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acourtofswiftiesandshadowdaddies · 3 months

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Listen- I had an idea. I was thinking about a Lucien Vanserra and the reader feeking the bond snap? But Lucien feeling like he's not worthy of her but she tells him how pretty his eyes are? Even with the scar? I was thinking of adding the prompt 32 angst and 12 fluff maybe.

Scars and All

Lucien x Archeron!reader, Helion x reader (father, daughter dynamic)

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

Prompts: Fluff- “I wish you could see the way I see you,” Angst- “You… why did it have to be you?”

Summary: The youngest Archeron sister has always been ignored and rejected by everyone. When she finally finds her mate in the Day Court who thought her heart could’ve broken more at the rejection of someone who was made to love her?

a/n i legit could not find any good headers for this so i downloaded 6 billion of them from pinterest, my sister had made this dress for herself and i had direct access to it thats why the description is so long 😭 im trying a new thing with describing facial features and stuff like that more lmk if u like it or not. ✨ not edited ✨

There was a ball in Day Court, almost all high fae were invited, and as the sister in law to the High Lord of Night Court it was compulsory for all of us to be there.

The dress I'm wearing is a masterpiece of intricacy and elegance, designed to captivate and command attention. Crafted from the finest materials, it combines delicate silk and ethereal lace, creating a harmonious blend of softness and sensuality. The color chosen is a rich midnight blue, reminiscent of the starry night sky that blankets the Night Court.

The bodice of the dress is a work of art, adorned with intricate silver and sapphire beadwork that accentuates the curves of the wearer. It plunges low, revealing a hint of the wearer's décolletage, while thin, delicate straps grace the shoulders, adding a touch of allure. The back of the dress dips in a graceful V, teasing a glimpse of smooth, exposed skin.

From the waist, the dress cascades into a flowing skirt, made of layers of diaphanous silk that sways with every step. The fabric is sheer and airy, allowing a tantalizing view of the wearer's legs as she moves, creating an alluring dance between modesty and seduction. The hemline is asymmetrical, with delicate lace trim that adds a touch of whimsy and femininity.

As I move, the dress catches the light, shimmering and sparkling like a constellation in the moonlit sky. It exudes an air of confidence and sophistication, empowering the woman who wears it to embrace her inner strength and beauty.

The dress wasn't my first choice though. My first choice was an indigo dress with a sweetheart neckline, that showed just enough of my cleavage to not be named as slutty. It had a slit that showed my whole right leg, but Elain had liked that dress after she saw it in my wardrobe, so I gave it to her.

She always got what she wanted.

I wasn't a type of feminine beauty like my sisters. They all had graceful features and beautiful dainty blonde hair. Nesta and I were the most similar with our sharp features.

But that's where the similarities ended.

My hair was a lustrous cascade of ebony strands, shimmered like a moonless night sky, reflecting an ethereal sheen with every subtle movement. Its glossy surface captured the light, revealing depths of darkness that held an irresistible allure.

Once I had slipped my heels on, I headed down the stairs where everyone else was waiting for me. My lips curved into a sly smile when everyone's attention was on me, glancing over the room, my eyes stopped at Elain. Her dress (my dress) was falling at all the wrong places.

She wasn't as curvy as me, Nesta and Feyre. I don't get why she would want the dress, it's obviously not fitting her properly. Ignoring Elain's incessant huffing, I head to Nesta and Cassian.

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight, sister,” I compliment, giggling.

“I love this dress on you,” she gushes.

Nesta was my best friend, my confidant, the sister who cared for me.

“But I would’ve loved to have seen the other dress on you,” she continues. “You shouldn’t have given it to Elain,”.

“Oh it’s fine, look at the absolute beauty I have found instead,” I reassure.

“Elain are you sure you don’t want to change your dress,” Feyre asks.

Nesta and I snicker behind our hands, Elain turns around towards us and I watch in glee as her faces turns into a scowl.

