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quinzzelx · 22 days

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Shadows and Starlight

Part 2

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's Starfall and with Starfall come some unpleasant memories. But your excitement to finally see Azriel again wins you over. Catching up with your family, you find that the evening is approaching fast. What happens when Azriel returns and you finally see each other again?

Chapter 01 // Chapter 03

Word Count: 8.8K Well, this is a lengthy one.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Trauma, Flashbacks of Torture, Mentions of SA, A lot of Family bonding, Angst, Teeth rotting Fluff, and Sexual content. I have not proofread this yet, since I wanted to get this up as quickly as possible. A/N: Oh my god, GUYS!!! I am overwhelmed by the positivity and love you showered the first chapter with! You have honestly no idea how happy this makes me. I'm so glad people seem to enjoy it and I truly hope that this part will do the first one justice. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. Feedback is always appreciated! Also, come chat with me in my inbox!

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As you wake up on Starfall morning, a sense of weariness washes over you, the remnants of a night spent tossing and turning, haunted by dreams of the past and the phantom pains that still linger in your scars. Despite the soft caress of your satin nightgown against your skin, every movement sends a twinge of discomfort coursing through your body, a reminder of the battles you've fought.

Tracing your fingertips over the pale, jagged carvings that mar your stomach, you're transported back to the horrors of Amarantha's trap, the allure of her twisted game pulling you deeper into her web with each passing moment. Rhys had begged you to stay home, his instincts warning him that something wasn't right about this meeting, this gathering, but something inside you knew that you couldn't sit idly by while he faced danger alone. And so you insisted on accompanying him, despite the protests and the danger it posed to you both. There were moments of doubt, fleeting glimpses of regret that whispered in the recesses of your mind.

Especially in the darkness of those colder, harsher nights. Nights when even the simple act of opening your eyes felt like an insurmountable task, weighed down not just by the heavy iron chains that bound you to the ground, but by the imposing weight of impending death that hung heavy on your shoulders.

Turning onto your side, you wince as you feel the numerous scars on your back, traces of the lashings you sustained at Amarantha's hands. She was cruel in her efforts to use you as a tool to hurt Rhys further, inflicting pain upon pain in her relentless quest for power. But despite the physical scars that mar your skin, it's the emotional scars that run the deepest, the memories of your shared trauma with Rhys threatening to pull you back into the depths of despair.

Your wounds festered, infected by the cruel hands of Amarantha, who took perverse pleasure in keeping them open and inflicting new ones upon you, layering pain upon pain with each lash of her whip. Faebane slowed your healing, leaving you vulnerable to the biting cold that seeped into your bruised body, each breath a struggle against the suffocating grip of agony. On one such night, Amarantha's rage burned brighter than usual, her fury directed solely at you. Bound naked to her bedpost, your emaciated form contorted in unnatural ways, the strain and angle of your bindings causing one shoulder to scream in protest. She carved vile curses into the soft flesh of your stomach, taunting you with each cruel stroke of her blade.

And then Rhys entered, his horror evident in the fleeting glimpse you caught of his face before the mask of stoicism fell back into place. But his appearance ignited something within Amarantha, sparking a twisted idea that would haunt you for years to come. Forced to watch as Rhys administered the next lashes, forced to endure the searing pain as he used his Deamanti powers on you, you felt a sliver of relief amidst the agony as his apologies echoed in your mind, his powers soothing the raw edges of your suffering. He tried numbing your pain, taking away the searing heat that your wounds imposed. But Amarantha wasn't satisfied with just inflicting physical pain – she wanted to break you completely, to strip away every last shred of dignity and humanity. And so she made you watch as she rode Rhys, fucking him without hesitation, with favor, your body still bound to the bedpost, blood dripping down your exposed skin, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. She got off on it, the hot tears running down your face, leaving streaks in the dried blood on your face. Even in your state then, your eyes beheld a promise of death. But never had you felt this helpless, having to watch as Amarantha used Rhys as her personal sex-slave. Rhys was your family, your High Lord! And all you could do was watch.

It was a night of unspeakable horror, one of the darkest moments of your life. And yet, amidst the despair, there was a glimmer of hope – She was this mad because of Feyre, because she wanted to break the curse. As you lay there, on the floor of your cell, embracing the cold arms of death, Rhys hurriedly came barging in. He knelt beside you on the cold stone floor, tears streaming down his face as he cradled your head in his hands, offering what little comfort he could in the face of such unimaginable pain.

"Gods, what have I done?" Rhys whispered, his voice choked with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted any of this." His words were like a knife to your heart, each apology cutting deeper than the last as you struggled to cling to consciousness. "Rhys," you managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault." But he shook his head, his tears falling freely now as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I should have protected you. I should have never let this happen to you."

You reached up, weakly grasping his hand as you tried to offer him what little comfort you could. "It's not your fault," you repeated, your voice growing fainter with each passing moment. "I love you, Rhys. Please... don't blame yourself."

But Rhys's anguish only seemed to deepen at your words, his sobs wracking his body as he pleaded with you to hold on, to fight against the darkness that threatened to consume you both. "Please," he begged, his voice raw with emotion as he called your name. "Don't leave me. I can't bear to lose you. Please, stay with me." And as you felt the cold embrace of death drawing ever closer, you clung to his hand, drawing strength from the love and warmth that radiated from him. "I'll try," you rasped, your voice barely audible now. "I'll try, Rhys. I promise."

And with those final words, you drifted into darkness, leaving Rhys alone with his grief and his guilt, his tears mingling with yours as he prayed to the Mother for a miracle, for a chance to make things right.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you try to calm your mind, to push aside the memories that threaten to overwhelm you. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, a time to put aside the pain of the past and focus on the joy of the present.

As someone knocks at the bedroom door, you groan, burying your face in the pillow, exhausted and emotionally drained from the tumultuous memories that still linger in your mind. Calling out for the person to enter, you brace yourself for the intrusion, the weight of the world pressing down upon your shoulders. To your surprise, it's Rhys who enters, his presence like a balm to your weary soul. As if sensing the chaos within you, he seems equally stressed by the preparations for the day, Nyx cradled in his arms. Your eyes soften when they land on the toddler, his small wings flapping excitedly as he spots you, extending his arms out in a silent plea to be held. Rhys sits down beside you on the bed, a gentle look on his face as he takes in your tired form. Nyx immediately pounces on you, his laughter filling the room with infectious joy. Despite your exhaustion, you can't help but smile at the sight of the young boy, his innocence a welcome distraction from the weight of the world.

"Hey there, little one," you murmur, scooping Nyx into your arms and showering him with kisses. He giggles in delight, his tiny hands reaching out to touch your face with a sense of wonder. Rhys watches the exchange with a soft smile, his violet eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I thought Nyx might help cheer you up," he says gently, his voice laced with concern. "It's been a rough morning, hasn't it?" You nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since you woke up. But as you hold Nyx close, his laughter echoing in your ears, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, if only for a fleeting moment. Rhys leans closer, his hand finding yours on the bed, offering silent support. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, concern etched in his eyes.

You manage a weak smile, squeezing his hand in return. "I'm... trying to be," you admit, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "It's just... a lot, you know?" He nods understandingly, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand. "I know," he murmurs, his gaze softening. "But we'll get through this, together. I promise." The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the bond that binds you both, even in the darkest of times. "Thank you, Rhys," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

He smiles, a gentle expression that lights up his features. "Anytime," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."

As you settle into a more comfortable rhythm, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, a welcome distraction from the weight of the morning's emotions. "So," Rhys begins, his tone lighter now, "did you hear about Cassian's little mishap with the ladder this morning?" You raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Oh? Do tell," you urge, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. Rhys chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, apparently he thought he could single-handedly take on the task of putting up the decorations," he explains, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "But Feyre and Elain had other ideas."

You laugh at the mental image of Cassian attempting to navigate a ladder while Feyre and Elain guided him from below, their laughter echoing through the halls of the House of Wind. "And then," Rhys continues, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "just as he was reaching for the top, the ladder slipped out from under him, and down he went!" You can't help but giggle at the thought of Cassian tumbling to the ground, his pride wounded but otherwise unharmed. "Poor Cass," you tease, shaking your head in mock sympathy. "I hope he's okay." The Highlord says, his smile widening. "Oh, he's fine," he assures you. "Just a bruised ego, I think."

Before you can respond, Nyx interrupts with a babble of his own, his tiny hands reaching out to grab at Rhys's hair. You laugh, gently untangling Nyx's fingers from Rhys's locks as you listen to the toddler's excited chatter. Rhys grins, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looks down at his son. "I spoke to Azriel yesterday," he says casually, shifting the conversation back to more serious matters. "He should be back today, just in time for Starfall."

You feel a surge of anticipation at the mention of Azriel's return, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing him again after his absence. "That's great news," you reply, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I'm sure he'll be relieved to be home." He nods, a knowing glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm sure he will be," he says cryptically, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "After all, there are certain people who have been eagerly awaiting his return."

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile at Rhys's playful teasing. "You're incorrigible," you tease, giving him a playful shove. "But I'm glad Azriel's coming back. It's not the same without him." The conversation ebbs into comfortable silence as you play with the toddler sat on your lap. When you notice Rhys’s eyes glaze over, the violet of his eyes dulling just slightly, you look at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Is our Highlord required somewhere?” You ask with a small smile on your lips. “Yes, I fear duty calls.”

As Rhys leaves with Nyx in tow, a sense of tranquility settles over you, the bustling energy of the morning quieting to a gentle hum. With a sigh of relief, you make your way to the bath, the promise of warm water and solitude beckoning to you like a beacon in the storm.

Sinking into the soothing embrace of the bath, the warmth seeping into your tired muscles and easing the knots of tension that had been building within you. With each passing moment, the cares of the world seem to slip away, replaced by a sense of peace and calm that settles deep within your soul. With each passing moment, you feel yourself growing lighter, the weight of the morning's emotions gradually fading into the background as you focus on the simple pleasure of being present in this moment. Only when the skin on your hands starts to wrinkle, do you decide to leave the comfort of your bath.

After drying off, you quickly set about getting ready for the day ahead. With practiced ease, you slip into your clothes, the fabric smooth against your skin as you dress. You run a brush through your hair, smoothing out any tangles and pulling it back into a simple yet elegant style. With one last glance in the mirror, you nod in satisfaction, a sense of determination settling over you. Today is a new day. Starfall to be exact. You would not let the past control the present.

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As you make your way downstairs, noon is just beginning to unfold, the soft light of the early sun filtering through the windows of the House of Wind. The air is filled with the gentle hum of activity as preparations for the evening's festivities are underway. You take a moment to admire the decorations that Cassian had so painstakingly put up, a fond smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remember his earlier mishap with the ladder. Despite the chaos of it all, there's a sense of excitement building in the air, a unmistakable energy that sets your heart racing with anticipation.

Making your way to where Feyre and Elain were sitting in the kitchen, you exchange greetings with them, falling into easy conversation. The smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, and you can't help but relax as you sink into a chair at the table. "So, what's on the agenda for today?" Feyre asks, pouring a cup of tea for each of you.

Elain smiles softly, her doe-eyes lighting up with excitement. "I was thinking of spending some time in the gardens," she says. "I've been working on a few new plantings, and I'd love to show them to you." You nod eagerly, honestly intrigued by Elain's passion for gardening. "I'd love to see them," you reply, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Whilst you sip your tea, the conversation turns to lighter topics, and you find yourself laughing and joking with Feyre and Elain. It's moments like these that remind you of why you cherish your time with them. Suddenly, Elain's voice breaks through your thoughts, her tone soft and earnest. "I'm so glad Azriel is returning today," she says, her eyes shining with sincerity. "I've missed him." A pang of jealousy and irritation shoots through you at her words, catching you off guard. You quickly brush it off as simple irritation, unwilling to acknowledge the twinge of envy that lingers in the depths of your chest. Elain, oblivious to your internal turmoil, continues to speak, her words pulling you back into the conversation. "And I've missed you too," she adds, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

You nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I missed you too." But inside, you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought of Elain's closeness with Azriel. Before the awkwardness can settle in, however, Elain changes the subject, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she again talks about the new plants she's planted in the gardens of the Riverhouse.

"That reminds me," you say suddenly, a spark of delight igniting within you. Your eyes sparkle as you remember the gift you brought back for Elain, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small packet of seeds. "I found these at a market stall on the continent and thought of you. They're seeds for a flower called... um...“ you stumble over the name for a moment before recalling it. "They're seeds for a flower called Moonlight Blossoms. I thought they might be a nice addition to your garden."

Elain's eyes widen with delight as she takes the seeds from you, her expression one of pure joy. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I can't wait to plant these in the garden. They're going to be beautiful."

After spending a pleasant morning and noon catching up with Feyre and Elain, you accompany Elain to the garden to see her new plants. The garden is a riot of color and fragrance, and you spend a blissful hour wandering among the flowers and chatting with her about her latest botanical discoveries. As you bid Elain farewell and make your way back inside, you realize that the day has flown by in a rush of activity. You quickly run a few last-minute errands for Starfall, picking up some supplies and making sure everything is in order for the evening's festivities.

Time seems to slip through your fingers like grains of sand as you hurry through the bustling streets of Velaris, the excitement of the day building with each passing moment. Before you know it, the sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city as evening approaches.

With a sense of urgency, you hurry back to the House of Wind, eager to get ready for the evening ahead. Mor had promised to get ready together, and you don't want to keep her waiting. As you enter your room, the blond is already there, surrounded by an array of dresses and accessories strewn across the bed. She looks up as you enter, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Hey there, gorgeous!" she greets you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Are you ready to get glam for Starfall?" You return her smile, feeling a rush of anticipation at the thought of the evening ahead. "Absolutely," you reply, crossing the room to join her. "I can't wait to see what you've picked out." Mor gestures to the dresses laid out on the bed. "I've narrowed it down to a few options," she says, a mischievous grin playing at her lips. "But I think I already know which one I'm going to choose." You chuckle, knowing that Mor always has a flair for dramatics when it comes to dressing up. "Well, let's see them then," you tease, eager to get started.

Together, you sift through the dresses, examining each one carefully and discussing their merits and drawbacks. There are dresses of every color and style, from sleek and elegant to bold and daring. Finally, Mor settles on a stunning gown in deep maroon red, its flowing skirts and intricate beading catching the light as she holds it up.

"This is the one," she declares, a satisfied smile gracing her features. "What do you think?" You nod in agreement, admiring the dress's beauty. "It's perfect," you reply. "You're going to look absolutely stunning." Mor beams at your praise, clearly pleased with her selection. "Thanks, love," she says, reaching out to give you a quick hug. "Now, let's get you sorted out. I have a feeling you're going to steal the show tonight."

As you slip into the dress that you had bought the day before, a soft sigh escapes your lips, the sensation of the fabric against your skin sending a shiver of delight down your spine. The deep midnight blue hue wraps around you like a lover's embrace, casting an delicate glow that seems to illuminate the room. The neckline plunges low, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. With each movement, the dress seems to come alive. Mor's eyes widen in admiration as she takes in your appearance. "Wow," she breathes, her voice filled with genuine awe. "You look absolutely stunning."

A soft smile graces your lips as you meet her gaze "Thank you, Mor," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't have found this without your help." She beams at your words, her pride evident in the curve of her lips. "It was my pleasure," she replies, her tone warm and sincere. "But really, the dress suits you perfectly. I almost forgot how it looked on you overnight."

Shortly after she also put on her dress, Mor expertly braids your hair, her nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns, you can't help but admire her skill. With each twist and turn, your hair transforms into a work of art, cascading down your back in elegant waves. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation of her touch, the gentle tugs and pulls lulling you into a state of relaxation. "Your hair is like silk," Mor remarks, her voice filled with admiration. "It's going to look stunning tonight." Once your hair is styled to perfection, Mor moves on to makeup, applying each layer with precision. The dark, alluring makeup enhances your features, accentuating your eyes and highlighting your cheekbones.

Whilst the blond puts the finishing touches on your makeup, you take a moment to admire your reflection. The sultry gaze staring back at you sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, the promise of the evening ahead hanging in the air. "Ready to turn heads?" Mor asks, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Absolutely," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's make tonight unforgettable."

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As you and Mor descend the grand staircase, the sounds of laughter and music fill the air, signaling the start of the evening's festivities. The House of Wind is alive with energy, the vibrant atmosphere drawing you in as you make your way through the bustling crowd. Mor heads straight for the wine table, her graceful movements drawing the attention of those around her. She expertly pours two glasses, handing one to you with a knowing smile. "To a night to remember," she says, raising her glass in a toast. You clink your glass against hers, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "To a night to remember," you echo, taking a sip of the rich, velvety wine.

While mingling with the other guests, you can't help but notice the admiring glances and whispered compliments that follow you wherever you go. Cassian whistles at your appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he offers a playful wink. Even Amren, usually reserved and stoic, can't help but be impressed. "Not bad, girl" she remarks in her typical deadpan tone, her lips quirking up in a rare smile. "You look good." While chatting with Cassian, his easy grin and infectious laughter filling the air, you can't help but feel at ease in his presence. He regales you with stories of past Starfall celebrations, each one more outrageous than the last, and you find yourself laughing along with him, caught up in the magic of the moment and the memories.

Amren stands beside him, her sharp gaze surveying the crowd with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She interjects with the occasional dry comment or witty observation, adding her own unique perspective to the conversation. Cassian nudges you playfully, a naughty glint in his eyes. "So, have you seen Az around yet?" he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You roll your eyes at his question, knowing full well where he's going with this. "Not yet," you reply with a smirk. "But I'm sure he'll make quite the entrance when he does," you add, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Cassian chuckles, his grin widening as he leans in conspiratorially. "You know, I heard he's been practicing his dramatic entrances," he whispers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Amren, who had been silently observing the exchange, scoffs in amusement. "Practicing? Please, Azriel was born with dramatic flair," she interjects, her voice dry as ever. You can't help but laugh at Amren's remark, nodding in agreement. "True," you concede, unable to deny the truth in her words. Cassian's grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer. "You know, Y/N, if you keep talking about Az like this, people might start to think you have a crush on him," he teases, his tone light but teasing. Mor joins in on the teasing, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh, come on, Cass," she chimes in, "we all know Y/N's got it bad for Az. I mean, who wouldn't? He's mysterious, brooding, and let's not forget those dreamy eyes."

You roll your eyes at their teasing, but heat creeps up your neck nonetheless. "You two are insufferable," you mutter, trying to play it off coolly despite the warmth you can feel in your chest.

They share a knowing look, their grins widening. "Oh, don't be shy, Y/N," Cassian says with a wink, "we all see the way you light up whenever Az is around."

You sigh in mock exasperation, knowing there's no escaping this. "Fine, you caught me," you admit with a chuckle, "but can we please focus on something other than my nonexistent love life for once?" Mor and Cassian exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.

With an exaggerated sigh, you down the rest of your wine in one swift motion, the cool liquid soothing the annoyance bubbling within you. Setting the empty glass down, you grab another from the nearby tray, filling it to the brim with wine. Cassian and Mor exchange amused glances as they watch your reaction, but you pay them no mind, determined to drown out their taunting with copious amounts of alcohol.

As the night wears on, the rhythm of the music pulls you onto the dance floor, the enchanting melodies winding their way through the air and into your soul. Lost in the music, you move with grace and elegance, allowing the melodies to guide your every step. The lights overhead cast a warm glow on the dance floor, illuminating the faces of those around you as they sway to the music. Couples twirl and spin, lost in their own worlds of love and passion, while laughter and joy fill the air. You watch as Nesta and Cassian sweep over the dancefloor together, having the crowd watch in awe.

With each passing moment, your gaze darts from one corner of the room to the next, hoping to catch sight of him. Your heart beats faster with every shadow that moves, every figure that passes by, as you search for the one person who has occupied your thoughts all evening.

Dancing with an attractive Fae male, his presence envelops you, his hand warm against the small of your back as you sway to the soft, slow tunes. Despite your initial reluctance when he asked you to dance with him, you find yourself enjoying his company, lost in the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his gaze. His blond hair were neatly combed, his bright green eyes gentle and kind as they take in your facial features.

But as his hand begins to wander over your scarred skin, trailing dangerously close to where the fabric of your dress starts again, a shiver runs down your spine. The heat of his touch sends a jolt through you, igniting a familiar sensation. Just as you feel yourself becoming lost in the moment, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Without even turning around, you know he's here. As the music continues to play, you can sense him drawing closer, his presence casting a spell over you that leaves you spellbound and breathless. Just as you're about to step away, you sense a familiar presence behind you. The scent of cedar fills your senses, and you turn to find Azriel standing there, his tall frame looming over you.

Before you can even process his presence, he reaches out, gently touching your arm. "May I cut in?" he asks, his voice soft yet commanding. You meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. "Of course," you reply, unable to tear your eyes away from him. As the Fae male steps back, Azriel takes his place, his hand finding yours as he pulls you close. The music shifts to a slower, more intimate melody, and you find yourself swept up in the moment. "It's been too long," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the music. Azriel's gaze softens, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. "I've missed you," he admits, his voice low and filled with emotion. A surge of warmth washes over you at his words, and you find yourself drawn closer to him. "I've missed you too," you confess, your heart racing in your chest. As you continue to dance, the tension between you and Azriel is palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. His hand lingers on your waist, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"I can't believe you're finally back," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. "I can't believe it either," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It feels like it's been an eternity." Azriel's eyes soften, a hint of sadness flickering in their depths. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you returned," he says, his voice filled with regret. "I wanted to be the first one to welcome you home."

You reach up, gently touching his cheek. "It's okay," you assure him, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I know you had your duties to attend to." A faint smile plays at the corners of Azriel's lips then, and he leans into your touch. How he had missed it to feel your gentle reassuring touch. "Still, I wish I could have been here for you," he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. As the song comes to an end, you stare at each other. Reluctantly, Azriel releases your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer before he takes a step back. The music fades into the background, drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, lost in each other's gaze, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the space between you. Then, with a soft smile, Azriel breaks the silence. "Would you like to take a walk?" he asks, his voice gentle and inviting.

You nod, a warm feeling spreading through you at the prospect of spending more time with him. "I'd like that," you reply, returning his smile. Together, you slip away from the dance floor, the night air cool against your skin as you step out onto the balcony. The city sprawls out before you, its lights twinkling in the darkness like a sea of stars.

Feeling his gaze upon you, you can't help but shift slightly under his scrutiny, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realize just how closely he's examining you. You bite your lip nervously, suddenly hyper-aware of every curve and contour of your body that's on display in the dress. As Azriel's eyes linger on your figure, you can't help but notice the way his gaze seems to heat up, his breath catching in his throat. A thrill shoots through you at the intensity of his stare, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the air between you charged with unspoken desire. Then, with a slight cough to clear his throat, Azriel tears his gaze away from you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. "I didn't mean to stare." You shake your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "It's okay," you reply softly. "I... I don't mind."

You reach out tentatively, your hand finding his arm in a comforting gesture. "Azriel," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you." He turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "What is it?" he asks, concern lacing his every word. You take a deep breath, summoning all your courage. “I-“ Before you can finish your sentence, the door to the balcony swings open, and Feyre steps out, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees the two of you standing there together.

"Oh, sorry," she stammers, quickly averting her gaze. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Azriel clears his throat, stepping back slightly to give Feyre some space. "It's alright," he says, his voice a little strained. "We were just... talking." she nods, though there's a knowing glint in her eyes as she looks between the two of you. "Right, well, I'll leave you two to it then," she says, retreating back inside. You and Azriel exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between you. It seems that fate has other plans for your conversation, at least for now.

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When Azriel winnowed into Rhys's study earlier that day, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his brother sitting behind the desk, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Rhys's gaze meets his, and Azriel's eyes widen as the scent of you fills his senses, sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. It wasn’t dull and faded, not like the pillows in your bedroom. No, you had to have been in this room today. Rhys raises an eyebrow at his brother’s dumbfounded face, his smirk growing more pronounced. "Took you long enough to notice," he says, amusement lacing his tone.

Azriel's lips twitch into a half-smile as he strides further into the room, his movements fluid and graceful. "I was preoccupied," he replies, his voice gruff. "But I'm here now." Rhys chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I can see that," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, how was your mission?" Azriel takes a moment to compose himself, his mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with your scent. "Successful," he replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. His resolve snapped. "But I'll fill you in on the details later. Right now, I have other matters to attend to."

Rhys arches an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Of course," he says, his tone teasing. "Wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would you?" Azriel's cheeks flush slightly at his brother's teasing remark, but he maintains his composure. "No," he says, his voice tinged with determination. "I wouldn't."

As Azriel takes flight for the House of Wind, his mind races with a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement courses through his veins, an unexpected thrill at the thought of seeing you again after nine long months apart. He hadn't dared to hope that you would be back, hadn't allowed himself to entertain the possibility of your return. And yet, here you were, your presence filling him with a sense of longing he just started to realize he'd been harboring.

The memory of your scent lingers in his mind, haunting him with its intoxicating sweetness. It's a scent he knows all too well, one that has the power to drive him to madness with desire. Even now, as he flies through the night sky, he can't shake the memory of you, the way your scent wraps around him like a warm embrace. Only yesterday had he thought about that exact smell while fucking his hand wishing it was yours instead.

