Don't worry. We'll send your wings to your High Lord. Then we'll take his when we-" his sentence was cut short by his head coming off his body.

I gasped as the dagger nicked my neck slightly. The rest of his men began screaming loudly, holding their heads as they all fell to their knees. Then, absolute silence. And they were all dead.

I turned around quickly, still on the ground to see who killed my attackers. I let out a sob as I saw his familiar, piercing violet eyes.

He was on his knees before me, taking hold of my face in his hands. He looked over at all my injuries.

"You came," my voice failed me. I was holding onto him for support. I knew I was about to lose consciousness from the ash poison and the loss of blood.

"You called. Of course I came. What happened?"

"Azriel, you have to take him. Take him home now, Rhys." I pleaded with him, tears I had been holding back began to roll down my face. "He's hurt. I couldn't wake him up. Take him, please."

Rhys whipped his head over to Azriel who was unconscious in his own puddle of blood. I was praying that he was just unconscious and not...

"I'll be back for you." Rhys placed a kiss on the top of my head before he picked Azriel up in his arms and winnowed away. 

He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay. He's gonna be...

I'm not sure how long Rhys was gone. Minutes or seconds but I was growing tired. My body was failing on me. I was defeated. The poison was still in my system. I had to stay awake.

"Keep your eyes open," the order was from my High Lord. Not my Rhys. 

"I'm tired Rhys." He picked me up off the ground. I wrapped my arms around his neck weakly. 

"You're gonna be okay sweetheart. We're home now. Just keep your eyes open." I could hear other voices around me. I could recognize Madja's voice. But I was only focused on Rhys. He set me down on a bed and began to walk away. 

"Please don't leave me." I held onto his hand tight. His promise that he would never leave me was the last thing I heard before I finally slipped into sleep. 

That's me. Why can I see myself sleeping? Is this a dream?

"She's okay, we've got her." I looked around the room, Madja was by my beside working her magic to heal me. 

"What the hell happened?" My line of vision went to Mor as she burst into the room. My heart was beating so fast, anger coursed through my veins. 

"Keep your voice down." That voice rang in my ear as if I just spoke. Rhysand. Rhysand spoke. Where was he? "They were attacked outside of Summer. They're okay."

I was looking at myself again. Aching sadness and guilt ran through me. No. No this wasn't me. This isn't what I'm feeling. I see myself through Rhysand's eyes. These are Rhy's emotions I feel.

His emotions were overwhelming. Everything he felt for me was maxed out to 100. He felt sick. Guilt was the most I could feel. Then sadness... Anger... Regret.

He felt guilty for not getting there sooner. For not being able to protect his brother and me. Sadness for the state we were both in. Anger for the men who hurt us. And regret for not making them suffer longer. 

Mor was talking to Cassian. I could hear their voices but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Rhys was tuning them out as he watched my sleeping figure on the bed. His thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. 

Theres something else here. I can feel it within him but... but I don't know what it is. 

I finally awoke hours later. That was such a weird dream. Or at least I thought it was a dream until I looked to my right and Rhysand was sitting beside me. His hand was still holding onto mine but he was fast asleep. 

He didn't leave. He stayed like I asked. He looked cold. I should give him my blanket. 

I barely moved a centimeter in my bed before Rhys woke up. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" He moved closer to me. He placed a hand on the side of my face gently as he looked me over. 

My whole body warmed to his touch upon my cheek. He was so close. 

I opened my mouth to speak but my mouth was far too dry. Rhys noticed immediately, using his magic to bring me a glass of water. "Here." His voice was so soft as he brought the glass to my lips so I could drink.

I was trying not to laugh at his protectiveness. I know he was worried, had been worried. But I'm alright now. I wanted to tease him but maybe I'll take this attention some more.

"I'm alright," I assured him. I took the glass from his hand and placed it on the nightstand after I took another sip. 

He kept looking me over. I was sore but I know my wounds have healed now. 

"You can go now, I wouldn't want to bother you any longer." I tried to remove my hand from his but his grip only tightened. 

"You could never bother me," he sounded hurt by the word I used. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Damn you heart. Don't flutter now. You can't do this.

I tried to slowly inhale and exhale out my nose, trying to calm my breathing. He can't know how I'm feeling. He can't know that I'm his mate. 

"Azriel, is he alright?" I tried to cover up my nervousness by thinking of something else. Why does he keep staring at me?

"Azriel will heal, it will just take longer for him. But he'll be back to himself in no time." 5 years. This was the longest conversation we had in 5 years. He pushed me away right after the bond snapped for me.

I honestly didn't know how to react after it. It was so unexpected. I had know Rhys for so long, he was my family and my best friend. Why did it take so long for this apparent bond to snap into place? Was the Cauldron playing a game with us?

I'd always had a little crush on him but always pushed it aside. Falling for my High Lord? It was embarrassing. Everyone in Velaris most likely had a crush on him. How could you not? Have you seen him?

He still hasn't let go of my damned hand. Gods, it felt like my hand was on fire. 

There was silence for so long. Rhys wasn't looking at me. He stared down at our conjoined hands. His brow furrowed as he was deep in thought.

"You seemed surprised when I arrived. Like you expected me not to come help you." He seemed angry.

My face heated up in embarrassment. "I-I just didn't think you would be able to hear me from so far away."

"No, that's not it. You expected me not to come to your aid. Why?" 

I was flustered. I hated he could read me so well. My shields were always in tact so I knew he wasn't in my head.

I tried to pull my hand away but his grip only tightened. "Let me go." He of course let go at my wish. 

"Why did you think I wouldn't help you?" His voice raised slightly.

He would keep pushing if I didn't give him an answer. He had no right to be mad at me. I should be mad at him. "Because you have been cold! Distant! Did you know this is the longest conversation we have had in nearly five years? I did expect you not to come. You hardly speak to me and when you do, you answer with one worded responses. You avoid me. Do you think I haven't noticed when you make some sorry ass excuse to leave when I enter the room? I don't know what I have done for you to dislike me so. So sorry for expecting you to not come to my aid when i ask of you."

I was furious. If my body wasn't so sore and tired I would have stormed out of the room dramatically. Now it's just awkward because he is sitting there not saying anything. Not denying it either.

"You think I dislike you?" His voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

"Why else would you ignore me?"

He looked like he wanted to say something else but he bit his tongue. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "You are not ready for that answer."

So he admits it. He has been pushing me away. Purposefully it seems. The answer 'I'm not ready for'. Asshole.

I hated myself for the tears that weld up in my eyes. My mate doesn't even want to be around me. 

"You don't get to decide what I can and cannot handle." I looked away from him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"This isn't easy for me." Gods I wanted to punch him so bad.

"I have zero pity for you. Must be so hard pushing someone away who has done nothing but love you." I was already humiliated enough, why not put a cherry on top. Might as well tell him how I feel.

"No, no. Don't say that. You don't love me." He was pacing back and forth in front of my bed now.

"Of course I love you. I have loved you even before we-" I was the one who bit my tongue this time. 

His eyes bore into mine. "Before what?"

Can he really not feel it? This bond between us? I feel it in every bone in my body. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my wings.

"Before what?" He almost yelled.

"Before we were mates!" I yelled back at him. "There! I said it! Are you happy now? Get the fuck out!" I threw a pillow at him.

"How long have you known?"

"Get out, Rhys! I don't want to have this conversation right now." I threw another pillow at him. It was all I had around me. He caught it and threw it at the wall behind him.

"Goddamit it, Y/N! How long have you known?"

"5 years. 5 years of feeling this bond with someone who has given me the cold shoulder."

"15 fucking years I tried. I tried 15 years for the bond to set into place naturally for you and of course the second I stop trying... The moment I stopped putting myself through all that pain and decide to give you space it fucking clicks."

I think my heart stopped beating for a second. I was temped to reach my fingers to my neck and check my pulse to make sure I hadn't died.

"What?" I almost didn't even hear my own voice.

"I've known for 20 years that you're my mate and loved you for even longer before that. Guess the cauldron really wanted to fuck us over." He walked back over to the side of the bed and sat back down in his original spot. He let out a sigh of defeat. 

"How could you not tell me?" Tears rolled down my face. 

"You didn't tell me either..." I almost rolled my eyes. I had my reasons, I wanted to know his. He must have picked up that I wanted a legitimate answer. 

"I... Wanted you to love me, for me. Not because we were mates." He looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

"Rhys..." I pleaded him to look at me. "Rhysand." He lifted his head finally. "You're my best friend. I am lost without you. Sometimes I-I feel I cannot breathe without you. My heart beats for you," pushing through the pain I moved to the side of my bed. I grabbed his hand and placed it over my heart. "It has always beat for you."

"You are my everything," he replies, taking my own hand and placing it upon his heart as well. It felt as if our heart's were both beating erratically in sync. He leaned forward till our foreheads were pressed together. My eyes closed on instinct, the tears still rolled down my cheeks.

"I thought I lost you. I have never been more terrified in my entire life," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

"I am here." I pulled away only an inch. I placed my other hand on the side of his face, beckoning him to look my in the eyes. "I am not going anywhere."

"I love you with everything that I am. I cannot live without you. My heart calls your name." He wiped the tears from my face before pressing our lips together.

Acotar Masterlist

#rhysand #acomaf #acotar fanfic #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #rhysand x oc #rhysand fanfic #fanfic #cassian fanfic #azriel fanfic #feysand #acosf #acotar #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader

[arlathavellan]

Phantom Pains | II

Fandom: ACOTAR

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Reader: she/her, (3/4-High Fae, 1/4-Tartera), Y/N used

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2.8k

Something is... wrong. Time missing, memories missing, thoughts missing. Wondering where things both big and small disappeared to, like the dress you were working on or even the past seventeen hours of your day. Something is very wrong, and the thought seems to slip your mind as soon as it comes. || Azriel has been a part of your life for years now, and has been courting you since the fall of Hybern. Only, things don't seem to be as simple as you'd both assumed they'd be. It seems someone thought you were the weak link-- the easy ticket to infiltrating the inner circle through its spymaster. And maybe you are.

|| Previous Part | Next Part (wip) | Masterlist ||

While there hadn’t been a repeat incident, you never could remember what happened during that near hour you had been standing in the street. The next few weeks passed by like a fog, and Azriel was more dutiful than ever when walking you home, even when you assured him you were fine.

Though, of course, he had his responsibilities. Inevitably, he was going to be called in for a mission that would pull him away from you. Which was how you found yourself in this situation.

"Morrigan," you greet, dipping your head slightly.

She takes the basket from your arms just as easily as your Illyrian, a lighthearted laugh lighting up the street. "Please, it's just Mor. Especially since you're going to be seeing a lot more of me."

That piqued your interest. "Oh? Is Azriel alright?"

"He's alright, it's just work. Duty calls." Her expression gives away nothing to the contrary.

The walk is filled with small talk, mostly carried by Mor. You'd only met her twice before, but she carried herself as if the two of you had been friends for years. It was reassuring in a way, keeping your mind off the melancholy that followed you when Azriel was absent. Even your shadows seemed in a good mood, dancing at your feet and twirling around your legs as you walked.

The conversation drifted into stories about the three Illyrians, mildly embarrassing stories you were certain you'd never get from the shadowsinger himself.

"Of course, Cassian would deny everything if you were to ask," Mor jokes, "though Az might come clean if you bat your eyes at him."

You can't stop the giggle from bubbling in your throat, bringing your hand up instead to cover your mouth. "And the High Lord just… let that happen?" You ask, finding your voice.

She sends you a near-conspiratorial look. "Let? Rhys planned it."

This time she joins you in your laughter, and you can't help but wonder the last time you'd felt such a lightness in your chest. As your shop door comes into view, you clear your throat to calm yourself.

"Well, here I am," you say.

Mor adjusts the basket in her arms, motioning for you to lead the way. You weren't too sure what to expect from the woman, but she slipped in easily as you held the door open for her, making her way to the back to set the basket down on your work table.

"Would you like some tea before you leave?" You can see her perk up, sending you a smile over her shoulder.

"I'd like that very much."

-----

The High Lord's cousin is easy company. She seems accustomed to carrying a conversation, and handles any lapses of silence with a careful grace. The look in her eyes, however, occasionally pricks the hairs on the back of your neck.

She's looking for something.

It makes sense, of course. You hadn't had many interactions with Azriel's family, and this was a casual enough situation to try and understand who you are. Even then, there was a nagging at the back of your mind, a feeling of something lurking in the shadows, trying to hide from her gaze.

Whatever her goal, she gives you a warm smile when her cup runs empty.

"I'll let you get some rest," she says, standing smoothly from her spot on your couch.

You rise as well to walk her to the door. "Thank you, for walking me home and keeping me company."

