#Lord Devlon

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lord Devlon x Illyrian!reader: Give Me What I Want.[*]

A/N: I thank you so deeply for making this request and opening my eyes to this male, oml—

Warnings: slight brat taming (woah!), wing play, dom/sub dynamics (kinda)

Arms fly over his shoulders, gripping to steady yourself as you jerk your knee upward, aiming at the soft organ between his legs.

A low snarl rips from his chest, a broad, calloused palm biting into your thigh, keeping you from slamming it home. He twists your leg to the side, pulling it up over his hip, stepping into you so you’re tipping backward—forced to desperately cling to him to keep from falling to the kitchen floor.

“Let me go, brute,” you hiss, digging your nails into the muscle cording his shoulders, hanging from his strength. “I would sooner sleep outside this winter than visit your blasted brother again. He makes a pass at me every time you look away.”

“If you’d stop seducing him with those eyes of yours, there wouldn’t be a problem,” he growls, free arm wrapping around your waist, keeping you within his warmth. “I can’t take you anywhere without something happening.”

“You’re putting this on me?” You snarl, arms aching from holding him so tight, having spent the afternoon drying the various pots and pans from lunch, then immediately switching to preparing dinner, which is laying untouched atop the table. “Don’t you feel any sense of protection for your wife? Your own brother is trying to steal me out from right beneath your nose, ‘Lo. Aren’t you embarrassed? Ashamed? I’m not some common whore to be traded about, no matter how you like to say so.”

Rough fingertips splay across your ribs, skating beside your breast, possessively. “He knows what would happen to him if he so much as touched something of mine. If advances have been made, you have only yourself to blame, temptress that you are.”

“That’s your answer?” You hiss. “That it’s my fault your brother keeps trying to take liberties with me? You should train your dogs better.”

Devlon growls in warning. “He is my brother, and you will show him the respect he deserves. He is a fully fledged warrior, and you will do well to treat him as one.” He pulls you tighter to his body, your back straining with the curve, gritting your teeth against the ache. “Or do I need to remind you of your placement in this world?” You snarl your disagreement, hands raising to the thick, dark locks of his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. “I will submit to my husband, and my husband only. If you know so thoroughly that I am yours, why tolerate any other male attempting to put his hands on me. Do you have no sense of possession? As your wife, I would expect more aggression from you, but clearly this brother of yours has something over you if you’re at his mercy—”

“I will not have you sewing discord within my family, witch.” Lip curls at the title, hands lowering from his hair, trailing down his back, just grazing the great wings—

The second you do, Illyrian instinct kicks in, and he goes for the throat. Muscle tenses, then you turn soft and pliable in his arms. Calloused fingers stroke over the sensitive skin placatingly, as if calming a beast through scratching behind its ears. Heat flushes your cheeks, legs trembling, arms turning weak and limp as the stimulation settles in the pit of your belly.

“Don’t… Quit it, ‘Lo,” you pant, shooting him a scathing glare. He can’t just do this every time you have an argument. And yet it always seems to end with you flipped on your back, a larger pair of wings hiding you from the world, your fingers running through his hair while his hips grind against your own.

Hands fall away from his wings, instead pulling to your chest, attempting to squirm out of his dominating hold, feeling all of a sudden as though his hands are all over your body, touching the curve of your hip, the softness of your waist, the hollow of your throat. “We aren’t done with this argument,” you manage, heat already pounding between your legs.

“Argument?” He pulls you tighter to his chest, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you speak of a children’s sparring match like it’s a war.”

Grit your teeth. “Stop infantilising me. You don’t give me proper attention, or the topics I bring up. A good husband listens to his wife.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says dismissively, though his hands have slowed on your wings. You’re grateful for the reprieve.

“You’re being dense,” you snap, regaining enough to control to steady yourself with the one leg that’s still planted on the floor. “I would’ve though as warlord you would understand when to pick your battles—you’re always saying that makes a good warrior.”

“You think we were battling?” He sneers, pulling your thigh tighter over his hip. “You’d be on the floor painted black and blue if we were.”

“This house is my battle ground,” you hiss sharply, anger flaring in your blood at the nonchalance he spoke about hurting you with. “As your wife, home and family are my designated areas. You don’t hear me asking what you spoke about during those meetings of yours, because I know my place. And I don’t expect your help in the kitchen other than perhaps giving me coin to buy the necessary materials, because that isn’t your place. Your brother’s actions are an attack on our family, and as a relatively dignified male, I expect you to defend it.” You finish, keeping your attention locked with his sharp hazel eyes.

Dark brows furrow as his attention pierces into you, the edges of his mouth twisted in an almost permanent frown. You fight to keep from shifting in his hold as he judges your points.

“Unnervingly sound reasoning, as usual,” he mutters, relenting at last. Lips quirk in triumph, making him shoot you a dark glance, fingers biting into your thigh. “I suppose it’s not acceptable for him to put his hands on my wife, even if provoked.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you snap, heat finally receding enough for you to be rational. “Where did that idea even come from? I’ve been nothing but loyal to you.” He snarls roughly at that, hips pressing into your abdomen. “Don’t lie to me, wife. Do you even understand the strain you put on me to resist taking you before our wedding night?”

Lips part as heat flows between you, something hard and stiff pressing into you, the shape of his arousal more prominent that it was before. “What are you talking about?” You breathe, his mouth poised to devour your own. A muscle feathers in his jaw, and you can feel the strength contained within his warrior’s body seeping into your own. “You know what I’m talking about,” he growls. “You are female. You should hold no power over me.”

You can do nothing but stare up into his hazel eyes, two siphons glittering on either shoulder, blazing storm-cloud grey. “And yet every day drove me deeper into madness. Every day I was denied you, deprived of you.” Lips brush over your own, a roughened promise whispered in secret. “I could have killed on our wedding day, with how intense that strain was.”

He had seemed ill-tempered—you’d assumed he was simply innately miserable, rather than it being out of impatience. “‘Lo…” you plead, softly, breathlessly.