Cursing himself for his wayward thoughts, Azriel frowns, attempting to push aside the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to consume him.

As Azriel lands gracefully on the balcony of the House of Wind, he braces himself for their reunion. He had just made his way here in record time, flying like his life depended on it. His heart pounds in his chest, the anticipation of seeing you again after so long almost too much to bear. With each step he takes, his eyes scan the crowded room, searching for your familiar form amidst the mass of guests.

And then he sees you.

His breath catches in his throat as he takes you in, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. You’re wearing a dress, and it clings to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour of your body. His gaze lingers on the scars that trail across your back, a witness to the battles you had fought and the strength you possess. But it's not just your appearance that captivates him. It's the way you move, the grace and confidence with which you carry yourself, as if you own the very air around you. And you do, completely oblivious to the hungry and captivated stares you gain, turning heads everywhere you appear. Then his attention finally shifts to the Fae dancing with you, his hand lingering dangerously close to your exposed skin, and a surge of possessiveness courses through him. You’re wearing his colors, he realizes with a jolt, a flicker of irritation igniting within him at the thought of someone else daring to touch what belongs to him. A growl rumbles in Azriel's chest, low and threatening, as the surge of jealousy within him reaches a fever pitch. He takes a step forward, hazel eyes blazing with anger, his wings flaring out instinctively behind him.

But before he can make his move, Mor appears at his side, a knowing smirk on her lips as she nudges him playfully. "Easy there, big guy," she says, her voice low and playful. "No need to start a brawl on Starfall."

Azriel grits his teeth, torn between his desire to protect what's his and the knowledge that Mor is right. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to reign in his emotions. While Azriel briefly exchanges pleasantries with Mor, his mind is consumed by thoughts of you. He can hardly focus on their conversation, his attention drawn inexorably back to where you stand across the room. He can feel his Illyrian instincts surging to the forefront, urging him to claim what's rightfully his. Shadowy tendrils dance around him frantically, pushing, pulling, as if they too wanted him to whisk you away from the other male’s embrace.

Finally having had enough, he excuses himself from Mor's company. Azriel prowls across the room with purposeful strides. His presence alone is enough to send a ripple of unease through the crowd, his menacing aura palpable as he approaches. When he reaches your side, the Fae male dancing with you seems to shrink back in fear, intimidated by the intensity of Azriel's gaze. But Azriel pays him no mind, his attention wholly consumed by you.

His shadows whispering words of possession and desire in his ears, chanting “Beautiful, beautiful” over and over. ”Ours, ours” Azriel can hardly contain the primal urges that surge within him. All he can think about is claiming you, marking you as his own for all the world to see. And as he draws closer, the air crackling with anticipation, he knows that he won't be satisfied until you’re in his arms, where you belong. He just wants to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. Suppressing a groan, he twirls you around, his hands easily finding their way onto your hips, softly squeezing them while leading the dance.

When the song came to an end, he felt like he was stood in the summer courts afternoon sun again. He needed some fresh air, some more quietness, and he selfishly wanted to be the sole bearer of your company.

By the Cauldron, as you made your way onto the balcony, him trailing behind you a few steps, he silently swore under his breath. Suddenly he was questioning his decision to be alone with you. Again, he asked himself why. Why have the last nine months been such a torture? Why did it feel like there was no oxygen left in his lungs when you and Mor had winnowed away and departed for your mission? And only now could he breathe again, truly breathe. And with every inhale, the scent of sweet lilies and freshly fallen rain assaulted his senses, clawing into the very essence of his being.

Only as you shifted on your feet slightly did he notice that he was straight up staring at you. Shit. As a soft blush made its way onto your cheeks then, he wanted to melt. Did you like the way he looked at you? Had the past nine months felt as maddening for you as they had felt for him? Questions upon questions infiltrated his mind as you looked upon Velaris together. And when you spoke again, wanting, no, needing to tell him something, he felt his stomach drop. Had you found someone on the continent?

When Feyre interrupted you mid-sentence solely by appearing, he didn’t know if he should curse or thank her for the disturbance. But the way your brows furrowed and how the light in your eyes ebbed out a little bit, made him feel a pang in his chest.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension that had settled between you. And as Feyre excused herself again, he spoke up. "What were you saying?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He needed to know, needed to hear your words, even if they shattered his heart into a million pieces. You hesitated for a moment, the words caught in your throat as you searched for an excuse, anything to deflect from the truth. "It's nothing," you replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just... something I've been thinking about lately. But it's not important." A lie.

He studied your expression, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a small smile of his own. "Alright," he murmured, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to your words than you were letting on. Turning back to Azriel, you couldn't help but notice the way the moonlight danced across his features, casting a soft glow around him that made your heart flutter again.

"You know," he began, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "I never expected to find you here tonight. It's... a pleasant surprise."

You chuckled softly, the sound carrying on the gentle breeze. "Well, it's not every day that we get to celebrate Starfall together," you replied, a hint of warmth in your voice. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." There was hidden meaning in your words that he didn’t fail to miss.

His eyes softened at your words, a silent understanding passing between you. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. "It wouldn't be the same without you."

Wearing a tender smile, Azriel reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. "You look beautiful tonight," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. A soft blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn't help but return his smile. "Thank you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "You don't look too bad yourself."

He chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears. "High praise coming from you," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You laughed, a light and carefree sound that echoed in the night air. "Well, I do have good taste," you quipped, nudging him playfully.

With trembling hands, you reached out to touch him, your fingers grazing lightly against his cheek as you traced the contours of his face. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he leaned into your caress. Every nerve in his body seemed to come alive at your gentle caress, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of your touch. With a shaky breath, he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a depth of emotion that words could not express. In that moment, he felt as though he could drown in the ocean of your eyes.

With a tender yet sure touch, Azriel pulled you into his embrace, his arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. The scent of cedar and winter air surrounded you, his presence filling every corner of your senses. Azriel can't help himself, his urge to feel you pressed against him. He had missed you too much, and the way you just looked at him had him questioning why the hell he waited so long to do this. His hazel eyes glint as he lets them roam over your face, examining the gentle curve of your full lips, dipping down to follow the line of revealed skin, ending where your breasts are pressed firmly to his chest. The intensity of his stare sends shivers down your spine, your skin tingling with a delicious combination of desire and longing.

With each passing moment, the space between you seems to shrink, until there is barely a breath of air separating your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from him, warming you from the inside out. His eyes, darkened with lust, hold you captive, their intensity rendering you speechless. You can't help but shiver under his gaze, your entire being yearning for the touch of his lips against yours.

As he leans in closer, his brows furrowed in concentration, you can't help but tremble under his touch. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a subconscious gesture. You feel the gentle pressure of his body against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin as he presses you back against the railing. Unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you, a soft whimper escapes your lips. "Azriel." His name leaves you sounding more like a soft whine than anything else. He inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he savors the way his name rolls off your tongue. "say it again." he pleads, his voice husky with longing, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Azriel..." You breathe out again. A sinful moan escapes his lips at the sound of his name spoken by you, his head bowing forward as he presses his forehead against yours. Your hands claw at his chest, fisting his shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel’s voice sounds strained as he asks you. All you can manage is a whimpered “Please.” And that’s all he needs, as if your words just shattered his restraint, he surges forward, capturing your lips with his own. You melt into each other’s touch, lips slanted over another, one of Azriel’s marred hands comes up to cup one of your cheeks, tilting your head back slightly to deepen the kiss. You press into him more, gasping when you feel a muscled thigh lodged between your legs, the friction causing you to shake slightly. Azriel swipes his tongue over your bottom lip then, venturing further as you gasp, tasting you. Both of you, completely tangled into each other, breathe heavily when you part. Only then do you realize that the stars had begun their journey, thousands upon thousands of bright streaks flashing through the sky.

The sparkling light of the falling stars reflected in Azriel’s eyes, making them shine even brighter than they already were. You followed his gaze as you saw his orbs wander to look behind you. The night sky shone with glittering starlight, painting Velaris in a colorful bright hue. In complete and utter awe, you shift slightly, watching the stars make their way to whatever destination. “Breathtaking.” Azriel mumbles huskily and you can’t help but agree. When you turn to face him again, you realize that he was still looking at you. A soft blush makes its way onto your already flushed face.

Azriel was a warrior, the Night Court’s Spymaster and Shadowsinger, he had fought plenty of battles before, always coming out on top and alive. But as he stared at you then, his heart rapidly beating in his chest, he found himself on his knees for the first time, loosing his restraint, loosing his composure. Because when he looked at you then, face bathed in the soft lights of the falling stars, skin flushed and lips swollen, it snapped. And when it did, everything made sense.

His eyes were wide and filled with something you couldn’t quite place. As you feel his lips crashing against yours once more, any words you might have spoken are lost in the fervor of the moment. The intensity of the kiss leaves you breathless, your mind swirling with a heady mixture of desire and adoration.

When you finally break apart, your chests heaving with the effort of controlling your racing hearts, you find yourself lost in the depths of his wide, expressive eyes. There's something in his gaze that speaks volumes, something you can't quite put into words but can feel deep within your soul. "Your face is a work of art," you whisper, the alcohol lending a soft haze to your words. Excitement clouding your head, the compliment spills from your lips. Azriel's features, sharp and defined, seem to glow with an ethereal light in the dimness of the night. His hazel eyes, like pools of molten gold, capture your gaze, drawing you in.

"Yeah?" he hums in response, his hands finding their way to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume every inch of your being. And when he inhales deeply, the scent of your Arousal hits him with full force and he snarls lowly. "Your legs should frame it then,"

Your breath hitches at his words, eyes widening at what he suggests. Speechless you try to regain your composure. Then, with a coy smile, you lean in closer to him, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Careful, Azriel. You're playing with fire." The teasing tone in your voice betrays the longing that simmers beneath the surface, aching to be unleashed.

As the flames of desire engulf you both, Azriel's lips part in a husky whisper, his voice dripping with primal need. "I don't mind getting burned," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. With a trembling hand, you reach up to cup his cheek, your touch gentle yet filled with an intensity that mirrors the blaze in his eyes. "Then let us burn together," you whisper.

In a raw display of desire, Azriel's demeanor shifts, his jaw clenched with a fierce determination as he gazes at you with narrowed eyes filled with unbridled hunger. Without a word, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, his hands roaming possessively over your body as he pulls you close. With a soft gasp, you wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the heat of his body against yours as you press closer together. The sensation of his hands wandering to your ass, squeezing firmly, sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you.

In the blink of an eye, Azriel winnows you away. The world blurs around you, the sensation of movement disorienting yet thrilling. Before you can fully comprehend the transition, you find yourselves standing in the intimate sanctuary of his bedroom. Around you, the air is charged with anticipation, heavy with the promise of what is to come. Azriel's gaze meets yours, smoldering with desire as he sets you down gently on the bed, his hands still lingering on your hips. And as he looks at you then, looking deep into your eyes to search for any hesitation or regret on your part, you speak.

“Claim me.” Your voice is confident and soft. “I’m yours, Mate.”

With a primal growl, Azriel's restraint shatters, consumed by the raw, unbridled desire coursing through his veins. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, a fierce hunger driving his movements. In that moment, there is no holding back, no inhibitions—only the primal instinct to claim you as his own.

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I Can't believe it!! What do you guys think? Let's just say Part 3 will be very steamy. I truly hope you enjoyed reading this.

Tag-list:

@impossibelle @paleidiot @tele86 @namelesssaviour @sstrohma @that-one-little-soybean @mybestfriendmademe @durgenyx @shinyghosteclipse @katherinejess

#azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #reader insert #imagine #rhysand #cassian #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron

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azrielwingspan · 2 months

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'Someone' (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: The IC try to pry into your life and find out who you're crushing on.

Warnings : Noooone.

He was devastatingly handsome. Unfortunately for you, it did not bode well. You were supposed to be focusing on the meeting taking place and yet all you could think about was the shadowsinger seated opposite you.

"It would be best if we were to implement our previous strategy. What do you think Y/N?"

You snapped out of your daze and blinked slowly at your brother seated next to you. He looked at you expectantly as Cassian tried to stifle a laugh.

"Uhhh...yeah..we must...indeed." you choked out.

FOOL FOOL FOOOOOL. You screamed at yourself in your head trying your level best to get back your bearings and steer the meeting in your favor.

"Although, I do think we should discuss the previous strategy in detail and draw up a plan b in case things go south."

The others at the table nodded in agreement and you held in your sigh of relief. Rhys threw a suspicious glance your way but held his tongue. The people closest to you would describe you as an extremely focused and high functioning individual. Surprisingly for them and you , you were anything but that at the moment.

Azriel hadn't uttered a single word throughout the meeting instead choosing to listen attentively and observe , his usual mannerism. You stole another glance at him and froze. Fuck.

His eyes were trained on you, the gold piercing through the flecks of green and brown. Expression unreadable, he raised an eyebrow at your befuddled face. Giving him a crooked smile and almost wincing at how you must have looked, you turned your attention back to the matter at hand. Fantastic. Absolutely, truly fucking fantastic.

Putting in a ton of conscious effort, you managed to get through the rest of the meeting without making a fool of yourself again. Eventually, the conversation at the table turned into casual chatter. After all, everyone at this table was like family. You would fight for every single one of them.

"Y/N was heartbroken. It was rather funny to be quite frank." your head snapped in the direction of Mor who was shooting you a devious grin. It took a few seconds for the realization to kick in and you almost hid your face from absolute mortification. Today was going terrible.

"I was 25!! A CHILD in fae years." You defended yourself hiding your face in your hands. Laughter rose around the table and you sank further into your chair.

"Wait.." Feyre wiped a tear off the corner of her eye, trying to hold in her laughter. "so you're telling me, Y/N fell in love with a stable boy who was terrified of her? Why was he scared? What did you do?"

"She has this weird smile she ..." Rhys saw the glare you directed his way and a smug grin made its way onto his face.

"Okay..okay..I'm sure your love life has improved since then Y/N. Tell me, who is the unlucky guy these days?" Cassian asked sending everyone into a fit on raucous laughter yet again.

You were sure that everyone had noticed the way your shoulders tensed slightly. Cursing yourself for not doing a better job at hiding your emotions, you gave a casual shrug. "No one."

"Riiiiight." Cassian leaned back in his chair and looked to Azriel who had a small smile playing on his lips.

"What do you think Az? You're the spymaster after all."

"I don't pry into others personal lives brother." Azriel leaned forward placing his elbows on the table. "But...I might know who it is."

A flare of shock pulsed through you causing your heart to thump against your chest. Azriel noticed the change in your posture and let a small smirk slide onto his face. Handsome cocky bastard. Did he know?

You didn't think so. Aside from today, you had never given a hint of anything being strange or weird. He was probably playing mind games with you.

"So there is someone then." Mor's eyes twinkled , the makings of plan behind her eyes to glean the information from you later. You told Mor everything. After all, you were the best of friends. Which is why, you couldn't bring yourself to reveal this massive crush on Azriel yet. You knew Mor didn't love him that way and yet you couldn't speak to her about it.

"You guys are delusional. There is absolutely no one and I'm quite content thankyou very much. Also, spymaster..." you emphasized his title, giving him a sour smile "you need to brush up on your skills."

Azriel bowed his head trying to hide the grin blooming on his lips. "Now...if all of you are done gossiping about my non existent love life, I'm going to go spend some quality time with my new book." You left the room before any of them could notice the red blooming high on your cheeks. What you failed to notice however was a tendril of shadow reporting to its master about your flustered state.

That night as you were drifting off to sleep, a note was slid under the door into you room. It read

"It's hard not to pry when you're involved."- 'Someone'

You would be starting your morning with a heart attack tomorrow.

PART 2 OUT NOW ! READ HERE

Part 2 sneak peek here !

A/N: Let me know if you guys have any scenarios or ideas you want to read about. Would love to hear about them!

#azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar series #azriel x female!reader #azriel fic #azriel fluff

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fanwarriorfictions · 6 days

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Not Again - Part Twelve

Summary: Y/n is desperate to save her mate, they keep telling her he will be fine, but she knows something is wrong

Warnings: ANGSTY!!!! Madja is a good healer I swear, it’s solely for the plot

Series Masterlist

-Part Twelve-

Wake up, please wake up. Faint, desperate words in his mind. Not his shadows, the voice was female, with a soft, swirling accent like the mountain breeze running through his hair. There’s a feeling, like this female is everything, that he needs to get to her, to tell her something. Fight, Az, come back.

He tried, so hard, it hurt to much.

Mate, mate, mate.

The word beats in her head in time with his heart. She could feel it, beating in time with her own, across the bridge between their souls, the shadowy tether that she could feel like another limb connecting them.

Mate, mate, mate.

Azriel was her mate, this male, laying before her, thick bandages wrapped over the wound on his chest from the arrow he took because of her. Because of a broken goddess, because she knew the anger, the ferocity caused by a mate being hurt, would unlock that fire in Y/n, Mala’s own power, the only thing strong enough to finally kill her. Her mother had only a drop of it left, Y/n had inherited a deep well of it, deeper than she thought she had, a final gift from Mala.

Amren theorized that Deanna had opened the gate that brought Y/n to them. That she was trying to bring Y/n to whatever world she’d been trapped in, to use the power in her veins to gift her the death she desired, but something happened when the gate opened, the bond between her and Azriel had altered her course, had brought her to him. A gift from the Wyrd, to find her mate all the way across the stars.

Mate, mate, mate.

The gate Y/n had opened had been hijacked by Deanna before it could find Terrasen, and the goddess was able to take the Walking Dead and open her own gate. Amren assumed that, without Deanna’s interference, the gate would work as it should, that they would be able to try it again. She could go home now, could see her parents, her family, Terrasen.

Mate, mate, mate.

It had been nearly a week, since Deanna, since that arrow had pierced Azriel’s chest and she had felt that mating bond between them. Felt it thin as his heart slowed in his chest. It had felt like she was dying with him. A healer, Madja, had tried to lay her hands on him, Y/n had been so deep in a furious red haze that she almost burned the female alive. A red shield had surrounded her as Cassian had ripped her away, she’d almost killed him too, Madja had to heal the burns left on his arms. Feyre had been the one to finally calm her down, arms covered in cold water so she could hold onto Y/n’s scorching skin.

“He’s okay!” She had screamed, when the water had started to boil. “She’s healing him, Y/n look! It missed his heart, he’s okay!”

Y/n had watched the arrow clatter to the floor, the blood coating it, and the wound slowly stitching together beneath the healer’s hands. Feyre let her go, only when Y/n had gone practically limp in her arms. She’d crumbled to the floor, no longer supported by the High Lady, and she crawled towards him, laid down beside him, and pulled on that bond, refusing to let him go.

A week had passed, and she hadn’t attempted to open a gate, to go home, she’d barely even left his room. She couldn’t, not when he was still asleep, not when this bond in her chest was the only indication that he was still alive. Would she still feel it if she left? Will it feel like when he’d almost died, that thinning, that pain, that fear? The thought was so terrifying, so painful, she couldn’t even attempt it, wouldn’t step in that room that still smelled of his blood.

Wake up, shadowsinger, please.

He didn’t.

The inner court checked on her and Azriel periodically, rotating through, Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, over and over again. Even Amren had visited a few times, she’d been the one to finally drag her to the dining room to eat with the rest of the court.

“You can come back and wallow in your misery after you eat, girl.”

Amren didn’t practice kindness, not in the way many would. Forcing her out of that room, quite literally dragging her down the hall, was her form of being kind, of reaching out to make sure Y/n was okay. She wasn’t, she was far from okay, but she let the tiny female force her into her seat, met the concerned eyes of each of the court members, and ate whatever the house forced onto her plate.

“He’ll be okay,” Cassian says gently, his own voice weighed down by his concern for his brother, “Madja has healed worse injuries, he’s had worse.”

She didn’t want to know what those injuries were, “I know.”

“Y/n-“

“How long did you all know,” she cuts him off, looking between each of them, “That he and I were mates? I’m assuming you all know.”

A few of them had the decency to look ashamed. Feyre especially, who gives her mate a hard stare, no doubt speaking to him in his mind. By the way he winces, Y/n assumes it’s not a pleasant conversation.

“After the fight you two had,” Rhys starts, “I had Amren ask the Book of Breathings for more answers, she wrung the information out of it. I told Azriel what it had said, I left it to him on how to tell you.”

After their fight, when he’d disappeared for hours and hours, when she’d felt so lost and miserable, an echo of how he felt. He’d come back, had known exactly how awful she was feeling, called her a coward.

“I wanted to tell you,” Feyre says, glaring at her family around her, “I know how awful it is to be left in the dark-“

“He should have told me,” Y/n says, no heat, no anger, “Azriel should have told me.”

Cassian winces at the cold emptiness in her voice, “He wanted to, but he didn’t want to burden you with it, to hold you back from getting home.”

“He should have told me,” she says again, voice so cold, “He doesn’t get to call me a coward, while he was hiding this.”

“Y/n,” Mor’s gentle voice, “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Of course he didn’t, that’s not why she was upset. She knew that Azriel cared about her, cared enough that he would suffer beneath the weight of this mating bond alone so she wouldn’t have to. He would take an arrow for her, again and again, and that was terrifying, that he would die for her without ever telling her why. That he would die and leave her behind knowing that she lost the mate she hadn’t even known she’d had.

Y/n stands, ignoring the pity in their eyes, the understanding in the eyes of the High Lady’s, the anger on her behalf from Nesta, the disappointment from Amren. She didn’t want any of it, any of them, she wanted her mother, her father, her family. More than anything, she wanted Azriel.

Days passed, Azriel kept sleeping. Something was wrong, so unbelievably wrong, he should have woken by now, he’d been asleep to long. Y/n couldn’t do anything, the panic pressing down like the mountain had crumbled around her, pinning her beneath the red stone. She yanked on that bond, begging and yelling for him to, wake up, wake up, please, Az, wake up.

Nothing, just that faint steady presence of his heartbeat, the bridge of shadows dark on his side like he couldn’t even dream in his sleep.

Madja looked him over, changing his bandages, she found nothing wrong, he just needed rest. That’s what they all kept telling her, he’ll be okay, Y/n, he needs to rest.

She wanted to scream, to burn the next fae that told her he was okay, he wasn’t, something was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Please, Azriel, I need you to wake up.

He wanted to tell her something, needed to tell her something. He tried so hard to wake, to reach for her, but he couldn’t.

I’m here, Princess. I’m here.

“Help,” she’s screaming, “Help, please! Cassian!”

Azriel’s body violently shakes beneath her hands, his skin hot and coated in sweat. She’d woken to his limbs colliding with her own, part of her had thought he’d woken up, but when she’d shot up, seen his eyes still closed, felt the intense pain coming from him down the bond, she screamed and screamed for help.

A seizure, he was having a seizure. She’d spent time in the southern continent, at the torre with her aunt. Learning the basics of healing because she was fascinated with it as a young teenager. There had been a man who was yelling for help, his wife had collapsed in the street and she was shaking. The healers had helped her, her aunt had described the situation as a seizure, told her what to do. She knew what to do, but in this moment she was panicking to much to do it.

The door slams open, Cassian running, dagger in hand, “Mother above.”

“Get the healer,” she screams, “Get Rhys, Feyre, anyone, please!”

That far away look in his eyes, “They’re on their way, just hold on.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” Y/n pleads, forcing herself to breathe, to do what her aunt had instructed her to do.

Cassian rushes to her, helping her haul his brother up and onto his side, “How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know, a few minutes maybe,” she says, “Where’s Madja?”

“Almost here,” he answers, that look in his eye, “Rhys is flying them up now.”

Y/n gently holds Azriel, his shaking form beneath her palms, whispering down that shadowy bridge between them, You’re okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s okay.

She didn’t believe herself at all. Not even when the seizure subsided, not when Madja had arrived with a frantic Rhys in tow, not when she checked him over and found nothing outwardly wrong with him.

“All we can do is wait,” Madja says, laying a gentle hand on Y/n’s shoulder, before leaving with Rhys and Cassian.

She couldn’t wait anymore.

The room is pitch black, the moon and stars covered by clouds in the sky, the only light comes from the small candle in her hand. It still smells of his blood, the whole room reeks of it, his combining with her own.

The cut on her arm was a dull ache, barely noticeable beneath the pain and fear in her heart. Her blood was warm on her fingertips, she pressed them to the floor and drew, drew the symbols she’d memorized, drew the name she had learned as a child, one of many.

Her voice sounded hallow in her ears, the painful words tearing through her vocal chords. The blood turns green, casting the room in its sickly light. Her hands shook as she finished, wide eyes staring into the darkness.

“What is that?”

She almost sobs at the voice, at the woman who comes into view, peering into the gate. The only person she could think of that would know what to do, to save him.

“Yrene,” her voice broke as the woman’s eyes landed on her, “I need your help.”

“Oh gods,” her aunt sobs loudly, “Y/n, my darling girl where have you-“

The door behind her aunt flies open, a man as familiar as her own father running through, sword raised to protect his wife, “What is it? What’s wrong-”

He spots the gate, sliding to a stop, “Y/n? My gods-“

“Please,” Y/n sobs, “I need help, please something is wrong, he won’t wake up, a seizure, he can’t, I can’t-“

“Y/n slow down,” Chaol lowers his sword, “Sweetheart breathe, calm down, who’s hurt, where are you?”