“I’m fine can we leave already” she snaps.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Cassian winnows Nesta, Rhysand and Feyre, Azriel and Elain, while Mor winnows me.

Landing outside the day court palace, I mentally take in the beauty of the place. The sandy blocks making the palace and the beautiful candles hung at every corner. There truly is no darkness.

I look down at my dress, skepticism glazes over my face. I shouldn’t have worn such an eye catching dress.

How was I meant to know that there would be lights everywhere?

Cauldron fucking boil me.

After some mindless chatter with Feyre about how excited she is to show me her paintings. We’re escorted inside to see the High Lord of the Day Court lounging on his throne, looking like the childish playboy he is. Even though he was centuries old.

His beauty was otherworldly, the way his onyx locks cascaded down his back like they were paid to do so. Piercing amber orbs stared down at everyone. Clad in only a white fabric that was draped over him, he had an easy going presence to him. The sharp points of his golden crown glinting under the bright lights.

But the vision next to him put the Night Court stars to a shame. He was the sun personified. Tan skin, lighter than his father’s but darker than mine. Auburn red hair, similar to his father’s in length, rested along his back. A scar ran from just above his eyebrow to his jaw. His eyes met mine, maroon and golden. His features picked apart weren’t attractive but somehow together on him, he looked like a god.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes blurred in and out of focus. Once they went back to normal I saw a single golden thread tugging. My eyes followed the thread back to Lucien.

I ran outside. Mother’s tits, I found my mate.

I gave an experimental tug on the bond revelling in the feeling of being complete. Tugging on it again, I let him know I wanted to see him.

Sitting there on the roof, I waited for five minutes, then ten, soon twenty and as quickly as my hope had been born it had faded away. But still remnants of it remained, maybe he couldn’t get away so soon, after all he was the heir to the Day Court.

Holy shit, he was the heir to the Day Court, what if he wanted nothing to do with me?

My thoughts spiralled one after the other.

A throat cleared behind me. Turning around to look at Lucien, I beckon him over.

“I’m Y/N, I already know who you are so introductions won’t be necessary” My attempt at a joke fails.

Finally taking a closer look at his face, I take in the pained expression. “Are you all right?” concern laces my voice, I stand up and whisper, “Have you had enough to eat you look like you’re about to pass out,”.

I’m about to leave and grab him some food, when he speaks, “You… why did it have to be you?”.

I freeze in place, I don’t dare to turn around. My mind flashes with memories of Feyre not wanting to teach me archery because she was busy, or how the boys at Rita’s never even looked at me, or how Elain took it upon herself to make me hate everything about me, or how everyone had their other half and I had just found mine. But not even a full hour of knowing me he hated me.

And somehow after all those years of rejection, self hatred and jealousy my heart broke one last time.

I assume he could feel it through the bond, as I wasn’t all that used to blocking people out of my mind yet.

I run down the stairs to get off the roof, to get as far away from him as possible.

Finally, finding an unoccupied balcony on the opposite side of the palace, I settled there, sobbing my broken heart out. The kohl from my eyes streaming down my face. My fingers red from rubbing my stinging eyes.

I looked around at the material of the dress pillowing around me. Such a waste of such a breathtaking dress.

Soft crying filled the room, my ears were ringing as I hadn’t heard the High Lord of Day Court enter.

“My dear, may I ask what’s wrong?” He asked, worry evident in his voice.

Gasping I stood up and did a sorry excuse of a curtesy, “High Lord” I bowed my head.

“Helion is fine,”

He sat down right next to the place where I was sitting. His muscled arm gently tapped the spot beside him as an invitation.

I sit down, smoothing my skirts out.

As if he can sense the awkwardness he clears his throat and says “We can stay quiet or we can talk about my son or your mate?”.

My eyes widen in shock. “How do you know me?” I mutter out.

“Sunshine I’m the High Lord of Day Court and unbeknownst to you, Rhysand talks a lot about you during meetings so most of the high lords consider you a little sister, but for me you’re like the daughter I never had,” he confesses.