Mor's eyes soften, and her warm hands rest gently on your upper arms. "I do hope you can talk Azriel into bringing you around for dinner. I know everyone would love to officially meet you."

Heat rises to your face, and your shadows react in a swirl at your waist. The cold skin of the back of your hand is all the more apparent as you press it against your cheek, and she smiles at the gesture.

"Please, don't be afraid to let me know if you need anything." She finally lets go with a reassuring squeeze, making her way to the door.

Something in the back of your mind stirs, like a desperate hand reaching out for her from the darkness. But you simply smile with a hand raised in goodbye as she turns around, and it drops as the door shuts.

You find yourself very, very tired.

-----

The next day follows your usual routine as always. Amaria joining you shifted your schedule slightly, but every day still felt the same as the next.

"You know," you joke one evening as the two of you work on mending, "pretty soon I might have enough money to take a vacation. I should have hired another pair of hands sooner."

Amaria laughs, her hands ever steady despite the slight shake of her shoulders. "You wouldn't take a vacation even if you could. You'd miss working too much."

The smile that splits across your face is almost painful as you laugh with her. "I'm serious, Amaria. I'm going to pack a bag and pick a court. Maybe I'll go to Adriata and spend some time by the sea."

"And pick up some new fabrics while you're at it?" She asks. You look up in time to see your friend and co-worker roll her eyes with a slight smile, and a warmth blooms in your chest as she reads you like a book.

"Summer doesn't trade with us like they used to," you defend yourself. "They have beautiful fabric that you can layer easily—"

"—without bunching or overheating," she recites.

After less than a month, it was as if Amaria had been there forever. Her light and airy laughter echoes in your mind, and you wonder how you managed to do this all on your own the past decades.

She carefully folds the shirt she was working on before stacking it in the basket. "Are we doing deliveries tonight?"

Narrowly avoiding pricking yourself as you push your needle through the breeches you're mending, you nod in response. "We'll be closing earlier than usual, I promised Az I would be careful while he's gone."

"Oh?" Amaria says. "Is he away?"

A smile tugs at your lips as you think about him, your shadows twisting around your legs. "For the next few days, yes. Unfortunately, I can't keep him all to myself."

"I don't mind going home on my own if you'd like to be back before dark," she offers.

You shake your head as you tie off your thread. "Nonsense. He's a little overprotective, but I still know the city better than you. The last thing I need is to send you off into the night on your own."

Amaria laughs as she grabs her coat from its hanger on the wall. "Oh, of course not. How will you ever afford your vacation in Summer without your star employee."

Eyes shining in mirth, you shoot her a playfully scathing look. "Exactly! So you'd better keep yourself out of trouble and make us good money."

The two of you laugh, and she picks up her basket as you prepare your own.

The walk around Velaris is calming, especially as you go from the more populated areas to the more residential ones. Conversation with Amaria is light as ever, and you find yourself quietly appreciating the atmosphere of Velaris for most of the walk. You'd lived in Velaris most of your life, and you hoped she would come to love it as much as you did.

Though, of course, you couldn't fault her for the occasional melancholy that fell over her face when she was deep enough in thought. The Night Court was a very long way from Spring, and you couldn't imagine a shift like that. You wondered just how long she had been away from wherever she considered home.

As the two of you come up on her apartment complex, the light of the setting sun breaks through the buildings you're walking past and lights up her pristine braid like strands of copper wire. Her hair is long, the tail of her braid swinging at her hips, and you find yourself captivated by the motion.

You wait under the tree in the courtyard as she bids you good night at her door, and take a deep, steadying breath before adjusting the baskets on your arm and making your way home. For hundreds of years you lived in Velaris on your own, but Azriel seemed to sweep you off your feet in no time. It was like a crucial part of your day was missing if you didn't get to speak with him, as if he'd always been there.

Instead, you find yourself walking home alone.

The setting sun keeps you company, its dwindling warmth settling on your shoulder like a comforting hand. Knowing it won't be gone for some time, you let yourself walk slowly.

When you come up on the shop, a familiar face is waiting for you. She perks up as she notices you, raising a hand in greeting.

"Morrigan," you greet, dipping your head slightly.

Something flickers across her face as she lowers her hand, but it's quickly replaced with a smile. "Are you just coming back from deliveries?"

You raise your baskets slightly with a nod. "I wanted to walk Amaria home, so we left earlier than usual. Would you like to come in for tea?"

Mor seems to relax at the offer, readily agreeing and following you into the shop. Setting your baskets down on the table, you head into the kitchen to make some tea for you both.

"Azriel is due to be back tomorrow," Mor says, making herself comfortable on the stool beside your island counter. "It's almost a shame, one more day and it would have been Cassian's turn to keep an eye on you—he was really looking forward to it."

"I never would have considered that the Inner Circle of our great Court had so much time on their hands," you say lightheartedly, filling your kettle with water. "As much as I appreciate it, I haven't had another episode like that night."

Her voice is soft when she responds next, like she can sense the approach of a sensitive subject as you set the kettle on the burner. "If anything, it gives Azriel some peace of mind and the rest of us the chance to get to know you."

You falter as you open your tea cupboard. Gaze scanning each box, you lift and read labels looking for the container of your favorite evening tea. "That's odd…" you mumble to yourself.

Mor made an inquisitive hum, but you shook your head and grabbed a box of a similar blend to brew instead. "You say Azriel’s returning tomorrow; I assume his mission went well? He’s alright?"

“It did, and he is,” she responds happily, as vague as you expected. “I don’t know much he tells you about what he does—”

“Not much,” you interrupt before she can say more that she should. “I suppose he prefers it that way, and I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Mor laughs lightly, before leaning over the counter to continue. “I hope you don’t take it personally. It’s for your own safety more than anything.”

A heavy fog weighs down on your mind as she continues to reassure you. You’d never doubted Azriel’s intentions in keeping his work secret from you, but for some reason hearing it now has a nagging feeling stirring in the back of your mind. He doesn’t trust you, the voice insists. You need to know. You need to know. The overwhelming sensation nearly drowns you, cut only by the whistling of the kettle. You take a few steadying breaths, blinking to clear your hazy sight as you prepare the tea.

“Are you alright?” Mor asks, concerned.

“Yes, of course. Just a bit tired.” A reassuring smile over your shoulder ends your response.

Though she doesn’t seem too convinced, she doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she redirects the conversation to something lighter. Court politics have never been your thing, but you can easily see how she was the third-in-command of your High Lord. Her presence is comforting, like a tether to the docks keeping you from being swept out into the waves.

As the night dwindles and you try to gather your thoughts, its as if you find one long-lost, shoved under a dusty shelf in your mind. “Oh, your dress!”

She startles at the outburst, but recovers smoothly. “My dress?”

"The dress you commissioned for Starfall! I should have it done by tomorrow night if you wouldn't mind staying for a fitting."

Her brows pinch as she examines your face, and you feel something dark stirring at the back of your mind. "My dress. For Starfall."

Your head tilts slightly as confusion settles in. "Yes, the one you asked for last month? It's felt like I haven't been making any progress on it, but it's nearly done now. Do you still want it?"

Anxiety builds in your chest, squeezing your heart tightly as you try and decipher the expression she's wearing. Suddenly, she's smiling again with her hands clasped in front of her. "Oh, of course! Do you think I could see it now?"

"Absolutely!" The shift in demeanor almost throws you off balance, but you manage to regain your professionalism and return a smile. You lead her back into your workshop, head spinning like you just got off a swing. The backs of your cold fingers press against your forehead as you try to ground yourself, counting the steps to the dress form.

"I wanted to get your input on how the bodice hangs," you start, lifting up the sheet covering the dress. "I know you mentioned you wanted a draping that was loose and flowy, but I was worried the fa—"

"—fabric might snag on my jewelry," she says, breathless.

You perk up as she finishes your concern. "Exactly!" As you turn to see her, however, the harrowed look on her face stops you in your tracks.

Her eyes trail the near-finished dress, and you feel a creeping dread as you clasp your hands together in front of your chest. "Do you… not like it?"

The silence that stretches between you has alarms sounding in your head, as if something horrible is about to happen. A voice in the back of your mind is screaming, cursing the dress, telling you to send her away, get her out now, it’s just a damn dress. Morrigan's gaze meets yours, and it feels as if you're made of stone. "Y/N, how long have you been working on this dress?"

"I… off and on since you ordered it. It isn't finished yet, I know it's—" her hands clasp onto your upper arms gently yet firmly, cutting off your rambling.

Her next question only serves to worsen the cacophony in your mind, your teeth gnashing as you sway on your feet. "How long ago did I order this dress?"

"About a month ago, I think?" Her hands tighten their grip, enough to keep you steady but not enough to hurt. Something about her expression is scaring you, something soft and scared that tells you something is very, very wrong.

“Y/N,” she says, quiet and gentle like talking to a spooked horse. “I need you to come with me. Right now.”

This isn’t working. We’ll try something else, you useless girl.

The pain hits you at once. Jaw clenching, knees buckling, eyes rolling back into your head as you slam your palms into your temples. Just barely, you can hear the sounds of her shouting something incoherent over the tidal wave of screeching in your head. It’s all encompassing, as if you were submerged in it. Something cold and hard supports your body, and you can vaguely make out the grey stone floor pressed into your cheek.

Dark shapes rush towards you, wrapped in a suffocating power you’d never experienced before. You can feel that tell-tale twist in your gut that came from the rare occasion Azriel would winnow with you in tow, and realize Mor had taken you away from the shop. One of the figures stoops down, though you're unable to focus your erratic gaze enough to see their face. A hand covers your eyes, and everything goes quiet. Nothing but your ragged breathing and heart pounding in your head. Then, the feeling of something requesting entry to the forefront of your mind.

Don’t be afraid, Y/N.

Fear grips you regardless as the same manner of voice fills your head as before. But instead of whispering from some dark corner, this one spoke plainly, as though it had no reason to hide. Your chest tightens, and all you can think of is Azriel. He had been so worried that something more had happened to you, but you had brushed off his concerns like always. What had you done?

“Please,” you manage, barely more than an exhale.

I can get them out, if you let me in.

The weight of consciousness leaves you as you succumb to the encroaching darkness.

I will be quick. Rest, Y/N. Azriel will be here when you wake.

----------

Am I just going to pretend it hasn't been about half a year since I posted part one? Yes, because this is about my fifth rewrite of the overarching plot. Thank you for your patience <3

TAGLIST (comment or message to be added/removed)

@pellucid-constellations @horneybeach1 @hyemishii

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #arlathavellan: fanwork #arlathavellan: acotar #arlathavellan: phantom pains

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Azriel couldn’t say what woke him. Something was wrong—Azriel could taste fear in the back of his throat. It was enough to sit him up in bed, one hand flung out for Gwyn. Her side of the bed was empty and cold, telling him she’d been gone long enough for her warmth to evaporate, too. The mating bond was still new to Azriel—and yet he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to ring like an alarm bell in his chest.

Dressing quickly, Azriel made his way into the living area to find it utterly wrecked. With a deep inhale, Azriel noted that Gwyn’s scent was stronger than the underlying vanilla one just beneath…and something spicy and hot lingered just at the door.

Eris. 

A growl rumbled in his throat even as he tried to reassure himself that she’d likely just walked off with the Autumn Court heir. That seemed like the kind of thing she’d do given how unconcerned for her own personal safety she was. Azriel swallowed, hand hovering over the handle of the door. In his mind, he saw that flame licking over her fingers.

Had Eris recognized something in her? Some magic that belonged to his family, some claim he thought he might have? Azriel swore, right then and there, that he’d kill Eris if he so much as shot Gwyn a dirty look, Rhys’s politics be damned. 

Just outside the door, Azriel found a scene far worse than anything he’d been imagining. Guards swarmed the body of the prince, still smoking and charred from whatever had touched him. It was Eris, he lied to himself. He knew it wasn’t. Standing there, the guards all turned to look at him and Azriel knew there would be no easy escape. 

Which was why he allowed them to “escort” him to the dungeons before helpfully disarming him. He wasn’t alone—in the cell that was opened for him, a familiar blonde was curled up on the floor, knees touching her chin. It was the Day Court scholar, rumbled and streaked with dirt, but otherwise unharmed.

“Where is Helion?” Azriel asked, not bothering to introduce himself.

“Gone, if he’s smart,” she replied in a sad voice. “They all are.”

They all are.

“The female I came with—”

“Gone,” the blonde informed him in that despondent voice. “Eris took her.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Azriel demanded, turning the full force of the spymaster onto the female before him.

“Because I saw him, you overgrown bat,” she snapped in response. “He shattered the wards in the palace—letting them think I did it—and raced off to Prythian before he could be blamed for what he did to the prince.”

“I’ll kill him,” Azriel swore, running a hand through his hair.