“Yrene please, he needs your help,” Y/n begs, she falls to her knees, her hands raised over her head, palms up, “Please, help him.”

There’s a shift in the air as Yrene steps through the gate, Y/n sobs when her aunt’s hands grasp her own. Yrene pulls Y/n to her feet, supporting her weight. Behind her, Chaol takes a step towards them but Yrene shakes her head.

“Get Aelin and Rowan,” she commands.

Chaol looks ready to argue, but a sharp look from his wife has him nodding once, “Be careful, my love”

“Where is he?”

Y/n runs, forcing herself to slow down, to keep pace with Yrene’s human form. She follows that bond, pulling on it, feeling the heartbeat on the other side and nothing more. It was like Azriel was barely there, blocked, hidden from her.

She felt then, a rumbling power, night kissed darkness. Rhys was coming, he’d felt the portal open no doubt, she didn’t care to stop, to explain to him what she had done. He could wait, Azriel couldn’t.

The door to his room is wide open, the house already knew what was happening, the room lit by fae lights. Yrene didn’t hesitate, just ran to the bed, to Azriel.

“What happened?”

It was a struggle to keep calm long enough to briefly describe what had happened, that he’d been shot in the chest by the goddess Deanna, that he’d been in a coma ever since. Yrene lays her hands over Azriel’s chest, faint warm light glowing from her palms. Her magic searching, washing over him and into that wound beneath his bandages.

“What is this?” That night kissed power explodes into the room, “Get your hands off my brother!”

Y/n throws herself in his path, a cold harsh wind blowing him back, “Rhys stop! She’s helping him, this is my aunt, I told you about her.”

“You opened a gate? Alone?” His voice is scathing, “What if something had happened again? You almost died last time! Damnit Y/n, you could have asked-”

“I needed to do something, I couldn’t keep waiting,” she snaps, her voice breaking, “Rhys I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

The anger in Rhys shatters, “I know, Y/n, I know, me too.”

“I don’t know what’s going on over there,” Yrene calls out, “But I could use some help.”

Y/n turns from Rhys, offering no translation, “What? what is it?”

“There’s something here,” Yrene says, hand hovering over the bandages, “Magic, it’s old, older than the valg. It feels similar though, to what was paralyzing your uncle, it’s attached to his heart.”

“What can I do?”

“Hold him down,” she says, “Get the angry one to help, this is probably going to hurt really bad.”

“Rhys,” Y/n throws over her shoulder, “Help me hold him down.”

The High Lord does without hesitation, “What’s wrong with him? What is she doing?”

Almost in response, Azriel screams. Arching off the bed, wings flaring beneath him, almost knocking Y/n over. Rhys throws his weight over his brothers kicking legs, using some of that power to restrain him. Y/n’s own wind holds Azriel down where she can’t reach, keeping his arm from swinging into Yrene.

His screams are so achingly painful, shouting down the bond between them, the first sign of him she’d had in nearly two weeks.

“You’re okay,” she shushes him, “It’s going to be okay. Just hold on.”

He screams and screams, tears streaming down his cheeks. Y/n can only hold on, can only cry with him. Every feeling is thrown down the bond, like it had been opened like a door between their minds, pain, fear, agony, Y/n could feel it all like it was her own chest, like it was being torn open, like her heart was being ripped out.

“I’ve almost got it,” her aunt says through clenched teeth, “Just a little while longer.”

Hold on, just hold on. She hopes he can hear her, he only screams in response. Roaring loud enough to shake the mountain beneath them. She screams with him, her already hoarse voice shattering, she could taste blood on her tongue.

A bright silver light shines through Yrene’s warm healing glow. It nearly blinds Y/n, she has to squint to see what it even was. Slowly pulling it from Azriel’s chest, it looked almost like a worm made of moon fire, writhing inside a bubble of Yrene’s magic.

Azriel slumps to the bed, breathing hard and fast, his eyes do not open. Y/n collapses against him, cradling his head to her chest, her fingers running through his hair.

“What is that?”

She looks up at Rhys, “One last fuck you from Deanna.”

The magic reeks of the goddess, a shred of her left in it, mocking, laughing. Y/n holds out her hand, and her aunt wordlessly drops the silver thing into her hand. It writhes in her palm, she glares at it, at the final shred of the wretched goddess.

“Go to Hel,” she spits, and her palm lights in the deepest, hottest blue flame, until there’s nothing left.

Wake, wake up, here, she’s here, wake up, tell her, wake up! The voices hurt his head, adding to the pain that radiates through his whole body. It hurt, his head, his chest, his heart, it all hurt.

He couldn’t force his eyes to open, so he relies on his other senses. He was laying down, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets, warm. From the scent surrounding him, he was in his own room, but there was another scent, pine and snow and embers, home. It clung to the pillows beside him, he wants to turn his face into it and inhale deeply. He tries, but the motion causes his already aching head to scream in pain.

“Az?”

That voice, soft and swirling air, the northern breeze that caught in his wings and lifted him high into the sky. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, her voice, the one he’d heard in his dreams, the one begging him to wake. He had to tell her something, desperately needed to tell her.

“Princess-“ he coughs, his throat felt like sand paper, felt like he had been screaming.

“Here,” she says.

He feels the bed dip beside him, something cold presses to his lips, water. The cold liquid slides over his tongue soothing the pain in his throat. He drinks deeply for several seconds, groaning when she takes the glass away.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” she chides.

He wanted to open his eyes, to see her, to tell her everything, “Princess, I-“

Her hand in his, so right, so perfect, “I know, shadowsinger, I know.”

Azriel finally forces his eyes open, the sunlight shines through the open curtains, settling over her like a blanket of gold. Beautiful, so achingly beautiful. He could feel her, that tether of shadow more like a solid bridge between them.

“You know,” he breathes, “How-“

“You should have told me,” she stops him, her hand shaking in his palm, “Gods, Az, you should have told me. Instead, I watched an arrow go into your chest, I felt you dying on the other side of the bond.”

The words send a shock of pain through his chest, like that arrow was finding home in his heart once again. It echoes the pain she felt, still feels.

“It felt like I was dying with you,” she says, her eyes burning with lingering rage, “I killed her. I didn’t think, couldn’t, I felt that bond in my chest, knew that you were my mate, and she had tried to take you from me. I burned her to nothing but ash.”

Azriel could only stare at the female, she had killed a goddess, an ancient terrible creature, for him. His mate, his viscous warrior of a mate, gods killer.

“You should have told me,” she repeats again, and Azriel can feel the anger and the fear she feels, “You almost died, and I- I didn’t- I couldn’t- You“

“I’m sorry.” The broken words tear into his heart, “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

“I know,” she takes a deep breath, “I know why you hid it, I understand that, I just- I almost lost you before I’d even known I had you.”

Her face falls, looking down at the hands in her lap that fidget with the loose black fabric. Night court black, it almost seemed like mourning black to Azriel.

“Hey.” It takes more effort than he’s willing to admit to lift his scarred hand to her cheek, turning her face back to him, “I’m okay, you still have me, if you still want me.”

Her eyes are lined with silver tears as she nods once, a simple gesture that breaks and rebuilds every part of his soul. He didn’t need some big mating ceremony, didn’t need a party, didn’t need her to offer him food, just that nod, that simple yes, was more than enough.

Despite the pain, Azriel sits up, cradling her face in the palm of his hand, marveling at the sight of her wide eyes, no cold, no heat, just full of wonder. A single tear runs down her cheek and Azriel leans in, kissing away the drop.

“You’re my mate,” he whispers against her skin, it feels like a weight lifting off his shoulders, off his heart, “Mine.”

She pulls back, just enough to look into his eyes and say, “And you are mine.”

Azriel runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek, “My beautiful, wonderful, vicious mate.”

She smiles and he could fall apart completely. He looks down at those lips, soft and sweet, and Azriel kisses his mate, and for once in his life, everything felt right.

Y/n had been the first to pull away from the kiss, so achingly gentle, “You must be starving.”

Azriel’s eyes were firmly locked on her lips as he said, “Yes I am.”

Every instinct in him was roaring to keep kissing her, to do more than that. His mate, gods this was his mate.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly two weeks, you need to eat.”

That gets his attention, his dark brows furrowed, “Two weeks?”

“The others are waiting in the dining room,” she says gently, “We can wait, we’ll go whenever you’re ready, but your family is desperate to see you.”

He’d been asleep for two weeks, they’d be beside themselves with worry, his brothers especially. There’s two voices in his head, one begging to see them, one that remembers that they’d also seen that arrow go into his chest, had watched as he nearly died. The other voice begs him to stay, to lay this female down and claim her in every way he could, his mate.

“You’re still recovering,” Y/n says, hand coming up to rest on the bandages over his chest, “Eat first, see your family. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yet. That unspoken word, she wasn’t going anywhere yet. He wonders if she heard it too, wonders if she could feel his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

Azriel wants to scream, instead he swallows it down and says, “Food first then.”

Y/n smiles and Azriel memorizes the image of her, tucks it away for later, ignoring the feeling of sand trickling down an hour glass, like their time was running out.

“Here, let me help.” She stands, grabbing a shirt from the wardrobe.

Azriel throws the covers off, feeling the sore and stiff muscles throughout his body. He forces himself through it, to lift his arms as she pulls the shirt over his head, to breathe as her hands button the shirt beneath his wings. Each step he takes feels like fire lancing through him, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t complain, only holds onto her hand as she guides them through the halls closer and closer to his family.

“Hold on.” He stops, pulling on her hand just before they turn that final corner, “Give me a second.”

Worried eyes, searching him head to toe, “What is it? What’s wrong? Do you need to sit down?”

Azriel smiles, “I’m alright, Princess.”

“What-“

He doesn’t give her the chance to finish her sentence, his arms wrapping around her waist and tugging her to his chest. The smallest gasp leaves her lips and he breathes it in as his lips find hers. He needed one more kiss, to steady himself, to prepare himself for the overbearing love and care from his family.

Y/n holds tightly to his shirt, “Az.”

He squeezes her hips, his name on her tongue was one of his favorite sounds. He hums against her lips, memorizing the feel of this too.

“Az I need to tell you-“

It could wait, everything could wait. He needed her now, who knew how much time he had left with her. He kisses her like he was trying to steal the air from her lungs, so entwined with her, with the feeling of her mouth, of her hands, of her body, his defenses down. Not even his shadows warned him.

A blade pressed between his shoulders, between his wings, the sharp tip digging in just enough to sting, and a lethally calm voice, “I recommend you take your hands off my daughter.”

Tag list

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#a little shorter but whatever #I desperately want to write the next part #it didn’t fit in with this one #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin #not again

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lalacliffthorne · 10 months

Text

🌪 idiot 🌪

Azriel x Reader

summary: a fight gets out of hand, and suddenly, everything's turned upside down

notes: this one is a slight emotional rollercoaster, people, so - you know, prepare. this was actually planned to turn out totally different, but the second I started writing, it just completely ran away with me and basically took on a life of it's own, and who am I to fight that. also. uhm. pretty much half of it is smut. yeah. so. you kids have fun. I need a cold shower.

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I wasn't quite sure how it had happened.

One second, I had been yelling at Azriel, feeling anger and frustration tear at my chest as the shadowsinger glared at me, rage burning in his eyes as they pierced into mine.

The next, his hands were buried in my hair, his chest pressing into mine as he pushed me backwards and kissed me like a male starving.

Training had been shit. Cassian hadn't been there because he was on border patrol for Rhys, so for once, no one was there to keep Azriel from pushing and pushing.

He had followed me after, his deep voice cutting like his knives when he had counted down the many ways I had failed, would have died in a real fight.

It was always like that - me somehow never being able to do anything right in his eyes. But for some reason, this time, it had been the last straw on a shitty morning, and so it had turned into a screaming match as soon as he had yanked me into his room instead of letting me storm into mine to slam the door into his face.

Well, I had been screaming; frustration and anger and hurt of over a hundred years finally pushing past the surface to unload onto the shadowsinger.

Azriel had not even yelled, but his voice had still grown louder with every word, deep and vibrating with anger as his shadows swirled around him; to egg him on or to calm him, I couldn't tell.

At some point, he had stepped closer, towering over me and just making me angrier as I unleashed every ounce of fury I had bottled up about the way he'd been treating me since the very beginning, either ignoring me like I wasn't there or reprimanding me, harsher than on anyone else.

It had all spilled out without me being able to hold it back, all of the frustration about how he was treating me laced with the anger and the hurt that was buried deep within as I stabbed my finger at his chest. All the while, he had just stared at me, something indiscernable in his eyes when I had finally ran out of words with a vibrating, angry sound and we both had just stared at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily, my insides twisting with anger.

And then he had leaned down, his lips crashing against mine, and without thinking, I had tugged him closer.

Which had led to where we were now. Azriel's hands stripping away my leathers as my fingers pulled at the buckles of his chest armor, trembling with what I told myself was the rage still burning in my chest. Rage that made me stretch and slip my hands into his hair to tug him down after pushing his armor off his shoulders as I kissed him back, feeling the world sway with the groan vibrating through his body as his hand gripped the back of my neck, tilting my head to kiss me harsher, more feverish, furious and somehow desperate.

Azriel's tongue swirled around mine, his breathing heavy as he pulled back just to tug my shirt over my head. His fingers started undoing my leather pants as his lips latched back onto mine, messy and hot, and something lurched in my stomach as I scratched my nails down his chest, the deep sound leaving him causing something to twitch in my pulsing lower stomach as I started tugging on his pants.

The back of my knees hit the mattress; Azriel stopped himself from falling onto me when I pulled him with me, his hands pressing into the sheets next to my head, and his hips bucked up into mine.

A wave of heat washed through my lower stomach, my lips fell open, and Azriel groaned into the kiss, his body growing rigid as he rocked into me again.

A whimper tore from my throat when he latched his lips onto my neck, beginning to trail harsh kisses down my throat that made my back arch as his hips started grinding down into mine in a steady rhythm. My insides tightened so harshly, I whimpered again, more breathless as my fingers clawed at Azriel's shoulders and I rolled my hips to meet his.

Azriel's movements stuttered, and a deep, strangled sound broke from his throat. His grip changed, and my heart stumbled to a screeching halt when his rough hand closed around my breast the same moment his tongue ran over the other.

My breath hitched, my whole body turning into a hot, squirming mess when Azriel began palming my chest harshly, licking and sucking at my nipple as soft groans left him. I gripped his hair as I tried to fight the moans building in my throat, his warm tongue lapping over my skin, leaving my eyes rolling back into my head.

Dragging his lips down over my body, his breathing quick and rough, Azriel pulled down my pants and underwear in one, leaving hard kisses on every inch of skin he could reach. But they seemed to soften as his rough, scarred hands wrapped around my hips. His eyes moved up to meet mine, half-lidded and hazy, fogged over with something that made my hips twitch, and a soft whimper left my throat.

Azriel blinked, and something shifted in his expression. His gaze cleared a little as it flickered over my face, and suddenly, his throat worked, his jaw tightened. Then his grip around my hips changed, and the next second, I was flipped over onto my stomach.

My breath staggered, and I could feel something lurch in my chest when the shadowsinger dragged me over the mattress. But then his breath brushed over the back of my shoulder, and when his deep voice sounded next to my ear, it was soft and a little rough as he mumbled: “Hold on.”

Swallowing against the way my throat closed up, I reached out and gripped the headboard, and Azriel's hand pressed down onto my spine almost gently. My back arched, and his other hand tightened around my waist as he pushed my legs apart. Then I felt him shift, and my mouth parted soundlessly when the tip of his cock brushed over my folds.

Azriel exhaled raggedly as his rough fingers slid through the wetness of my pussy, then he gripped my hips tighter, and a strangled gasp left me when he slowly started to push in.

My head dropped forward, my insides fluttering, and Azriel's fingers dug into my hips, a strained curse slipping from his lips as his cock pressed against my walls, slowly pushing forward inch by inch. He was big, filling me in a way that made small whimpers leave me, and Azriel pressed a curse when my hips bucked back on instinct, his hand pressing onto my back, and I moaned breathlessly when the movement made him slip in deeper.

I didn't know how long it took until he finally bottomed out, but when he did, my eyes were fluttering, my knuckles white around the headboard. Azriel was breathing harshly, his hips pressed flush against mine, and I whimpered just from the feeling of him, so deep, filling what felt like every inch of my body.

Azriel's grip tightened, and his hips rocked harshly into mine. Then he started to move.

Breathing, something that was second nature, suddenly became difficult. Every thrust sent my body rocking forward, and I could feel the strain in Azriel's grip, like it required every ounce of control on his body to keep the hard, steady rhythm. Every thrust seemed to hit deeper inside of me, my body melting back with every harsh rock of his hips. My fingers burned with how tight I was gripping the headboard, my head tipped forward and lips agape without any sound leaving them as my insides fluttered, tightening with every time Azriel rolled his hips to meet mine, waves of pleasure crashing through my body.

The sound of sweaty skin meeting skin mixed with Azriel's harsh breaths, causing my head to roll to the side, breathless moans falling from the back of my throat, and every single one seemed to be followed by a stutter of Azriel´s hips and an even harsher thrust. I could feel my clit throb, my body heaving as I pushed back, back against his deep thrusts, and the movement caused him to hit something inside of me that made my insides coil. A gasp left me, eyes rolling back, and just as my arms gave out, I was pulled up by my waist.

My heart staggered, stuttering when hands slipped over my torso, rough and calloused as they dragged me up. Then hot breath hit the side of my face, and an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a hard, muscled chest.

My breath stumbled, something skipping high in my chest when Azriel's nose brushed against my cheek, arms gripping me tighter. Then his hips pushed forward to meet mine, and my head tipped back.

The new angle caused Azriel to slip in even deeper, and my eyes rolled back the same moment a strained sound left him, grip pulling me tighter almost frantically as he picked up his movements, every steady, hard thrust rocking his body into mine.

A choked sound left me as my insides tightened, my fingers clawing at Azriel's arm wrapped around my waist. I could feel every inch of his skin, hot and slick with sweat like mine as he pressed into me, his hands gripping harshly onto my skin, almost desperately. Something hot washed over my insides, tightening, and Azriel's lips grazed over the side of my neck, a deep grunt leaving him, causing my legs to almost buckle, and I reached out to desperately grab onto the back of his neck.

Azriel's movements stuttered, and my stomach jolted at the rough sound escaping the back of his throat, his thrusts growing harsher and more frantic. Like somehow, that one movement had kicked his control out of the window and he couldn't; wouldn't hold back anymore. His heavy, ragged breaths hit my cheek when he raised his head, and my heart flipped in my chest at the way his nose pressed against my temple, open lips dragging over my skin as his body rocked into mine, every push of his hips seeming to sink deeper, making my eyes roll back further. His hand gripped my breast, tugging and palming until I writhed in his grip, whimpering as I pressed my head back against his shoulder, and my mouth fell open when he hit that spot.

Azriel's body seemed to tighten, every muscle locking in place, and his pace grew desperate. Then his other hand slipped down from where it was gripping my waist bruisingly, and his rough fingers brushed over my clit.

A sound left me, so loud as it ripped from my throat, my nails scratching over his skin but Azriel didn't seem to care, not when my hips bucked back into him and I could feel my insides tighten, tighten as he started circling my clit, changing between hard brushes and barely there grazes. My legs began to tremble, something white hot building in my stomach as moans and whimpers spilled from my lips as I squeezed my eyes shut and the knot wound tighter and tighter, Azriel's grip tensing like he could sense –

The tightness exploded, and a garbled sound left my lips, so loud, it echoed in my own ears.

Waves of white hot pleasure crashed over me, my hips grinding desperately as my legs shook and I felt myself drip as the whole world shook and heat rushed over me, over and over again as Azriel´s hips snapped against mine and his arms gripped me so tight, I almost forgot to breathe. Then I could feel his thrusts stuttering before pushing deep, and Azriel came, his mouth opening with a groan as his body pressed into mine.

I didn´t know how long I shook in his arms through the feeling of loosing all sense of who I was, my body melting into a puddle of hot tightening pleasure.

When I finally felt my limbs again, my mind slowly ceasing its spinning, Azriel was still thrusting, slow and steady, his sweaty chest pressed into my back as his grip loosened enough for me to feel the hot spots of skin where his arms had held me. My head lolled over his shoulder as I felt sweat run over my skin and my heart thumping against my chest, and Azriel's hand ran down my side, his hips stilling. I thought I felt him swallow, then he dropped his head and buried his nose in the crook of my neck.

My heart skipped once, but it was harsh as suddenly, dread took over every limb in my body.

Shit.

Azriel's arms slipped away from me, almost gently, and I dropped forward, catching myself on my hands when he slowly pulled out, an involuntary sound falling from my lips at the feeling of emptiness, and something lurched in my chest.

There was an ache spreading rapidly in my chest, and suddenly, my eyes burned with pressure, my fingers shaking.

Shit.

I could feel the mattress move distantly, like Azriel had climbed off, but I couldn't focus, couldn't feel anything but the rising feeling of panic in my chest and the way my limbs started to tremble.

Shit, shit, shit.

Looking over my shoulder, I found the room empty, and something lurched in my chest, bile rising in my throat.

Of course he had left.

I quickly slipped off the bed, darting down to pick up the first piece of clothing I could reach. My body felt sticky, suddenly dirty in a way that made my stomach turn.

The ache in my chest surged as the expanse of what happened rushed over me, and my breath quickened frantically as pressure built in my throat.

I had fucked Azriel. The male that seemed to be annoyed by me more than not, that was either cold and ignoring me or harsh and unrelenting. And it had taken my breath with every second. Had turned the world upside down, had made every fiber in my being tremble with the way he had touched me.

The shirt I slipped over my head was way too big, and its smell hit me like a blow to the stomach. Hastily pulling my underwear back on and grabbing my clothes, I pushed myself to my feet, my knees shaking.

But before I could even take one step towards the door, Azriel appeared in the bathroom door.

My breath hitched, and my heart skipped painfully when he stilled.

For a second, we just stared at each other, my breath trembling as I fought the instinct to bolt and that ache in my chest that grew heavier. My gaze darted over the shadowsinger, the pyjama pants now hanging low on his hips and the towel in his hand that caused something to twitch in my heart in confusion for a second. His eyes seemed almost soft as they pierced my own, and for a second, it seemed like a crease threatened to appear between his brows.

I blinked before hastily averting my eyes and mumbling: “I'm sorry, I'll just –“ The sound of my voice almost made me wince, hoarse and small, and I started hurrying towards the door. But I only made it a few steps before a hand closed around my wrist, gentle but firm, and my heart darted into my chest as my head whipped up.

Azriel's eyes flickered over mine, and for a second, he looked like he was hesitating, a muscle in his jaw shifting. Then he blinked and lightly pulled on my hand, slowly turning me around as his gaze darted over my face, and his throat worked like he was trying not to swallow.

“I just - have to see –“, his deep, raspy voice broke, and my breath hitched when he seemed to take a breath and dipped his head.

My body froze when his nose lightly brushed over mine. Azriel's grip tightened around my arm when he stilled for a second, tension rippling through his body. Then he bridged the last bit of distance.

A soft, trembling inhale made my shoulders rise when Azriel kissed me, slow and firm and gentle, causing my hand to reach out like instinct to grab onto his shoulder –

I gasped, and my fingers dug into Azriel's skin harshly when something tightened in my chest like a snap.

Heat bloomed under my ribs, right over my heart that fluttered wildly as something pulsed under my skin, something that tugged, pulled me towards the male in front of me who fell completely still, and I knew, knew he felt it too, knew from the way the pull in my chest grew, like another had joined it, weaving together to form one single, strong bond.

Slowly, Azriel broke the kiss, and when I forced open my eyes, breathing quickly, he was staring down at me, eyes wide, looking shaken and almost a little fragile.

“You're –“ My voice gave out, and something feverish seeped into the way Azriel's gaze flickered over my face, like he was trying to drink it in, commit it to memory. Then he swallowed.

“Hello, love.”

His deep mumble, rough and hoarse beyond reason sent shivers down my spine, and I felt my lips fall open, my heart rising into my throat as that thing in my chest pulsed, sending a chant through my body.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

I didn't know how long we just stood in the middle of Azriel's room, staring at each other while my heart fluttered achingly and that weight in my chest grew. The setting sun was seeping through the light curtains and bathed the bedroom in a soft, golden hue.

Azriel blinked, and his eyes softened, softened until the ache in my chest caused my breath to hitch when he took a step torwards me, and my heart skipped into my throat when he reached out to gently pry the clothes I still clung to from my grip.

Letting them drop to the ground without even sparing them a glance, Azriel's eyes flickered over my face as I stared up at him in a mix of fear and confusion. Then his hand lightly closed around my elbow, something fluttering high in my chest when his chest bumped into my shoulder, and Azriel gently nudged me towards the bathroom door, his breath brushing over the top of my head when he mumbled into my hair: “Come on.”

The bathroom was facing west like the bedroom, and I lost my breath a little when Azriel carefully pushed me through the door, the windows in the carved walls allowing the golden light to flood the room.

The shadowinger's hand was a gentle weight on the small of my back, just firm enough for the warmth of his palm to seep through the material of the shirt I was wearing. It caused the skin underneath to tingle, and I was almost glad that it slipped away when we reached the sink, because the urge to lean back into him had grown unbearable. Looking up at him over my shoulder, I felt my heart still before something began to rise in my chest.