A man I had not met before today, considered me his daughter, and six other high lords think of me as a little sister. My eyes well up in tears, my father had been one of the only people other than Nesta to ever truely care about me. And I had cried for months when he died.

To have someone think of me as their daughter again brought out a fresh wave of tears.

As if reflex, my head rests against Helion’s shoulder, we gaze into the night sky, in a comfortable silence. A strong hand reaches out and softly taps my head in a soothing rhythm.

“It’s ok sunshine.” he whispers.

After a while my tears stain my cheeks, Helion speaks up “I think you should give your mate another chance, I think you’ve mistaken his intentions,”.

Taking in his advice, I wordlessly stand up and hug the high lord. “Thank you” I breathe out.

Pulling away, I walk through corridors in search of Lucien.

A hand grabs mine and pulls me into a dark corner, while another hand muffles my screams.

I’m about to put the training Cassian gave me into use when I see a familiar pair of mismatched eyes.

“You can’t scream, I just wanted to talk to you,” he pleaded. Once his hand reluctantly leaves my mouth, I nod as a signal for him to keep going.

“When I said what I said before, I didn’t mean it as if you weren’t good enough for me,” he started. “I meant it as I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” My eyes soften at his words. “I mean yes I am devastatingly handsome,” I roll my eyes at his smug words, unable to hide my own smile when his lips twitch upwards.

“But I don’t think I could ever be good enough for you, a thousand lifetimes over,” he whispers, impossibly close to me but at the same time painfully far away.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Lucien,” I mumble cupping his cheek. “Please have me,” he murmurs.

I grab his face gently and fuse our lips together.

“I’m yours, if you’re mine,”

a/n i’m sorry girl dad!helion is just too good to resist and like imagine being like a little sister to all the high lords (instead of heron it’d be eris), hope you like it anon 🫶🏻

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sirendeepity · 2 years

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[ Gwynriel one-shot ]

A/N: the cake header didn't win in the end, but I kinda liked it so watch out because I might reuse it in the future. Anywaay Idk how to classify this, because it's many things and nothing at all, so- Enjoy?

P.s.: for all my Nessian lovers at heart, yes, this one-shot was originally meant for them, and only recently I chose violence and made it Gwynriel <3

P.p.s.: keep in mind that I was too lazy to do serious medical research on a fictional creature's anatomy, so if anything I said here makes no sense, just roll with it

P.p.p.s.: it's been more than a year since I first published this and the damn cake header- SO here it is. The infamous cake header. I love it so much, it's not even funny. If you're reading this now and have no idea what all of this is about, just know that the loser is now the winner, make of that what you wish

W/C: 2.7k

T/W: depiction of injury, blood

Gwyn closed her book with a loud thud, the sound echoing through the empty library down to its darkest corners.

“What is it?” She asked, running low on patience. Something was clearly bothering the young priestess, and that “something” had a name, a face, and even a title. Multiple titles, actually. Or nicknames, depending on who you ask.

Namely: Kingslayer (she was fine with it, so long as you addressed the other kingslayer the same way), Goddess of Death (“I am no such thing”), Princess of Decay (not her best, if Gwyn had to be honest, but she could live with it), Lady Death (this one, in particular, she enjoyed more than she let on, and Cassian’s personal favorite), Queen of Queens (so much for her pride and ego, as if Nesta didn’t have enough of them already), Valkyrie, General, Oristian (the one and only cause of many, many heated quarrels between the two of them. Take a bet, you’d be wrong anyway), and on and forward with mighty and frightening titles like Archeron, Sweetheart, Nes.

The latter, specifically, was the cause of the discomfort in the House of Wind. The sentiment, well, it belonged to its owner and creator, but it mattered little since it reflected on the building as a whole, and therefore anyone who currently resided in it.