“You can get in line,” she replied, words dripping with fury. Azriel didn’t bother responding to that. Where the fuck were his shadows? He wasn’t used to such silence, to not knowing everything happening around him. Had they all left with his mate? And would he be mad if they had?

Maybe a little. 

Azriel wasted the morning pacing back and forth, planning his escape. He’d take the Day Court female with him, deposit her before Rhys, and then march himself into Autumn, consequences be damned. In his mind, the whole thing was a little glorious—not only did he avenge Mor by killing Eris, he killed Beron, too. Perhaps Lucien would be named the new High Lord which seemed acceptable enough, though still irksome. 

He hated to see the people he disliked get something good, after all. 

“They’re going to torture answers out of us,” the blonde whispered when the sounds of metal scraping against metal filled the otherwise gloomy darkness. “I’ve never been tortured before.”

Pity squeezed at him. “Whatever secrets matter to you, guard them—weave truth with lies and no matter what, don’t tell them anything to make the pain stop.”

“Why not?”

“Because the pain will only intensify,” he promised, thinking of his own methods. “If they’re going to kill us, nothing we say will convince them not to. Might as well take your secrets to your grave.”

That didn’t make her seem to feel any better. In truth, Azriel couldn’t focus on this female. Not when the door was wrenched open and the two were dragged out by guards wearing chain metal gloves. The female dug in her heels, kicking and thrashing which was, in Azriel’s opinion, a waste of time and energy. She’d wear herself out before the actual torturing even began.

Azriel was joined by all but one of his shadows just in time for his wrists to be shackled over his head.

Eris took Gwyn, they whispered frantically. Azriel needed to free himself to get to her—and in order to free himself, he needed to be alone. He met the blank, bored stares of the Fae males before him and he knew, without needing to ask, that he was going to be suspended like he was for hours. 

Grit your teeth, he told himself, remember you have had worse.

Nothing King Gunnar subjected him to could be worse than what he’d endured at the hands of his fathers. And if it was, it certainly wasn’t worse than what he’d been subjected to at the hands of Rhysand’s father. Azriel could withstand immortal levels of pain without cracking and as the door swung shut behind his torturers, Azriel opened a long forgotten door in his mind.

It was where he’d once hidden as a boy, shielding his mind from the pain of his body. He could get through anything so long as he had that little retreat, along with the reminder the pain was merely temporary. 

No questions were asked at the beginning. Azriel had been prepared for that. Better to merely hurt for pains sake and then, once the subject was desperate, begin asking casual questions. What Azriel hadn’t expected was the King himself to enter, drinking in the sight of his sweaty, bloody form. The only thing keeping Azriel on his feet was sheer will—the restraints holding his arms up were useless at that point.

Were he to slump, he’d break both his wrists and dislocate his shoulders. Azriels shadows, hidden in the dark, swarmed in that unseen space, whispering a warning only he could hear. 

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t trust him—

Azriel didn’t need to be told as much. 

“Your…friend…was she? Gwyneth? Killed my son.”

Azriel didn’t react at all, unwilling to betray Gwyn at all. If she had killed Kai—and he knew she hadn’t—Azriel assumed her reasoning made sense. And if her reasons had been nonsense, he still would have stared that ancient male down and dared him to do his worst.

Azriel would go to his grave before he betrayed his own mate.

“Tell me where she is, and I’ll release you to your lord.”

Azriel inclined his head to the side and then, as Gunnar approached, spat on his boots. Blood splattered against the crisp white of his trousers, filling Azriel with animal pleasure. Next time it would be Gunnar’s blood, and not Azriel’s, that decorated his clothes.

He merely needed a reprieve.

“Do you hear that?” Gunnar asked, ignoring the insult as the Day Court female’s screams echoed around them. “I don’t think she’ll hold up as well as you have. You can do this for days, can’t you?”

Again, Azriel refused to respond. 

“You know, I heard a rumor about your kind,” Gunnar continued, sidestepping Azriel. He reached for one of his wings before Azriel could stop him, slicing with a knife held in his hands. The pain was white hot like a branding iron was taken to his flesh and his mind. He couldn’t help but jerk away, causing the metal rings to clank loudly overhead.

“I guess what I heard was true,” Gunnar said, watching red blood streak down the onyx wings. “Would they grow back if I cut them off?”

Azriel’s heart splattered at his feet. No, they wouldn’t. If Gunnar ordered his men to cut Azriel’s wings at the root, he’d spend the rest of his life without them, wishing he did. The thought of being an Illyrian without wings—of the disgrace—made bile pool in his stomach. Before that moment, Azriel hadn’t been afraid, only angry.

But now he was scared. Losing his wings was worse than death. For the first time in his life, Azriel was tempted to beg—to plead. 

And still, he refused. 

“I’ll need a bigger knife,” Gunnar mused, looking at the rather pathetic blade in his hand. “Maybe yours?”

Nothing. Azriel didn’t care if Gunnar had truthteller, didn’t care if he decided to hack at Azriel’s wings. He focused himself with the reminder that if Rhys knew what was happening, he’d be coming. And the moment Rhys and Cassian and Feyre and Nesta descended on this place, they’d leave it in ruin. They would come.

They would come. 

Even for him. Even though he didn’t deserve it, even though he’d made a mess of everything. Azriel lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, willing his traitorous heart to slow. 

“You could avoid all this, of course,” Gunnar continued, ever reasonable even with Azriel’s blood splattered against his clothes. “Tell me where your female companion has gone.”

Azriel nodded his head, beckoning for the king to come closer. Gunnar did—the utter fool. Azriel couldn’t help his laugh when he smashed his face against Gunnar’s, forehead colliding with the kings very fragile, very breakable nose. Gunnar swore, stumbling back with one hand covering the injury as Azriel threw his head back in a hoarse laugh. 

He’d die before he told the Montessere royals anything about Gwyn. 

“You’ll regret that, brute,” Gunnar snarled, beckoning for the heavy door to be opened. Azriel let his laugh trail after the king like one of his shadows, silenced only when the heavy, iron door slammed shut behind him. Mercifully, Azriel was alone.

He counted in his head, forcing himself to go slow even when he wanted to race through the numbers and free himself. He wasn’t going to show his hand only to end up shackled all over again. When he emerged, it would be like death itself.

And Azriel’s retribution would be vicious in its intensity. 

No one came by the time he finished.

“Now,” he whispered to his shadows. They darted and swirled around him, slipping through the cracks of the locks holding him. He heard them whispering to each other before the locks clicked and he was freed, knees buckling beneath the full weight of his body. It was tempting to sink to the floor and regain himself and Azriel knew if he did, he might not get back up.

All he wanted was to sleep. His wing burned from the wound, still knitting itself together. He’d be able to fly on it, but it would be excruciating. Telling himself he’d suffered far worse, Azriel pushed his way into the dungeon to follow the sounds of pleadings and screams. Helion might have been content to leave this female behind, but Azriel was not. 

“Cover me,” he murmured, fading into the darkness as his shadows obscured his form. All Azriel would allow himself to focus on was escape, forcing him to push all thoughts of Gwyn aside. She would be fine, he told himself. He’d trained her well. And still, fear tried to grip his heart, icy cold and unyielding. She’d suffered enough and he’d sworn no more harm would come to her.

He’d failed her already. No wonder she couldn’t feel the bond between them. Maybe she recognized she deserved better than a male that couldn’t even keep her safe. Shaking his head, Azriel banished the thought. There would be time enough for her to break their mating bond but for now, she was stuck with him whether she liked him or not. All he needed to do was get out and find her—and bring her home.

But first, a little bloody revenge. Peering into the other holding cell, Azriel found the blonde hanging from the chains by her wrists, blood pooled around the white of her dress. She was merely whispering, “please stop,” over and over through raw, chapped lips. Even Azriel would have quit by then, satisfied she knew nothing of use. Now they cut at her simply for the sake of hurting her—a lazy brutality Azriel couldn’t abide by. 

He didn’t need his dagger to kill the three males inside. All Azriel needed was his own hands, darting from the shadows to rip open their throats in a violent display of fury. The Day Court female didn’t scream, lifting her head to watch with what he swore was approval. Perhaps this was revenge for her, too—though in truth, Azriel only thought of his own anger, his own retribution. 

“We need to go,” Azriel told her once three headless bodies lay broken at his feet. He didn’t dare look at the heads, uninterested in seeing the bloody pulp that remained. There was enough tissue splattered against the wall, besides. No one would be getting up anytime soon.

“Arina,” she whispered, crumpling into his arms once she’d been freed. Azriel merely hauled her up against his chest, undeterred by her weakness. He merely strode out, snatching up his dagger from a nearby table as he did. It was almost laughable how easy it was to get outside, slipping through a servants door in the wall straight into a courtyard. 

Of course, the sight of the pair of them sent everyone into a frenzy, but Azriel was as quick as he’d ever been. Groaning slightly, he kicked off the ground before anyone got within a hundred yards of him, airborne before they could scramble for arrows. He’d told himself he was prepared for the pain, for the strain his injured wing felt beneath their combined weights.

He needed only to get far enough away he could winnow. 

“You’re falling!” Arina cried, arms around his neck.

“Stop talking,” Azriel ordered, aware his voice sounded disoriented. With his vision blurred at the edges, Azriel took them higher into the clouds, blinking against the blinding sun overhead. Wind pushed them along, helped by the female he carried. He wanted to thank her for blowing it against his dripping face but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

They weren’t going to make it. 

Screwing up his face, Azriel thought of home. He thought of Rhys and Cassian drinking on the steps to the River House, laughing in a heap over some inappropriate joke. He saw Feyre holding Nyx who fisted at her hair, a smudge of blue paint on her cheek. Mor was there, grinning ear to ear while Amren scowled, telling Mor of all the ways he, Cass, and Rhys had been a disappointment in recent days.  He saw Nesta sitting just inside, one leg crossed while the other bounced, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

And he saw Gwyn, perched on the edge of Nesta’s chair, talking a million miles a minute to Emerie, who was seemingly the only person in the world who could understand every word spilling from her lips.

Home. Azriel thought about home. 

Take me home.

Shadow enveloped them both, sending them careening wildly before they collapsed against grass in a graceless heap. Blinking, Azriel recognized the hazy mountains half hidden in fog in the distance. And he recognized the female voice crying his name.

“Azriel,” Feyre cried, her soft hands touching his face. “Get Rhys—bring me the High Lord—!”

Her words blurred along with his vision and try as he might, Azriel couldn’t get any of the words out. He could feel her soft presence in his mind, could hear her speaking to him.

Show me what happened, Az, Feyre murmured lovingly, fingers still caressing his cheek.  Let me in.

Rhys would have merely shattered Azriel’s defenses but Feyre, ever cognizant of what it felt like to have no choice at all. She’d let him take his secrets to the grave if he wanted and would have advocated for Rhys to leave him be, as she’d done so many times before. Azriel let her in gratefully, rolling onto his back while Feyre pressed something wet to his lips.

It was blood. 

He tried to push her away but the High Lady ordered, “Drink,” and Azriel’s body complied before he could balk. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Azriel remembered her blood was the very same that ran through Thesan and Feyre was trying to heal him. He was too focused by her presence in his mind, flipping through the day's events frantically. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered just as she stumbled into Azriel’s memories with Gwyn. He snarled without meaning to, elicting a louder, angrier roar from the descending High Lord.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Feyre breathed as Rhys dropped to his knees beside them. “I should have—oh, but Az that’s so wonderful—I should have asked first, I didn’t know, didn’t think…”

“I want her back,” Azriel whispered, his consciousness fading. Forcing himself to look Feyre in the eye, Azriel said, “I want her back.”

It was the last thing he remembered.

GWYN:

“You don’t have to do this, Eris,” Gwyn said for what must have been the millionth time that day. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Liar,” Eris replied smoothly, fingers grazing the small of her back as he pushed her forward. 

“You’ll regret this,” she warned, certain Azriel must be awake by then. Was he looking for her? Did he even care? 

Yes, she thought firmly. Even if he didn’t know what she was to him, Gwyn was certain her disappearance would matter to him. Even if his only fear centered around Nesta’s fury, Gwyn believed Azriel would come for her.

“You’re not the only one with loved ones on the line. The easier you make this, the faster we can  be done with the entire thing,” Eris warned, stopping her before two massive, wooden doors carved with an image of a terrifying dragon bellowing fire. The Vanserra crest? She couldn’t ask Eris, though she wouldn’t have even if she’d had the time. The only thing Gwyn wanted to ask Eris was where his heart—if he had one—was so she could rip it from his chest and shove it down his throat. 

Eris was bringing her to Beron Vanserra. Seated atop a massive, hollowed out oak tree, the High Lord of Autumn was a terrifying sight. The rest of his sons stood just beside him, stairstepped in height leading up to the dais their father was perched atop. The Lady of Autumn sat beside him in a smaller, less ostentatious throne and crowned in burnished leaves wrapped around her pretty, auburn hair.