The sunlight was casting a golden glow over Azriel's body. His face looked like someone had carved it from marble, the warm light causing his brows to crunch together almost discernably, emphazising the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones, the straight line of his nose and his lips while somehow making all of his face look softer. And his eyes – his eyes looked like amber held into sunlight, bright and honey colored.

I missed Azriel stepping towards me, my eyes glued to his face as something thrummed violently in my chest. But then he leaned down, his hands slipped around the back of my thighs, and my heart jumped into my throat.

A soft sound of surprise left me, and I quickly clung to his shoulders when Azriel lifted me onto the counter.

The cold marble sent a jolt down my legs, making me shiver softly. The muscles in Azriel's shoulders shifted under my hands when he straightened up again, his breath grazing over my forehead, and when I looked up at him, his eyes were already on my face, warm in the golden light.

Suddenly, something seemed to close around my throat.

“I'm sorry.” The words left me before I could stop them, in a whisper that was soft and a bit weak, and the weight in my chest grew.

Azriel's brows twitched, and a furrow slowly formed between his brows as he stared at me. Stared and stared until I gently shrugged one shoulder, mumbling: “I know how long you've been waiting for –“

A mate.

His mate.

I swallowed as my eyes flickered over his face, and something ached in my chest even as I tried a soft smile. “I know I was probably the last person you had in mind.”

Azriel stared at me, and there was a harsh tug in my chest, like he was trying to hold something back from rushing down the bond. Then a slow exhale left him, and he pressed his hands onto the counter next to my thighs, dropping his head.

My heart skipped softly in confusion when I stared at his hunched form, his wings twitching almost like he was in pain.

Azriel's fingers curled into fists. Then he straightened up again, running a hand over his face. His eyes found mine, and something flashed through them.

His jaw shifted; he blinked and moved forward, and my breath hitched when his hands slipped over the sides of my neck to cup my jaw. His thumbs brushed over my cheeks as Azriel stared at me, looking almost desperate when he said slowly, his deep, low voice rough: “Never say that again.”

My heart lurched in my chest, and my gaze flickered over his face in slight shock and uncertainty.

A muscle in Azriel´s cheek shifted as his fingers flexed slightly, and his voice sounded strangely close to cracking when he mumbled hoarsely: “I should be the one apologizing.”

Suddenly, something blocked my throat, no matter how hard I swallowed.

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and I could see the moment his jaw set like he was making a decision. Then he said roughly: “I'm sorry. I am so sorry I ever was stupid enough to make you believe I didn't like you. I am sorry I didn't listen when Cass and Rhys told me that I was making a mistake and that I would screw everything up, and I´m sorry that I was an asshole. I treated you awfully, all because I – was scared.” His voice sounded pressed. “I was scared, because I don't hate you. I do not not like you.” His eyes darted over my face, and the muscle in his jaw worked. “I like you far too much. You make me feel things I have never felt before, want things I've never wanted before. And that scared the shit out of me.”

Azriel's throat worked like he was trying not to swallow. “I wanted to protect myself from what I thought was inevitable heartbreak, because there was no way someone like you didn't have a mate, someone better for you than me. Because if you somehow, miraculously felt the same, it would have been only a matter of time until you found that other person, and losing you after having you would have torn me apart. Even more than just never having you in the first place.” His voice rasped slightly. “So I pushed you away, ignored you.” His eyes searched mine, desperate, pained. “Because I was already in far too deep.”

I stared at him with wide eyes, trying to understand the words falling from his lips as something started fluttering against my ribs, quicker and quicker until my chest ached.

“You –“ My voice broke, weak and slightly trembling, and Azriel squeezed his eyes shut for a second like it caused him actual physical pain. It took away my breath, seeing him like this, every emotion visible on his face, completely off guard and vulnerable.

It was like finally, after centuries - his unmovable mask had dropped.

“I'm sorry.” Azriel sounded hoarse, his low, deep voice vibrating through my very bones when his hands slipped from the side of my neck, dropping to press against the countertop.

“I'm so sorry. I fucked everything up, and you have every right to be furious with me.“ He opened his eyes, and the pain in them took my breath. “When you yelled at me earlier – I realized how much I have actually hurt you. That I had taken my anger and my frustration about myself out on you.” He swallowed, his deep voice weak and rough when he mumbled: “I never meant to hurt you. And I still did. So – yell at me, scream at me, do whatever you want. I deserve it.”

My heart jumped into my throat, something thrumming and fluttering against my ribs as I stared at the stupid, stubborn, beautiful male in front of me. My breath hitched, trembling as I listened to that surging feeling in my chest, hot and wavering. Then I raised my hands, slipping them up his shoulders to cup the back of his neck.

Something flashed through Azriel's eyes as they darted up to meet mine, and my breath hitched at the way his amber iris flickered over my face as he slowly let me pull him towards me.

Swallowing softly, I raised my chin; my nose brushed against his, and I could feel Azriel freeze when I pressed my lips onto his.

There was a surge in my chest, rising and taking my breath away as my heart began to flutter against my ribs, quicker with every second.

Azriel's lips were warm, just like his skin under my hands where they were pressed against the sides of his neck. Then one of them slipped up into his hair before I could stop it, and a soft tremble went through Azriel's body, a quiet, hoarse sound breaking from the back of his throat.

My heart skipped into my throat, and suddenly, something tightened a little in my chest, because maybe just kissing him hadn't been the best idea, and maybe I should have –

I didn't realise I was beginning to pull back until one of Azriel's hands rose to cup the side of my neck. I almost whimpered at the feeling of his rough skin gently pressing against mine, the hum in my chest growing, and Azriel breathed out against my skin. His fingers slipped up to tangle gently in my hair as his lips brushed over mine for a second. Then he leaned in and kissed me, slow and deep, and a small sound built in my chest.

Azriel moved, his free hand sliding up my side to bury in my hair as well, and my fingers started to tremble at the way he tilted my head, his hips pressing into mine as his tongue lazily dragged over mine. My hands slid down to his sides, my fingers digging into his skin, and Azriel groaned softly and quietly into my mouth, causing the flutter in my chest to grow into a humming, rising feeling.

By the time the shadowsinger slowly broke the kiss, the world seemed to spin, the only steady thing the male in front of me and his warm skin under my hands, his fingers curling into my hair and his hips pressed against the insides of my thighs.

Trying to breathe against my racing heart and the bond thrumming in my chest, I swallowed harshly, feeling Azriel's forehead press against mine and his heavy, ragged breaths hitting my skin. His fingers slowly loosened their grip far enough for his hands to slip out of my hair and to rest at the base of my neck, his thumbs brushing softly over my skin. Then he drew back, and forcing open my eyes, I felt something tumble in my chest when my gaze found his, his amber iris looking hazy in the warm golden light hitting his face.

“You're an idiot,”, I mumbled, my voice soft and rough. "A jerk, and an asshole, and an idiot."

I could feel Azriel's muscles shift under my touch as he swallowed, his wings twitching a little as his gaze darted over my face.

Breathing out softly, I felt something surge in my chest when I stared at him and his beautiful eyes, and my heart skipped when one corner of my lips rose, soft and hesitant and a little wobbly when I whispered: “But I guess you're my idiot now.”

Azriel stared at me, stared and stared as the setting sun enveloped him in a warm golden glow, his gaze swirling with a storm of emotions so tangled it was hard to discern them all. Then a slightly shuddering exhale left him, and his glassy eyes fluttered shut for a second when he dropped his head forward to rest it against mine. His thumbs brushed over my skin as his nose nudged against mine, and I could feel a wave of something so warm and strong pulse through the bond from his end, my heart missed a step.

For a moment, neither of us moved, breaths mingling, Azriel's wings shivering slightly as my thumbs brushed over his skin. Then I mumbled: "Az?"

A soft sound left him at his name falling from my lips, his grip tightening, and I furrowed my brows softly without opening my eyes, muttering: "Why did you bring me in here?"

I could feel the shadowsinger shift, then he pulled back his head, and when I raised my own, something fluttered against my chest as my eyes flickered over Azriel´s face, gods damned beautiful in the golden light, his gaze already dragging over me. Then he blinked and slipped his hands off my skin, and my heart lurched at the loss of contact, but Azriel just picked up the towel and turned on the faucet. Holding the fabric under water for a second, he turned it off again and returned to his place in front of me.

His hips nudged my legs apart, and my breath hitched when his warm, scarred fingers gently tapped against my knee, his eyes bright in the golden light when he mumbled, his low, deep voice like a soft brush down my spine: "You're sticky."

My heart skipped high in my chest, and a soft, croaky laugh broke from my lips as I stared at him, feeling warmth begin to bubble violently in my chest as suddenly, something fluttered against my ribs.

One corner of Azriel's lips turned upwards, and he watched me for a second, his eyes gleaming in the light. Then I lightly pushed my legs apart, and his scarred fingers slipped under my knee, lifting it gently as he began to clean my skin.

Something rose in my chest as I stared at the male before me, his head dipped down slightly and brows crunched softly as his scarred hand carefully bent my leg, the warm towel gently running over the underside of my thigh. A strand of hair was falling over his forehead, and suddenly, my fingers itched to brush it away.

I hesitated for a second, then I carefully tugged at that pulsing thing in my chest.

Azriel´s eyes darted up to meet mine, his grip nearly slipping on my thigh, and I felt something close around my throat.

"I can feel you,", I whispered.

Azriel's gaze moved over my face, and my breath hitched when a light formed in his eyes, bright like the warmth of the setting sun. Then he blinked, and one corner of his lips quirked softly.

"I'm not that big."

My heart skipped high in my chest, and an incredulous snort escaped me, quickly followed by wild giggles as I grabbed the towel from his hand and whacked him into the face, causing a slow grin to spread over Azriel´s face. Suddenly, the world seemed to slow as well as his smile became wider and wider until deep creases formed in his cheeks and his brightly twinkling eyes crinkled at the corners.

My breath faltered, hitched and trembled, and I stared at him, my heart fluttering wildly against my ribs.

"Idiot,", I whispered, and Azriel's eyes twinkled in the warm golden light.

"I know,", he mumbled, soft and hoarse.

My heart skipped as we stared at each other, Azriel's iris bright in the sinking sun and the corners of his lips curved upwards. Then he blinked, softly raising a brow.

"Can I get the towel back or do you want to hit me again?"

Warmth bubbled in my chest, the bond pulsing and surging, and I huffed, barely biting back a stupidly wide smile as I grumbled: "I think I've changed my mind; I'm not sure I want you as my idiot anymore."

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and there was something in the way he was staring at me, a twinkle in his iris, face pooled in golden light and the hint of a crease in his cheek that made my heart stumble when he slowly shook his head.

"No, sweetheart." His gaze tracked mine, and his deep voice was a little husky when he mumbled: "I'm yours now."

The bond whispered, and something swelled in my chest, warm and fluttering as my throat closed a little.

"Promise?", I whispered and cursed the weakness of my voice. But Azriel just stared at me, eyes warm and steady as he reached out, hooking his pinky finger through mine and squeezing as he mumbled, deep voice hoarse: "Promise."

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #azriel/reader #az x reader #az imagine #az/reader #acotar x reader #acowar #acomaf #acotar #lalacliffthorne

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azsazz · 8 months

Text

Just Hold On

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhysand just loves to make you cum.

Warnings: Smut, prolonging orgasms, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, m dom f sub, oral, f receiving.

Word Count: 1,239

Notes: I should be writing smut for Kinktober but you know how I be.

_________________________________________

Hold on, darling, he purrs in your mind and you want to scream. Your chest builds with it, burning hot as he holds you on the cusp of oblivion. You try to jerk against his mouth but he wills your body still, rubbing the inside of your thighs that are shaking with the urge to slam closed around his head. I’m not quite finished yet.

Please, you cry in response, but the blood in your ears drowns out his response. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe the longer Rhys tortures you like this, the building ache between your legs for the need to release is too great. Your fingers twitch but you can’t unfurl them where they’re clutching the sheets. Please, I can’t–

You don’t have to worry about if you can’t, darling, Rhys answers, sucking harshly at your clit. It makes your spine want to curve off of the bed, toes curl into the sheets but you can’t do a godsdamned thing with the grasp he has on you.

You might break. He might very well shatter your mind for this, or trap you inside this inferno of passion so great that you feel like you’ve descended into Hel itself. Mouth parted in a silent scream as he works, taking his fill of you until you’re a begging mess. His filthy words in your head ring in time with the way he’s flicking his tongue, swirling around your aching bud, red and swollen as he nips and sucks.

I think I might just keep you here all night, he admits sinfully and you want to cry. Your nose prickles with the feeling of the emotion and tears well in your eyes but not a single one falls. You’re forced to beg instead, utterly unable to move a muscle, even if your thighs are shaking and your chest aches with the pounding of your heart.

It’s the best you’ve ever felt but also the worst, stuck there as he draws your orgasm from you like you’re nothing more than his plaything.

Rhys, baby, please, I can’t, I can’t, it’s too much, you beg, but the High Lord feasting between your legs doesn’t falter. Your words mean nothing to him and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s blocked you out completely, ready to take what he wants as he always does. Gods, your frustrated scream is in your own head he teeths across your clit, pulling it with a harsh suck.

I love it when you get all needy. His voice in your head all languid and delighted sends fire coursing through your veins. Makes my cock so fucking hard.

He lets your mouth part in a moan that rattles the walls. It makes him shudder and bury his face deeper. His cock leaking against his thigh, and his hands are pulling your waist tighter and tighter against his face as he releases you, wanting you to writhe and fight him to get away from the pleasure he’s pulling.

Your heart slams in your chest and your hands fly to his hair, gripping the dark, damp, tendrils in a firm grip. You try your hardest to rip his head from your cunt but he’s too strong, too adamant about making you cum again and again and again.

He’s being sloppy with it, tongue moving in long strokes across your cunt. He even dips down and slides his mouth against your hole, which causes you to jump. Rhys is ready though, teeth exposed so your swollen clit grazes across them, tearing a whimper from your mouth.

Cum for me darling, let me taste you.

“Haven’t you had enough yet?” You pant, but you can barely speak with how heavy your chest is moving, begging for air. Rhysand doesn’t allow it, his hold on you strong, even with the amount of times he’s made you practice shoving him out.

Pleasure coils your body like a viper. It’s building in your gut, so deep inside of you where no one besides Rhys could ever reach. He toys with you, and the unmistakable feeling is mirrored in his own body, the bond reflecting your emotions tenfold. His cock aches but he refuses to touch himself because he’s too busy touching you and he wouldn’t dare remove himself from your body.

You are the air I breathe, the essence that gives me life, his words add to the heat pooling in your gut and you clutch him tighter and tighter as he draws you nearer towards the edge. I will never get enough of you.

Like a whip, you come crashing down. You rut against his tongue like something desperate, squeezing his head between your legs as you pull him tighter by his blue-black hair, rocking against him. He lets you, lets you take from him in that desperate way he always feels when he’s around you. It’s the primal need to be near him, to be inside of you, your souls match each other's.

If he could cut you open and climb inside of your body he would, and he loves the way you take what you want from him, even when he’s the one holding you on the cusp of your orgasm.

It lasts too long, as Rhys takes hold of your mind, the only way he can be inside of you is to do so mentally, and the euphoria he feels inside has him finally allowing himself to give his cock a stroke. He prolongs your orgasm, keeping you in the kaleidoscope of emotions whirling around in your mind, body, and soul.

Your breath is stuck in your chest, the feeling overwhelming, even more so than the plethora of orgasms Rhysand has graced you with this evening. You can barely feel the light lapping of his tongue between your trembling thighs. You can hardly hear the soft moan he makes as he suckles your juices like they give him life. He fists his cock roughly in his hand. He won’t let you come down from your high until he’s cum too.

It feels like you’re blind, with the stars and spots consuming your vision. There’s a ringing in your ears and a rattle in your chest. Your fingers are stiff, aching from your grip in Rhys’ hair and your muscles ache from being locked up so tightly.

He releases you all at once, cum spurting from his cock and onto his legs, the bedding that’s slipped off the side of the bed, the floor. Air whooshes from you and your body goes lax. You keep your hand in his hair but it’s softer now, petting, reassuring yourself that he’s here with you.

Rhysand kisses your thighs softly and continues up your body until he’s settling across the bed and pulling you into his body. Your eyes flutter open weakly to meet that glorious violet gaze, and your heart skips at that perfect smirk he’s wearing.

His eyes are soft though, no more teasing than he usually is, and you can taste yourself on his mouth when he kisses you gently, dipping into your mouth for a sweet kiss while he holds your pliable body closer, tucking you into his side like he likes.

He presses gentle kisses to your cheeks, nose, across your eyelids because you’ve closed them again, beyond exhausted. Rhys brushes hair from your face, admiring you, glowing in the buttery light of his room.

His mate, his muse.

#rhysand x reader #rhysand #acotar #rhysand smut #acowar #acomaf #azsazz

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danikamariewrites · 27 days

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can i request feysand x reader where they’re all pissed at each other. they’re all petty and pissed and won’t pass the butter or close the door and everyone else is like wtf are you doing

Grudges

Feysand x reader

A/n: everyone would be so tense lmao

Warnings: slight angst I think

The sound of cutlery against porcelain plates was especially loud this evening. You, Feyre, and Rhys sat as far away from each other as you could.

Everyone could feel the tense energy rolling off the three of you. Cassian looked around tentatively, meeting Mor and Azriel’s gazes. Then Elain’s, her usual soft brown eyes hardened and annoyed.

Nesta and Amren looked done with your bullshit. Both wearing twin scowls with the same brow raised.

Rhys looked around causing everyone to focus on their food again. “Can someone pass the salt?” He asked monotonously.

Azriel went to reach for it but you beat him. Picking up the glass shaker you hold eye contact with the High Lord. Feyre didn’t bother looking up, muttering to herself as she violently cut into her steak.

Continuing your state down with Rhys for the salt you start unscrewing the top of the shaker. Never once breaking eye contact. “Stop.” He says sternly.

You throw the top on the floor. The tiny metal piece making the loudest clanking against the wood floor. Turing it over you dump all the salt out onto your mashed potatoes.

Rhys slumped back into his seat. His jaw tightened as he gives you an angry look. “Sorry. We’re all out.” You say sweetly, tilting your head. Rhys goes back to his food as he too started muttering to himself.

Without warning you hurl the glass shaker at Rhys’s head. Missing on purpose of course. Rhys shot up staring daggers at you that you returned tenfold.

“HA HA,” Feyre screamed sarcastically.

Amren slammed her tiny hands against the table, pushing up with so much force the room shook. Anger and annoyance swirling in those dark eyes. “Everyone out,” she seethed, “except you three.”

Cassian dashed for Nesta, pulling her along quickly as Elain and Mor followed quickly behind with Azriel at their backs, shielding them from the start of a rough conversation.

Amren motions for the three of you to sit across from her. None of you look at each other. Crossing your arms and legs so no one touches anyone. Amren takes a deep breath, composing herself.

“This idiotic behavior has been going on all day. We are sick of it. You are getting over it now.” Feyre rolls her eyes. Amren hissed at her, slamming another hand down. “Listen girl!” You all sit up paying extra attention to her. Amren takes another deep breath composing herself.

“Varian has told me I should try listening more. In a calm way, to help mediate better instead of just commanding everyone. So let’s go down the line and work through this.” She looks to you first. “You seem to have the most anger,” Amren narrows her eyes at you. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Resting your elbows on the table you clear your throat. “Thank you for deciding to hear the truth first, Amren.” Your mates roll their eyes. Feyre makes something like a fake puking noise and Rhys just grunts leaning further back into the chair.

“This morning this one,” you emphasize by pointing at Rhys, “decided no one was going to have a good day. Usually we all get ready together but he just slammed the bathroom door in our faces, taking an hour in the bathroom.

“As much as he preaches communication and empathy he wasn’t doing that much. So Feyre and I ignored him but I could tell it was getting under her skin. I tried talking to her but then she pushed me away. I’m not sure why else they’re mad but that’s me.”

Amren looks between the High Lord and Lady. “Well, is that true?” They let out a synchronized sigh.

“Yes, but he hasn’t been talking,”

“Yes, they won’t give me space,”

The two speak over each other getting louder and louder, trying to outdo one another. You joined in yelling and begging with them to stop.

“Silence!” Amren commands. Stopping your chatter immediately you stare at the tiny fae terrified. “Work it out yourselves. If you’re going to bicker I won’t be part of this.”

She dramatically pushed her chair in stomping out of the dining room. Leaving you to look at each other longingly, hoping this fight wouldn’t leave you all feeling empty inside.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #Feyre x reader #Feyre x you #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #rhys x you #poly!feysand x you #poly!feysand #poly!feysand x reader

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hellcat8908 · 2 months

Text

Stay With Me Cassian x Female Reader

Warnings: Injury, Blood, Angst, Hurt/comfort

It was never supposed to be like this. You were supposed to have centuries together and raise a family. With all your injuries, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him alone hurts the worst. There were so many things you wanted to tell him if only he were here. You saw your life playing before your eyes. The little moments you cherished, meals with his family where he was so much more than a general, the endless nights spent cooking together or dancing at Rita's, and the promises of all the things you were going to do together. The memories making your heart ache worsen.

You felt your vision start to blur from the blood loss. Suddenly, Cassian appeared in front of you, his voice sounding distant. "Y/n, stay with me, baby. Hold on just a little bit longer. Madja's on her way to help." He says as tears pool in his eyes. He firmly presses on the gash in your abdomen, causing you to scream in pain. "I know it hurts, baby, but you've already lost so much blood," he says softly. He notices the life fading from your eyes, "Come on, baby. I need you to stay with me!" He says. "Where the hell are they?! They should've been here by now!" He curses.

You weakly lift your shaky hand to the side of his face, "I love you, promise me you'll find happiness after me." You say as you cough up blood, the metallic taste coating your mouth. "Don't talk like that. This isn't goodbye. Madja will be here, and we'll get you patched up." He says as tears run down his cheeks. Your eyes drift close, and your body falls limp. "No! No! No....come on baby, stay with me just a little bit longer. Please! Don't leave me!" He sobs before feeling Rhys pulling him away from you so Madja can try to save you.

She manages to stabilize you enough to get you home where she spends hours trying to heal you. Cassian paces the living room as Rhys and Azriel wait on the couch. Cassian's hair is a mess from running his fingers through it. "Why is it taking so long?!" Cassian groans. "Y/n is in rough shape. It's going to take as long as it does. You pacing and being angry isn't going to help." Rhys says. "Easy for you to say! It's not Feyre laying there dying in your arms!" Cassian snaps. Rhys is in front of him in split second and throwing a punch, "Don't you ever-" "Enough! Both of you!" Azriel shouts, cutting off Rhys. "Fighting isn't going to help anything!" Cassian goes back to pacing while Rhys grabs a drink from the kitchen.

Moments later, Madja comes out from your room. Wiping blood off her hands as Cassian rushes over to her. "I've done everything I can. The rest is up to her." She tells him. "Send for me right away if her condition worsens. I've given her a strong sedative to give her body a chance to rest." Cassian, thanks her before quickly making his way to your room. You look so pale and fragile laying in the oversized bed. Cassian pulls up a chair beside the bed and gets comfortable before gently holding your hand in his. "I know you've been through a lot, and you're tired, but you have to keep fighting a little bit longer. Please, baby, I need you to come back to us. I don't think I can do this on my own anymore." He says while his thumb strokes the back of your hand.

He doesn't leave your side over the next few days. He makes sure you're taken care of, replacing the gauze over your stitches when needed, rubbing a salve over your superficial injuries, gently washing you the best he can without pulling on your injuries He talks to you constantly, telling you how well you're doing and how proud he is of you, all the things he wants to do once you're healed. He reads one of your books to you to pass the time. The others stop in to check on you both from time to time. They make sure Cassian eats and takes care of himself as well, offering to sit with you while he takes quick showers.

The room is dark as you slowly open your eyes. You look around and realize you're home in your room. As you're looking around, your eyes land on Cassian sleeping in a chair next to the bed. You try to talk, but your mouth is dry. You manage to grab a glass of water off the nightstand and take a drink. Once you've emptied the glass, you sit it back down. "You're going to have a stiff back and sore wings if you keep sleeping in the chair." You say causing Cassian to wake up. As soon as his eyes meet yours, they fill with tears. The bond becomes overwhelmed with emotions from both of you.

He stands up and leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. You return the kiss with more passion before pulling away. Tears flood both your eyes as you weakly tug on him to get in bed. "Baby, I don't want to hurt you." He says softly as he resists. "You're not going to hurt me. Please, love. I need you to hold me." You practically beg. He genly and carefully climbs in bed on the other side of you. You wince as you move to cuddle him. "Easy, baby." He says as he gently wraps his arms around you. "I'm not as fragile as I look." You say teasingly. "You nearly died." He says, his voice full of sadness. "I know, but I didn't, you say as you gently lift his chin so his eyes meet yours, "I'm still here, Cass."