“Nesta,” the redhead urged, drawing back the attention to the present moment, “what’s wrong? You’ve been uneasy and anxious all afternoon. And that damned knee-”

Nesta Archeron stopped her bouncing knee at once.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nesta replied, burying her nose back into her book. The priestess knew her friend was not reading a single word since she hasn’t flipped a page once in the past half hour.

Gwyn just stared at her pointedly, waiting for the other to just give up any pretense and confess the cause of her distress, blurting out whatever was worrying both her mind and her heart. Normally, it would’ve taken a lot more than just a look to tear Nesta Archeron’s defenses down, but normally she wouldn’t have been in such a state in the first place.

With a loud huff of defeat, Nesta closed her book as well. “It’s Cassian,” she admitted.

“Yes, that I already knew,” replied Gwyn, not surprised in the least. “The real question is why? I mean, you’ve known each other for quite some time now, it’s not like this is the first mission he took part in.”

“Leading, actually,” Nesta corrected, “but that’s not the point, is it?”

The priestess shook her head, just a little, and gave her friend pause to find the right words to express herself. She was aware of the struggles Nesta still faced whenever she had to open her heart, to laid it bare for the world to wound. But Gwyn also knew that she was trying her best, fighting against her own mind, the old bad habits screaming at her to tear apart any threat with bared teeth because cowering—failing—was not an option. She just needed some time to rummage through her vocabulary, making sure she used the right words, so she wouldn’t end up being misunderstood and then had to find different words to repeat herself. Gods knew how Nesta despised saying the same thing twice.

“I know he’s been a part of many missions already, but this one is different,” Nesta said. “This one is big, and secretive. It’s a serious thing—more than the others, I mean. Azriel is the ‘secretive’ one, not Cassian.” Her index and middle finger curled in the air, stating her point. “Contacts of any kind have been banned between us, and…”

“And?” Gwyn prompted once the silence stretched on. Letting Nesta stay inside her head for too long was not wise, not while she was in these conditions: eaten alive by nerves and anxiety and doubts. You name it.

“And he shut me out. His end of the mating bond… It is not there. I can reach up to the very same point, and then nothing. It’s like walking on a bridge and at some point, it just stops. Or it goes on, but you wouldn’t know because there’s a wall of mist blocking you from reaching the other end. This is what is killing me. I feel nothing from it—from him. He could be injured or dying or already dead and I wouldn’t even know!”

Gwyn met her friend’s troubles with sympathy in her eyes and logic in her mind—there was space for only one kind of sentimentalism here, and it wasn’t hers. She couldn’t say she understood what Nesta was going through, exactly, but maybe one day she would. If it were up to her, there would be two of them worrying over their mates’ wellbeing and safety, but since it wasn’t up to her and her only, she could do nothing but wait and try and hope that he just opened his eyes and— Gwyn shook her head. Focus on Nesta, she thought. She needs you most.

“That’s not true, Nesta,” the priestess started, comforting words pouring out of her like water. “Even if he tries to block his end of the bond to prevent it from reaching out to you, there is just so much he can do. If something, anything, worth of serious notice happened to him, you would still know it. You would feel it. That’s one of the wonders of a mating bond. The same soul in two different bodies.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at the cheesy words, and Gwyn couldn’t help her own giggle.

You can pretend all you want, Archeron. I know you’re a romantic at heart.

The youngest covered her face, groaning into her hands. The sound came out muffled, just like her words. “It doesn’t sound so funny when you’re in my situation. I can’t even fucking function like a normal person. All I can do is walk around the House like an angry gremlin, biting everyone’s head off. I think I accidentally made one of the new acolytes cry a few days ago.”

“You do look like a bundle of nerves and pure evil.”

“Thanks.”

Gwyn laughed again. “Come on, we just need some cuddles and self-care.” Also known as cakes and bubble baths. They’d always worked wonders. She rose from her seat, the book forgotten, and extended a hand in her friend’s direction. Nesta eyed it for a moment longer before pushing the pillows aside and interlacing their fingers.