She leaned forward when Gwyn was pushed in, russet eyes shining. Gwyn searched her features for a moment, looking for anything of Catrin only to be left wholly empty. Their mother had always said Catrin came from Spring—moody and turbulent—and Gwyn from Autumn—firey and brash. She could see herself in the Lady of Autumn which did nothing to temper the fear running rampant through her.

Beron Vanserra didn’t move when Gwyn arrived at the foot of the dais. She wasn’t so rebellious she couldn’t bow, a show of self-preservation rather than deference. Eris’ knee hit the wood floor beneath them, eyes averted while Gwyn remained on her feet.

Rhysand was her High Lord—there was no law that said she was required to reside where her ancestors had, and no law that forced her to acknowledge a foreign High Lord as her own. Beron must have wondered, too, because he barked out, “Kneel.” The punch of magic made her chest ache though Gwyn was able to withstand the onslaught and remain as she was. 

“Why am I here?” she asked, terrified to look up.

“My sister,” the Lady of Autumn breathed to the room of Vanserra’s, “had a son.”

Gwyn only sighed. 

“He died in the war,” the Lady continued, her voice rich with her regret. “They all did. I thought they’d all been lost and then Eris said…”

Gwyn dared to look up at her, wishing this could be a happier reunion. All she could think about was Azriel—did he think she’d left him? That the night they’d spent together meant nothing to her and she was merely bored? The fear she might hurt him clawed at her chest, making her desperate to return to him. Maybe once things were settled on the continent and with her mate, she could return to Autumn and sort the entire mess of her lineage out. 

“You’re certain she was Cyra’s?” Beron Vanserra asked his wife, his voice softening around the edges.

“I’m certain.”

“Then she stays,” Beron announced, not bothering to consult with Gwyn at all. A scream all but erupted in her throat, swallowed when Eris’s hand snaked beneath her dress to squeeze her ankle in warning. Shut up, he warned silently. Gwyn did as she was told, daring to look up at the High Lord. “At least until we can make a proper exchange for her. Give her comfortable accommodations and instruct her on how females conduct themselves within the walls of the Forest House.”

And that was that. Gwyn was swept out of the room by Eris, fingertips pressed into the small of her back. Neither of them spoke until they were back in the hall, and when Gwyn attempted to tell Eris where he could shove his hospitality, he said, “Watch your mouth.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” she replied, petulant and frustrated. 

“I know that look on your face,” Eris replied smoothly, running a hand through his perfect hair. “You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you for what? Kidnapping me? Holding me captive while you try and hold your brother captive? Rhysand will never—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Eris hissed as they passed a group of silent courtiers, all staring at the pair. Fine, she thought, privately seething. Gwyn said nothing until Eris all but shoved her into a bed chamber she didn’t bother observing. All she saw was a glass door leading toward the woods and the escape route she’d take the moment Eris stopped talking. 

“You can’t say whatever you want here. People are listening,” he told her, fingers curled around her upper arm as he led her deeper into the room. “You can do nothing but sit here and wait. If you do what I know you’re thinking about, twelve dogs will rip you to pieces before you ever get close to another Court's borders. There won’t be enough pieces to burn.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Gwyn threatened, rounding on him.

“You can get the fuck in line,” Eris retorted hotly, cheeks flushed red with anger. “I’ll be dead before you ever get your turn. I saved you from the wrath of Montessere.”

“Why?”

Eris merely stared her down. “My reasons are my own. There is no where to go—”

“When Azriel finds out—”

“He can get in line, too. Right behind you,” Eris all but snarled, turning his head angrily. “I left things behind, too. People I—” he took a breath rather than betray himself. “All in due time.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t care,” Eris replied in that irritating way of his. “If you make me chase you down tonight, you’ll live to regret it—”

“No, Eris Vanserra, you will live to regret bringing me here,” she retorted, rising to her full height. It didn’t intimidate him in the slightest but Gwyn meant every word she said. She had never bowed before the whims of more powerful men, even if it meant endangering her own life. She wasn’t about to start now, either. Eris had taken it upon himself to get her out, but Gwyn needed to go back. She needed to get Azriel and she needed answers.

What had that creature been? There had been no time to truly think about it given how quickly everything happened and yet Gwyn knew she was close. It had been that damn Day Court scholars fault, really—if she hadn’t stolen Gwyn’s cipher, Gwyn would have gotten back into bed with Azriel and everything would be fine.

Maybe even Kai would be alive. 

“I already regret bringing you here,” Eris grumbled, turning his back on her. “Don’t try and leave, Gwyn. I swear to the Mother above, you will not make it out alive and I do not want problems with Night.”

Eris turned to leave, confident he’d gotten the last word. Gwyn wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Eris didn’t know to be afraid of her—yet. But she knew he was afraid.

“He’s my mate,” she whispered, delighted when Eris froze, his whole body going taut. “And when he finds you…”

Gwyn didn’t need to say. Eris merely glanced over his shoulder, strange look on his face. “Then he knows how I feel right now.” Eris still got the last word, cryptic as it was. Gwyn didn’t have it in her to care, either. Whatever inner turmoil he had wasn’t her problem. Maybe she would have cared had he come to her as a cousin interested in reconnecting rather than kidnapping her. Gwyn merely waited, deciding she’d do what Eris had warned her not to, and make a break for it.

Pacing, Gwyn waited for the sun to set. She ignored servants who slipped in and out, turning down her bed and fussing with her clothes and hair in an attempt to make her look nice. Gwyn was impatient with the whole affair—how did people like Eris stand it? She imagined this was the life Nesta had once been used to. Gwyn could picture imperious Nesta here, looking down her nose at everyone and making even the terrible Eris Vanserra shake in his expensive, polished boots.

No one had ever waited on her hand and foot—she’d always been responsible for herself. As nice as it would have been to be doted on, she didn’t think she could stand a lifetime of people bowing and scraping. 

The moment the moon replaced the sun, Gwyn yanked open the door that led outside. Cool air curled around her face, the smell of it all wrong. Perhaps her grandfather had lived here, and some memory of this place lingered in her blood. It wasn’t strong enough to make her want to stay, or to feel like home. She felt like an intruder, an outsider trapped among the rot. She was a shadow among the leaves, ancient among new death. 

And she wasn’t alone. Gwyn made it to the treeline with massive wings spread themselves out, blotting out the sliver of moonlight spilling among the grass.

Emerie grinned at her as Nesta appeared, sword casual over her shoulder. “Heard you needed a rescue.”

Gwyn’s relief was palpable. “You found me.”

“Did you doubt us?” Nesta asked, pulling Gwyn into a hug. 

“Never,” Gwyn said, blinking rapidly against the hard leather covering Nesta’s shoulder. “But I was starting to worry.”

“Well, cast your worries aside because the cavalry has arrived,” Emerie said, resting her chin atop Gwyn’s head. 

“Will you take me home?” Gwyn asked them.

Emerie and Nesta held out their hands and Gwyn took them like a lifeline.

“Let’s go.”

#gwynriel #now i get to nap

[bibs-world]

Can I request for Lewis where your pregnant and he returns home to you in his shirt and underwear?

Yours Truly,

Lewis hamilton x fem!reader

Words:1000-ish? idk

Summary: It's Monza, Lewis is disappointed by his outcome but you're always there for him, even when not physically.

Notes: I delivered what I could and what my mind came up with, sorry if it wasn't what you wanted, also, I have a Charles Leclerc fanfic out, can you guys maybe show some love to it? Thank you <3

Lewis had lost count of the amount of times he'd looked at the message you sent him to prepare for the race weekend. Whenever he works out, finishes an interview, goes on a track walk, he gets his phone after once he's finished and rereads it all over again, it gives him a surge of energy and motivation to go on and do things even more possibly.

You were unfortunately at home, unable to go with him to the beautiful country and be there for him for the race. Why? Because you have a baby that would pop out very soon, so you were instructed by Lewis himself to stay home surrounded by your family and near your doctor, even if he'd miss the birth of his baby girl, you'd still be safer and more comfortable than in a foreign country.

***

Dear Lew,

I'm still angry with you for making me stay back but I, luckily for you, still love you. You already know I'd always love you, you sneaky little arse. Me and our little girl are missing you lots, now and we really, really, really wanna see you with that trophy, babe and we know you can and will get it. So, now i'll wait till the race start and watch you push through them all till you get that pole love. Can't wait to see you on Tuesday!

Yours truly,

Your Y/N.

***

The race's result didn't come out as wanted for Lewis and it made him upset, yet he still went around with a smile on his face, until he stopped before his doorstep, ringing the doorbell with his luggage beside him.

"Coming!" You yelled from the inside, making a smile appear on his face before he'd even see you.

He can sense you struggle up from the couch while cursing whomever it was on the other side of the door before even answering. You never liked answering the door or phone calls, you'd preferred texts, of course unless it was Lewis on the other end of the phone.

"It's way too early in the mor-Lewis?" You knitted your brows up at him before you smiled widely at him and threw your arms around him.

"Hey." He chuckled, feeling your bump against his torso.

"You came early! I thought you were coming tomorrow, love?" You grinned, pulling back slightly but keeping your arms around him.

He'd noticed you, simply in a pair of clean boxers (that you stole from him, but you'd never admit, they were just too comfortable) and his shirt since you did admit that your shirts had gotten smaller and his shirts fit you more, plus, they smelled like him.

"I just wanted to spend some alone time with you before the little one comes." He told you, making you squint your eyes at him in suspicion.

"What kind of alone time?"

He simply laughed at your bewildered expression before ushering you inside and getting his things then shutting the door after him.

"It could be whatever you want?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as your expression turned to one of horror.

"No, thank you." You turned around and quickly and 'ran' back to the couch, turning around to face your lover once your reached there. "We could cuddle?"

He nodded happily, making his way towards you as you opened your arms wide for him. He slipped into them again before seating down the both of you gently.

His hand was rested on your swollen belly, caressing it softly as the comfortable silence surrounded the happy couple.

"Are you okay, love?" You murmured, your voice so low he almost didn't catch it if he wasn't already staring at you.

He hummed. "Yes, why?"

You lifted your head up to better see him, resting your chin on the back of your hands to not bother him more than laying half your body on him.

"I'm offended that you thought I'd buy that, Sir Lewis. I've known you longer than your fans." You quirked a disappointed brow at him as he smiled at you.

"No, I'm okay, really. I've had my time, my wins and it's time for a new generation to take over." He stated, directing his attention towards the cieling since it seemed less fearful than your intense gaze.

"But, you still want to be up there with them." You mumbled, laying your head against his chest again, listening to his calm heartbeat.

"Well...isn't that what everyone wants?" He wondered as you looked up at him. You leaned up, kissing his bearded chin.

"Should we get another cupboard for your trophies, then?" You teased him lightheartedly, caressing his cheek comfortingly.

He just smiled, closing his eyes. "How about a little nap?" He suggested, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

"I don't think the little one approves." You whispered, horrified.

"What?" He frowned, tilting his head up to see you.

"My water just broke." You informed him, clenching your eyes shut in fear.

"What?!"

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 #f1 2022 #formula 1 #monza 2022

[iamqueenpotato]

Divine

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and Y/N are assigned to investigate Beron at his annual ball. But they can't stand each other. At all.

⚠️: SMUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: Me just writing very little plot to support these ✨️scenes✨️ that were stuck in my head. First time writing smut in any sense. Enjoy!

Word count: 2k

Dances or any form of formal events weren’t your forte. The thought of wearing something so constraining appalled you. But here you stood staring at yourself in the mirror, wearing a tight gown, you won’t lie it was gorgeous, but it wasn’t something you saw yourself in often. It hugged your curves in all the right ways, the silver-to-black fade of sequins shone under the light, and it cut right at your navel, leaving little to the imagination. Your hair was set to the side and let down freely across your shoulder. The makeup Mor applied highlighted your cheekbones and made your eyes pop.

You would be more excited about dressing up if it weren’t for the reason you were here. And who you came with.

Rhys had assigned you to attend the Autumn courts yearly ball in hopes to understand more of Beron’s schemes, to sweet talk your way for information and to see if any faces appeared that were abnormal. It was an easy mission, as easy as they come and as one of the night courts most trusted and unknown spies you were given this particular assignment. But a certain shadowsinger thought you weren’t ready and demanded to come with. He claimed you still needed practice with your skills. So now you have a “date”.

You despised the man. He seemed to always point out your flaws, claiming you weren’t making any progress in the field. You always wondered why he picked on you. Never anyone else. It made your blood boil how much he bugged you. And you hoped he knew the hatred was mutual.