He holds you tighter, being careful of your stitches, "I know, baby. I just couldn't handle the thought of losing you." He says quietly. "You're the love of my life," you say as you settle into his arms. "And you're mine," he says before you settle into a comfortable silence. Both of you relishing the feel of the other against one another. Soon, you feel Cassian's breathing level out as he falls asleep. You lay there gently caressing him with your fingertips as he softly snores, a sound you'll never take for granted again. You lay there and get lost in his presence as you think of all the memories you want to make with him once you're healed.

#acotar #batboys #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #acotar angst #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian angst

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 month

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The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note: If you've missed Rhys being dumb and horny, then @separatist-apologist and I have a treat for you!

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Chapter 6/10: Hurricane Heat In My Head

The chains returned to Rhysand in his sleep.

He knew, even as he thrashed against them, that they were not real. Suspended in darkness with no beginning and no end, there was only Rhysand and the icy slither of those chains, constricting around him like serpents of black, heavy stone.

They bit into his skin, drawing lacerations across his biceps, his thighs, his chest, and as he screamed into the oblivion that held him, there was no response. Not even the echo of his own pain.

Blood welled and dripped from his wounds. It was the only color he could see—a dark, foreboding red. The same that rippled in wine and glinted jewels. The color of sharp nails and long, draping hair. Where had he seen something like that before? He swore he could hear sinister laughter on the cusp of his memory, a phantom of a woman with a cruel smile.

She was not real. This place, these chains. None of it was real.

Except for the fear. He could feel it pulsing through him—a second, rampant heartbeat, as if he’d swallowed a war drum that rallied every dormant instinct inside him. Their singular cry pumped through his blood until it leaked out through his wounds, whimpering: Run. Run.

RUN.

Rhysand sat up in bed, gasping. Red light leaked over the horizon, spilling onto the sky and snow in both directions, warmer and altogether gentler than the scarlet that invaded his dreams, but… He placed a hand on his thundering chest, calling for it to still the way he might soothe a spooked stallion.

He was reminded of the stories he’d heard in childhood of men who wandered into Prythian only to be driven to madness. Was this how the minds of those men began to deteriorate? It was dreadful to think that a sunset could unnerve his unconscious mind so greatly. But he couldn’t deny he was apprehensive. A new court awaited him, and he could only assume its dangers were more perilous than the last.

This could be my last sunrise, he thought. He rubbed at his naked chest, absently tracing the whorls of ink and the dread he felt roiling beneath them. He wished, not for the first time, that Feyre hadn’t slept in a different room.

At least then, Rhys could have faced death knowing he’d had the chance to wake up beside her without the fear that one of them was dying. He resolved he would survive this next Court just to have that pleasure. He wouldn’t die without kissing her.

If nothing else, the Mother owed him that much.

He bathed and dressed, rueful that Feyre wasn’t there to taunt him all the while. Privacy was all he’d craved at the start of their journey—was one night apart really all it took? It was absurd and yet he was so agitated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Where she was, how she slept, if she was awake… if she had company.

The thought struck him violently, causing Rhys to shut his door with too much force as he slipped out of his room. A servant at the end of the hall gasped and dropped their tray of neatly folded bedding.

“Shit, I’m s—“

Their snow-white hair disappeared around the corner, fleeing the hall before he could finish his apology. That was another strange thing. Faeries wary of a human. Rhys supposed he had killed two of their High Lords, the most powerful fae in their lands. He had the marks to prove it, though they were hidden beneath his layers of fur-trimmed clothing.

He was reminded of his sister’s shrill cry whenever a spider had the misfortune of crossing her path.

Rhys! Kill it! Kill it!

They were such small, feeble creatures compared to the size and might of a human. He used to tease her for it.

What are you afraid it’s going to do? Eat you?

But he would always kill them anyway. Because she was scared, and he loved her, and he knew no matter how meager the threat, he’d quell it to soothe her fear.

Tarquin, Kallias, even Eris. They seemed to love their people.

He might survive Dawn, Day, and Night. He might very well liberate all seven Courts. But he knew, as he kicked the servant’s fallen silver tray aside and watched light streak off its surface, that he would not be returning to the mortal lands. Either a monster would kill him, or…

Feyre. He needed to see Feyre and talk to her about all of this. The need gripped him like a fist around his chest. He couldn’t breathe as it pulled him, some vestige of that infernal chain, begging him to find her, to see her, to ensure she was safe.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt an inexplicable urge to protect her. But it was worse now, after almost losing her. He knew the glaze of her eyes slipping from the world, and he would do anything to never witness that horror again. He also knew that if he revealed any of this to her, she’d gut him for assuming she needed anyone’s protection.

Rhys stopped outside the front hall, taking a moment to compose himself. The corridor was empty, and apart from the faint torrent of wind clawing at the palace’s bastioned exterior, his beating heart was the only sound.

Then, voices. Distant at first. But in the great, open hall, they carried to him easily.

“I just think we should give him more time before the Solar Courts.”

His heart rate quickened. That was Feyre’s voice, tense and limned in such rare candor that he couldn’t resist ducking through one of the many doors lining the hallway.

A deep, rumbling voice drifted through the thin gap Rhys left in the door. “More time for what, exactly?”

Cassian.

“To rest. We almost died in Winter—I almost died. He’s… we’ve both been through a lot. He needs time to restore his strength.”

Cassian’s voice was gentle if a little prying. “Or maybe you need time. What’s troubling you, Fey?”

“Nothing.”

Liar. Rhys could perfectly imagine the stubborn set to her jaw, the way she squared her shoulders and raised her chin in defiance. But there was no hiding the strain in her voice.

“He’s gotten this far,” Cassian reasoned. “I talked to him last night, and I swore I could feel the spirit of Enalius standing over his shoulder. He’s going to make it through all seven Courts. I can feel it.”

Silence hung in the air.

“Unless…” The word rumbled through the corridor. “That’s exactly what you’re afraid of.”

Feyre’s voice was hoarse. “Cass—“

“We need him, Feyre. He’s our only shot at freeing Nes—“Cassian’s voice cracked. He took a moment to clear his throat. “He’s the only one who can free them, Feyre.”

“I know.” She sounded miserable. “And that’s why I just think we should just give him time—“

“I don’t need time.”

They both turned as Rhys pushed through the door. Cassian raised a brow towards the study Rhys departed, looking uncertain whether to be angry or amused that he’d been eavesdropping.

Feyre was staring at him, looking exactly as stubborn and defiant as he’d imagined. He thought the thing lashing in his chest would settle at the sight of her, but it only pulled harder, twining so tightly that he thought he couldn’t breathe as those starry eyes dressed him down and narrowed to crescents. Her pretty, bow-shaped lips were pursed just enough that he thought he could kiss her scowl away if she let him close enough to try.

He mirrored her crossed arms in an attempt to reign himself in, and said with a cocky grin, “That was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. I’m ready to take on anything those High Lord bastards throw at us.”

It’s okay, he wanted to tell her. I already know they won’t let me live by the end of this. At least let me save your sisters.

Feyre pressed her lips flat together. Sadness flickered in her eyes, so brief he would have thought he imagined it had his heart not plummeted in tandem. He knew that grief. He still choked on it whenever he passed the ribbons shop in the village, confronted with the unbidden memory of crouching on a lowered stool, braiding satin through his sister’s hair until his back was stiff. The years could muddy the details—the colors of the ribbons and the words they exchanged in those long hours—but never the pain.

Rhysand dropped his arms, intending to comfort her, but whatever sadness had been in her eyes vanished. Only cold, glittering calm remained.

“If you’re ready, then there’s no sense wasting time.”

In reality, he would have very much liked that time with Feyre. Even just a day to know her without the threat of dying. But he would not be the one responsible for losing her sisters. He would do anything in his power if she could escape that grief.

“Let’s go,” he agreed.

Cassian punched a hand into his palm. “I hope it’s another beast,” he said, with an excitement neither of the humans in his company shared. “I’ve been itching to get back in action.”

They stayed long enough to have breakfast, a bountiful spread of hot and cold dishes presented to them in the High Lord’s personal dining room. Cassian helped himself to a sizable portion of each dish: smoked fish, pickled vegetables, fresh bread, and a collection of cheeses, each more potent than the last.

Rhysand ate a bit of the fish and bread in the interest of keeping up his strength, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. The gods knew what horrors he would face in Dawn and whether he’d even be able to hang on to his breakfast by the end of it. Feyre seemed in an equally sullen mood, pushing her food around her plate without saying much of anything to anyone.

Kallias seemed relieved to see them go and consequently was more than happy to winnow them to the door to Winter. The blizzarding snow had carried away any evidence of the creature they’d disemboweled. But Rhys could still hear Feyre’s scream against the wind, and he remembered the way her body crumpled against the pine tree, how the beast’s blood warmed his clothes.

She was fine now, squinting against the winter onslaught, her cheeks a bright, healthy color thanks to the benefit of warm clothes and fae healers. Even so, Rhys prompted her to enter the tunnel first, prepared to withstand the blow of any winter beast that wandered by.

There was only Kallias, his fair skin and lighter hair nearly blending into the Winter landscape at his back.

“Thank you for helping my Court,” he said, fisting a hand over his heart. He bowed low enough to make Rhys feel unsettled.

“Thanks for hosting us.”

It didn’t feel like an equivalent debt, but Rhys was unsure what else to say.

Kallias raised to his full height. “Good luck in the Solar Courts.”

You will need it was an unspoken addition, though expressed nonetheless in his grim smile. He nodded farewell to each of them, then vanished in a flurry of ice crystals.

“Shut the door,” Cassian complained. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Rhysand didn’t need to be told twice. He was happy to say goodbye to this Hell-sent Court and never look back.

“What were you doing in Winter, anyway?” He asked with a grunt as he hauled the stone door shut.

The howling wind immediately seized. Rhys blinked against the sudden darkness, taking in the vague, hulking shape of Cassian and Feyre’s much slighter shadow just a step away. It was a ridiculous impulse, but he found himself reaching out to press his palm to the small of her back. He considered it a victory that she didn’t immediately flinch away.

It was cold enough that Cassian’s sigh expelled a cloud of air in front of him. “Azriel and I were on reconnaissance, searching for… a cure. We got trapped in Winter when the borders closed.”

Rhysand frowned. “A cure for what?”

Against his palm, he could feel Feyre tense.

Cassian stared hard down the tunnel. At his side, his hands turned into fists so tight that the brown skin over his knuckles turned pale. “These seals you’re destroying, it’s true that their magic impacts the wellbeing of each of the Courts, but their true purpose was precautionary; to prevent us from lifting the curse placed on the Night Court.”

“And the curse—”

“Enough.” Feyre’s voice sliced through the tunnel. Cold and authoritarian in a way that sent a perverse thrill down Rhysand’s spine.

He didn’t have time to linger in the fantasy of how Feyre might use that voice in the bedroom before she was striding down the hall, each step reverberating against the stone walls.

Cassian winced before pitching his voice in a whisper, “Tread carefully bringing the curse up around her. Tamlin’s the bastard who betrayed all of us, but Feyre… She feels responsible for what happened to the Night Court. To her sisters.”

“I wish she told me,” Rhys said, watching her retreating figure with open dismay. Cassian offered a wry smile, clapping a sympathetic hand on Rhysand’s shoulder before he turned to catch up with Feyre.

Every time Rhys was starting to feel like he knew her, he uncovered a new layer of secrecy. He felt as if he were perpetually wiping the fog away from a mirror and it was beginning to feel doubtful that he would ever see a clear image of who Feyre Archeron was.

He only gave himself a moment to dwell on it. Then he was jogging to catch up with Feyre and Cassian, determined to be the first to step through the Cauldron-damned door this time.

In an effort to return to some sort of normalcy, he asked, “No Eris to wave us off before the next Court?”

Cassian snickered. “I doubt Eris will be leaving his quarters for at least a week.”

“A week?” Feyre snorted. “If Az has any say, it will be months before we see Eris again.”

“Doesn’t he have a court to run?”

Cassian and Feyre shared a look. It was the sort of mutual understanding that could only be found through years of knowing another person. Rhys resisted the urge to ask, but the question burned his tongue. How long has Feyre’s life been intertwined with Prythian?

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Cassian said, finally. A shadow passed over his features. “To be separated from your mate for that long… it’s enough to drive even someone like Eris Vanserra to extremes.”

“Mate?”

Rhysand could guess what that meant. The way that animals found mates. But there was a reverence to the way Cassian said the word that gave him pause.

“A mating bond is the deepest connection you can have with another living soul. They’re your perfect match, your equal in every way. A bond more significant than any vow, even marriage.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “You think you understand it, but…” He shook his head, a far-off look in his eyes. “It’s not until you feel it snap. Until one look at them brings you to your knees. Your entire world, reoriented to their gravity.”

Rhysand was putting everything together too slowly. “Nesta’s your mate.”

There was a strange mixture of grief and pride on his face as Cassian nodded. Rhysand didn’t have the courage to ask if that meant Feyre had a mate, too. Had it been Tamlin? He knew his glance towards her was anything but subtle.

Feyre was glaring ahead, the door to the Dawn Court now in view. It was carved from bright red stone, light spilling from its gaps as though it were single-handedly holding back the might of the sun.

“Are you ready?” Feyre asked, to no one in particular.

Rhys stepped forward, placing his palms against the smooth stone. It was surprisingly warm to the touch. He heaved the stone forward, exposing the tunnel to the torrent of red light waiting impatiently on the other side.

Squinting against the brightness, Rhysand’s hand fell to his sword, readying for another beast. There weren’t any tell-tale signs. No distant roaring or eerie quiet. He expected they would find themselves in another isolated area separate from the rest of the Court. But in fact, as Rhysand’s eyes adjusted, he found himself staring at the deck of a lowered drawbridge. Two guards stood on either side of the gatehouse, wearing royal red and gold livery.

The doors were open on the other side of the iron gate, revealing the fae milling about their day through the gaps in the latticework. The first thing he noticed was the flood of warm, humid air. Not quite as smothering as it had been in the Summer Court, but oppressive enough that he was already sweating in his fur-lined clothes.

After enduring the extreme weather in each of the seasonal courts, Rhysand had nearly forgotten that the Mortal Lands were in the peak of summer when he and Feyre left. Was Dawn also in summer eternal, or was it aligned with the changing seasons of the human realm?

Rhys angled his head toward the sky, marveling at the scarlet clouds that domed over the land in every direction, betraying not a single sliver of blue. Rhys was certain it had been midday when they left Winter, but he couldn’t discern if the sun was somewhere behind the glowing red haze or if it was still nestled beyond the horizon. He supposed that if seasons were eternal in the previous courts, then in the Dawn Court, it must always be sunrise.

Feyre was frowning at the sky, too. He might have studied the oddity longer had his interest not fixed on the way the red light painted her skin the most alluring shade of pink. Like him, she must have been overheating in the Winter clothes. He could see sweat shining at her temple, giving the impression she was glowing. And with her neck arched upwards, practically in invitation, he thought it would be all too easy to lean forward and trace the column of her throat with his tongue.

The only thing stopping him was the pair of guards quickly moving towards them. The blade strapped to her hip might have also been a deterrent, but he found he minded the idea of Feyre pulling a knife on him less and less.

She cast him a quick glance as the guards approached, one that read, Step away and keep your mouth shut.

As the guards stumbled to a halt midway across the bridge, Rhysand noticed they seemed a bit… frazzled. With the borders newly opened, he imagined they were among the first visitors that Dawn had received in years. Humans, no less.

“Feyre Archeron,” one of them said, with what Rhys thought might have been awe.

They ought to be awed at the sight of her. A firestorm of a human woman swallowed in white furs and staring down two armed faeries as though she had nothing to fear.

She tipped her chin. “Tell Thesan that the Cursebreaker is here.”

“The High Lord is expecting you already,” the guard answered. He shouted over his shoulder at the guards in the gatehouse.

A small commotion flitted through the slit windows of the barbican above the gateway, followed by the clink and drag of chains. The metal grating lurched, and Rhysand flinched at the screeching sound of stone scraping together as the golden gate ascended into the tower above. How the guardsmen could stand the noise with their fae hearing was a mystery.

The guard gestured them forward with a jerk of his chin. “The captain will escort you to the palace.”

Great, Rhysand thought upon seeing the male in golden armor, already waiting for them on the other side of the gatehouse. Another handsome faerie staring at Feyre like she was his next meal. Rhys found himself drifting closer to her as they walked through the gates, prepared to draw his sword if the faerie’s smile proved deceitful. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Cassian hide a smirk.

“Oryn,” Feyre said with a smile that erred closer to politeness than familiarity. This wasn’t someone she knew well, at least. “Thank you for coming to meet us.”

The male’s wings shifted, tucking closer to his body. Unlike the wings Cassian and Azriel bore, Oryn’s were more avian in nature, feathered and shaped like a white dove’s. “I wish we were meeting under better terms, Cursebreaker.”

Feyre’s eyes drifted back toward the red clouds above. “The sky—”

“We’ll discuss it once we’re in the palace.”

Rhysand wanted to snap at the male for interrupting her, but Feyre chose to simply nod her head and press her lips together. She kept her eyes on the red mist above, cautious. As if she suspected a rift would open at any moment and present some horrible creature for them to slay. Rhys flexed his fingers above his sword. He trusted Feyre’s instincts. If she sensed something was wrong, he knew better than to question it.

The captain led them through a series of narrow pink-stoned streets. They were built on a steep incline and boarded on either side by red-roofed buildings. Some billowed smoke into the sky from their chimneys, and Rhys watched as the white clouds rose into the sky above, only to turn a foreboding scarlet color the moment it breached the layer of mist.

He stepped closer to Feyre and murmured to her, “I take it the sky isn’t usually red.”

“The Solar Courts adhere to the laws of nature,” Feyre said back, a certain tightness to her voice that sent warning bells blaring in his head. “The High Lords can’t control the sun’s path or strength. The Courts observe day and night the same as the human realm.”

Rhys exhaled a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me we have to fight something in the sky.”

Cassian, who had clearly been listening in, cut them a wolfish grin and flexed the batlike wings towering over his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you brought me along. Illyrians specialize in aerial combat.”

It was difficult to feel soothed by that fact when all Rhys could picture was needing to be cradled by one of the winged fae while he battled some beast on wings. Hardly the dashing heroics he’d want to recount to an audience once this was all over.

Feyre pursed her lips. She was scanning the city as they passed, tracking each of the fae that quickly moved aside, giving their retinue a wide berth. He noticed some High Fae, like Eris and Tarquin, but the far majority of them were lesser fae, sporting the same feathered wings as Oryn. Feyre didn’t say anything, but he practically heard the observation she was making—for a city filled with winged people, it was strange that there was not a single person in the sky.

Especially when the route to the palace proved to be rather… intensive.

“You’re kidding me.”

They stopped at the entryway to the palace: a double set of doors with stairs that spiraled up, up, up into the towering mountainside. Rhys craned his head to trace the towers and spires that rose high into the mountain, so tall that their peaks disappeared into the red mist.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “And I thought the steps to the House of Wind were brutal.”

“The great Illyrian warrior, felled by a few thousand stairs?” Feyre teased.

A few thousand was putting it lightly. Suddenly, Rhys missed Eris’s abrasive winnowing tactics.

Oryn grimaced. “We are a flying people, and as such, we have built a great deal of architecture above the clouds.”

Cassian eyed the captain’s wings, “And we can’t fly them up because…?”

The captain made no effort to hide his grief as he answered, “Because flying is forbidden.”

The red stones on Cassian’s gloves sparked and flickered, a mirror to the outrage blazing in his eyes. His chest puffed, and he took a deep breath as though he were about to demand an explanation when Feyre pressed a palm to his shoulder. It was remarkable to watch—how that small, simple touch from a human girl somehow managed to reign in the fury of an ancient fae warrior. Again, Cassian looked at her, a million things exchanged between them in that short glance.

He huffed, tucking in his wings as he strode towards the staircase. “Good thing I had a big breakfast.”

Rhysand supposed now was as good a time as any to begin disrobing. Perhaps it made him incivil as a visitor to this court, but if he was going to climb up an entire damned mountain, there was no way he was doing it covered in heavy fur. He was coated in sweat from just the walk.

“Really?” Feyre placed her hands on her hips as he pulled the parka over his head and discarded it on the ground. “You’re doing that here?”

“Were you hoping I would wait until I was in your bedroom?”

Over her shoulder, Cassian placed a hand over his mouth from where he’d turned to wait for them.

The blue in Feyre’s eyes was muted under the red light, turning them more gray than usual, but just as piercing. Rhysand held his breath as her gaze raked over his exposed skin, from the planes of his muscular chest, down his corded abdomen, to the slant of his hips, where he noticed her eyes track the path of hair that disappeared under his waistband. And lingered.

Rhys wanted to make a joke, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was still overwarm from the Winter clothes, and it wasn’t helping that Feyre was staring at him that way—as if she were debating dragging him into the nearest dark alcove to put her lips where her eyes were. It wasn’t a bad idea. He wouldn’t mind pushing Feyre against the stone wall and tangling her hair around his fist. Heat itched up his skin at the fantasy. It felt keenly as though he were back in the Autumn Court, confronting the firebreath of a dragon. Except then, his trousers hadn’t been so tight.

Finally, Feyre composed herself enough to twist her face into a scowl. He knew it was all for show. Her irritation didn’t pass any deeper than the surface of her features, and beneath it… beneath it, he thought she might have felt a kernel of the desperate, burning wanting that was flooding through him.

She said cooly, “I think I’ll save my bedroom invitations for men who know how to conduct themselves appropriately.”

“And you’re determined to climb all those stairs dressed like that?”

He eyed the fur trim of her parka, the excessive padding insulating her thighs and hips. It was impossible. She would overheat and leave one of them dragging her the rest of the way. Feyre crossed her arms, determined to make this as difficult as possible.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood to spend another day hauling you over my shoulder.”

“And here I thought you came to my gallant rescue,” she mocked. “No wonder you’re chasing after a bedroom invitation. It seems you can only undress women when clothing is an obstacle to survival.”

Rhysand cocked his head. “Do you want to wager on that, Feyre?”

He would bet there were a decent number of women in this Court who would be interested in the novelty of bedding a human male. And if catching their attention could make Feyre jealous, even better.

“Are you two done bickering?” Cassian was leaning against the archway to the great stairwell, a slit brow raised. “Or should I do this savior of Prythian thing on my own?”

A few steps away, Oryn muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, my thoughts exactly.

With a glare in Rhsand’s direction, Feyre stripped to her underlayers. He was used to the chemises and stays of the mortal realm—tight, restrictive underclothing that anticipated women wouldn’t be completing feats much more exciting than having children and keeping a nice household. Clearly, things were different in Prythian. Feyre wore a panel of fabric that wound around her chest, encapsulating and binding her breasts. The fabric knotted at the back of her neck, tight enough to keep her breasts slightly suspended. It was an effort not to stare, particularly as he noticed the sweat gleaming on her collarbone.

“Satisfied?” She demanded.

Not nearly. Not until he had the chance to run his mouth over every inch of her bare skin.

The hunger must have been plain on Rhysand’s face because Cassian warned him, “I wouldn’t answer that truthfully.”

Feyre only scowled and brushed past both of them, the first to take the stairs behind Oryn. Rhysand’s intention for darting in front of Cassian was hardly subtle; he wanted to be the one directly behind Feyre. Partly in case something happened and she truly did need his help, but also because it meant her ass was directly in his field of vision and he had a penchant for torturing himself.

The novelty only lasted until his muscles started groaning. Up and up, around and around. The stairway spiraled on and on, its monotony broken only by the colorful medley of arched windows through which he could see the city they’d emerged from, growing smaller and smaller as they ascended. The constant circles were beginning to make his head spin. Never mind the sweat he could feel collecting in every crevice of his body.

Through it all, Feyre carried herself as composed and seemingly unbothered as ever. Except Rhys could see the way her braid clung to her neck, and if he held his panting back long enough, he could hear her sharp little breaths that said she was winded, too. He was fascinated, and he passed the time thinking how much he would enjoy the sound of that breathing while she lay under him. What other sounds could he draw out of her?

They climbed on like that, no one wasting breath on talking, for what felt like hours. The scarlet mist obscured the sun and any chance of telling the time, but soon, the sounds and sights of the city disappeared entirely. They were high enough, now, that Rhys could see the adjacent wilted countryside and the long, winding river coaxing through it. Should one of them grow clumsy and tumble out one of the rose-tinted windows, at least they’d have quite the sight to behold while they fell to their death.

Above them, the dark red sky drew larger and nearer.

Finally, they reached an open-air chamber full of fat, silk pillows and plush carpets. A large fountain gurgled at its center, pushing out clear water that arched and fell into the pool below, sending ripples across the red sky reflected on its surface. At that moment, all Rhys wanted was to cup the precious liquid into his hands and douse it over his head.

A High Fae male stepped through the large door on the other side of the chamber. The wisteria draping the doorway swayed as the male glided past on soft embroidered shoes. His tunic was tight-fitting around his slender chest, but his pants were loose and flowing. He bore a smile that crinkled the brown skin around his upswept eyes.

Warm, Rhys thought as he looked at the male. He had the warmest eyes he thought he’d ever seen, the kind that begged him to trust the stranger, though he hadn’t spoken a single word.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice as rich and deep as his brown eyes. “I am Thesan, High Lord of the Dawn Court. Though most of you are already familiar.”