“It should not be me that feels that way alone,” he growls, hand sliding up between your wings, your spine arching. “I should not be the one subject to you.”

“Yet here you are,” you manage, wishing he would shut up and put his mouth over your own already. He snarls, silencing you. “Can you even comprehend the need I have for you? Understand a fraction of the longing I feel for you? How my bones groan to have you near?”

The world around him falls away, negative space. “Show me,” you breathe, “show me.”

Hot lips press over your own, hand releasing your leg in favour of sliding beneath your ass, hauling you upward. Thighs wrap tight around his hips, your hands cupping his jaw as he groans up into the kiss, head tipped back to go deeper. Fingers thread through the thickness of his dark hair, rolling your hips against him, hands dipping lower. Skating over his shoulders, down his back.

He snarls into your mouth as your nails graze the base of his wings, the tendons shuddering beneath the feather-light touch. His hold loosens, allowing you to slide down a little, his arousal pressing flush to your centre. Hips buck as you attach your mouth to his neck, your Lord stalking from the kitchen, prowling through your house so he can bed you. Teeth scrape over a pulse point, hands squeezing your ass in response, shifting you in his arms so your centre rubs over him.

Forearm slides beneath you, hand gripping the nape of your neck, unlatching your mouth from his throat. Siphons burn the colour of thunder-clouds, hazel sharp as it pierces into you. “Hands and knees,” he grits out. “On the double.”

Neither of you dare waste a second. The moment he releases you, ties are loosened, clothes are strewn across the floor, wings flare for balance as you’re practically shoved onto the bed. Feel the heavy weight of his cock between your legs, one arm sliding down your front, calloused fingers plying you apart enough so you’ll be able to take him. “‘Lo, please…” you pant, tightening around his digits as they slide in and out, curling softly against spots he knows you like.

Pleasure weakens your muscles, lowering onto your forearms, wings twitching near their tips, shuddering as heat pulses between your legs. “I need you relaxed,” he grits out, your spine curving at the rough drag of the syllables. “I am relaxed,” you pant, “do it.”

Your Lord curses under his breath, then pulls away; you whine at the emptiness. It’s transformed into a moan when the tip of his cock presses to your entrance instead, poised to fill you up—if he would just push his hips forward. You hiss, telling him to get on with it, but he only slides in the first inch or so, nowhere near enough yet. “What are you doing?” You manage breathlessly, attempting to shift to peer at him, but he holds you still.

“Do you feel how badly you want that?” He growls, pulling out a little more. You could scream at him to slam in, but it won’t get you anywhere, so you nod your head instead, choosing compliance over disobedience. “Imagine constantly feeling that need every time someone so much as walked in the same room as you. Do you see how cruel you were?” A moan slips from your lips, his hand rising from between your legs to grip your breast, thumbing at the sensitive peak of your nipple. “I’m sorry, ‘Lo,” you pant, practically trembling beneath his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“I bet you’re fucking sorry,” he snarls. “Not so nice being on the receiving end, is it?”

Swallow thickly, heartbeat spiking at the vulgar language. “Please, ‘Lo. Please, I need you.” Fingers pinch the sensitive skin. “Of course you do.”

Then he slides in, and you’re pressed forward, making room for him until his hips are tight against the backs of your thighs. Eyes roll with pleasure, harsh pants of relieve spilling from your lips as you clamp down on him. Words blur and fumble, a strange mesh of pleading sounds pouring into the air, the duvet doing nothing to muffle them. “That’s better,” he groans, drawing his hips back in favour of slamming in. You cry out, pleasure rocking your mind as he sets a punishing pace, hips smacking against your thighs, cock touching those previously stimulated spots, having you tighten around him.

Canines scrape over the junction of your neck and shoulder, finding the part he likes, where you’ll struggle to conceal the mark. Teeth bite down and you moan, wings fluttering in pleasure as he presses against them, pinning them to your back. Vision blurs with the stimulation, tears brimming along your lashes, bursting with the need to have him this deep inside you at all times, to be so utterly and completely full there’s hardly room for breath.

Your husband pulls away, gripping you by the hips, slamming you back against him in time with the rough pace he’s chosen. Cries spill helplessly from your chest as he puts his weight behind each thrust, grinding his hips against you so he’ll touch more of the lovely, mouth-watering places inside you. You try to cover your mouth but he’s having none of it, one hand fisting in your hair as he tugs you upright, forcing your spine to curve to his will as he pounds into you.

Waves of dizzying pleasure crest over your skin, a scream whimpering from your mouth as you flutter around his cock, sending him over the edge. He snarls as it hits him, release spurting into you, feeling the thick liquid spill deep inside, filling you up and stuffing you full. Eyes slide shut, pushing tears down your cheeks while muscles spasm from overstimulation. The last waves finish, and his grip loosens on you, allowing you to collapse down into the mattress, exhausted.

The bed dips to your left as he settles beside you, one great wing splaying across your back, tucking you beneath it. Take your time to regain your strength, before rolling closer, your own wings folding to allow you to press into the sturdy heat of his side. “What about supper?” You question quietly, eyes still shut as you bask in the aftermath. He grunts noncommittally. “We can eat later.”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, hunger beginning to make an appearance now your mind is unoccupied. You groan, brows narrowing into a frown before you sigh, making to push up from the bed. His wing presses you down, keeping you laying comfortably on your front. “I’ll get it,” he mutters, standing and moving to kitchen.

When he returns, you’ve burrowed under the covers, closer to his side than your own, eyes shut, breathing deep and even. He rolls his eyes, setting the plates down on the tables either side your large bed.

You’ll wake up in an hour or so, once you’re sufficiently rested.