All you could hope is to get through tonight, show him what you’re capable of, and maybe then you won’t need a supervisor on future assignments. As you gathered the rest of your things there was a sudden knock at your door, you rushed over to open it, finding Azriel on the other side. He was wearing a tight black button-down shirt, a couple of buttons at the top left undone, his tattoos decorating his prominent collarbones, his shadows dancing around him. He wore a suit jacket over it with a pair of plain black dress pants.

“You need to hurry up.” He spat. You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, flattening the skirt of your dress as you walked down the hall.

“You know for someone who sits in the shadows a lot, you have very little patience.” You spoke back with a sharp tone. He scoffed, brushing past you with his head held high. It was going to be a long night.

Throughout the night you danced with many different males from many courts but none of them seemed to have any useful information, though each time a new male approached you it felt as though a pair of eyes had been watching you all night.

Stepping away from the dancefloor, you leaned against a window seal, sipping on the flute of champagne you grabbed from one of the trays. You closed your eyes, leaning your head against the glass, letting the coolness from it relax your mind.

“Standing here all alone?” A voice broke the silence, as you opened your eyes you found Lucien Vanserra standing across from you.

“Just taking a break.” You replied, bringing the sweet liquid to your lips once more. Lucien moved closer to you, bringing his hand to rest on your hip, dipping his head to talk quietly in your ear.

“My father decided to not show at his own party, and it seems his most trusted are waiting on his arrival before showing up. I am going to investigate more about his whereabouts. I will let you know what I find.” Lucien whispered. You closed your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“What’s going on here Y/N?” Azriel’s voice cut in, opening your eyes you found the shadowsinger standing across from you and Lucien. His arms were crossed, the shadows around him seemed to engulf him, and his expression was unreadable.

“I’ll see you later Y/N” Lucien made his exit, giving Azriel a subtle nod before disappearing into the crowd.

“Come with me,” Azriel demanded, not giving you a chance to respond, he grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the room, only to pull you into what you assumed was a storage room of some sort. “What is your problem?” He seethed, closing the door behind him. You stared at him dumbfounded, what in the world was he going on about? You didn’t respond, only waiting for him to continue. “We have things to do and what you thought you could take a break and flirt with Lucien?” Azriel’s tone had more anger behind it than you could understand.

“What the hell are you talking about Azriel?” You crossed your arms, spilling a bit of your anger. He can’t accuse you of things like this, what gave him the right to treat you this way in the first place? “First of all I was not flirting with Lucien and second of all if I was that doesn’t concern you.”

Azriel walked closer to you, his figure towering over yours, his eyes were dark, his gaze solely fixed on your face. “Yes it does.”

You laughed, backing up as much as you could from the shadowsinger. “Since when is my love life any of your concern?”

He sauntered closer to you, closing more of the distance between you two, it was then your back hit the small island within the room. You were cornered now, as Azriel placed each hand on the centerpiece behind you, caging you in. His face was extremely close to yours, you could smell the sweet champagne on his breath. “I hate how you affect me so much. Do you know how hard it is to control myself when I see you during training? How much I want to take you then and there, feel the way you squirm against me.” Azriel whispered. You couldn’t breathe, and your cheeks flushed pink as you stared up at Azriel, his gaze was dark and dangerous. You could feel the desire pooling in your stomach. Your body shivered as Azriel brought a hand up, running one finger along your exposed back. “Then tonight, seeing you in this dress, then seeing you with all those males, the way they stared at you made my blood boil. Then when I saw Lucien place that hand on your hip. I almost lost it. I wanted to tear him away from you and claim you for my own.” Azriel’s words fueled that desire within you, each word that slipped off his tongue was divine.

Azriel moved his hand along your jaw, his thumb tilting your head towards him. “Do you understand what you do to me, sweetheart?”

You didn’t know what came over you, but as your eyes shifted between his own and his lips you couldn’t hold it back. “Show me what I do to you Az.”

That was all Azriel needed to hear as he crashed his lips into yours, you opened your mouth to him, pressing your body against his as you bit his lip, enticing a low growl from him. His hands trailed all over your body, you moaned into the kiss which only encouraged the shadowsinger to kiss you with more ferocity. You ran your fingers through his silky black hair as he kissed down your neck, when you gripped his hair, he responded with a soft bite along your shoulder.

He moved his lips back to meet yours as he pulled at the dress straps across your shoulders, removing the fabric, the dress slid to the floor, leaving you naked in front of him. The cool air grazed your skin as he stepped back to admire you, but his gaze burned your skin, you were not ashamed so you watched him as he stared, your eyes moving to his now hard length within his pants, you bit your lip as more pleasure washed over you. “Beautiful.” He whispered before wrapping his arms around you, lifting you onto the centerpiece. he kissed you quickly but long enough to savor your taste before he moved, kissing down your neck and your chest. Each kiss was more electrifying than the last. He kissed around your breasts, teasing you before taking your hardened nipple into his mouth, bringing his hand up to play with the other, you leaned your head back. “Azriel.” You moaned, running a hand through his hair.

He released your nipple, continuing his trial of kisses down to your center. He pushed your legs apart, your obvious arousal dripping down you. Azriel kissed your thighs as he looked up at you. “So wet for me love.” He stared at you as if you were a feast ready to be devoured. And with the first stroke of his tongue, it sent a blissful chill throughout your body. Azriel repeated the motion, paying extra attention to your clit, swirling his tongue over the bundle of nerves, he pushed two fingers within you, pumping them in and out hitting your sweet spot. “Fuck” You moaned louder, as your climax got closer, you looked down at Azriel, admiring how he kneeled between your legs, gripping his hair as the feeling of pure euphoria washed over you. His fingers slowed as you trembled around them.

“You look so beautiful when you cum all over my fingers.” His words made your arousal rise again, you needed him inside you, and you wanted to feel every inch of him.

“I need you.” Breathless as you spoke. You watched as he removed each article of clothing, it was torturous as he took his time undressing.

“What do you need?” He asked. You knew he wanted to hear it again, and as much as you wanted to pull him down and take him completely, he wouldn’t budge.

“I need you. Please.” You begged.

A devilish smirk appeared across his face. “Good girl.” He said as he removed the last bit of clothing, freeing his hardened member. They weren’t kidding when they said the wingspan matched the length. Spreading your legs apart, you gestured him to come closer, he laid you flat across the surface, lining himself up with your entrance. His lips met yours once more as he pushed in. Each inch filling you in the best way possible.

Once he was completely inside of you, he gave you a few moments to adjust to his size. “You can move now.” You whispered in his ear, as he moved his hips in slow thrusts, various moans escaped your lips as he picked up his speed, he moved your legs to rest on his shoulders, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust, you were close to breaking once more.

“Look at you. Taking my cock like such a good girl. Gods you feel so good wrapped around me.” Azriel leaned over you, pushing your legs closer to your head, in this angle each thrust felt deeper than before. “Cum for me sweetheart, I want to feel you fall apart around my cock.”

His words pushed you over the edge as he picked up his speed, shattering around him, your entire body trembled with pleasure. Azriel finding his own release as he buried himself inside of you moments after. His soft moans echoing around you as you came down from your high.

Brushing a few stray hairs away from your face he pulled you up, holding you tight as he pulled himself out from you, leaving you feeling a bit empty. He laid down on the surface, bringing you to lay on top of him. You both were breathless, covered in sweat, the room smelled like sex, but all you could focus on was the Illyrian beneath you. Neither of you spoke, but you felt complete. A feeling you weren’t expecting, so when Azriel leaned down to kiss you once more, you didn’t want it to end.

“Mine.” he whispered to you.

You smiled up at him, silently accepting his statement with no issue. You couldn’t say you despised the man anymore.

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #reader insert #acotar fandom #first time writing #like oof #shadowsinger x reader #azriel shadowsinger #oneshot #bat boys #night court #azriel smut #acotar fanfiction #acotar

[profound-imagination]

Dear Azriel - Part 2

A/N - So many of you asked for this and it makes me so happy! I hope you enjoy!!

T/W - talks of injury and blood.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Azriel,

Feyre and Rhys were right to send me away. I don't belong in that world, I don't belong in your world.

I wish it could be different, with all my heart. I wish I could show you the love you deserve and hold your beautiful hands as you let go of the past but I can't, I can't be that person for you, it would be selfish of me. You're over 500 years old and I won't even see 100. I'd get an entire lifetime with you, but you wouldn't get one with me.

Life can be so cruel sometimes but you know that more than anyone. Forgive your brother, forgive Feyre, they did what they did to protect us both.

You will have my heart until it beats it's last beat, please know that.

Y/N.

You flinched as Azriel read your words back to you, you hadn't written them with the intention of being cruel or hurting the Shadowsinger in front of you but his tone, the look in his mesmerising eyes had told you that you had done just that.

"What the hell is this?" He asked again "You don't belong in my world? Of course you do!" He stalked further into your living room and sat as best he could on the human sized sofa and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

You knelt in front of him "You know they're right Az, deep down you know it, you need to talk to them again, Rhys is your brother" he said nothing "I never meant to hurt you, but Cassian said-" his head shot up "Cassian's an idiot" you couldn't hold back the small laugh that came out of you "Well, yes, but he was right, my lifespan would go by in the blink of an eye to you, I'd grow old on my own, how could I do that to you? I see you, Azriel, I see you watch your brother's with their mates and I can see how badly you want that, the bond that comes with it, I can't give that to you"

He was tense, more so than you had ever seen him. "You want to know how I know you belong in my world?" He finally spoke and you nodded dumbly "Because from the moment I met you, I started rebuilding it around you." All of the air in your lungs left at once as the weight of his confession washed over you "I was ready to cover the world in shadows when I couldn't find you after the war and when I did, the state you were in" he cut himself of, the pain of the memory flashing in his eyes.

"But Elain-" he cut you off "Elain realised what I felt before I did, Elain has been trying to help me gain the courage to tell you, Elain saw us on Starfall and I couldn't lie to her about it, she's a seer, Elain seems to be the only person who supports my feelings for you" he ran a hand through his hair and you wanted to reach out and feel the strands, you wanted to find out if they were as soft as they looked.

You wanted him so badly, the life you'd envisioned while almost dying on that battlefield but you knew the hurt it would cause him in the long run. Scrambling to find words that weren't coming, you just gazed at him and took his hands in your own. The two of you sat there for what felt like an age, just looking at each other. "Have you forgiven them? Feyre and Rhys" he asked "No" you breathed out "But I understand why they did it."

"I'm very glad you understand Y/N, it seems my brother is having trouble with that." Rhys. He must've winnowed in. Azriel stiffened, his hands tightening their grip on your own. "Azriel, I told you not to come here" he spoke to his brother who in turn said nothing "Come on Az, say something, get angry, fight me, anything but this childish silence" you knew what the High Lord was doing, knew he was trying to get any reaction out of Azriel that he could, it wasn't good for anyone when Azriel was this tense and angry and if meant letting the Spymaster beat the shit out of him then Rhysand would do that, as long as he stopped brooding. Rhys spoke again "Wow, I haven't seen you this ice cold since Cassian slept with Mor" you winced, that was a low blow but Azriel finally spoke voice like death "Not here, this is her home" Rhys nodded "Tell me a time and a place brother" and whatever was decided was done so between the two of them in their minds as they were gone before you could even ask.

You stayed up all night waiting for Azriel to come back, or for Rhys to show up and tell you that you'd never see him again, that he'd pulled rank and forbade it but neither happened. You spent the following days watching out the window having dragged your chair over so you had a clear vision for when he came back. He didn't.

You'd started to lose hope when Cassian had shown up for his monthly check in, he hadn't even made it to the door when you came flying out of it, towards him "What happened? Did they kill each other" Cassian let out a rich laugh "No little human, they didn't, Rhys continued to bait Az until he snapped, it was hours before they stopped fighting both bruised and bloody but fine" you cringed. Cassian's eyes softened as he looked down at you "He's fine Y/N, as fine as he can be" you nodded.

"Is he forbidden from coming back here?" Cassian shook his head "Not forbidden but it has been made clear to him that there will be repercussions if he does" tears welled in your eyes as you threw yourself at Cassian "I miss him" you sobbed into his shoulder "I wish I wasn't human, I wish I was like you, I wish I could give him everything, Cass" his large hand stroking the back of your hair "I know that and so does he, but Az, he loves so deeply that he would let it consume him until your life was done and then he'd let it destroy him, he wouldn't come back from it Y/N, it would end him as well" you knew that.

"Do you think I'll ever see him again?" You asked Cassian over tea, you couldn't help but laugh at the giant Illyrian perched as best he could on one of your kitchen chairs, tiny little human sized teacup in between his fingers. "Yes, I think he'll fight it for a while but I don't think he'll be able to stay away" he took a sip of his tea "Have you actually left the house since I bought you here?" You shook your head "No" he rolled his eyes "Maybe try? Stop moping around here" you nodded "I could go and visit Lucien, Vassa and Jurian?" You suggested, Cassian simply nodded at you in agreement.