Oryn immediately detached from their group to join Thesan at his side. If the male was winded from their ascent, he hardly showed it. Thesan’s gaze slanted towards the captain for only a moment, but Rhys caught the open affection in the High Lord’s eyes. Thesan reached out his hand, the tension in his body loosening the slightest bit when Oryn threaded their fingers together.

Not just the captain of the guard, then, but also the High Lord’s consort. Mate, perhaps, though Rhys wasn’t certain how to identify such things.

“Thank you for receiving us,” Feyre said. Behind them, Cassian bowed his head respectfully at the High Lord, though Rhys noted that Feyre did not. So in turn, neither did he.

Thesan raised his brows at the impertinence. Rhysand saw no reason why he and Feyre should bow and scrape to adhere to their customs. If they were going to be made to climb up a whole damn mountain to free Thesan’s Court, they at least deserved equal respect. Equal footing.

Even if their current state of dress was admittedly pitiful.

“Thanks,” Rhysand echoed. His breath was still ragged from the climb, and he resisted the urge to wipe away a bead of sweat as he felt it trail down his chest. “Your home is lovely. It’s a shame so few can behold its grandeur, what with the deterrent of those stairs. Or is their ascent a pleasure you save uniquely for your most favored guests?”

He expected Feyre might have thrown an elbow in his side for being uncouth, but she merely turned her head to look at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Her braid was damp from sweat, and the short cropping of hair she wore across her forehead was mussed, the pieces clumped and sticking in places that he knew must be driving her mad, though he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. The observation struck him so acutely that he quickly glanced away, before he was tempted to do something foolish.

Thesan, on the other hand, looked distinctly amused. “This is my private residence,” he said, his voice betraying none of the usual guardedness of the fae. He seemed earnest, this High Lord. A bit like Tarquin but… wiser, Rhys sensed. Someone who had walked on this earth far, far longer than Rhysand’s twenty-odd years and saw no reason to rise to a human’s barbed words. “The deterrent of those stairs is intentional, as it were. I find it limits the risk of surprise visitors.”

There was a story behind that knowing smile, of the times when surprise visitors might have attempted to enter the palace without explicit invitation. Maybe there were a thousand stories, some humorous and some grim. The High Lord of Dawn looked as though he were reflecting on them all as he turned his brown eyes towards the sight of the sprawling Court below, peaking between the marble arches of the open chamber.

And above it all, the red sky loomed like the most peculiar storm cloud. Thesan assessed that, too, and then released an aggrieved sigh. “I do apologize for the exertion. My invited guests do not usually need to climb so many stairs—most can winnow or fly, and my palace boasts the most remarkable moving platform for those who can do neither. However, it’s operated in one of my highest towers, which has become… inaccessible, of late.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

“I’m certain the red sky hasn’t escaped your notice,” Thesan said with a frown. “It originates from this palace. From an enchanted lotus, gifted to me by a friend. Or who I once regarded as one. It sits in our highest tower and is responsible for this fog that has plagued our sky.”

“And this… fog,” Feyre ventured. Rhys was trying very hard not to look at her. “Is it dangerous?”

“Yes,” Oryn answered. He was standing at Thesan’s shoulder, still holding his lover’s hand. His expression darkened with a grief that Rhys felt he had no right to be witnessing. “Peregryns have been dropping from the sky since the day it arrived.” He tucked his wings in tighter. “Skilled flyers, suddenly plummeting to their deaths. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Is it poison?” Cassian asked. “If they were incapacitated—”

Oryn shook his head. “We have not ruled out poison. But we know they were conscious as they fell. We could hear them—” his throat bobbed.” We could hear them screaming.”

“There were some we were able to save,” Thesan said. “Our best healers could find no damage to their wings, nor any trace of known poisons. It was their minds that seemed altered—agitated by sights and sounds that no one else could witness. We’ve yet to find a cure.”

Not many people in the mortal realm lived to old age, but some did. Some, like Rhysand’s grandfather, who had reached such a state of mental frailty that he could be in the same room and occupy a completely different reality. Often, it was one of a past life, from a time before the plague had taken Rhysand’s mother and sister. His grandfather would relive the grief of that discovery almost every day, before Rhysand and his father decided it was better to play along, to claim that his mother and sister were simply out in the village and would be returning soon.

Rhysand had long thought he’d prefer to die young on one of his beast-slaying adventures than to live to an age when his mind deteriorated so much that he could no longer remember the people he loved.

He was thinking of his grandfather and the ever-distant glaze in his eyes, as he asked, “It turns you mad?”

Thesan nodded, expression grim. “We believe it’s inhalation that causes the illness. Contact of the skin does not appear to trigger the same symptoms, or at least not immediately.”

And there was no cure.

Rhysand’s head spun, trying to think of a way to reach the seal without compromising his mind to do it.

It was Feyre who cut in, voice surprisingly rigid, “Thesan, I would appreciate if you allowed us some rest before we ponder this subject any further. Rhysand and I could do with a bath and a change of clothes.”

It was as though Thesan had only just noticed that they were both half-naked and coated in sweat. He tore his eyes away from the skyline and blinked, before scraping them over Feyre from head to toe. Rhysand tried not to twitch at the scrutiny.

“Of course,” Thesan said. He lifted a hand in the air and a small bell appeared, pinched between his fingers. He needed to only flick his wrist and ring it twice before a flock of attendants flooded in, each dressed in similar loose clothing of blushing pink and orange and gold. “Please show our guests to their rooms.”

Even Cassian breathed out a sigh of relief at the promise of a bath.

They were led through the lavish, winding halls of the palace, all of it carved from golden stone and boasting open views of the valleys and villages below. It was a beautiful, well-decorated maze. Rhysand did his best to track every turn they made past urns filled with flowers, pillow-bedecked alcoves, and elevated courtyards with roaming peacocks, but he wasn’t confident he’d be able to navigate through them on his own.

Eventually they came to a suite built around a lavish sitting area and private dining room. All of it was carved from the same golden stone, identical in color to the first rays of the sun bursting across the horizon. He surveyed the jewel-toned fabrics and cushions, the thick carpets, and the golden cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes. He was begrudged to admit that this was the nicest Court he’d seen so far.

The attendants directed each of them to their allotted rooms. When Cassian eagerly pushed through the door to his, muttering something under his breath about polishing his swords, Rhys suspected Feyre would do the same. But she stayed, hand mired to the doorknob so she might escape at any moment.

But she stayed.

He hadn’t had a moment alone with her since she’d kissed his cheek. A million things ran through his head of what he wanted to—and wished—he could say to her, starting with how badly he wanted to invite her into his room so they could bathe together. With the way she was drinking in his bare chest, her cheeks the most maddening shade of pink, he thought there was a chance she wouldn’t say no.

Rhys opened his mouth to ask, but she interrupted him.

“You don’t need to break the seal today.”

He needed more than a moment to reel in the fantasy of lathering soap over her freckled shoulders. “I… What?”

“It doesn’t need to be today, or tomorrow. You can take your time. Enjoy the luxuries of this court and your freedom before…” She swallowed, unable to finish her thought. But he knew what she was going to say.

Before you go mad.

It was the first time he thought she’d ever truly acted concerned about him. He asked gently, “What about your sisters?”

Feyre angled her head, staring hard at one of the faelights over his shoulder, blinking like she was holding back tears. “My sisters are frozen in time,” she said. “Literally frozen. They can wait. It makes no difference to them.”

Another time, when she didn’t look like she was about to cry, he’d ask her what that meant. Frozen where? How?

“But it does to you,” he said. “And to Cassian.”

She shrugged. “Cassian’s immortal. He has nothing but time.”

Rhysand strode toward her and was grateful to see her hand slip from the doorknob. She pressed it to his chest before he could get too close, keeping him at a distance, but that was perfectly fine by him.

She didn’t act the demure lady about touching his bare chest, and he wouldn’t expect her to. Though he was pleasantly surprised to see the flush climbing up her throat, and to feel the subtle flex of her fingers as though marveling at the firmness of the muscle beneath her palms. He wanted to feel those calluses scrape the entire length of his chest. Fuck. He wanted to feel them against his cock.

But now wasn’t the time. And he tried to shake those thoughts away, even as Feyre’s breath hitched and he watched her next inhale expand the swell of her breasts, that entrancing flush growing a deeper shade.

Her lips parted, their offer so tempting that he reached to grip either side of the doorframe, holding himself back just as much as she was trying to do with that maddening hand on his chest.

Maybe now was the time for honesty.

“I’m not worried about losing my mind,” he said to her, his voice rough and low like he’d never heard it before. “I’ve already been losing my mind for every damn day I’ve spent on this journey. Feyre, I am losing it rapidly by the second.”

Her next breath shuddered out of her.

“It’s happening too fast,” she whispered. “I just want—”

All of his focus, his entire being, narrowed in on those perfect lips and the words she held back.

“You just want what?” He was practically begging now. “What is it that you want, Feyre?”

He knew what he wanted. He wanted it so badly he would give up his mind for it.

Feyre stayed silent. What he would give to be able to see into her mind, to just know one thing that she truly thought about him.

“How about a thought for a thought?” He tried. “You tell me one thing on your mind, and in exchange I’ll tell you something on mine.”

She considered this for a moment before nodding. “You go first.”

A chuckle rasped out of him. How predictable. “I’m thinking,” he said, leaning in as much as her Cauldron-damned hand would allow. For once he had her full attention, and he wondered how any man was meant to endure the force of her gaze without wanting to fall to his knees. “That I have endured utter Hell since the moment I met you. And all of the beasts and riddles and even the fucking stairs weren’t nearly as agonizing as how I feel right now, trying not to kiss you.”

Her eyes fell on his mouth. Rhysand could feel his heart hammering against her fingertips.

Feyre flicked her tongue across her lower lip and he thought that might die right there.

Then she said, “I’m thinking we could both use a bath.”

He practically purred, “Is that an invitation?”

“No.”

It was like slamming face-first into a stone wall. Feyre dropped her hand like he’d scalded her, and before he could scramble for something to say, she yanked on her doorknob and shut the door in his face.

Rhysand blinked, still gripping the doorframe as he reeled from the rejection. Cassian’s door was still shut, but he swore he could hear cackling laughter behind it.

Thesan summoned them all to breakfast the next morning.

With the mist blocking any and all sunlight, it was impossible to tell if it was early or late in the morning, but by Rhysand’s account, it was much too soon. He’d stayed up late pacing his lavish bedroom, debating whether to knock on Feyre’s door to apologize for his brazenness or demand that she apologize for being so Gods-damned guarded. Was it really so hard to tell him one thing—just one—about how she truly felt?

Evidently so, if the way she was spearing fruit onto her fork was any indication of her mood. She’d taken supper in her room last night, leaving Cassian and Rhys to eat together in their private dining room. It was another night bonding over their shared exasperation of the stubborn, elusive Archeron women.

It hadn’t made him feel any better, though. Sitting across from Feyre, watching her javelin her fork at a piece of sliced melon, he still felt as though she’d slammed the door in his face moments ago. A night wouldn’t be sufficient time to get over Feyre Archeron. Nor would a year and, he suspected, even a lifetime.

The prospect of losing his mind to the red mist was sounding more and more appealing by the second.

“If the affliction is only caused by inhaling,” Cassian said. “Does that mean Rhys could just hold his breath long enough to destroy it?”

“Theoretically,” Thesan agreed. “Though it’s possible that a human would be more susceptible to contact.”

Feyre dropped her fork. “And there’s no cure?” When Thesan shook his head, her voice raised an octave. “The Dawn Court is best known for its healing abilities, and you haven’t been able to develop any sort of antidote?”

“My magic has not been able to remedy the afflicted. It’s possible that once the seal is destroyed, their condition will stabilize.”

“So,” Rhys said slowly, “I just need to keep a grip on my sanity long enough to destroy a flower?”

Thesan frowned. “Theoretically, yes.”

His voice implied it wouldn’t be so simple. Rhysand wasn’t fool enough to think it would be. None of the trials had been easy thus far, and he knew the lotus flower would be no exception.

Still, he rolled his shoulder and said, “I’ll take a flower over a dragon any day.”

“The lotus sits in the reflection pool at the center of the room,” Thesan said. “It should be easy to locate, provided your mind doesn’t lead you astray.”

Rhysand’s gaze nearly trailed over to Feyre as he mused, “It wouldn’t be the first time.” The pause in the aftermath was uncomfortably heavy. Enough for Rhysand to push his chair away and announce, “Well, no sense in delaying the inevitable. Show me where to get to this tower.”

Cassian nearly choked around his next mouthful of food. “Now?” He gestured with his fork towards Rhysand’s empty plate. “You’re not even going to eat breakfast first?”

It was easy to summon the boastful, unearned confidence to say, “You can all carry on without me. I should be back before the food so much as cools.”

The mask of arrogance was familiar to default back to, though it didn’t fit as comfortably as it once did. The lordling he’d been when he’d entered Prythian believed he had the tenacity to vanquish the fae and reclaim these lands for humankind. And yet with two High Lords slain, he couldn’t summon pride for his triumphs. Not while knowing that Feyre still mourned for one or both of those High Lords—that she might have withdrawn from him last night for that very reason.

Feyre stood from her chair, sending the wooden legs scraping against the marble floor. “I’m coming with you.”

“Why risk the both of you?” Thesan asked, his brows pressed together.

For once, Rhysand didn’t mind the implication that he was the more expendable of the two of them. He agreed. If he failed, there was no point in them both losing their sanity.

Her expression hardened into uncompromising will. “Because,” she said, meeting Rhysand’s eyes. They were the same blue as a churning storm-swept sea. “We can look out for each other.”

“Okay.” Rhys held out his hand. “We’ll go together.”

She wrapped her hand around his, so much softer and smaller than his own. Holding it felt right in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And she didn’t drop it, not once, as Thesan led them up the winding spiral staircase on the other end of the palace, where they climbed up the bare face of a tower. Every step had Rhys bracing himself, but Feyre’s grip on his fingers remained unwavering. She did not falter one single step.

The scarlet mist became a deeper, more saturated color the higher they climbed, until they came to the final flight, where Thesan stopped.

“This is where I’ll leave you. The lotus is just through that doorway,” he said, nodding up to the large open doorway at the top of the stairs, where red mist poured out and plateaued in line with the highest step. He assessed them both, lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you trust each other?”

Rhysand didn’t need to look at Feyre to answer. “Yes.”

She squeezed his hand in what he interpreted as agreement.

“Don’t.” Thesan’s expression darkened. “Don’t trust anything while you’re in there, not even yourselves. The seal will try to protect itself, and it will use every trick in its arsenal to do so.”

With that inspiring speech, the High Lord nodded his farewell and turned to begin his descent back down the tower. Leaving Feyre and Rhys before the final steps to the open doorway.

“Feyre,” he started. “Just in case I don’t get another chance to say it—”

“Don’t.”

“Feyre—”

“No goodbyes.” She turned those stormy eyes on him, and all at once he was nothing but a helpless sailor succumbing to their pull. “Whatever you want to say to me can wait until after we destroy the seal.”

He didn’t know for certain he’d still remember. But he nodded.

“Don’t let go of my hand. No matter what.”

She raised her chin, staring down the immortal gloom like she might part the mist through sheer force of will. “Take a deep breath,” she said.

It wouldn’t be his last. Rhys knew that with confidence. Even if the fog carried away his conscious mind, his lungs would carry on breathing and his heart would continue pumping. So it wasn’t the gulp of precious air that he savored in that final moment. It was the smattering of freckles across Feyre’s cheekbones. She had more than he could count, but some stood out more than others—the one by the corner of her left eye, sitting in the crease of those rare moments she smiled, was slightly darker and bigger than the others. So was the one on the bridge of her pert little nose. Another, following the perfect arch of her lips.

One day, if she had the patience for it, he would map out every constellation hidden on her body.

He kept hold of that thought as they summited the final steps to the open doorway and plunged into the thicket of the mist. Feyre disappeared entirely from his periphery, shrouded in fog so thick that he could hardly distinguish his own fingers when held in front of his face. The only sign that Feyre was still beside him was the steady pull of her hand, guiding him forward over a long bridge connecting to the other half of the tower, where the lotus flower waited.

They felt their way forward slowly, fingers skimming the cool railing, twined in plants long wilted from the lack of sunlight. His lungs were on fire by the time they emerged into the open chamber, marked by a curved archway—its stone smooth beneath his searching palm.

Straight ahead, he thought. Just get to the pool in the center, crush the flower, and this can all be over.

There was nothing to feel to guide their path. Only empty, open air and Feyre’s hand intertwined firmly in his. Her steps wavered. They were entrenched in a void of red, stretching in every direction. It wasn’t clear which way, exactly, was straight ahead, but they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

His lungs were already seizing, desperate for air. He couldn’t imagine that she was in any better state.

Rhysand chose a direction and strode forward, pulling her deeper into the fog. She tugged back, digging her heels in. They couldn’t speak without wasting air, but he imagined she was telling him, not that way.

He paused, waiting for her to correct his course.

One beat. Two. He was beginning to feel dizzy.

Rhysand squeezed her hand. Which way?

Another beat. And then she began pulling him sideways. He stumbled after her, his vision spotting as his lungs rioted in his chest. He needed to breathe. Needed to soothe the burning before his lungs gave out. He was going to collapse on the floor if he didn’t.

His body betrayed him. He opened his mouth, polluted air flooding in. Feyre paused at the sound of his gasp. His vision swam, whirling from the sudden intake, his head pounding—

And then he blinked. The fog cleared, revealing a pretty chamber of polished marble and golden stone. Outside the open archways, the sky had cleared as well, revealing an expanse of blue sky stretching towards the horizon.

It was like seeing the sun for the very first time. Not because of the light streaming into the chamber. But because Feyre was standing before him, hand in his. Smiling.

The breath whooshed out of him anew. “Do that again,” he whispered.

She did, smiling just for him. It was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.

“We did it,” she said.

Rhysand shook his head. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Look.” She nodded towards the puffy white clouds drifting just outside the tower. “The mist is gone. It was another test.”

“We still need to destroy the seal,” he said, turning to look for the reflection pool.

Feyre stopped him with another insistent tug on his hand. He turned to face her and lost track of all thought when he saw the way she was beaming at him.

“We did,” she said, raising her freehand to his cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft, and he couldn’t resist leaning further into her touch. “You absorbed the seal when you inhaled it. That was all it needed.”

“That sounds too easy.”

Those smooth hands glided up his jaw. “The fae underestimated you. They thought a human would be too wary of the risk. Their pride is their greatest weakness.”

Her fingers were in his hair now, winding through the strands. She tugged against them, pulling him closer, and suddenly he couldn’t think straight.

“What now?”

Feyre leaned onto the tips of her toes to close the remaining distance between them. When she whispered, he could feel each syllable ghost across his lips. “What were you going to say to me outside the chamber?”

Something warm and golden unfurled in his chest as he looked at her. His arm slid under her back, holding their chests flush. “Tell me one thing, before I reveal it to you.”

Her smile was more intoxicating than his father’s finest wines. “Anything,” she promised.

“Tell me—” he pressed his forehead to hers. “Tell me, truly, if you might want this one day. Want me.”

“I do,” she said without any hesitation. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Rhysand. I want you. Desperately. I need—”

He should have let her finish speaking, especially now that she was saying everything he wanted to hear. But it was impossible. He was just a man and her lips were so close to his they were sharing breath and she finally admitted she wanted him, too.

How could he stop himself from kissing her?

The most delicate noise slipped out of her when their lips met. Like the sigh of a door being opened for the first time in years. Like relief. Finally, finally, relief. After so much pent-up longing, he was kissing her, and her hands were twisting in his hair, and his tongue was skimming her lower lip, and all he could think was:

Maybe salvation was real.

The golden warmth kindling inside him was growing stronger. He felt the first of its tug when they tore their lips apart, both of them gasping.

Feyre’s pupils were wide and wild. She was smiling again, which made it impossible not to keep kissing her. But first, he said, “I was going to tell you that I am yours, Feyre. I’m yours until my dying breath.”

A blush was rising to her cheeks, spreading beneath her freckles. He leaned to kiss her again, but she broke away with a giggle, tugging playfully at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll be yours, too,” she said, eyes shining. “But I won’t make it easy for you. You’re going to have to catch me first.”

The little vixen. She launched into a sprint, fleeing to the other side of the chamber, and he laughed as he raced after her.

“Rhysand!” She called, weaving between the wisteria-twined pillars. Sheer panels of blushing peach fabric drifted behind each of her shoulders, attached to the elegant golden pauldrons she wore on each shoulder. With the light of the skyline beyond haloing her lithe frame, he felt more as though he were chasing a celestial goddess than a human woman.

She called his name again, the second syllable tapering on the most beautiful laughter he’d ever heard. He vaulted through one of the open archways, desperate to get to her, to taste that laughter beneath his tongue. He landed and slid across the smooth stone, nearly carrying him off the ledge were it not for his sharp reflexes. At the last second, he grabbed at one of the marble pillars and hauled himself back into the chamber.

The sight of the jagged cliff face and the sprawling countryside far, far below was enough to sober him.

He felt another tug. This one more insistent. As if the chain connecting him to Feyre had rematerialized. She was still dancing between the pillars, completely undaunted by the risk of falling if it meant taunting him.

But the tug didn’t pull him towards her.

Rhysand!

And that voice… it was hers, but it sounded so far away.

Another tug. Another Feyre calling his name.

Was it a trick?

“Come here, Rhys,” Feyre purred, turning to face him. Light bounced off the glittering panels of her dress, as if Thesan had seen it right to thread her in gold.

He stepped towards her, despite the taut thread pulling him in the opposite direction. “Tell me again,” he said.

“I’m yours.” Her eyes were like stars. Ceding the game, she prowled back to him, teeth gleaming so white in the full vibrancy of the sun. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”

Rhysand shut his eyes. He pictured Feyre in his mind. The stormy eyes and the withering glare and her beautiful, devastating face. It was an almost identical likeness. But as Rhysand opened his eyes, he searched for that freckle beside her eye, the one which was darker and bigger than the others around it. And it wasn’t there.

He released a heavy sigh. “You’re not real.”

Her soft palm pressed into his chest, void of Feyre’s hard-earned calluses. “I could be,” she said to him. “We could stay up here forever.”

Forever wasn’t tempting to him. Not without Feyre.

The moment he decided, the Feyre in front of him vanished. The scarlet mist returned, as thick and unnavigable as before. He could hear Feyre calling his name, voice raw and panicked. Likewise he could feel a golden tug in his chest, leading him in another direction.

He didn’t know which was real. He supposed they might all be tricks.

Not for the first time, and he suspected not for the last, he thought how much he missed that Cauldron-cursed leash.

Dropping to his knees, Rhysand elected to crawl across the chamber rather than risk taking a wrong step and plummeting to the bottom of the valley. He only hoped that Feyre hadn’t made that mistake, either. Was she also trapped in some blissful vision? A pathetic part of himself hoped he was in it.

Soon, his searching hands found a tiled pool filled with tepid water. He crawled into it, not caring that it would ruin the bright, loose-fitting tunic and trousers that Thesan had lended him. The thin fabric clung to his skin as he waded through the pool and skimmed his arms over the surface in wide, sweeping gestures.

He felt something bob against his elbow and quickly seized it. His fingers met the soft suede of flower petals and a thin, bumpy stem that resisted his initial tug. He yanked until the infernal thing came away with a snap.

Then the lotus flower, as fragile as the minds it twisted, crumpled in his fist.

Rhys had never imagined what it would be like to sit at the center of a stormcloud, but he imagined the experience would not be so different from the violent release of energy that swept through the chamber with a deafening thunder clap, Rhys at its epicenter. The water rippled through the pool and spread beyond it, dissipating the fog in a great sweep of wind that he imagined would carry through the whole of Prythian.

The skin on his chest and shoulder itched terribly. If he looked down, he would likely be able to see through the translucent fabric of his tunic that the tattoo was spreading. But Rhysand didn’t care about his tattoo, nor his wet shirt, nor the entire gods-forsaken Court he’d just liberated.

He only cared about Feyre. He could see she was curled up just a small distance away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lips were moving, over and over, shaping words he couldn’t make out.

“Feyre?” He leapt out of the pool with an urgency that sent a wave of water spilling over the sides of the reflection pool. Water dripped from his clothes, splattering haphazardly in his wake as he slid across the stone floor to reach her.

It occurred to him, as he delicately placed his hands on her shoulders, that this could be another mind trick. He had no way of knowing that he’d truly destroyed the fifth seal or that this was truly his Feyre in front of him, besides the inclination in his gut and the warm, inexplicable pull he felt to her.

Her entire body was trembling.

“Feyre?” He said again, softer.

“No,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears. “No, no, no, no. Not again. Not again, please.”

Her voice was scraped raw, as if she’d been screaming. This was the same woman he’d witnessed slay beasts and stare down High Lords twice her size. For whatever she’s seen to have terrified so greatly…

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe now, Feyre. It’s over.”

Those blue eyes focused just enough to register that he was crouched before her. And then her lower lip started trembling, and she shook her head violently, scrambling back as she whimpered, “No, Rhys. Not again. Please.”

He floundered at the fear in her eyes. Whatever she’d been shown in the lotus mist, clearly, he had been part of the vision. And his heart shattered to think he’d been the one hurting her.