Then it’ll be time for round two.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

#Lord Devlon #Lord Devlon x reader #Devlon x reader #Lord Devlon x yn #Devlon x yn #Lord Devlon smut #Devlon smut #Lord Devlon x reader smut #x Illyrian!reader #Lord Devlon x Illyrian!reader #acotar #acosf #Illyrian war camp

[nattblacklupin]

Fierce protector

Pairing: Lord Devlon x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, illyrian soilders inappropriately touching reader (nothing too intense), fighting? (Not really, but still), kinda suggestive at the end but no smut

Summary: Lord Devlon protects his mate no matter what

Masterlist

Everyone in Windhaven was scared of Lord Devlon, one wrong move or word, and he will destroy you the next training. He was especially fierce about training the women in the camp, his mate helped him realise they could be good and useful fighters too. Now it takes one bad word about any woman in the camp, and you got it. Training or, in worst case, punishment that will surely teach everyone their place.

Today was one of these days, and Devlon wasn't letting them go easy today. They spoke too openly about his mate. They should be glad he didn't kill them. Just the thought of yesterday events was making him see red.

He was waiting for his mate to finish her shift in the pub. He told her uncountable times she didn't have to work and that he will take care of her, but she refused every time. Devlon wasn't happy about it, but if his mate wishes to work, he will have it and respect it. His mate matters to him the most and if he has to stay in her pub whole shift just to scare of drunk horny warriors then let it be like that, anything just too see her smile at the end of the day.

Today started as a normal night for both of them. Y/N made sure everyone got their drinks while he was making sure she is alright. The men can get quite handsy, which he totally won't tolerate, not with any woman and totally not with his mate.

"Hello pretty, could you please give us three shots?" One of the soilders yelled at you. He immediately turned to them. It's not something new that men compliment you. He himself does that nearly every day. But he was keeping eye on them. Young warriors often didn't know when to keep their mouth shut. Their table was close to Devlon, so no word that left they shameful mouth didn't miss him. He was still left with a cold mind. Let them fantasise. You would never even get close to them in that way.

You were used to drunk men, their words just pointless part in your night. Their order was quickly done, and you started walking to their table. On your way, you shot Devlon quick smile. You missed him - like it isn't only half an hour since you last kissed him.

Everything was going smoothly, and they didn't do anything stupid till you were leaving them to take care of other orders. One of them whistled and slapped your ass. In a second, his hand was grabbed by your mate, and the soilder was on the ground.

"You wanna try that again?" Devlon growed at him. How dares he touch his mate like that? Only he can do that. The illyrian soldier was nearly peeing his pants while begging for forgiveness. Devlon didn't see through his anger, all his instincts were screaming at him to protect mate and kill any potentional threat to her.

,,Devlon, love, let him go. You can punish him on the training tomorrow. But don't let him destroy the night today. " You knew how to calm down your husband. These little angry scenes were nearly on a daily routine. Devlon could control himself, just not when it came to you, his only weakness.

,,let's go home, love. " you said and took his hand to slowly lead him away from the soilder. He luckily did let go, and his hand went around your waist. ,,talk to my mate like that one more time, and I will literally kill you." He was dead serious when he said that ,,that goes for all of you."

You quickly nodded at your coworker so they knew you were leaving. Everyone was probably happy that you decided to leave sooner, and they didn't have to deal with their angry commander.

The moment you left the pub, you kissed him. The kiss was fast and heated. Nothing sweet about it, but at the moment, you knew that Devlon needed to calm himself somehow, with what you will gladly help him further at home. Your lips left his, and you looked up to smile at him.

,,my fierce protector."

#devlon x reader #acotar x reader #lord devlon x reader #devlon x y/n #lord devlon x y/n #acotar x y/n #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #lord devlon

[mischiefmanagers]

I think I just entered my Lord Devlon era so apologies in advance 🫡

#lord devlon #lord devlon x reader #devlon x reader #devlon acotar #lord devlon x OC #devlon x oc #acosf #devlon #pb speaks

[shallyne]

SJM game: Chased by...

A generator chooses a Villain that chases you and 10 characters that get split into 2 groups who could defend you. You can only choose one of the groups to defend you.

You are getting chased by Maeve

Group 1:

Azriel, Clare Beddor, Lord Devlon, Drakon, Einar (Autumn King)

Group 2:

Hunt, Declan, Bryaxis, Duke Perrington, Aedion

All characters are randomized, I did not choose them specifically. Just added their names to the generator. Round 2 because I added characters of the sjm universe

#sjmass #sjm books #sjm multiverse #sjm #SJM game #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #throne of glass #Crescent city #azriel #Clare Beddor #Lord Devlon #drakon #autumn king einar #hunt athalar #declan emmet #bryaxis #Duke Perrington #aedion ashryver #acotar memes #Acotar game #tog memes #Tog game #Crescent city game #Crescent city memes #CC memes #CC game

[lordofhaterism]

Thinking abt Illyrians and their nobility btw. What is that like?

#like they have lords and princes like whats the structure here #is devlon top dog after cassian #i have questions

[utterlyazriel]

love will unravel me (so please keep your hands held tight)

sorry if ur seeing this twice !! i am a finicky gal and was tooo sad it didn't appear in the tags so forgive me for the repost <3 it's good ol' hurt/comfort

It's unnerving.

To know something is somehow... wrong and yet, not be able to put your finger on it. Something being off.

There had been something off since your return from the Illyrian Mountains. Like a scar you hadn't ever remembered getting, like a lump in your bed that hadn't been there before.

You had returned to the Night Court only the night before, far later than expected. It had been near twilight, yourself kept late in the war-camps dealing with the unpleasant likes of Lord Devlon. All you wanted to do was to crawl into your waiting bed.

But your bed wasn't empty.

The perfect shape of your mate, tucked beneath the blankets, is one you could recognize in the dark. Even then, you had felt the strange difference — a tickle along the nape of your neck, enough to make you shiver.

Drained of your energy, you carelessly ignore it. Chalk it up to the bad feeling you got every time you went back to those gods forsaken war-camps.

Beyond their terrible ways and nearly tyrannical leaders, your own mate's history there was enough to make you want to burn it to the ground. To scorch and salt the Earth so nothing could grow there for a hundred years as proof of the pain.