If you could curse Cassian you would've, the manor that Lucien and his friends resided in was not as close as he'd lead you to believe and it was getting dark. The forest you were traipsing through did nothing to help the quickly fading sunlight and the creature that resided here had started to wake up and come to life, you tensed as you heard a howl in the distance and several howls in response. Just as you were debating on whether it would be quicker to carry on or turn around and go home you caught several pairs of eyes shining through the trees and bushes, you were in deep trouble and you knew it as the wolves that had been watching you for you weren't sure how long started prowling towards you.

Did you freeze or did you run? That is all that was running through your mind for the few seconds you'd given yourself to consider your options, you couldn't out run them. Help me. You thought desperately Azriel, help me, help me, help me. You knew he couldn't, knew that he would have no idea where you were or what you were doing. Panic started to settle in your veins as you turned and ran, not daring to look back, the sound of snapping jaws was enough to keep you moving.

You felt like you'd had an entire building dropped on you as you were ripped from your feet, trapped under a wolf, paws on your shoulders, teeth snapping in your face. Pain erupted through you as claws sunk into your shoulders and you couldn't hold in the scream that came out of your throat or the tears that tumbled out of your eyes. It's breath was rancid and you wanted to vomit. Praying to any gods that would listen to spare you, swearing you'd never leave your cottage again.

More pain swept through you as the wolf was thrown from you, it's claws dragging along your arm and chest as it was thrown to your left. Looking to your right you saw a flash of auburn hair. Lucien. As he moved swiftly, scaring off the rest of the pack who must've figured he was the bigger threat. As gently as he could he gathered you in his arms and ran towards your home. "Shit, that's a lot of blood" he mumbled to himself more than you, numb from the pain you said nothing.

By the time he had gotten you back to your home, you were barely holding onto consciousness as you heard Lucien converse with someone, quickly and quietly but you knew, from the moment the other person had touched you who was there. Azriel. You would've known the feel of his hands anywhere and the cool, calming sensations of the shadows that obeyed him. You were in his arms now, head between his shoulder and jaw as darkness wrapped around you both, he was winnowing, you realised just before you passed out.

You awoke in an unfamiliar room, the bed was huge and cosy and the you felt the pain, you winced as you had tried to sit up "Here, let me help you" a kind and gentle voice spoke from the doorway, one you didn't recognise. You took in the older woman as she came into your line of sight, she was beautiful and have you a warm smile as she gently helped you sit up, piling pillows behind you to keep you as comfortable as possible, you stared into her eyes, eyes you would've known anywhere as she spoke again "So, you're the human girl that my son refuses to let go of" her tone was teasing but it has a protective edge to it, she was his mother, Azriel's mother. He'd bought you here, to her estate that he'd bought her.

You'd spent the afternoon talking with her, you had been here for three days, Azriel would be back this evening having been summoned by Rhysand and that she had ordered him out the door as he was insistent on staying by your side. She was sweet and kind and you could see how much she adored her son, your heart cracked at the thought of them being separated how they were. By the time Azriel had returned she was sitting on your bed with you, sharing stories like old friends and drinking tea. You caught Azriel smiling gently at the two of you, leaning against the doorframe, you beamed at him, his mother in turn beamed at you and excused herself stating that she was going to make dinner for the three of you.

Azriel took her place beside you, careful not to knock you with his wing as he spoke "I think she likes you" you smiled back at him "I like her, although, shredded to bits and covered in three days worth of sleep is not how I'd planned to meet her" his eyes were shining as he said "You'd thought about that?" Heat crept up to your cheeks as you said "I think about a lot of things" he smiled again and you decided then that you would give all you had for him to always have that smile on his face "How's the pain?" He said, eyes glancing at the banges that were across your shoulder and chest. More heat crawled up your neck to your cheeks as you realised that the bandages were all that was covering your top half. "It's okay, I'd like a bath before dinner though" without a word he stood and walked across the room to the adjoining one where he disappeared from view, you heard the sound of running water and moments later he was back next to you, scooping you in his arms and heading towards the running bath.

He placed you standing on the cold floor by the sunken tub and told you to strip off the clothing you had on which was only a loose pair of sleep pants. Your eyes widened at his request but his stare told you not to question it as he turned to give you privacy to do so, you tried, you really did try to get them off by yourself but you couldn't do it with your bandages and you sighed "I can't do it by myself" you admitted sheepishly, you watched his wings twitch every so slightly along with the muscles in his back as he turned back to face you, a small smirk on his face. He walked over to you and took his place behind you so your back would've been pressed against his chest if you were brave enough to take one step backwards.

His hands swept over your hips once and then his fingers curled round the waistband of your sleep pants and the lacy underwear you had on underneath and you gasped ever so quietly as he pulled them down your legs in one swift motion, tapping your thigh to tell you to step out of them. Heat flooded you this time and you prayed he couldn't tell how much that had aroused you. His leathers joined your clothes on the floor as you tensed, knowing he was stood behind you in nothing. You didn't dare look at him.

"What are you doing?" Voice not as strong as you wanted it to be, he didn't answer, instead he stepped in the bath and sat down, you looked at him now, his chest, his tattoos, little scars covered him like a dot to dot and you swore to yourself you would count them all one day. "Are you going to join me or are you just going to stare" he teased as more heat flooded through you. Done for, you were absolutely done for. You knew he wouldn't have you there in the bath, not yet, not while you were hurt but the sight of him and the domesticity of it nearly killed you, stepping into the tub you were rather pleased with your new found bravery and you took a seat opposite him, he shook his head and took you by the wrist gently and pulled you so you were sat in between his legs. "We need to clean your wounds" he told you gently as you felt his fingers ghost up your back and the bandages around your chest and shoulders started to loosen.

#azriel x reader #azriel #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #acowar #acosf #acomaf #acotar #acofas

[readychilledwine]

Requiem for a Dream

Part two: Oxytocin

(One month later)

Rhiannon and Rhysand have fallen into a routine. Rhys life consists of therapy with Madja, training with Cassian, and returning to his work as High Lord. The only thing missing now is the pretty female he calls his wife.

Warnings - NSFW, sexual tension, mutual masterbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, and as always unedited. Minors - shooo DNI

A/N - our first slightly spicy scene between two lovers who just can't communicate. This part was written with "Oxytocin" by Billie Eilish in mind.

Part One Part Three Part Four

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Rhiannon smiled as she walked out into the training room where a constant tug was coming from the bond.

She could hear Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand laughing. She could feel joy in her bones, lighting her spirit like a flame.

She rested her forearms on the ledge, leaning forward to watch her shirtless husband getting his ass handed to him by her brother. Mor appeared next to her, taking her left hand in her own and squeezing. "He's doing better today. Still a little slower than he used to be." Her bell-like laughter came. "His knees popped, Rhi."

Rhiannon covered her mouth, snorting before she began to laugh. Cassian had noticed her, sending her a wink before beginning to ref the sparing taking place again.

It took Azriel no time to throw Rhysand on the ground. "Gods you are so out of shape," Azriel helped him up. "Maybe you should be sparing your wife instead."

Rhiannon's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?! What the fuck does that mean?"

Cassian smirked. "It means the second your mate is around you stop training. Lazy brat. Relying on her oh so powerful husband for protection."

"I've been busy dealing with my duties, general." Rhiannon blinked at the three laughing males before giving Rhysand a look. Her eyes went from his head to his feet and back up before she smirked. "Besides, I could take him."

Silence fell over the training area.

Rhysand was nodding before he clicked his tongue. "Then come try, Rhiannon Darling." He snapped her illyrian training leathers onto her body, motioning for her to join them in the ring. "Come on, mate."

Rhiannon glared at him, walking to the ring as Azriel shook his head. "If you two do what you did last time you trained together, I'm going to take my own eyes out with a spoon."

Rhiannon smiled at her big brother, who glared at her in return. "That'd only stop you from seeing it, Azzie. You still have to smell and hear it." Azriel gagged loudly, shooting a look to a laughing Cassian before flipping all three of them off.

Rhys stood face to face with his wife, an ever growing smirk on his face. "You look lovely today, my dear. How was my uncle?"

Rhiannon rolled her eyes, taking the hair tie Cassian was offering her. "Oh. Charming as always. I had planned on going into town and spending your gold to make up for being forced to see him, but evidently, I will be nursing your wounds and looking lovely for that instead."

Cassian chuckled backing away. "Oh Rhys," the general spoke, "Rhi-rhi spent the last 50 years training with me daily to work out her anger. Have fun with that." The smirk her mate wore fell as she smiled sweetly at him. "Begin."

Rhys made the first move, wanting to get Rhiannon on the ground as fast as possible to prevent her from getting hurt. His arms went around her waist, locking tightly. Rhiannon recovered quickly, going on the defensive and slamming her foot into his and then her elbow into his lower stomach.

His grip on her loosened, allowing her to grab and twist one of his arms behind his back. He moved quickly, freeing himself from her grasp before tutting her from across the ring.

He struck first again, catching her into a forward bear hug and lifting her off the ground. Rhiannon looked to Cassian, slightly panicked, and he nodded at her. "You know how to get out of this, sis."

Rhiannon locked her feet behind Rhysand's knee pits and began digging her heels in. She heard her mate yelp and his knees slightly bent. She took advantage, throwing her body weight forward and knocking him onto his back on the ground.

She had pulled Rhysand's head into her shoulder and neck to protect him in the fall and unlocked her legs as quickly as she could. She moved to look down at him with a smile before realizing the position they were in.

Rhysand and Rhiannon were silent as she sat on top of him, hands having fallen to his chest. His hands were tightly locked on her hips. Their lips were inches apart. The tension between them could have been cut with the dullest of knives. Unknowingly to each of them, they were both craving each other. Desperate to touch each other. Rhiannon knew she needed to wait, though, despite the growing heat in her body. She was off of him instantly and moving quickly to the door.

She heard him calling her name, following after her, asking what was wrong, but she didn't stop. She knew if she did, her own selfish needs would get in the way of his healing. Opening a door and shutting herself into the spare bedroom she had moved into since his return, Rhiannon warded it from him before ripping her leathers off on the way to the bathroom.

—-----------

Rhys slammed the nearest object onto the ground before sitting on his bed. He was this close to her. This close to taking advantage of the opening the four of them had set up to get Rhiannon to kiss him and possibly touch him.

He felt like an addict without a fix the past week. He was ready to start trying physical intimacy with his wife, his beautiful selfless wife. He sighed and leaned back on the bed, tugging that bond between them gently and knocking on her mental shields.

"What are you doing, little nightingale?" Rhys felt his brows growing up as her emotions hit him tenfold. Arousal and need smacked him in the face as he found that one small gap she always left in her mind for him.

He wasn't prepared for the image that greeted him. His wife had her pretty little fingers buried in her cunt, her head tossed back in pleasure before she returned watching herself in the mirror imagining it was him fingering her instead of herself.

Rhysand moved his hands to his leathers untying them and freeing his aching cock from his pants before running his hand over the already leaking tip. He began to stroke himself in time with her movements as she rode her hand. He could feel how turned on she was, how needy she was, he could hear her moans. He could practically taste her on his tongue as his eyes shut, and he moaned her name softly.

He began speeding up his movements as he saw one of her hands squeeze her perfect tits and her fingers come out to play with that bundle of nerves he could use to make her cum within seconds. She was close, panting his name like a prayer over and over as if he was there. She was tugging the bond, accidentally allowing the overly active string of fate to send her pleasure straight to her mate.

He desperately wanted to be behind her with his hand in place of her own, her body pressed tightly against his larger frame as his long fingers pulled her apart and he whispered every single thing he'd be doing to her, but only if she was a good girl and came for him.

One more circle around her swollen clit was all it took for his wife to come undone on her own hands and fingers. He followed her over that edge, both of them moaning out each other's names. He relaxed back, breathing heavily and watching as his mate sat in the guest bathroom, shivering and coming down from her orgasm. He set the goal then and there as he saw her slick dripping down her thighs.

Within the next month, he'd kiss her, bring her back to their bed, and he'd at least taste her.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Tag List:

@horneybeach1

@we-were-beautiful

@cat-or-kitten

@twsssmlmaa

@dream-alittlebiggerdarling

@tothestarsandwhateverend

#acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar #rhys acotar #rhys fic #rhysand

[nottyourlover]

Habit.

summary: a rare lazy morning with azriel.

warnings: none?

word count: 344.

You and Azriel had spent the night tangled up in each other's arms, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and soft pillows. As the morning light filtered through the window, you slowly stirred awake, your bodies still intertwined in a mess of sheets and limbs.