“It’s just me, Feyre.” He held up his open palms. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I destroyed the lotus. It’s done.”

Her gaze drifted from his open palms to the markings visible through his translucent tunic. A sob hitched her throat. “It’s over?”

Rhys nodded, extending his hand so that he might help her up. She stared at it a moment, perhaps sharing his earlier doubt that this was another trick. Then she looked at him, studying his dripping clothes and wet hair and what he hoped to be an earnest expression.

Then she launched herself at him.

The momentum barrelled into him was such force that he was sent sprawling onto his back, a surprise grunt pushing out his chest. He didn’t have time to reorient himself, or make sense of what was happening, before Feyre gripped his face between both of her callused hands and kissed him so hard he forgot there was a reason why people needed important things like breath.

He could taste the salt of her tears and the melon juice that was still on her lips from breakfast. Every ounce of rationality dissipated at that revelation, and all he could think was that he’d never had a favorite fruit until that moment.

With a groan, Rhys slid his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head while also angling her closer, so he could lick into her mouth and commit the taste to memory. He no longer cared if it was real or only a vision. He would gladly surrender to the madness if this was his eternity.

He might very well have flipped her over and made love to her right there. She would have looked beautiful flushed in the low light of the morning as dawn finally greeted its namesake. But towards the far entrance, someone cleared their throat.

That was how Rhysand knew this was real. If this had been a vision from the lotus, he would have continued kissing Feyre for eternity, and they certainly wouldn’t have been interrupted by Thesan standing beside an apprehensive-looking Oryn. Over their shoulders, Cassian was grinning like a fiend.

“Celebrating your victory?” He said with a suggestive quirk of his brows.

Rhysand never hated the fae as much as he did in that moment, when Feyre hastily scrambled to her feet. He already missed the weight of her body and her sweet lilac and pear scent. He took his time rising to his feet, and when he reached his full height, he offered her a heated look that said, This isn’t over.

She looked away, heat blooming on her cheeks.

That made it the first trial that actually did feel like a victory. He couldn’t help the pride swelling in his chest, and no amount of his cocky grin was forced as he looked to Thesan and asked, “Is breakfast still warm?”

#The Other Side of the Apocalpyse #TOSOTA #Feysand #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feysand fic #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand

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load-theloading-artist · 12 days

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Hello, hello, it is i, load!

With something that was a meant to be a response to a reblog chain i hadve with hypnoi...

But I decided to make my response into its own post instead…for I have a lot to say. (I tried to restrain myself but– )

(And in my experience reblog chains that have a lot of reblogs and/or are really long can cause lag. Idk if their device experiences it but just in case i didn't want them to deal with the lag ^^”.)

I also had thoughts about making this type of post before as well. So I additionally took this as an opportunity to finally make it. I hope that's alright.

And now, I just wanna say, I will be going into detail on all my thoughts about almost everything about My Inner Demons. The writing, the story, the worldbuilding, the characters, the scenes, about almost everything.

And additional heads up because despite this show meaning alot to me, and something that I've created related to it has helped me through so much and something I've poured blood, sweat and tears into.

There's going to be sections that may not be pretty. Where I can't hide my feelings when talking about some of these certain points.

Also that I'm not a professional, these are just my personal thoughts, feelings and opinions on Aphmaus show.

But finally getting into it;

My thoughts on Aphmaus’ My Inner Demons.

—- Let's start with a quick recap.

Within an alternate dimension, there is a world known as Daemos. Where a group of 5 individuals take it upon themselves to find a solution to their world's magic-crisis.

Said group consisting of their leader,

a Second-Born Prince known as Asch, Along with his 4 Loyal Knights, an ex-assassin named Leif, an ex-soldier/general of Rhal(the first-born prince)s army named Pierce, an individual who would've been executed just for being considered weak if Asch didn't ‘spare’ him named Noi, and a not very much is known about member named Rhys, who has a student/teacher relationship with Asch's Grandmother.

Said Grandmother helps the five to find a solution to their world's magic-crisis.

A magic-crisis where the source of all their magic, which comes from human souls, is running out. (A crisis caused by not very smart decisions leading to an extinction of humans) (And a Crisis not known to the general populace and other kingdoms. only the royal family and its council from the most powerful kingdom of them all, know of the crisis.)

(Through Lady Grandma) They learn of a possible solution, which leads them to take on a mission to kill the last remaining human for their soul. In order to use it to open up a portal to another world, which they called “ea-urth.”

Here within Ea-urth, is where they temporarily experience utter suffering, And where they meet a human girl named Ava who finds them, and panickedly asks if they need help. Which, they awkwardly stand silently and glare & stare in response instead. (Because Pierce said don't show weakness. *Because Daemos society doesn't allow you to.*)

However she finds Asch collapsed on the ground behind them, quickly realizes he's unaliven’t and performs cpr. Saving his life, and as a show of thanks(/jk) they immediately threaten her. Before then abandoning her by hanging her on a tree by her hood.

They then get traumatized by cosplayers, return to force her to help them. She passes out after Asch turns the tree she was hanging on into ashes, and finds that their horns are real. (he burned the tree down because she didn't believe they were from another world and this in a way pissed him off. :3)

And now with her strangely intelligent cat they mistake as an earth spirit that somehow got outside despite the door being locked. Leads them back to her apartment with them carrying her like a bag of potatoes. Burning said doorknob off because locked and COULDN'T GET IN. (Johnny how???)

And soon after she wakes up, and tries to escape but fails. they spend HOURS. Literal HOURS. Waiting for her to STOP. SCREAMING. (which damn ava you got some LUNGS in you!)

When they finally get her to stop. Conversation and LIEing happens. Both sides. And a police station is involved until Ava dips out on that idea because they start threatening a police officer.

And this leads to her finally accepting she'll teach them how to live on earth!

… (*deep sigh*) …

The show is then quickly mostly about (forcibly) romantically pairing the boys with Ava.

With the occasional beginning or ending scenes within occasional episodes that portrays what's happening back on Daemos.

Which is about Rhals fiance, Lady Bish, (which one must assume is the (temporary) lead Villain of the season) Who slowly figures out what Lady Grandma has been up to, what's she hiding. And repeated hints & clues to Asch's fated sacrifice with more and more description.

The first season.. the show unfinishedly ends with the boys forcefully being returned to Daemos along with Ava magically disguised as a Daemos.

Got all that? Good, now onto

— what I gathered from My Inner Demons… (pt 1)

The story seems to have wanted to be a Harem rom-com (romantic-comedy) with a serious underlying tone & story. And i think also wanted to be for a more mature audience, at least for teens and up. Due to its inclusion of sexual jokes, (somehow minimal or non-existent) cussing, and… I guess violence?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (listen man i said “wanted”)

In my opinion, the show fails to succeed in what it wanted to be.

– Let's get into the romance first. Shall we?

The romance in this show is not done well. Not at all, To be honest.

The show forces romance onto the main cast whether it fits their character, their inner stories, or if they like it or not. When Ava finally thinks about possible romance, it's because she's being pressured into doing so because of the people in her life. Not just the boys. But adults that she's supposed to trust and be friends with.

And the boys? They don't love Ava. Even if the show tries telling us around the end of the series they do? Also that they suddenly gotten comfortable and adjusted somewhat to daily life on earth that they help do chores now? We didn't see that growth. We saw nothing. This is out of the blue!

If they were intending to be a shojo something jump type of story like ouran host club, this wasn't Previously established, nor does it fit the story (*cough* that could've been told. *cough*) additionally, even if the story was like this, they still needed to show that development!

And for most of the story, the boys only want to marry ava for power, because of a misunderstanding that she is princess of earth (*....Deep sigh…*). But suddenly they all are actually in love with or have a crush on her??

*sigh*

— onto about the comedy

I think, we can all agree… the comedy is atleast a hit or miss, and awkward and uncomfortable at most.

(I'm so sorry for mentioning these scenes 😭) Examples: Like… the bathroom scene with Rhys and Lady Grandma… plus every single… one of those jokes Ms.Oates and Lady Grandma has made.

I'll.. i'll talk about their jokes. Not right now, though.

Anywho,

I personally think the comedy aspect in general doesn't fit the story. Don't get me wrong, every story needs a bit of comedy. But with how serious the ‘underlying’ story is, the comedy is… yikes. Ofc, you could still do an overdramatic(/pos) comedy that ends up transitioning to a more serious tone at times, (Aka Romantic Killer on Netflix, which i think can count as a physiological horror/neu) but i don't think that style fits this story, or at least the story we got.

*deep breath*

– onto the serious tone/underlying story…

The serious underlying tone is overshadowed by the comedy. And the serious underlying story is not just overshadowed, but disconnected from most of the story.

Every. Single. Time. The show gives us what's going on on Daemos, and then goes back to what's going on on earth. Is almost whiplash. Due to the utter tone shift between earth and daemos. Idk how to describe it, but…

When we're on earth, it's a comedy. The way things happen on earth are dramatic, possibly one could even say theatrical and illogical, including the characters themselves. It tries to include serious moments, but again, they're overshadowed by the comedic atmosphere.

But on Daemos? It has a darker atmosphere, it's more serious. The characters on daemos are also taken (somewhat more) seriously. Though comedy tries to coexist within it... but it just feels out of place or doesnt work with what Daemos is described and supposed to be and feel like.

I wouldn't say the shifting of tone between worlds is inherently bad.. in fact it could be used quite cleverly!

In other stories. I personally don't think it works with this story in particular. I'll explain this further, later on.

Additional note; the boys were once treated with this seriousness. In the very first episode, they're in a more serious atmosphere, and treated more seriously! Like, Asch was kinda intimidating when he threatened to kill his loyal knights that respect him if they chose to stay! (... oh, we will talk about Asch.)

But the moment, we see them on earth? Say goodbye to them being treated seriously and as adults!

Oh yeah. Additionally, they are not treated as adults. What do you mean? They act like children! Which doesn't make sense for… their world and culture they're from. They wouldn't.. act like children, even if the show might imply that daemos are cruel and selfish, but if they TRULY were, this stroy wouldn't.. really work. (I'll explain, i promise)

AND that the boys seem to almost fit the group of misfits trope! They all would've been killed for being weak or being who they are because who they are is deemed weak if Asch didn't save them, spare them, or show mercy! They're alive because Asch took them in and his position as a second-born prince, right? (We will talk about Asch…)

--- This is Part 1 of a multi-part series of my thoughts on Aphmau's show because I have an abundance of thoughts, and there's a character limit on posts! 💜💜💜🫶

See you in the next part! (If you choose to, ofc!)

#my inner demons aphmau #aphmau my inner demons #my inner demons #my inner thoughts #loading thoughts...#part 2 is talking about the worldbuilding and characters!

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ladyescapism · 8 months

Text

fractured bonds - part 3

summary: Rhys' little sister has always been nothing but loyal to her brother and court. however, the cauldron chooses the most inconvenient male as her mate: Eris Vanserra. will Ryn accept the heir of autumn as her mate? will her family?

part 1 -- part 2 -- part 4

a/n: Part 3! Here we go. The next part is going to have some drama! Hope y'all like it. Remember to message me or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!

warnings: sickly character, cannon violence, vomiting

wc: 1,900

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ryn’s legs couldn’t carry her fast enough. Her blood was rushing through her body, but failing to push her hard enough to outrun Hybern’s Naga. She had already gone a few miles, and in her weakened state, she wasn’t going to make it much further.

Azriel was the one who sent her out here to get any extra information on Hybern that she could, anything to help. Her deadline to get back was nearing, but not close enough to cause concern. And she doubted anyone else knew to look for her.

She kept going, determined she was going to make it. If she could get to the edge of the camp, the Naga might retreat, and she could get some help. But she wasn’t sure she was even running in the right direction.

She ran right into a clearing.

Fucking hell, she cursed to herself. Now I don’t have any cover.

From the other side of the clearing, a howl cut through the night air. She barely heard it over the rushing in her ears.

Just what I need. Wolves.

The night was illuminated by the moon just enough that Ryn could spot a red head riding a horse come through the clearing, flanked by two hounds.

Eris.

She didn’t have time to feel embarrassed by the relief she felt at the sight of him. She let the need she had felt to run to her mate all these weeks take over.

Exerted, Ryn let herself collapse when Eris was close enough that she could make out the features of his fine face. She was ready for his dismount, and his concern for her well-being. She was ready to get on the horse with him and ride like hell.

But Eris kept going. He did not stop. He rode head on to the Naga.

She tried to call to him, but her throat was ragged from her time screaming these last hours to make any noise. All she could do was watch as Eris and his hounds take on four Naga.

As he approached, Eris swung one leg over the horse, but didn’t fully dismount and with one clean slice, gutted the Naga that was readying to make his leg its next bite. Eris jumped from his perch on the saddle and steadied himself for the battle.

A dog came and blocked Ryn’s view. She mustered the strength to crawl around it. Eris came into view just as he took the head off another Naga.

Eris was being circled now.

The other hound was at Eris’ back, snapping and snarling at the Naga hissing in its direction. The dog had a deep gash on its hind leg, unable to put much weight on it.

Out of the corner of her eye, the horse was standing, spooked by the violence, but to well trained to leave its rider behind.

The sight of her mate in danger spurred more strength in her body. Her mind hadn’t caught up as she made her way to the horse.

“Ride, Ryn!” Eris called, desperate. “Get out of here! Go!”

She didn’t respond, but finally found the hilt of a short sword.

Stumbling as she moved as quickly as she could, she made her way to Eris.

“No,” Eris cried. “Run, Ryn! Go!”

The Naga were too distracted with Eris and his dog to notice her till it was too late. Ryn took the dog’s position at Eris’ back. She was back to panting at the exertion. She lifted the sword at the same time the Naga launched itself at her. Just as the Naga in front of Eris decided to capitalize on his distraction.

Eris became to occupied with his own fight to yell at her anymore. The fight didn’t last long after that. Ryn finished off the Naga and so did Eris.

After she heard the sword pull from the flesh of the other Naga, the exhaustion and the unsavory time spent in Hybern captivity during the last few hours caught up to Ryn.

And as the darkness clouded her vision, the last thing she saw was the stars twirl, and felt a strong body break her fall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Eris POV ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eris caught Ryn just before she hit the ground. He sat there for a moment, looking down at her worn body. She was still breathing, still panting from the fight, but her eyes had shut.

“Why did you stay, lovely,” Eris asked, praying she would be well-enough to answer in that moment.

Before he stood, he let himself curve his back and cradle her frame, just for a moment, to thank whatever gods were listening that he still got the chance to prove to her that he could be good.

But an all too familiar sent reached his nose.

Dragon’s Blood.

The copper tang of the poison made Eris want to gag. He had only ever smelled it once, as he searched for a way to eliminate one of his father’s many enemies discreetly.

Eris hauled Ryn into his arms and rushed to his horse. He did not know how long ago she was poisoned, or how it was administered, but she needed treatment. Because once her fever reached its pinnacle, she would not be savable.

Eris managed to position her so that she was sitting up, so if she vomited, either from her body rejecting the poison or the fever, she would not choke to death.

Eris rode like hell. He did not care if his hounds kept up. He did not care that one was injured and left behind. He did not care that his horse was tired and riding like this would cause it stress. All he cared about was feeling her heartbeat and her breath.

He got into the camp but did not stop riding. He kept his pace, straight to the healer’s tent. A few people had to jump out of the way and shouted after him, not knowing or caring who he was. Eris still could not care about anyone or anything but getting her healed.

“I need a healer,” he shouted. “I need a Night Court healer.”

A female he did not recognize stepped out of the tent and paled at the sight of Ryn’s state.

“I am Madja, healer to the High Lord and his family.”

Eris dismounted and pulled Ryn from the saddle. He pushed past the female as he spoke.

“She has been poisoned with Dragon’s Blood. I don’t know how long ago it was administered, or the administration method, but she has not started vomiting yet.”

Eris set Ryn down where another healer gestured.

“She is exhausted, dehydrated, but not seriously bleeding for what I can tell.”

Madja whispered something to the other healer, and they disappeared, quickly replaced by another set of hands.

Eris did not let the panic through. He just stood and watched as the healer, Madja, administered something by injection. Something else was poured down her throat, and she gagged.

The healer kept working. Eris tensed at every injection and prod and inspection. He stopped breathing when Ryn wretched and the healers had to force her on her side.

Eris only let his eyes stray from watching her chest rise and fall when her heard the Shadow Singer speak to his High Lord.

“I sent her a few hours ago. Her timeline to check in isn’t for another 10 minutes. I had no reason to be concerned.”

Rhys gave a single solemn nod. “Madja, what happened?”

“From what I can tell,” she explained, “Kathryn was given the liquid form of Dragon’s Blood. A lethal dose, but it was watered down, making it not as fast acting. She has a high fever, and she has vomited everything she had. The fever hasn’t broken yet, and she will most likely still experience the hallucinations that come with the poison. She will need to be kept under observation for a day or two, but she will be better soon.”

Rhys looked relived as he made his way to his sister’s side. He reached down and cupped her face. “Our girl has survived worse, Madja. She will heal just fine.”

“She is young, and healthy. I have the same optimism.”

Eris was not comforted by that sentiment, that she was put into these positions often. And he could not hold his tongue.

“So,” he sneered, “you send her into dangerous situations often?”

“Thank you for saving her, Eris,” Rhys said, ignoring his question. “She would likely be in a much worse state if not for your intervention.”

“You didn’t answer me,” Eris growled.

“What I send my spies to do is none of your business,” Azriel responded for Rhys.

The air thickened with tension.

“I heard your father was asking for you,” Rhys added smoothly, making his dismissal of the prince clear. “You might want to go see what needs attending to.”

Before he could respond that he was not leaving Ryn’s side till she could sit upright, a shrill cry cut through the air.

It was a cry of terror, of pain.

“It’s the hallucinations,” Madja said from her workstation.

“Give her something,” Eris hissed. “Anything to make her stop.” Ryn kept making that noise, only a few words barely distinguishable in her cries.

“I can’t give her any sedative, that would only slow her body working the poison out. The best we can do is try to comfort her and make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

Azriel turned away as she let out a scream. He hung his head in what looked like shame. He took the few steps towards the exit and did not pause as he left the healer’s tent.

Rhys looked shocked at Azriel’s departure and conflicted as what to do. Eris wanted to hold her, to push the sweat soaked hair from her forehead. He wanted to silence her cries and reassure her that she was safe, even if she couldn’t hear him.

The only thing stopping him was that he wasn’t certain Ryn wanted him touching her in any state, let alone such a vulnerable one.

“ERIS!” The cry ripped from Ryn’s throat.

Eris snapped his eyes back to wear Ryn’s sick form lay. Rhys looked between his sister and the prince. A flash of understanding crossed his features, followed by anger settling in his eyes.

“No no no no,” Ryn cried. “No no no, not him not Eris. Please...”

She faded off, whimpering and moaning as if she was begging for whatever happened to her to not happen to Eris.

He couldn't take it anymore. He rushed to her side finally pushing those stray, sweat soaked hairs back from her forehead and planting a kiss right at her hairline.

“I'm right here, lovely,” he whispered softly. “I'm right here. No one is hurting me. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I didn't let them get to you once, and they will never get to you again.”

Ryn stilled. She still whimpered, but she nuzzled into his neck. Tears fell down her cheeks, fat as raindrops in an autumn storm. But Eris’ pulse echoed through her soul, and it seemed to calm her more than any sedative would.

Rhys took in the sight of his sister being cradled and comforted by who he thought was an old enemy and the anger faded from his eyes. For she was being comforted in a way that no other male on this earth could.

Because in that moment Rhys saw their connection. He could almost see the golden thread shimmering between them. Rhys stepped away and let Ryn be comforted by her mate.

Tag list:

All works:

@feysandzoyalailover @fanfictioniseverything @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @marina468 @singhillada

Fractured bonds:

@a-mexican-waffle @cafe-inaaa @feiwelinchen @theviewfromtheotherside

#acotar #acotar imagine #eris acotar #eris vanserra #acotar fic #eris x oc #acotar angst

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

Text

Golden hour

Final chapter

a/n welcome to the final chapter! I'm extremely sorry for the wait but I hope the ones who still enjoy this will have fun reading regardless. Thank you for joining me on this journey. 🤍

———————————————————————

Azriel was sitting in his office. The night was in full bloom as he flipped through yet another stack of papers. He never complained about it. Work has always been something he has enjoyed. A way to feel useful and needed. A way for him to feel himself, even if what Azriel did, didn't paint him as the best of males. A strange noise, coming from the other side of the door, made him lift his head, and when the sound echoed through the room again with a frown on his face, Azriel stood up.

His foot landed on the floor with a splash, and the shadow singer dropped his gaze. His guts twisted as the ever-so-familiar golden substance came into his sight. Then panic set in, and the room seemed to close in on itself. As he frantically crossed the room, following the golden track, his brain went numb. And there you were. Spread out on the floor. Covered in open bites. Drained and lifeless. No. No. No. Azriel wasn't sure if he said those words out loud as he fell to his knees in front of you. Your face was twisted in pain, and it took a lot of self-control to not vomit at the sight of it. Azriel tried to lift you, but the moment he touched you, he heard your bones crushing beneath his fingers, and then your screams filled his ears. Screams so loud and was filled with so much pain that he thought someone was skinning him alive.

Azriel shot up, breathing heavily as sweat dripped down his body. Ever since the events in Autumn, his nightmares had shifted. He no longer dreamed of his father's abuse or his hands being burned. No, he kept seeing you die now. Over and over in more than one way. If not from someone else's hand, then from his own. If he thought that his previous nightmare was rough, well, he sure had the Mother laughing at him now.

To the feeling of your hands running down his back, Azriel flinched. But the kisses you left on his shoulder slowly brought him back to reality, and he let the warmth of your shin slowly wash the crippling fear away. The first time it happened, you offered to take the dreams from him, but Azriel knew what that would mean for you, and he wasn't going to let you repeatedly see yourself dying over and over again.

"I'm fine," the shadow singer muttered, bringing your hand up to his lips before kissing it softly a couple of times. You let out a sigh. Fighting with him was pointless. Same as trying to make him talk about it. You knew what he dreamed of, but... Moving closer to your lover, you nestled yourself on his lap and said, "One night, please, let me give you one night of sleep." The last week or so had been insanely hectic. From you being kept under close watch to Rhys going out of his way to keep you under so many shields, at times it was hard for you to even feel Azriel. Then Madja didn't let you move for a good portion of that time. Your body was weak. You were weak. So weak that shifting out of your full fairy form wasn't an option. Yet that you cared about the least. Plus, it was quite interesting to watch Azriel inspect your wings. He'd spent more than one evening drawing shapes in the vibrant patterns on your wings. He had called them a masterpiece. But your heart was mostly heavy with all the people you had left behind in the Autumn. Their lives now depended on you and you alone. You'd been nothing more than a coward. You wanted to help solve it all, but Rhys had politely asked you to step aside while he handled everything. And with the problems, you had already brought them you didn't fight his choice.

"You're weak, love. This can cause more...", "Azriel, you babying me won't help me, please." You knew that his silence as you two laid down wasn't him agreeing to your proposal, but you waited till the spymaster drifted off anyways, before you slivered into his unconsciousness. When Azriel stirred late the next morning, he found you sitting with your legs up to your chin next to him as you started at the wall. In the same way, he had shivered at your touch in the night, his warm embrace sent you trembling as well. You smiled as you softly caressed his cheek, "Morning, handsome," but Azriel didn't return your smile, "You did it, didn't you?" Lying was pointless; even if you pretended that you only shifted the dream, it wouldn't help the case, so you nodded your head and said, "And I'll do it again if I have to."

Azriel pulled you closer to him by your hand. Even if the spymaster rarely left your side now, you two have hardly been spending quality time together. It felt wrong for you to feel sad about that, considering everything that was going on, but you couldn't help it. You tilted your head up so you could look up at him. Carefully nuzzling into his embrace. "You're thinking loudly," Azriel snickered, but you couldn't bring yourself to giggle alongside him, "Y/N?". Damn all of the shields you tried to put on yourself. With a sigh, you moved away from the shadow singer. His confused eyes watching you.

"Rhys sent a letter", Azriel's expression didn't change as if he couldn't pinpoint why that would be a bad thing, "He wants to talk to me alone", "Reason being?", you just shrugged your shoulders. When you had made somewhat of a recovery, Rhys had you questioned about working for Beron. It didn't seem like he had anything against you. But then again, you understood why he would be suspicious of you. His name was on the list of people Beron wanted you to watch. "Well, you're not going alone", "Azriel...", you whined. The shadows singer sat up quietly, "You and I", he gestured at the two of you, "We handle and do everything together now," he said. "Will you be joining me in the bathroom?", you cocked your head to the side and grinned. Azriel only rolled his eyes at you, "Whatever he wants, he can tell us both."

To say that you were worried would have been an understatement. And the fact that Rhysand's face was unreadable also didn't help the case. But you were thankful that at least he did not comment when Azriel stepped into the room after you. "There will be a trial. Most of the high lords agreed that camps and what was done to Y/N had violated quite a handful of rules", even the mention of it made a shiver run down your back, and Azriel instantly took a hold of your hand. "Beron is most likely to be executed, but Eris. Eris and Lucien they need to serve in Autumn", that part didn't surprise you. Eris always knew that no matter what dirty things of his father that he participated in, he would always have immunity. He wasn't afraid to show it off. Hence his behavior that involved you.