So, feeling weary, you crawl into your bed. Your eyes find Azriel sleeping beside you, silent as always, and you trace the delicate features of his face in the dark. Even in his sleep, his shadows, lazy and slow, greet you as a slumber begins to wash over you. The lull of dreams comes quick.

As does morning. But come morning, Azriel isn't there.

Not the most unexpected thing; there were early morning trainings frequently enough. However, Azriel loathed each time you were sent to monitor over those war-camps. He bristled silently each time you left and rejoiced in that quiet, tender way he did best when you came back home to him. A mission in Illyria usually guaranteed a morning in bed with your lover.

Today, the sheets are cold.

You frown as you push yourself up, the sheets pooling at your waist. Faintly, at the back of your neck, you feel it once again. The tickle. Frown deepening, you reached your hand up to scratch at the back of your neck absentmindedly. Your eyes fall on the door.

Like a mystical tug, you feel compelled to search for the Shadowsinger — slipping out of bed silently, the tiled floor is warm from the morning sun beneath your feet. You pull the door open an inch, wondering just where your mate has ambled off to this morning.

As you step through the door, drawn by your mysterious compulsion, you don't turn back to check behind you.

And even if you had, your eyes would glaze over the large Illyrian, still bundled up in your sheets, turning over in his sleep.

—

You find Azriel out on the balcony, not in training as you had suspected.

He's facing out towards the city, his hands braced on the marble, his strong wings held proudly behind him. Interestingly, his shadows have forgone him this morning. Not one of them is in sight. You sidle up to him, feeling more yourself already just seeing him.

"Abandoning me in bed this morning?" You begin, playfully. You reach out to loop a hand through his arm. "I thought you had promised me—"

Your words come to an abrupt halt as Azriel shifts before you can touch him, his arm pulled out of reach.

In fact, as he notices your presence and turns to you, he takes an entire step backward. His handsome face screws up, a frown set on his brow.

"Don't." He says severely.

Your chest pangs with hurt. Your eyebrows crowd together in your confusion, concern beginning to melt into your blood.

"Az?" You say tentatively. You want to step closer to him, to cradle his face in your hands like you do whenever he has that crushed expression on — but a greater part of you fears he may retreat from you again.

"Don't call me that." He say, voice lower. His head dips, turned away from you to hide his face. Your concern swells, a thousand alarms ringing inside your mind. The back of your neck tickles again.

"Azriel," You try again desperately, fighting to keep your voice even. "What happened? What's going on?"

Confusion paints every thought in your mind as it whirls and searches, hunting desperately for the cause of your mate's sudden iciness. Was it something you had done? Was it taking another mission to a place you knew he so despised you going to?

The Fae before you doesn't say a word.

"Azriel," His name comes out a plea, unable to help yourself. It only scratches deeper into your soul when he maneuvers again, quicker than you, purposefully evading your touch.

"Stop." He instructs, the word nearly a growl. His voice is alike to the bark he uses for talking down to unruly war-camp Lords. It's nothing like the soft, sweet tone you're so accustomed to. It makes his words sting even more. "Your touch disgusts me."

You reel back at his words, a sharp inhale shooting to your lungs. What? You could feel your mouth opening and closing, no words coming to fruition. Behind your eyes, you can feel the itch beginning. You will your tears away, confusion still the dominant emotion swirling inside.

"I—" You stammer. "I don't understand."

Azriel snorts, unamused. He crosses his arms across his broad chest, looking more intimidating than usual as he draws to his full height. He keeps his eyes on the ground but the expression on his face looks... bored.

"I've had a revelation."

Another ache resounds through your chest. Why is he being so cryptic? Since when... had disgust been something Azriel had ever associated with you? You shiver at the prickle that rolls down your neck. It's as though you had gone to bed and your mate had been switched in the night.

"Az, you're scaring—"

"Stop calling me that." He snarls, interrupting you. You jolt in surprise, your feet taking a step back. With the way he's leering over you, a hint of anger —anger you've never seen directed at you before— creeping into his face, something akin to fear grows within you.

Azriel is stronger than you and far more deadly. A fact that usually provides comfort, for the first time, only grows your unease.

"Don't you want to hear my revelation?" He asks, his growl barely reined in. He smiles down at you but it's not soft in the way you know. It's cruel.

You take a step back. Something is wrong— terribly, entirely and utterly wrong with the love of your life. Panic begins to bubble up, like waters rising in a sinking ship.

You need to find someone else. You need Cassian, need Rhys, need anyone else here to help because you are the worst person to help. Every word he says cuts deep to bone. You can feel your heart bleeding within your chest.

It has to be a trick.

That was all you could think. Your mind was stumbling over the sentence over and over, almost delirious in how it clung to the thought tightly. It must, it must —you hoped it was. Begged it to be.

You take another step back, ready to dash through the house and call for help — but Azriel takes another step toward you. Your fear spikes, looking up his snarled face, the power within him radiating off in waves.

"I came to realise that I don't—"

"—y/n?"

A voice cuts in. There's someone else on the balcony with you. Thank the Mother, you think to yourself, whipping around to find Cassian in the doorway. He's got a furrow in his brown, concern written all over his expression.

"Cassian," You breath his name in a sigh of relief. You step back again, hyper aware of how Azriel seems to take the exact same amount of steps as you, following you to the door. Your panic flares away, your breaths coming fast and short.

"Cassian, thank gods—" You begin.

"What's happening?" He interrupts urgently. His eyes are on you alone, never flickering across to Azriel out on the balcony. "Why are you— did you have another nightmare?"

"Nightmare?" You repeat, eyes wide as you stare at him in concerned bewilderment.

You're about to point out the very large intimidating Male staring you both down when Azriel speaks again.

"I said," He drawls out the word and your head snaps back to look at him. You fail to notice that Cassian doesn't even turn at all.

"I've had a revelation, my dear."