Azriel's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself staring into your face, your eyes closed, your breathing deep and even. He couldn't help but smile as he watched you sleep, admiring the soft curve of your cheek and the way your hair spilled over the pillow like a waterfall.

You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. You smiled sleepily, admiring how his eyes changed from brown to green in the morning light. "Morning," you murmured, yawning.

"Good morning," Azriel replied, his voice low and gentle. "You look beautiful."

You grinned, rolling over onto your back and stretching languidly. "Flattery will get you everywhere," you teased, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Azriel chuckled, tracing a finger along your jaw, then to your collarbone. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice playful. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

You lay there for a few moments longer, just enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies and the soft rustle of the sheets. Azriel leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling back.

"You know," you said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I could get used to waking up like this."

Azriel smiled, his eyes twinkling with faint amusement. "Me too," he replied. "Although I have to admit, I wouldn't mind waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs every now and then."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You and your appetite," you teased. "I swear, you're like a bottomless pit."

Azriel grinned, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "Hey, it's a healthy warrior's appetite," he said, his voice laced with humor.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile belied your exasperation. "Whatever you say, Az," you said. "But if you keep eating like that, I might have to start hiding the bacon."

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. "Is that a threat, my love?" he asked, his voice smooth.

You laughed, sitting up and throwing a pillow at him. "You wish," you said, eyes dancing with mirth. You reached for the dress you were wearing last night, the chill of the morning air causing goosebumps. You felt Azriel's eyes boring into the bare flesh of your back, the small of your waist as you bent over, and from the resounding laugh that echoed down the mating bond, you figured he was enjoying the view. "But seriously," you said, trying to ignore the tingling on your skin. "We should probably get up at some point, we have that meeting with Rhys and Mor today. You should thank Cass too, since he was just so kind to give me the day off," you smirked, knowing the general would be extremely preoccupied with Nesta, and the little gift you bought her while shopping in The Rainbow.

Azriel groaned, pulling the blankets up around his chin. "Don't mention Cass right now." he said. "Besides, Rhys loves us, can't we just stay here forever?"

You shook your head, laughing. "As much as I would love that, I think a certain bub we also have to babysit this morning won't be happy. You love Nyx," you said, reaching over to quickly give him a peck on the lips. "But don't worry, we can always come back here later."

Azriel grinned, pulling you back as he kissed you again. "Oh, I like the sound of that," he said. "Maybe we can even make it a habit."

You blushed, feeling a rush of heat spread through your body. "You're incorrigible."

Azriel just grinned, pulling you back down onto the bed and wrapping his arms around you. "And you love it," he whispered.

#azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel x y/n #smut #fluff #angst #acotar fanfiction

[crashtestjeffy]

Fuzzy brained and exhausted still...Does this ever pass after Covid?

I feel like I have nothing much to add to any discussion or story, so I have fallen mostly quiet.

If you feel like I am not seeing you or I am ignoring you, I am not. I am just...Not here. In a lot of ways. But I see you, you matter to me. Even if you vex or confuse me. Even if we are no longer "friends", but you still peak on me.

My thousandaire days are over. Bills apparently happen regularly. Who knew? My wealth is down to $2.33 and about 10 days till I get mor monies.

Last night I dreamed Ruby and I moved to a lovely new apartment that isn't in the attic of some old house and there was more space and light. It was amazing. But my mom was still alive and she was helping us move. Which made me sad.

Have you noticed the new censorship? The most successful censorship ever? Demonetization. Internet sites and social media sites that don't allow users to say words like suicide, rape and murder etc... All the words we need to say to be an honest society. Who knew that to control the tongue all the wealthy had to do was tell the aspiring wealthy "We won't pay you if you say or show things we don't like" - It's deeply disturbing, the double-speak that has taken over social media especially - Unaliving someone, or predators on SA someone. Things like that. The internet was supposed to herald in a new freedom of speech and accessibility of knowledge and information. But instead it is narrowing it all down. It is maybe more terrifying than any other thing happening in the world. You can't show war, you can't show abuse, you can't make the evil accountable. You cannot even say it. That will be the end of our civilization. Not a nuclear war. A deafening silence as evil engulfs us.

Anyway, I love you guys. I especially love you. You're my crush.

To quote the movie Natural Born Killers - Mickey speaks "The whole world's comin' to an end, Mal..." Mallory says "I see angels"...Mickey continues "They're comin' down for us from heaven. And I see you ridin' a big red horse, and you're driving them horses, whippin' 'em, and the're spitting and frothing all 'long the mouth, and they're coming right at us."

The end is always the last thing, isn't it?

#i am sorry i am this way

[acourtofmarvels]

Comfort - Cassian Pt.2

Part 1

Warnings: none. cuteness overload :D

*35 years later*

"Cassian can you please take your feet off the table? We eat there." I smacked his leg and took a seat beside him to eat lunch.

He groaned and obeyed, putting his feet on the ground. "Gimme a bite." He pointed to the sandwich I had just made. I haven't even taken a bite of it yet.

"You just ate like, 3 minutes ago." I took a bite of my sandwich, glaring at him. I swear he is always hungry.

"Yours looks better than mine," he whined like a child.

I looked over at Azriel who was sitting across from us. He'd already finished his lunch and was reading a book at the table.

"Azriel did you not give the dog a treat after lunch?" Azriel lifted his eyes from his book, humor in them.

"That was rude," Cassian replied.

"Let the girl eat her lunch in peace," Azriel defended me, going back to his book.

I stuck my tongue out at Cassian and then took another bite of my sandwich. He was glaring at me but I could see the mischief behind his glare. I'm in trouble.

"Ask the house to-" I stopped my sentence. The air grew cold and eerie. Still, everything went so very still.

Azriel and Cassian felt it too, sitting up straight in their chairs. Something was different. We could all feel it.

There was a thud from the balcony. As if something jumped onto it, or someone landed on it.

Azriel and Cassian stood up simultaneously, grabbing their weapons. Their siphons glowing as they listened around.

Who the hell just landed at the House of Wind? No one can get up here unless they have wings. The Illyrians wouldn't dare to step foot up here. It can't be Mor, she's suppose to be in the Hewn City all day.

Azriel's shadows swirled around him, informing him of whatever just entered our house. My heart plummeted as I saw the color drain from Azriel's face.

"What's wrong? Who's here?" I shot to my feet. I was almost tempted to grab one of the daggers at Cassian's hip. If Azriel was scared then-

"I was expecting some open arms, not swords and daggers."

I don't think I ever turned around so quickly in my life.

Rhysand. Rhys. My brother. He's home. He's here, he's alive.

My knees buckled and I would have fallen to the ground if Cassian had not caught me.

My hand covered my mouth, silencing the sob that escaped me, tears poured out my eyes.

I beat Cassian and Azriel to him first, wrapping my arms around his neck so tightly. I held on for life, afraid this was a dream and the second I let go he would be gone. But I could feel him, smell him. He's here, home.

His arms stay wrapped around me as I placed my hands on his face, looking him over.

"Are you hurt?" I didn't dare ask if he was okay. How could he ever be okay from what ever torture she put him through?

"I'm alright," he replied. No signs of injury or bruises. But he was so very pale. Years away from sunlight would do that to you.

"I can't believe you are here." I wiped the tears from his cheeks, he did the same to me.

I wrapped my arms around him once more, kissing the top of his head a few times.

I didn't want to let him go but I know Azriel and Cassian would want their time with him.

The second I stepped from his embrace Cassian replaced me, literally picking Rhys off the floor and spinning him around.

"If you do not put me down I cannot promise that I will not puke on you," Rhys's laugh sent warmth through my body. I never thought I'd hear that again.

It didn't feel real. The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and the fact that Rhys was here still felt like a dream.

Amarantha was dead. Feyre saved us all, Rhys's mate. Rhys's mate... He has a mate. Who's marrying someone else. He showed us her. Showed us all she did. His face lit up telling us the story about her killing the wyrm.

It's been 3 months and I am savoring every last bit of it.

***

"You're different, sister." Rhys stared at me from across the room. He sat at his desk as I lounged in the chair in his bedroom. We did this often. This was where we always had our deep talks or hashed things out if we were upset. He would do work at his desk and I would occupy my time in the chair by reading or writing. 

"I'm happy. You're finally home." I looked up from the hat I was knitting, another thing I picked up in the 50 years he was gone. 

The smile faded off his face as he looked down at his hands. "Mor told me..."

"Whatever she told you, is in the past. Everything is good, now you're home. I'm good, I promise." Though I looked away from him I could feel the guilt in him from across the room. "Enough with the sadness, please."

"Fine, you don't want to talk about it. I'll respect that. Is there anything you do want to talk about?" His voice was hinting. There's no way he knows. We haven't.... well not since he got back. That was my decision. 

"Like what?" I didn't dare look up at him.

"Hey, you guys down for Rita's tonight?" Gods his timing was the worse. Of course Cassian had to come in and interrupt now.

Rhys and I made eye contact. He had a stupid smirk on his face. He knew... How did he know?

"Cass, please join us. We were actually just about to have a chat." Rhys pointed to his bed for Cassian to take a seat. 

Cassian went to take a seat, completely oblivious to the situation. "No, leave." He froze in his spot, looking at Rhys and me confused.

"Cassian, take a seat. As your High Lord, I order you." I could smack that stupid smug smile off his face.

"You can't do that." I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. Pulling this High Lord card... I should smack him up side the head.

"Can and just did, sit."

Cassian took and seat and glanced between at Rhysand and I, who were having a stare off. 

"Cassian..." Rhys began, now looking at him. Cassian was trying to play it cool but I noticed the sweat beginning to form on his forehead. My heart was racing a hundred miles an hour, no doubt my brother could hear it too. "Are you sleeping with my sister?"

"Oh my gods, really Rhys?" I shot up from my seat. I felt the lie on my tongue, "Cassian and I are not-"

"We're together, yes. We have been for a while now. We take care of each other, watch out for one another. You can be mad at me, beat the shit out of me but I don't give a fuck." Cassian stood back up, no longer looking at Rhys but now me. "400 years I have loved her. 35 years I have been utterly, hopelessly in love with her."

Silence all around. I was shocked he admitted that right away. I mean we were caught, it was gonna be hard to lie to him. Cassian was standing up for us and here I was gawking like a complete idiot.

"Cassian and I are mates," I admitted to my brother nervously, but proudly. "I am madly in love with him. We wish to be mated and married but only with your permission."

That smirk had faded from my brothers face the minute Cassian spoke. His face was blank of emotion and he was silent for a while.

"This is not what I was expecting." He spoke. He crossed his arms over his chest. He looked mad but he was silent again for a while. "Fine. You have my blessing. But I'm still kicking your ass for hitting on my sister." He stood up a punched Cassian in the shoulder and then came and wrapped his arms around me which automatically relaxed me.

He placed his hands on either sides of my face, forcing me to stare into his eyes. The eyes we shared from our father. 

Are you sure? He spoke to me in my mind. My shields were down for him the second he wrapped his arms around me.

I nodded and replied to only him, I've never experienced this type of happiness before.

His face softened as a single tear rolled down my face, and he wiped it away. He was always the one to wipe away my tears. He placed a kiss on my forehead and pulled away.

"Just don't show it around me," he shivered and I rolled my eyes.

"Rhys I'd like to request some time off work," Cassian said with a smirk, looking me up and down.

"I hate this already. Get out of my face." He waved us off.

Cassian held his hand out to me which I gladly took as we ran out of Rhys's room. The second we were out of earshot, to spare Rhys, Cassian's hands and lips were all over me.

"I'm never waiting that long ever again. It was pure torture not to kiss you, to hold you, to touch you," Cassian growled in my ear. 

"I know, I'm sorry." I brought his lips back to mine. "Never again."

"Are we doing this?" He whispered, out of breath.

"Meet me at the cabin in an hour." I stepped out of reach from him, a big smile on my face.

"An hour?" He groaned. 

"One hour and then... you'll have me for eternity." I stepped forward and kissed his lips once more, in a slow and achingly long kiss. "I love you. One hour." Then I winnowed away. 

A/N cute little ending :) hope you guys liked it!