“We could call Emerie, too. Code Purple. I’m sure she would close down the shop and come her running on her own two feet if we only asked—”

The door of the private library opened, banging against the wall on its way, cutting Gwyn off. Both females turned toward the source of the disturbance, guards raised and brows furrowed.

Gwyn relaxed first. Speaking of the devil…

“We were just talking about you,” the priestess said in way of greetings, but her relief didn’t live long. Something was alarming the Illyrian, who bounced her brown eyes between pairs of teal and silver.

Something’s wrong.

As if on cue, Emerie took a shallow breath and voiced what was unsettling them all, “The guys are back. They’re not okay.”

One moment, Nesta was there. The next, she was gone, fleeing out of the room so fast that even Gwyn’s sharp reflexes needed their sweet time to register what has just happened. Only she and Emerie were left in the library now, their alarmed stares mirroring each other.

“How bad is he?” Asked Gwyn, needing to know what was coming her way if she wanted to help Nesta in any useful way.

Emerie just looked at her for a long moment, her dark eyebrows tipping upward. From concern to sympathy. No, commiseration.

“It’s not Cassian,” she said at last.

Gwyn’s heart dropped, free-falling to the ground. No. No, no, no, no. Her feet moved on their own accord, pushing past Emerie and toward the doors. To go where she didn’t know. She just needed to go. She felt the faint presence of her friend at her heels, saying something to her—of that Gwyn was almost sure—but she couldn’t hear a word over the high-pitched sound filling her head. It reminded her of that one time when Azriel flew them so high above the clouds her teeth started clattering from the frigid air and her ears popped. She threw it right back at him, screaming at the top of her lungs when he stilled his wings and hold her tight to him as they pummeled back toward the green of the mountains. The adrenaline rush left her so dizzy she couldn’t even stand on her own once Azriel got them both back to safety. She remembered throwing up her breakfast and then asking the Shadowsinger for a second round. She would laugh at the memory now if she hadn’t come to a stop in front of an open doorway, her eyes swiftly scanning the room. Not him, not him, not—

She registered the High Lord and his second, keeping themselves out of the way on the side of the room, following everyone’s movements like hawks, and not far from them stood Morrigan. Concern lined her usually soft features, yet she was still too much of a coward to just— Stop. Not now. She stepped further into the room, finding Nesta’s eyes next: she was glued to her mate’s side, trying to reign in her relief. She tipped her head toward the other side of the room, where her sisters stood around—

“Azriel,” Gwyn breathed, her voice no more than a strangled whisper.

He was on his knees, eyes closed, his chest barely rising enough for air to fill his lungs. His armor had already been discarded, left in a puddle of dark metal on the carpet, and the shirt—torn open on the back—was dripping with blood. His blood.

Elain’s hands were cupping his face, mumbling sweet nothings to him as he failed to contain his pained grunts whenever Feyre, on the other end of him, worked her healing magic. Or tried to, if her slightly panicked expression was of any indication.

Normally, seeing the Seer anywhere close to him made her see red. Now she could not see nor hear anything but him. The odd angle of his bent wings, the sweat crowning his brow, the trembles of his closed fists, so tight the knuckles were white as sheets, and the slow hiss escaping through clenched teeth as he tried not to show his friends the full extent of the pain he was in. Gwyn could feel all of it—that blinding pain. Almost like it was her own. The shadows, his loyal companions, were nowhere to be seen. They’re feeling it too, Gwyn thought. But they’re scared. And she knew why.

She set his jaw and steeled her spine, pushing her own concerns aside and locking them in the back of her mind, where they couldn’t distract her anymore, and walked as close to him as she could without stepping on the middle Archeron.

“What happened,” she demanded no one in particular.

It was Cassian who answered, his voice drifting toward her, dripping with guilt, “They were onto us, a stray arrow got stuck in the wrong part of his wings. I had to fly both the hell out of there while one of us still had wings to do so.”