It all sounds so terribly sarcastic, such a far cry from your stoic, sincere mate. You cringe, already feeling how his next words will be made cut you down.

"I don't want you anymore."

"—what can you see?—" Cassian's voice speaks from beside you, fuzzy and out of focus. You stare at Azriel, your heart beginning to hum and fizzle, a thousand fissures breaking upon the surface.

An anguish so deep in your bones rattles through your body — and across the House of Wind, your real mate wakes up with a gasp at the feel of it.

"What?" You croak, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel.

You can feel Cassian's hands on your shoulder, shaking you, but you can't— you won't look away. Something deep within you compels you to watch him break your heart and shred your soul. The back of your neck singes with heat.

"—What is it you're seeing?!—" Cassian's voice dips in and out. His hand sweeps your hair back, looking for any ailments causing this. He finds it in an instant. "Holy Cauldron, your neck. Oh, that's so not good. Rhys!"

He bellows for the Highlord right as Azriel, the real Azriel, bursts in through the door — following the taut agonizing pain in his chest, that connects you two together. His eyes snag on you and Cassian, out on the balcony, and his brother turns to him but you do not.

"Azriel," Cassian warns. "It's a Vesania Sigil."

Azriel pays him no heed, even as the words echo through him with a darkened dread. His stomach turns, bile threatening.

A Vesania Sigil— his knees nearly threaten to buckle beneath him.

A Vesania Sigil is a sinister curse, placed on people to drive them to the brink of insanity, minds scrambled to exhaustion.

In all the times Azriel has seen them in his long lifetime... they have all been on dead Fae, driven to the point of taking their own life. His shadows burst into a frenzied storm.

Your eyes are fixed somewhere out of the balcony, a glaze to them that tells Azriel you're seeing something different than he can. Softly, as gently as he can, he strides out and Cassian steps back to let him. Azriel steps down onto the balcony beside you, slowly, delicately reaching out to touch you.

You startle, head snapping around to see who's touched you. Except when you drag your gaze up and meet his face, you flinch hard. Azriel feels misery twist deep into his heart, some buried fear within him coming true before his eyes.

You take a step back, stumbling as you do. Then your head turns back out to the balcony—then back to him, back and forth.

"W—What?" You stammer out.

It takes Azriel only one second to realise why, and to feel the agony as he does; you're seeing double.

When you had said he's everything to you, you had truly meant it. He is both your greatest love and... your greatest fear.

Azriel can feel Rhys' arrival somewhere behind him, can even hear Cassian's concerned voice filling him in but his entire focus is locked onto you. You've stumbled back again, falling painfully on your backside, barely catching yourself on your hands but something— someone on the balcony keeps frightening you.

Something in Azriel screams; how can he fight an enemy he cannot see or touch?

He's on his knees before you in an instant. You're beginning to tremble, silent tears on your cheeks and Azriel's heart wails as you look upon him with a face for a fear. He can't tell what you're seeing but he just needs you to see him.

"My love," He says, voice quiet as to not spook you. You whimper at his words and something shrivels up inside Azriel's chest. He continues, noting how your eyes flick rapidly between his face and something over his shoulder. You shuffle back, too hesitant to trust him.

"My love, my moon," He murmurs, gently reaching out for you. His shadows zip forward, soothing along your skin. You flinch back again but Azriel holds strong, nudging forward until he's touching your skin.

You wince and screw your eyes closed and Azriel can feel the fear, the tormented pain that pours down the bond. He can see it now, this close, the seal that's burning against the skin of your neck. A fiercely protectiveness anger burns in his gut and he vows to tear apart whoever did this to you, limb by limb.

"I don't know what you can see," He say, soft as he can. He lifts his other hand and cradles the other side of your face. Your eyes peek open. "But it's not true. None of it."

Your lips are quivering, lashes sparkling with how they catch your tears. Azriel feels sick to his stomach again; he could do a thousand battles with countless weapons but this is something he's entirely powerless against.

"Azriel," Rhys speaks up from behind, voice cautious. Azriel ignores him, his thumbs stroking softly over your face.

"It's not real." He says with more urgency. Your eyes dart over his shoulder again and a whimper slips out your throat, your body tensing. Real, raw pain scratches it's way down the bond.

"Azriel, I can get it off her." Rhys voice again. "You just need to keep her still."

Azriel nods, but doesn't turn, doesn't take his eyes off you for a single moment. His heart squeezes and cracks, a thousand shards littered through his ribcage when you finally speak. Your glassy eyes have lost a little of their glaze, fixed on your mate in front of you with a desperate plea.

"He—" You begin, sucking in a harsh breath. Your breathing is too fast, your heartbeat too. "It- it fucking—it looks just like you."

"It's not." Azriel assures in an instant. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours, trying to be the picture of calm for you even as his heart warbles in agony at your pain. "It's not me."

Your eyes shift over his shoulder again and Azriel moves this time, blocking your view. "Don't. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me."

Silently, Rhys kneels at your side, his violet eyes blazing where they’re fixed on your neck. Undoubtedly, this was not such a personal attack but something to harm the inner circle. As darkness begins to swirl from Rhys' fingers, orbiting the sigil, you begin crying again, fresh tears spilling down your chests as little gasps wrack your frame.

"It—" You gasp, suddenly focusing desperately on Azriel now that you know who's who. "It— gods, it sounds so much like you."

"It might, but it isn't me." Azriel promises. He aches when your hands suddenly shoot up, eyes screwed shut as you clamp your hands down over your ears — like whatever you could hear was causing you physical pain. Rhys mutters something under his breath, his hands still working.

"Eyes on me.” Azriel urges, knowing you can hear him. You whimper and pitch forward, forehead bowing to your knees. His hands fall away as your head begins to give tiny shakes, side to side. His shadows swarm your shoulders, unsure how to help.

“Don’t—“ For the first time, Azriel’s voice falters with a wobble. He tries not to think of the countless warriors who have fallen beneath a sigil this strong and mentally roars at Rhys to move faster. “Listen to me, my love. Listen, listen to my voice, please.”