Masterlist

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #cassian #cassian fanfic #cassian fanfiction #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #cassian acotar

[acourtofthought]

forgive me if you've answered this before, but what do you think the "big betrayal" SJM hinted at in the next book is going to be? part of me is thinking its going to be az defying rhys and entering an affair with elain before that inevitably turns sour. I know a certain subset of fandom is suggesting gwyn is gonna be evil which is goofy, but I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Is this something she said in an interview or something hinted at in SF? I'd love to hear more about the Betrayal she spoke of! Up until SF and even in SF, we had proof of Az being defiant and announcing that he'd disobey Rhys's orders but we've never actually seen him go behind Rhys's back. I think if Az was planning on defying Rhys in regards to Elain, a few things wouldn't have happened. First, I don't think Az would have left the River House thinking to himself that he knew he had been right to avoid Elain. We're directly in Azriel's thoughts and if he had real feelings for Elain, I imagine we would have gotten something along the lines of, "Rhys just didn't understand" or "Rhys was wrong for thinking he only wanted Elain for sex". Instead, his silence to Rhys and lack of thoughts to himself sort of confirm that he really doesn't have the best intentions when it comes to Elain. We also get the line, "Rhys had rarely threatened punishment or pulled rank. It stunned Azriel enough that it knocked him from his rage." Which to me means that Az saying, "You can't order me to do that" is simply bravado because he's throwing a tantrum that someone called him out for irrational and irresponsible behavior. I think when Rhys finally used his commanding voice, it calmed Az down enough to see that he was acting out of line. It reminded him that he knew he should have stayed away from Elain because his jealousy over not getting what he wants (a mating bond like his brothers) is making him do things he knows he'd end up regretting. I really don't think SJM then added Gwyn into things if Az is planning on defying Rhys in order to be with Elain because this is what Az's story would look like: In love with Mor for 500 + years Starts to show interest in Elain while also still being in love with Mor Gets ready to kiss Elain but tells her it's a mistake. Can't confirm to Rhys that he's over Mor. Can't confirm that he's thought of a future with Elain but gets pissed at Rhys as if Rhys doesn't have a right to be pissed at Az's non responses however he still ends up spending the second half of the evening with Gwyn who makes him feel a bit better after everything that happened. Decides to give Gwyn the gift he originally planned on giving Elain and the thought of Gwyn's happiness makes him feel joy. Defies Rhys to be with Elain. That all sounds like a male who has some major issues. He would literally be bouncing back and forth to whichever female showed him the tiniest bit of interest at any given moment and I can't imagine SJM writing a male love interest like that unless she plans on tanking his character the way she did with Tamlin. Also, we do get confirmation in SF that where Az did first attempt to defy Rhys and Feyre with going after Briallyn, he eventually agreed to hold off. That to me was SJM demonstrating that while Az's initial response has been to rage and throw tantrums, he's starting to show respect for his High Lord and High Lady's decisions. If there is to be some big betrayal I think it's going to completely be related to plot (not ships, going behind friends and family just to date someone) and won't end up being a betrayal at all, at least not by a major character who is getting a POV. Whether it's an Elucien book or Gwynriel book next, it doesn't make sense to me to have one of the main characters get in over their head and need Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, etc to save them. That makes no sense when the hero / heroine of a novel are the ones supposed to save the day. Also, if the IC end up betrayed we'd need their POV to see their emotional turmoil over having been betrayed or suspecting the betrayal in the first place and that doesn't make a lot of sense if it's an Az POV. It could work if say, Elain thought Lucien was betraying them and she decided to keep tabs on him to find out more information only to learn that Lucien never betrayed them at all but had a clever scheme going on which ends up helping everyone.

What could also be a possibility is if a secondary character (i.e. Eris) is the one to betray them. He strikes me as a very Loki like character who bounces back and forth between doing good and being ready to throw them all under the bus if it no longer serves his purpose.

#elucien #gwynriel #anti e/riel #acotar theory

[fourteentrout]

Colors in a Dead Garden

@tamlinweek Day 6: Fairy Tale AU

AO3 Link Here! Preview (1st chapter) below the cut!

Summary:

"It is not just an ancient enchantment that they’re dealing with, it is not just an incompetent, broken High Lord that never even asked for his position. It is the fall of the Spring Court."

With the fate of the mortal lands---and possibly the rest of Prythian---at stake, Rhysand has to confront the Court that has caused so much of his pain and suffering. The male whose claws have sunk into Rhysand's life time and time again over the centuries.

For Prythian, Rhysand finds that he has to reckon with parts of himself and his past that he's been burying for hundreds of years, and find the cure to a curse from another time in the process.

Something is wrong. The feeling washes over Rhys just as Azriel emerges from the shadows, the scent of his unease pricking at the back of Rhysand's throat. Something is really, really wrong, and not just because Azriel is so on edge.

"You need to get everyone in here." Azriel commands softly just as Rhys sends the message down the respective bonds. Within seconds, Feyre, Mor, Cassian, and Amren rush into the living space, some on foot, some winnowing, each in various states of dress and alertness. Cassian doesn't even have a shirt on. Feyre is in a loose, concealing nightgown that drapes all the way down to the floor and seems to be one size too big, with the way it slips unevenly off one of her shoulders—Rhys isn't sure he's ever seen her wear it before. He can't even remember where she got it. But, of course, there are more pressing matters at hand.

"I felt it too," Feyre says breathlessly as they all gather their bearings. "Should I contact my sisters? Should they know about this? Or, perhaps they have more information than we do, I only got a—a feeling—" she stutters, her voice jagged as her eyes dart around the group.

"No need." Azriel assures her. They had all felt the same thing, the surge of power. Or rather, the lack thereof. Not like anything they had felt when the wall was destroyed, not like something being ripped away by force—but like a candle being snuffed out. A flame turning to smoke, a dampening of light. Something so impactful that all of the High Lords would have felt it, yes, but something remarkably soft as well.

"It's the Spring Court." Azriel informs the group. Tension sizzles in the air, and Rhys feels his chest tighten with alertness. Tamlin. "I don't know the exact details, but it's bad. The Court is...there's something wrong with it, beyond its present state. This could be dangerous—not just for Spring, but for all of Prythian." Azriel turns to address Rhys directly. "We must assemble a counsel with all available High Lords as soon as possible."

Rhysand, though his mind seems to flounder, nods. He sits again at the dining table, grabbing one of the pieces of parchment he hadn't marked yet in his late night book-keeping and beginning to draft a request.

"I can check the library." Amren suggests. "I'll look for anything regarding this—" she tuts, interrupting herself, "It's hard to look for information on a feeling, but I trust you'll be able to give me something to go off of as soon as you find it." She says. Rhys nods, signing the hasty letter and dispersing it among four other pieces of parchment before sending them off.

"I will go directly to the Spring Court." He declares. Silence washes over the room, and Rhys can’t help but feel like all of the air gets sucked out of it as the group trains their eyes on him. He looks at Feyre, at her apprehensive expression.

"Rhys, if this is dangerous—you can't just—I can't go…I can't go with you." She trails off, crossing her arms over her body, holding herself.

"I know. I requested that the counsel be held there. I won't be alone." He tells her. "Hopefully."

She looks up at him with sharp eyes, tightening her grip on her torso. “I really wish we could rely on more than hope.” She says, an edge to her soft voice. As if on cue, Azriel melts into the shadows for a moment and reappears with three rolled letters in his hand, each sealed with a different color. Summer, Day, and Dawn. Azriel doesn't hesitate to open each, laying them out on the wooden table.

"Summer knows it's the Spring Court—it's how I know as well. The Summer guards stationed there were the first to feel it. I have a source in their troop who told me what he could, but as of now they are still investigating. Tarquin will show, along with Thesan. Helion has a present Courtly matter to deal with but will attend if he is able." Azriel sums up. "They will arrive at sunrise."

Nothing from Winter or Autumn. Unsurprising, though not ideal. Rhys doesn't bother sending a follow up letter. It's a miracle as it is that three courts have already responded, nevermind actually agreed to be present upon availability. Rhysand rises, facing his Court.

"Mor, I need you and Cassian to stay in Velaris. Whatever is happening down there may not be a threat to us, but I'm not taking any chances. Be on alert. Feyre, please join Amren in the library, and if need be, contact Nesta and get her to join you as well." Rhys knows it’s a slim chance that Nesta would even listen to Feyre, nevermind agree to help, but Feyre nods nonetheless and uncrosses her arms. Something in her eyes solidifies, her mental strength visibly returning. Rhys shoots what he can only describe as a beam of appreciation down the bond. "Azriel, continue to correspond with your sources, get me any information you can. We can't, by any means, let Prythian fall into panic. The Courts can't handle a break in the structure, not so soon after the War, so it'll be best if we keep as much as we can under wraps. Whatever this is, we've been through worse, but we have to be careful about it. Stay safe, and stay quiet." Rhys instructs the group, receiving silent nods in return. With that he sends them off on their respective endeavors. Only Feyre stays behind for a moment.

"Rhys." She says in a way that means she's worried.

"Feyre." Rhys responds in a way that means he'll be careful.

"I love you." She whispers simply, approaching him and wrapping her arms around his middle. Her head presses against his chest, her cheek right against his heart. He returns the embrace. He can't even express how unbelievably lucky he feels to have her, so all he does is tell her he loves her too. He sends her off with a kiss and a tuck of her loose hair behind her ear. He tries to offer a reassuring smile. She tries to return it. With that, she retreats to their room.

As Rhysand begins to prepare for his journey, he sends a silent prayer to the Mother that things are not as bad as they seem.

#tamlinweek #tamlin #acotar fanfic #my fanfic #my fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #rhysand #tamsand #rhysand x tamlin #tamlin a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses #rhys a court of thorns and roses #rhys and tamlin

[box-architecture]

OK so. Technap, that eventually becomes Dreamnonap upon more demons that Aspens decided to attack me with:

The conception of the AU was that Sapnap, wanting to learn about Dreams location/weaknesses/etc., goes to Techno to practice sparring, also hoping that he can learn some fighting techniques to use against Dream. He of course doesn't say that when asking Techno to spar, because Techno has very clearly made his allegiances regarding Dream clear: that's his best friend. So Sap is going with the Friendly Sparring Every Week To Improve Myself Option.

The result is: Techno absolutely wipes the floor with Sapnap, is extraordinary tight lipped about his dearest bestie, and Sapnap is really, really gay

When Aspens specifically talked about their relationship he described it as "a bond" and incited some level of not just romantic implications but platonic ones as well

Their Bond Grew, This Potential Bond

Which makes it really compelling. And also I think Sapnap is gay for a man who can beat his ass. It's a ruse at first but Techno's just charming, and ultimately Sapnap is a determined person, and I think Techno appreciates that

Slowly slides them together

And then of course while they're having a hot drink, Sapnap admits that Hey Actually This Was The Initial Reason I Came To Spar With You, But It Isn't Anymore

And Techno sits there's and untangles that complicated fuckery of "I was sortve used sortve not, to get to my bestie, and there were some bad intentions there that I can relate to, and oh god I have to find a way to respond to this he's looking at me like I have to respond"

And Sapnap assumes he's fucked everything up and just. Leaves. Thinks that no only has he lost his past bond with Dream, but he's lost any chance at a new bond with Techno.

Because he's started to accept, after spending time with Techno who pushes only a positive narrative of Dream, that maybe he's fucked up with Dream a little. Just a tiny bit.

And now he's just. Alone. Fuck.

And he doesn't come to their next sparring session that week. And Techno mopes about that until Phil pushes him out of the house to go talk to Sapnap

They're both really good at communicating

Totally

They promise

Techno totally didn't watch Sapnap leave after saying all that and just assume his silence would be fine

He's normal and good at feelings

But after Techno goes and searches the smp, and finds Sapnap when Enderboo shows up and directs him over to the area,

And Sapnap assumes Techno is here to kill him. His facial expression looked vaguely murder-y before Sapnap just up and left, and he Is carrying a big fuck off sword.

But they sort of talk. Badly. They figure it out and they're not good at communicating but they're sparring together again and sort of dating maybe???? Listen

They flirt and and clearly have Something going on but neither of them could tell you what it is

They're dating but neither of them will say dating out loud. There's something wrong with them.

And of course, meanwhile, The Egg Comes Back, and Red Punz is now happening. Dream would like his Punz back, and Technoblade is the most reliable person he has to get them back.

So he treks all the way to the arctic, gets all the way over, and Sapnap Is There

That's Not Normal

Dream messages Techno asking for a safe time to meet, because he has no idea why Sapnap is there, he's trying to avoid an ambush, maybe Sapnap decided to blame Techno for Dream escaping and decided Techno is bad now too???

Except Techno is reassuring him that Sapnap is Fine, Actually. Sapnap isn't hostile anymore. It's all cool. They can all work on taking care of the Egg together! Ignore that Sapnap is still grumbly to Dream and still saying 'I don't like you still this I'm just not gonna go after you anymore'

(Techno: you can't go after Dream, it would make me sad! You wouldn't do that to me right :(((

Sap: … goddamit stop making those eyes at me >:(

Techno: I win )

Sapnap is like, both not hunting Dream anymore because OK Maybe There's More Going On And I Fucked Up A Little

But also because he wouldn't hurt Techno. He is a grumble Panda

But then during a battle, Dream is in danger, and Sapnap protects him, and Now They're Tending To Each Others Wounds and

Dream: you wouldn't have been faulted if I died. No one would have blamed you

Sapnap:…..

#Dreamnonap #sfw boxing