Gwyn willed the High Lady’s attention on her. It always left her startled—the similarity: Feyre and Nesta’s eyes were like two drops of water, yet it was impossible to mistake one for the other. The same, but different.

There was no difference in the concern filling them now. “The wound’s not clean. The tip cut through the tendon, leaving the nerves exposed and on the brink of snapping. It’s hard to proceed now—he’s lost so much blood already, and the arrows must’ve been dipped in poisons of some kind because it’s like his body is fighting against me.” Feyre exhaled, backing her bloodied hands away from the torn skin. She shook her head slowly, “It’s such a mess.”

“Let me try.”

Silence fell. Gwyn’s voice sounded foreign to her own ears, but she repeated herself nonetheless, more security lacing her words this time around. “Let me try.”

The youngest sister exchanged wary looks with the other members of the family, the only people currently crowding the room.

“Gwyn,” Nesta said, probably trying to talk her out of it.

“Let. Me. Try.” Her sharp tone left no room for debate, one Gwyn had no intention of having right then. They could scream at her about her irreverence all they wanted once Azriel didn’t look like the ghost of himself anymore.

With a nod from the High Lady, Elain rose from the floor, stepping back and out of the way. As soon as she had enough room for movement, Gwyn took a deep breath and fell to her knees in front of the Illyrian warrior. He flinched slightly, muscles tensing, but kept his eyes closed and his head bent toward the ground. One hand slipped inside her pocket, gripping the cold stone she kept carrying around without fail and placed it on his chest. Blue stone against blue stone.

“Look at me,” she whispered against Azriel’s arched ear. When she received no response, she pressed her palm against his dark cheek, prompting him to raise his head. “Look at me, Azriel,” she said again.

He did, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers. She could barely make out the colors of his irises, glossed over and covered by black lashes. In the state he was in, even the tiniest action was a struggle. Gwyn didn’t waste any more time as she gradually drifted her fingers to his neck and down his back, ignoring the raging need growing inside her chest at the slick wetness meeting her fingertips, clawing her insides and screaming protect, protect, protect.

Gwyn didn’t blink once as her hand found its way toward the bleeding wound. She was glad she didn’t see the full damage of the injury or may the Gods have mercy on whoever did this to him because she would be out for blood. She knew she reached her target when Azriel’s scarred hand shot up and closed around her arm in a bone-shattering grip, startling her.

After a calming breath and various failed attempts, she managed to let the words past the lump clogging her throat. “Let me try,” she said, hopefully for the last time. “Please,” Gwyn begged, voice breaking. She leaned forward until their brows met, keeping them pressed one against the other as she waited for Azriel to accept her help—or deny it.

He let out a deep breath, the movement causing a bolt of pain to stiffen his crunching form, before unfolding the fingers from around her arm.

“Make it stop.”

It was all Azriel said before she felt him give in and give up to the agony, letting the weight of his body fall on hers as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Gwyn closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the feeling of him as relief poured out of her lungs. And with it, she got back to work. With a grounding breath to calm her wild heart, she opened up to the healing power of the Invoking Stone. It flew through his Siphon, restoring from the inside, and run through her veins, using her body as a conductor, making her skin lit up. That earned her a couple of gasps, making Gwyn acutely aware of the eyes now burning holes in her back. Only Nesta and Emerie had ever seen her like that—shining like one of the many stars in the sky. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Willing the stone’s power—the Mother’s power—to stitch him up for good, Gwyn buried her nose in his hair and inhaled his scent until she choked on it, just as his shadows shyly showed themselves again, wrapping around their embracing bodies like a dark blanket.

Mate. Oh, how she wished she could say those words out loud, screaming them for everyone to hear. The Spymaster of the Night Court is my mate.

She healed Azriel’s bleeding wings, but who would heal her bleeding heart?

#dee writes #How to Heal a Bleeding Heart #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyneth x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #pro gwynriel

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