Your breathes are ragged, staggering inhales as you press your head between your knees. You entire body shakes and Azriel dares to steal a glimpse at the back of your neck — the intricate rune imprinted on your skin shimmering black as it slowly seals.

"Keep," Rhys grits out, his concentration still focused on his power. "her still."

Azriel's hands dart out, already apologising at how he has to force your head out of hiding. You gasp and sob, pulling back to resist but Azriel holds tight, his hands holding your face as tenderly as he can.

He pushes forward, crowding in, until his forehead rests against yours. He summons everything he can within himself, every ounce of devotion he holds for you and send its down the thread in his chest til everything burns white hot.

"Look at me, my love. Show me your eyes. Listen to my voice." Once the silent stoic type, Azriel lets everything that comes to mind fall out his mouth.

Your eyes crease open, flush with tears, and you shudder against him but Azriel feels it. The push back. The press of your skin against his, trying to get closer, trying to get to safety. Rhys curses for a moment, his dark magic still swirling and Azriel resists every urge to howl at him to hurry.

"Tellmetellmetellmetellme," You chant in a whisper, half delirious. You're flicking between his hazel eyes, your hands still half over your ears, body still wracked with quivers.

Tell me. Azriel's soul feels marred at the reveal of what is taunting you and he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, drawing your attention to him.

"I love you," He says, voice sounding close to wrecked. "I love you and you're mine. I'm yours and you're mine."

You shudder violently, eyes crushing closed, right as Rhys pulls away with an exhausted sigh. It's gone. Azriel hears Rhys' voice in his mind but it's not even needed — not with the way you suddenly slump forward into him, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"It's okay, it's gone," Azriel murmurs lowly, gathering you up in his arms as much as he can. He can feel your body shaking against him, sobs still forcing their way up your throat. His wings wrap around you, an inky cocoon of safety, sealing you off from the world.

"It's gone," He repeats, his arms circling around you. He can feel the pitter-patter of your rabbiting heart, feel the remains of fear that hang around your system. Every cell in his body yearns at this injustice, the fabric of the mating bond sending his protectiveness into overdrive. But more than the urge to hunt and maim whoever harmed you is the overwhelming need to make sure you're safe.

"You're safe now, I swear. It wasn't real." His assurances continue softly, his body instinctively beginning a slow rock to soothe you. You sobs slow to cries, your hands twisted tightly into his sleep-shirt. "I love you. I love you."

By the time your breathing evens out and your hiccuping cries slow, it's some time later. Your face has been buried in Azriel's chest and when you finally dig it out, Azriel's heart disintegrates once more at your blotty skin, your tired eyes.

You don't even have to ask.

"Vesania Sigil." He says quietly, hazel eyes burning into your face.

You can feel his writhing worry through the bond, like a caged tiger, fiery hot and licking at your heels. You give a little sniffle. Open your mouth to speak and find not one word in your throat.

Azriel's moving deftly before you can think, his strong arm looping beneath your knees to scoop up you against his chest. You let yourself be coddled, thankful to the way he curls himself around you entirely, wings hiding your view — only a flash on the ceiling to be seen. You're not sure you can face the others just yet.

The door your bedroom opens as he nears and Azriel kneels on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs maneuvering you both up til he's rested up against the headboard. Pure exhaustion like nothing you've felt before creeps up from within you.

Yet even so, you feel your heart twinge. It's been chafed raw today. Your hands slither and squirm, til they're wrapped tight around Azriel's middle and he hums protectively, his wing draping over you like a blanket.

For a moment, there is only weary, tired silence.

"Tell me?" You ask in a whisper, your voice so, so small. Azriel aches at the pain in your voice, sending every assurance down the golden thread between you.

"You're mine," He says, voice hushed and yet doused in his love.

"I'm yours." You echo, voice a little stronger than before. He can feel the way you tug on the bond, as if checking its still secure— still unbreakable. "And you're mine?"

Azriel folds himself even closer and tugs back on the bond strongly. His scarred hand glides up to bury itself in your hair, massaging slow and sweet. His nose nuzzles in against your hairline, his lips pressing a kiss wherever they find skin.

"And I'm yours." He agrees.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #praying 2 the tumblr gods.... put it in the tag pleek

[ellievickstar]

Bloodied Bonds

A/N: This was...fun. I wanted to fit it all into one part but it was getting too long sooooo yeah.....have fun :)

Summary: When hanahaki disease festers in your lungs, how will your family help you while you hide it from your mate?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Rhysand x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Elain slander, dying

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

There they were again.

Azriel smiled at Elain with those eyes…those eyes. And in your soul you felt the bond writhe with pain and clench in your chest. You remained still as you immediately brought your eyes to look at the ground beneath you. This hurt. This really hurt. A part of you wanted to deny it, wanted to believe that Azriel would remain faithful to you always, that he would stay true to the mating bond, something he desperately used to want before we got together.

Now, you were not so sure.

“Sweetheart…,” Cassian said from behind me, startling. He knew what you was seeing, saw it in his own brother’s eyes. Azriel may have always been a mystery to everyone else outside the inner circle, but his eyes — his beautiful hazel eyes — showed you everything you needed to know.

“I’m fine,” You waved Cassian off, bringing down shields on the bond, shutting out his emotions, the pain from it, and shutting yourself in as a stray tear slipped down your face, “I’m really fine,” You repeated.

Truth to be told, Cassian did not know what to say to you. After you had defended Azriel since you were kids, brought him to you and Rhysand’s mother, convinced her to take him in. Cassian did not know what could come over Azriel to internally betray you in this way. However as you began coughing Cassian was alarmed when you raced towards the kitchen sink and coughed out flower petals, one after another.

“What the hell-” He started, moving to pull back your hair as he observed what you had coughed out. Blood and petals coated the sink and as you choked them out one by one, slowly calming down, you waved your hand magicking it away. And it was then it hit him.