"That is bullshit", Azriel murmured through gritted teeth, "They will be punished but there's no final decision as to how". Rhys was calm, yet there was something beneath the surface. You felt another tingle run through you as you spoke, "That's not it; I can feel it." You instantly could tell that this was the part that the high lord wanted you two to discuss alone. This was the reason why no one, especially Azriel, wasn't supposed to be here. "The lords want to use your power to break down whatever Beron had going on and track down his allies," Rhys said after taking a deep breath.

Azriel tensed instantly at the sound of that, his eyes darkening as he gaped at Rhys, "Use? Use? You're not going to use my mate." You pulled at his arm, making sure that he wouldn't jump at Rhys. "This is mostly because Y/N had been tracking them", "She didn't do it for fun", the shadow singer barked, narrowing his eyes as he leaned forward. "I know, Az," but the spymaster only shook his head and asked, "Do you? Because you're backing them, Rhys." You knew very well that the tension was going to rise once Beron's plan to take down all the high lords using their biggest fears against them came out. All in all, you knew you could be sentenced to death yourself. But you've been twisting the truth, telling Beron stuff that wouldn't be enough to break down courts. That had to mean something, right?

"No, the answer is no, Rhys, and if anyone has an issue with that, send them my way," Azriel roared, already pushing you behind him. "Az," you said in a worried way. Hands slowly ran up and down his back, hoping to calm him down. But they were all up in one another's faces, snarling at each other. "You don't give me orders, shadow singer," and you could tell that Azriel was going to launch forward, so you pushed yourself in front of him. Attempting to put as much distance between the two brothers as possible. Step in before both of them say things they regret.

"I would agree, but I can get stuck in Beron's mind; he knows how to trap me," you said quietly. Eyes glossing up as you thought about all the times he had toyed with you to his delight. Azriel's arms pulled you closer to him at the sound of that. "No, Rhys, please," the spymaster muttered. Now it wasn't anger; it was panic that flooded his eyes. Shear panic on having to go through the fright of losing you. He didn't want to step away. He didn't want to put you in harm's way. You've been through enough. Been used enough. Used and abused. Rhys knew this. Knew this very well himself. His shoulders sank, "I'm on your side. I'll do all I can so that she wouldn't have to be a part of any of this".

The high lord reached for your hand, giving it a light squeeze, "Maybe you'll share your memories with me, and I'll just show it to them as proof." You nodded your head slowly. Even if you didn't want to relive it all, you didn't want them to be able to get out of this with no consequences. After some time, Feyre emerged to steal you away for a final cup of tea before you two went back to your tiny home. A decision you both made a couple of days ago. You needed a bit of privacy and a chance to process everything together.

Before Azriel stood up to leave as well, Rhys caught his hand and said, "We will protect her, I promise." Azriel nodded his head before embracing his brother in a tight hug. The realization of how long it's been since they shared a moment like that hit him, hard. "She came to me that night because I was having a nightmare," Azriel said, his voice barely audible as the males separated. "I've been having them for a long time but... I was ashamed and said nothing", Rhys's eyes filled with sympathy, "Azriel, you should have...", "I know but it made me feel weak".

Silence fell over the room for a minute, and then Rhys draped his hand over his brother's shoulders, "She changed your life, and I'm kind of glad that you two went against my plan to separate you for the time being." Azriel let out a low chuckle. "But know that we would never think you're weak. You have a worrier's heart," pressing his hand to Azriel's chest, Rhys clapped his hand on the leather a couple of times. "We support each other as a family and we fight as a family, brother", Azriel nodded his head at his high lord's words. Now, it was only Cassian that he had to tell all of this to. And then the weight would be off his shoulders.

The flight back to your house felt almost nostalgic, and as you both landed in front of the now infamous door, you couldn't contain a smile. It looked just like you had left it as if nothing had happened in the past couple of months. "After you, my lady," Azriel chirped as he unlocked the door, but your eyes drifted to your garden, which in its untended state had almost all died down. Azriel's eyes followed, "Hey, we'll regrow everything", "I know it's just sad," you said as you stepped through the door and into the house.

"We can go to the market to get you some seeds, and I bet we need things to make food for tonight," you hummed as you dusted off the table before placing your cloak on it. Eyes fell on the blanket bed that was still on the floor in the middle of the living room. "Would you go out into the city with me?", "What kind of question is that?" Azriel looked at you all confused, "Well, you don't strike me as a male who would just walk hand in hand with me." Azriel rolled his eyes before coming closer to you, kissing the side of your head before he spun you around. "We could dance through the streets if you want," he said, and you let out a giggle as he shimmied his shoulders a couple of times. You two just stayed in each other's embrace for some time in complete silence. Silence until your stomach grumbled with hunger.

"Maybe you go out to buy some stuff and I and sprout can start on making food", Azriel's eyes wrinkled again, "Who's sprout?", had he missed some creature you grew here? Or was it a person? But you just pointed a finger behind him, making the spymaster turn that way. Not far from you two flouted the shadow that had been by your side at all times.

"You named my shadow?", you only nodded your head, and the little ball of darkness instantly edged closer to you. "Oh, no, no one else is getting named," Azriel shook his head as more of his shadows rushed to you. But the balls of darkness didn't seem to listen as you lifted your hands so they could dance all over you. "It's okay, we won't tell him," you whispered to them, knowing full well that Azriel could hear you. The truth was that Azriel loved it. Loved that something so deadly that was supposed to be scary was so loved by you. As if his most damaged side was being loved by you the most, "I'll pretend I didn't hear it." You giggled, moving into the kitchen to start working on the shopping list.

Humming under your breath, you mixed the stew that was cooking in one of the pots. Azriel had come back not long after you two separated, giving you just enough time to clean up the house and get the fire started. With him now sorting through your books, you were left to finish making dinner. It felt homely and safe. For the first time in a while, you both had no worries on your shoulders. Even if it was for just one evening. It seemed like the biggest gift.

"It smells so good that I need to control myself to not drool all over," Azriel said. His warm hands sneaked over your middle as he inched closer, careful not to hurt your wings. You leaned into his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped through your much cooler skin. It was a delight to soak in his warmth. Noticing that Azriel ran his hands up and down your arms "Get the table ready; we'll be able to eat soon." With one last kiss to the top of your head, Azriel moved to pull out two bowls and some plates for the roasted rosemary-honey potatoes that - he was convinced without even trying - were going to be delightful. Noticing a couple of candles on the other side of the room, the spymaster was quick enough to place them in the middle of the table before lighting them.

You emerged from the kitchen carrying a still-sizzling tray. "Do I have to warn you not to touch them yet?" you teased the male as you turned to him. Azriel was already licking his lips. But he only shook his head, moving to walk with you back into the kitchen so he could pour himself some stew, but you snatched the bowl out of his hands. Azriel frowned slightly.

"Go sit down", your eyes met him for a moment, and you could tell without needing to place your hand on his chest that Azriel's heart had started beating rapidly, "Love..?", but you just smiled at him before pushing him out through the door. Those couple of minutes of waiting for you to come out with the food had been rather nerve wreaking. So many thoughts were running through his mind. Yet Azriel tried to hold himself together. Sprout flew through the doors first, nuzzling against Azriel's cheek before disappearing into nothingness.

And then you came out the door. You had the biggest smile on your face, carrying a much larger bowl than Azriel had brought out for you two to eat from. "If I'm not mistaken, I need to make and offer for your food, right?" Azriel's eyes went big. You two had decided to wait before accepting the bond. He wanted you to be sure. To be well and recovered. To give you enough time to heal. It didn't mean that Azriel wasn't craving to finally have it fully snap into place. But maybe this wasn't at all what he thought it was. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, his eyes searching yours as you placed the bowl in front of him.

"I made you my favorite stew with lots of love, and I want us to finally accept the mating bond." Azriel's thoughts were all over the place as he kept on looking at you and the food in front of him. "I want you, Azriel; it's been you for so long. I want to finally make my heart your home", the spymaster reached for your hand pulling you closer so you could sit on his lap. Embracing you in his arms, "This feels like a dream, I'm so scared I'm going to wake up, and you'll be gone", he murmured, pressing himself closer to you. Those thoughts hunt him often, at times the feelings that flouted through him, simply felt too good to be true. Like in a blink of an eye, you'll disappear. Vanish, leaving only a memory.

"But I am here, and I'm yours", you said softly, combining your fingers through his, "Now, would you please take a bite, my mate?" Smiling from ear to ear, you watched as Azriel picked up a spoon with slightly trembling fingers. Right before he took the first bite, he turned to you, pressing his lips to yours in a rather messy kiss. It felt as if all of the world's sounds felt brighter. Like every sound and smell was sharper. The golden thread between you started to glow, and like a crashing wave on the shore, the feeling of Azriel's presence flourished inside you. Tears picked up the corners of your eyes as you pressed yourself closer to your lover's chest. It felt so overwhelming to feel him. Fully feel him. Azriel had to close his eyes for a moment, but even that didn't help as the tears rolled down his cheeks. You were here in his arms. So near, and only his to care for and love.

Looking down at you, he couldn't contain a giggle: "You're glowing again," and indeed you were sparkling like the brightest star during the Starfall. "Can you blame me? I'm officially mated to the most handsome male in the whole court," Azriel let out a deep belly laugh before leaning closer to you, "I love you so much. I'll love you till the end of time. Through all the golden hours and cloudy skies," Azriel muttered into the crown of your head, leaving kisses in between his words. Smiling at him, you gently wiped away the tears from his cheeks before leaning in to kiss him yet again. As mates now. As two hearts who, from now on, only beat for one another.

———————————————————————

All acotar writing: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideing @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468

This series: @moonfawnx @piceous21 @are-y0u-sirius @fall-myriad @hanasakr @j-brielmalfoy @harrylines

#azriel x reader #rhys x reader #cassian x reader #acotar imagine #azriel x you #acotar x reader

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acourtofmenandthirst · 2 years

Text

Two Sides to Every Story (Part I of II)

Cassian x Reader! Cassian recalls the first time he met you differently from how you do.

Warnings: wartime, injury

Word Count: 3.3K

Cassian would never forget that look in your eye until the day he died.

He wouldn’t forget the shine of your eyes, rimmed with silver, shining in the stark moonlight. He wouldn’t forget the bewildered expression on your face, utter shock and awe, lips parted in a gasp, jaw dropped in fear.

Disgust, probably, he had later realized. Pure, unadulterated repulsion.

He wouldn’t be able to forget that look on your face. And he had tried plenty of times.

He laid in the middle of the battlefield, caked in mud and blood, the screams and cries of his fallen comrades rang in his ears. Azriel knelt over him, pressing against his abdomen, cursing, wings flaring as he called for a healer. His voice ratted through Cassian’s bones, the male’s scarred hands holding his guts together, though the injured Illyrian was hardly of sound mind to realize exactly what was going on. His legs had gone numb way too long ago, he wasn’t even sure why - blissfully unaware of why Azriel was above him screaming, or how he’d been injured… or that his injury had been that bad.

“(Y/N)!” Azriel hollered, waiving an arm over Cassian’s near limp body, signaling you over. He held his hands firmly against his brother’s spilt organs, doing his best to keep his skin pulled together. “Hang in there,” he muttered - possibly more to himself than the injured male.

Cassian rolled his eyes, stifling a groan as he tried to push his brother away. “I’m fine,” he grumbled, barely able to lift his arms. When did his armor become so heavy? The armor rattled as he dropped his hands limp against the hard soil beneath him. “When did you become such a mother hen?”

“Since you thought it would be wise to disobey orders and try to get yourself killed. Rhys is pissed, you know,” Azriel informed him, cocking a brow in jest, trying to lighten the situation, but also giving his brother fair warning against the furious High Lord.

The red siphoned male huffed out a breath. “I didn’t do it for fun,” he griped. He could barely hold his own head up, so instead of fighting more against his brother - who may have very well been saving his life at that moment - he let his helmeted head fall back in the dirt.

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief, greeting you as you slid beside the males, hands shaking as you met the scarred ones on Cassian’s abdomen. The injured warrior could barely keep his eyes open at that point, the amount of blood loss causing his head to spin. But, gods, it was the petrified look on your face that really threw him off.

He recognized you as Madja’s apprentice, the new healer, way too young to be dragged into the war Hybern started. You looked panicked, perhaps overwhelmed by the bloodshed from the past few days, maybe distraught at the injury presented before you. Surely not something you would have encountered in your lessons with the elder healer, he assumed.

Your bright eyes were near bloodshot and Cassian noticed as you blinked away the tears, choking down a breath of air before taking over Azriel’s piss-poor attempt at holding him together. “Please, stay,” you whispered, voice shaking and barely audible, asking Azriel to continue holding him together.

Cassian caught the way you forced breath in your lungs and silently cursed. It was impossible to not notice how you couldn’t even force yourself to look at him - utterly disgusted with him. If he wasn’t already in such a state, he would have felt sick to his stomach. He was mortified, not only for dragging you into the war, but for you having to see him like that, use your magic to heal him in such a horrid state. He cursed himself and called a prayer up to the Mother herself, begging for her to not make this your only memory of him.

_______________________________________________________________

Your recollection of that fateful day was much different. You rushed between the fallen bodies on the battlefield, bloodied and beaten, on a mission to find the most fatally injured soldiers, tending to those first. Many of the males died before you were able to reach them, something you’d have to come to terms with later. Madja had warned you about the tremors of battle, and how you would never be able to save them all. Those words hadn’t resonated with you before, but you knew they would eat away at you later.

Azriel called out to you, drawing your attention from the male you had just finished wrapping in gauze. His urgency had alarmed you, having barely heard the Illyrian speak in general, let alone calling for you across the field. You finished up with the soldier before you sprinted to Azriel, who just so happened to be holding his friend’s guts in his hands.

You dropped beside them and tried miserably to calm your breath from the sprint over. You blinked a few times, trying to register the injury, never once seeing one so bad. Squeezing your hands into fists, you touched Cassian’s cold flesh, trying to pull the skin together to heal shut. “Please stay,” you muttered to Azriel, who made a move to remove his hands, fearing he would leave you to heal him alone.

Your own stomach clenched at the thought of treating him by yourself, in fear you might not be able to. There you sat, dirty and drained, utterly petrified this male would die in your hands.

The most beautiful male in all of Pyrthian.

General of the Night Court Armies and Lord of Bloodshed.

With his guts hanging out.

His life, quite literally, in the palms of your hands.

You couldn’t manage to look over at him, to look into those beautiful hazel eyes, desperate for life, in case you couldn’t save him.

________________________________________________________________

After the war, Cassian couldn’t stand wandering around Velaris, not like the way he used to before. Fae idolized him, females admired him, children marveled at him. He used to stroll the Rainbow with his brothers and friends, laughing and greeting strangers, never in any rush to return home. Seems that after the war, the community was not so welcoming to him. Feyre, they loved - loved - Cursebreaker, Cauldron-blessed, Defender of the Rainbow. Rhys, Night Triumphant, would never be hated, not in the city he vowed to protect. Even Mor and Elain couldn’t be detested. They’d always be afraid of Amren - Fae or not - and Azriel… he couldn’t care less how any stranger felt about him.

It felt different, after the war. He couldn’t stomach the sick look on their faces as he walked past them in the streets. They didn’t know what he had done on that battlefield to protect his family - to protect them. Cassian was riddled with shame, something he hadn’t felt since he was a young male. Hated for what? He knew he had a terrible job, Devlin reminded him of it every time he checked in at Windhaven. He had done everything he could to earn the respect of his soldiers, his comrades, his family. It had been enough to follow him into war.

Cassian simply chalked it up to fear. The Fae running around Velaris knew of the High Lord and his friends, how they sent the fear of every god into their mortal enemies. Tales of the Rite and their greatest victories on the battlefield spread through playgrounds and taverns. While they used to be legendary stories and inspired the young children of Velaris, the war had hit too close to home, suddenly painting the male in a darker light: a bloodthirsty warrior.

His dying prayers were answered, he realized, when he saw you at one of the small shops in the Rainbow, stopping to observe the clothing racks through the window. You looked so different from the day you saved his life. Your hair was unbound, skin and nails scrubbed free of dried blood and dirt. The thin dress you wore flowed with the wind, much more suitable than the thick black armor you wore on the battlefield. While the Illyrian armor held a special place in his heart, he much preferred this version of you.

Maybe it was because you radiated calm. You were so panicked when you came to heal him. Frenzied and utterly disgusted, holding his organs in his stomach, begging the Mother to give you enough strength to heal his torn skin. He wondered if you had nightmares, woke up in fear each night you recalled that moment, tears threatening to spill over your cheeks as you remembered how cold he was, how his flesh broke and blood pooled around the dirt below, or if it was just him.

Almost as if you could sense the Illyrian staring at you from the street, you turned. Cassian’s knees nearly buckled at the sight of your rosy sun kissed cheeks, that slight smile that pulled at your lips. He straightened up, untucking his wings from behind him, flaring them out a bit - something for his ego - and moved to take a step closer.

He halted as your shoulders stiffened and you turned your back to him, dropping your head in hiding.

With one swift blow of his wings, he was gone.

________________________________________________________________

Your afternoon had been fairly quiet, one spent strolling the Rainbow, sifting through each of the stores, mindlessly shopping around. Things had settled after Hybern’s war, and you were glad things were finally returning to normal. The sun was out, shining down along the sidewalks the children had adorned with chalk, who continued laughing and playing throughout the streets - music which you feared you might not have heard again.

You stopped in front of your favorite shop, admiring the new collection of garments on display through the window, when you felt a figure stop behind you. In the reflection of the mirror, you caught the male’s wings, how they stretched out then relaxed behind his back, held high in Illyrian pride. Your heart thundered as you remembered those hazel eyes, the ones glazed over with pain, that you could barely meet those few months ago on the battlefield.

While things had been settling down post-war, there were still lingering memories, pain that each Fae felt through the trauma or the loss of a loved one. The children and adults were still in awe of Cassian, as you were, too. Though you noticed that everyone walked a few feet to either side of him, too terrified to disturb the male on a mission. His brows were pulled, arms crossed as he walked down the street in his black attire.

When you glanced over your shoulder, you had to do a double-take.

The reflection did him no justice, or perhaps you hadn’t seen him so clean. He was so gods-damned beautiful laying on the dirt that day, but without his helmet, his dark hair flowing in the wind, he was exquisite. His features were so sharp, intimidating, even - you then fully understood how he demanded power and respect from his soldiers.

You caught his eye, the hazel color echoed in the sunlight, his once pale skin, ashen from the blood loss, was now golden from the sun. You broke his gaze, glancing quickly at yourself in the reflection of the window, pulling the wind-wild strands of your hair back into place. You took a steadying breath, trying to think of something - anything - to say to him.

By the time you turned back around, he had already taken to the skies.

________________________________________________________________

“What do you mean you want to go to Windhaven?” Rhys asked, not looking up from the paperwork on his desk. “You never want to go to Windhaven.”

“I never said I wanted to go,” Cassian responded, nudging the rug beneath his chair with his boot. “I said I’m going.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, and with a throw of his hand, the crinkle of the carpet had smoothed out, earning an annoyed sigh from his brother. One that pulled a small smirk from the High Lord. “You’re not going with tensions still this high. They’re healing, Cassian, and you need to, too.”

The broad male scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m fine.”

At that, Rhysand genuinely smiled. His two brothers were total opposites. One who never showed any tell-tale sign of emotion. Then there was Cassian, who was as easy to read as an open book. “You’re not fine. Because you're my brother, and because I respect you, I haven’t delved into that pit in the middle of your head you call your mind - ” Rhys tapped gently against Cassian’s mental shield, in place for once, which caused him to shudder like it was nails on a chalkboard. “ - but I know something’s up.”

Cassian groaned, letting his shoulders fall back against the plush chair. “Things just aren’t the same,” he grumbled, trying not to sound like a pouting baby. “I need a break from civilization.”

Rhys chuckled, the General’s distaste for the Illyrian camp not unknown. “The more people see you around, the less intimidated they’ll be.”

Cassian rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. Rhys always seemed to know what Cassian was thinking, even with his walls up. “I’m not intimidating. They’re just scared of me.”

It had been many months without returning to normal. People actively avoided him in the streets, crowds dispersed as soon as he stepped foot into Rita’s. He almost thought it would be better to wallow in his own self-pity up at the House of Wind, than to stay in Velaris where everyone actively avoided him. They were the Fae he vowed to protect, alongside his brothers, and they feared him like Death itself.

“You’re intimidating,” Rhys continued, breaking him from his train of thought. He pointed an accusatory finger at Cassian. “And the twenty year old Illyrian in front of me would have creamed to hear me say that. You’re intimidating where it counts and they now know that. Everyone is still adjusting back to normal life, so give them a chance to warm back up.” Rhys stood from his desk, ushering Cassian to his feet and out of his office. “They are in awe of you, brother. Let them admire.”

_______________________________________________________________

Giving the Fae of Velaris another, open-minded chance, Cassian headed over to one of the small cafes in the town center, opting to meet Azriel for lunch there, instead of back at the House of Wind. He took his time walking there, keeping his wings tucked behind him and head held high.

He made for the iron tables, opting for one close to the riverside. There weren’t too many patrons this late in the afternoon, a few stragglers sipping on their tea, basking in the bright sun. As he wove through the wrought chairs, a flash of white caught his eye, disappearing out of his peripherals almost immediately.

In that moment he remembered nothing from your last encounter, only the petrified look on your face, holding his shredded body together with his brother. The same look, he imagined, you hid from him that day in the Rainbow. He could have been grateful, for you showing him enough pity to turn away from him before you wretched at the memory.

But as Cassian’s eyes flitted in your direction - if just for a second, before he decided to turn on his heel and head anywhere else - he saw you had stopped, and pivoted to face him. Your hands were clasped together in front of you, near nervous looking, as your eyes met his.

He gave you a solemn nod before he felt obligated to turn away from you this time, now face to face with the end of the sidewalk in front of the river.

“Cassian,” you called, almost too quiet for his Illyrian ears to pick up on, but didn’t want to holler across the whole restaurant. He froze, though, hand clamped at the back of one of the chairs.

He glanced over his shoulder - over his wing - and watched as you strolled up to him, timidly, no doubt, but brave enough to walk past all the staring Fae toward the Lord of Bloodshed.

“You clean up well,” you commented, eyes trailing up his body, quirking a brow. A small smile tugged at your lips, cheeks tinted with the boldness of your own comment.

He stifled a laugh, puffing out his chest a bit at your observation. “I could say the same for you. Glad to see you well.” And not covered in blood.

“You seem surprised to see me,” you replied, a bit bolder now, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I just thought,” he trailed off, nearly rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. “I don’t know what I thought.” That you were afraid of me. That you saw nothing but utter death in his eyes.

You bit your lip, debating whether or not you should continue. But fuck it, you had already made it this far in the conversation. “I was going to ask how you were, that day in the Rainbow…” you trailed off, kicking an imaginary rock on the ground, shoe scuffing against the stone. “Seems that you healed up just fine.” With a nervous laugh, you looked back up at him, squinting a bit as your neck craned upwards toward the sun.

Cassian dropped his hand from the death grip on the chair and scratched the hair at the back of his neck. “Sorry, (Y/N), I - ” He huffed a breath. “With the way people have been looking and talking…” Cassian’s eyes drifted around the Rainbow, noting how the Fae stared at the pair as they passed by, whispering and murmuring amongst themselves. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk…” His hazel eyes found your own. “With me.”

“With you?” You wondered, incredulously. “You’re just about the most famous male in all of Pyrthian right now.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, a dark blush crawling over his neck and cheeks. Something that would have made his young Illyrian self beam with pride - words that would have gone straight to his ego. Post-war Cassian would have brushed it off: it’s all a part of the job. But hearing it from you, the warm-hearted tone hearing you recount his reputation as if he were a celebrity - it made him laugh.

“Famous in the good way, I hope.”

You laughed this time, the sound sparking nothing but utter joy in his heart. “Illyrian General of the Night Court Armies. Is there another way?”

“You’d be surprised.” He ruffled his wings slightly. “Illyrians have quite the reputation.”

“Well I don’t believe it. I haven’t heard a single bad thing about you or about you being an Illyrian,” you huffed, tilting your head at him in challenge. “Besides, only angels have wings.”

The sight of you stifling your laughter at your own cheesy comment had him weak in the knees. Had you thrown a wink his way, Cassian would have melted right on the spot. Instead, he let himself laugh - loudly. He pulled the chair out, gesturing for you to take a set in the iron chair before him.

As you moved toward him, you paused, “Did you have plans to meet somebody? I don’t want to intrude…”

Cassian shook his head furiously, dark strands of hair getting caught in the wind. “Absolutely not, (Y/N),” he reassured, silently praying to the Mother that none of his friends would show up to ruin that moment for him. You smiled in response, graciously taking the seat, watching as he occupied the one across from you.

But there, right behind your back, Azriel stood on the bridge over the river, throwing up an impolite gesture at his brother as he turned on his heel, left to fend lunch for himself.

Part II here!

#cassian #acotar #acosf #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian fanfiction #cassian/you #acotar fanfic #fanfiction

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