You were dying.

“Explain. Now.” He demanded. Looking away you mumbled.

“A few weeks ago after I first realised he loved her, I started coughing up flowers and my tears, my tears turned a gold colour. I asked Madja what was wrong. It’s a soul disease called hanahaki, caused by the betrayal of the heart and unrequited love. The tears were caused by the same thing, a unique symptom that is because of my magic due to being the High Lord’s sister. She said the flowers in my lungs will continue to grow until it suffocates me and I die. The star tears are just a symptom that causes physical pain, she doesn’t know if there will be any repercussions from it,” That’s all you managed to ramble out before you doubled over and heaved again, blood dripping out of your gaping mouth as you choked and coughed on the flower petals making their way up your throat.

Cassian was at a loss of words, on one hand he wanted to be angry, angry at you for keeping this from him, for not telling him sooner so he could beat the crap out of Azriel. On the other hand he was…devastated. You had always been like a sister to him, since he first met you as a kindred and fierce spirit when you were seven years old. The three of them had been twenty and Cassian had fell to his knees before the little girl with such a bright spirit, who dared to scream in Devlon’s face when he said females belonged in the kitchen.

Cassian had sworn to protect you.

And now, against a disease he felt helpless.

“Is there a cure?” He asked.

“Madja said there were two ways, either Azriel proves that he still loves me, which we both know won’t happen when he won’t stay away from Elain for more than a few hours, or I could have the flowers cut from their roots and removed, it’s a risky procedure and even successful all my feelings towards Azriel will be removed entirely, given the mating bond, she thinks it will be stripped from my soul. I….I wanted to wait.”

“So you either have your emotions robbed from you, make Azriel realise he’s an idiot, or die?”

You nod.

“Tell Azriel,” “I can’t!” You hissed, “We both know I can’t. He loves her, Cassian, I can feel it, I can see it, everytime he looks at her it’s like she’s the one who hung the stars and moon while when he looks at me that light dies!” You bang your fist on the table.

You point to where Azriel and Elain was far out in the gardens. His shadows no where to be seen, both blissfully unaware of what was going on inside with you and Cassian.

“He acts like she’s the one who went through countless of interrogation, of torture, when she got captured by enemies. He acts like she was the one who protected Velaris with Rhysand when she went under the mountain to be taken advantage of, when Amarantha held me down and tried to force answers out of me,” You let out another pained cry as you slid to the ground, “I have done everything for him, been through hell and back with him. And even after everything he still wants her, still wants to be with her, still doesn’t want me.”

Cassian brought you closer to him as he sat next to you and let you cry on his shoulder.

You cried and cried, and cried until there was nothing left. Cried until you couldn’t cry.

And when you finally fell asleep from exhaustion, Cassian glanced out the house to the gardens where his brother trailed Elain, and Cassian made a decision.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“You told my brother!?” You shrieked. Rhysand and Cassian was now sitting around you in Rhys’s study.

“You told Cassian before me?” Rhysand shot back. You rolled your eyes as you scoffed, “Oh please I didn’t tell him anything I was throwing up flowers in front of him, not much I could do except explain.”

Shaking his head, Rhys sighed as he glanced at Cassian and they both shared a look. Narrowing your eyes, the tendrils in your mind crept towards your brother and the general, and surprise coated your face when you realised they had shut you out.

“Let me remind you what I do is my choice.”

“Not when your life is at stake,” Rhysand retorted.

So he had decided something against your will already. Of course, your brother who wanted to help everyone, your brother who thought you were his responsibility, his burden to bear. Your brother who claimed to value your opinion oh so much but then never, not once, ever considered how you feel in anything that had to do with you.

“He doesn’t care. I haven’t even been actively hiding it from him, it’s just that he’s never around to notice,” You said bitterly, “Did you know he missed my birthday? You all did. Because usually he’s the one going around reminding everyone the week before. Did you know our anniversary passed and I had waited for him all day just to realise he was with her?” Stray tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to hold them back.

Crying meant that you were weak.

And you hated being weak.

That was when Cassian spoke, “Have Madja remove the flowers.”

Rhysand shot a look at him.

“She won’t survive otherwise. Even as we discuss this now she is running out of time, Rhys. Azriel’s infatuation with Elain is unforgivable and at least this way we can save her. Their relationship might never be the same but if Azriel is truly in love with Elain as she feels, then it is possible this way everyone wins.”

“I don’t want the male who almost killed my sister in my court,” Rhys bit out.

“Convincing Azriel that what he is doing is wrong will take too long. Maybe we should have interfered when it first started but now it’s too late. We can still save her, really save her. Not their relationship but at least she’ll live,” “And live with a bond that will eventually diminish into nothing?” “Maybe it’s better that way.”

Glancing between Cassian and your brother, your own inner turmoil seemed to be playing out in front of you as they discussed everything that you had not been able to come to terms with yourself. A part of you could still hardly believe that Azriel would do something like this, hurt you in this way when he himself swore that he would be loyal for eternity.

Mates.

A sacred connection that determined your equal, your partner in everything.

But your parents were mates too…and that did not work out well. So maybe it was time for you to let your mate go.

However, as you opened your mouth to agree with Cassian, to agree that maybe the best option would be to remove the flowers directly, the consequences of your feelings being stolen be damned, a cough climbed up your throat.

And as you coughed out bloody petals onto Rhysand’s office floor….everything went dark.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

It had all happened quickly, too quickly for Rhysand’s liking.

One moment he was debating with Cassian how they would save his sister’s life, the next moment as she was about to say something and he watched in horror as blood came out instead of words. Her eyes drooped and he raced to catch her from hitting her head on the hard wooden floors, and as his ears started ringing, holding his sister’s lifeless body in his arms, as he watched golden tears stream out of her eyes, he noticed there was someone screaming.

And it was not until his throat hurt, until his own throat burned, that he realised he was the one screaming, crying out loud for his sister who’s body seemed as lifeless as the one he had lost all those years ago.

“Get Madja!” He roared at Cassian, “Get her NOW!”

Less that a minute went by when Morrigan and Feyre came into the room, Feyre let out a horrified gasp as Mor took in the scene, freezing as she realised her cousin, her best friend, her only companion during the times after Eris and Keir, was in Rhysand’s arms, still and lifeless even as blood trickled out of her mouth and gold spilled form her closed eyelids.

Madja came shortly after, and Y/N’s body was moved to a different room for Madja to work, Cassian explaining what happened and the illness in Y/N’s body that was causing this. Morrigan took a few steps back, before she crashed into the wall of the hallway and let out her own sob.

And for the first time after Rhysand and Y/N had returned from the mountain, Morrigan wept.

Two days passed, and Y/N did not wake.

Madja estimated that they would have to make a decision within the week whether they would tell Azriel, or cut the flowers out.

And in those two days Azriel did not come.

It was only after Rhysand had asked him to meet, told him about Y/N did Azriel finally realised he had not seen his mate in days. That he had not even spent more than fifteen minutes with her in the past few months.

It was only after Rhysand said that Y/N was dying, did Azriel reach down the now cold and empty bond, and realise he had shut her out. And when he let his walls down, experienced the agony, the pain, the grief she felt even in her unconscious state, did Azriel regret.

“Why didn’t she tell me…” Azriel whispered.

“Because she heard you when I told you to stay away from Elain. I looked into her mind and I realised the day her disease started she went to find you, and you had been in my office, yelling at me that the cauldron had made a mistake, that you wanted Elain,” Rhysand laughed coldly. Even Rhys in all his beauty, his eyes were now red from sobbing, his voice hoarse from how he had cried, and cried.

“Good job, Azriel,” Cassian said from the doorway, “You got what you wanted. Your bond will no longer exist once she awakes…that’s if she survives even.”

“No….I don’t,” Azriel muttered, “Rhysand…what conversation?” Rhysand furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you really playing this game with me now? My sister is DYING! AND YOU WANT TO PRETEND LIKE YOU FORGOT WHAT YOU SAID!?”

Azriel’s eyes looked back and forth between his brother’s….when did he…when did he even get here?

Where was his mate?

Why did it feel like something just cleared from his head?

That was when Elain stepped in, holding a mug and what looked to be tea.

“Azriel, i heard your distress, drink this it will make you feel better,” She said softly, but as Rhysand’s eyes narrowed on the mug, it was Cassian who snatched it out of her hands, brought it to his eyes and shattered it on the already ruined hard wood floors.

“That was not just tea.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

And as Cassian lifted his head he declared, “As General of the Night court, I arrest you for illegal possession and use of aphrodisiacs. You are charged with attempted murder of the Princess of the Night Court. You are charged with manipulation and forced betrayal of the court’s spymaster,” And with a menacing grin Cassian said, “And you are charged because you bloody annoy me and you…what you have done today makes me want to rip you to shreds.”

A beat passed.

“That is….” Cassian continued as he glanced at Azriel, with each blink clarity seemed to return to the shadowsinger as he processed everything, as he remembered everything Elain made him do, as he remembered how he had hurt his mate, “That is if Azriel decides he doesn’t want to kill you first.”

Elain let out a scoff, looking down at the spilled tea and broken pieces of ceramic in disgust, “Azriel loves me. Azriel should love me not that disgusting slut of a female, she might be a princess but she is-,” “Mine.” Azriel interrupted.

“She was mine before you interfered. She was mine before you made me break her.” Azriel turned, no doubt to go find Y/N.

“Start counting your days, Elain, because now they are numbered.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Azriel taglist: @kemillyfreitas @going-through-shit @chessebookgirl

Part 2 coming.....tell me if you wanna be tagged :3

Love, Ellie.

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel acomaf #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #rhysand #cassian #morrigan #feyre #elain

[writeroutoftime]

pawns in your game

pairing: cassian x fem!reader

summary: when you get injured working a job with rhys, your mate - worried for your safety - loses it and finally lets go of his pent up anger

warnings: angst, injury towards reader, cass getting angry at rhys and also rhys kinda being a dick (look I have a lot of thoughts of conversations that never happened in acosf lol - I just hope this isn't horribly ooc)

words: 1.3k

a/n: first cassian fic! honestly, I know I said I'm in love with rhys, but it's the same for cass and az - so this one is for my fellow cassian people! wasn't sure how to wrap this up, so I left it open for a part 2. let me know if anyone is interested and/or has any ideas? but either way, please enjoy!! (also, if you could let me know what you think because I'm so nervous about posting this!)

tagging @captainsophiestark as requested! (hope you're having a lovely day!)

oOoOo

"Cassian, I need you to visit Windhaven and deal with Devlon. I'm getting reports of unrest, and I want this handled before it becomes a problem." Rhys commanded, not looking up from the papers on his desk.

Standing at attention, Cass nodded his head once, sharply. "Of course. I will go and pack, so that y/n and I may leave before the sun sets." He moved to exit the room, holding his hand out for you, but was quickly stopped before either of you got too far.

"Actually, y/n, I need you to accompany me." Rhys interrupted, directing his attention to you.

Your jaw dropped, caught off guard, and you hurried to school your features. It was not that you had to be paired with Cassian for all missions, but it had been that way for at least a century now since your mating ceremony. It served as peace of mind to you and Cass, and usually meant your missions were more successful compared to when you were separated. Surely, Rhys understood that.

"We will be leaving for the Spring Court in the morning, and I need my most trusted courtier with me."

Shock ran through your body, but you nodded your head regardless. It must be a serious matter, for you had not visited the Spring Court in many months. However, you instantly felt a sharp tug of your mating bond followed by waves of anger that poured off of Cassian.

"Spring Court?" he ground out, fists clenched at his side. "Why must you travel to the Spring Court? I thought we put that behind us?"

"Because I have official business to conduct with Tamlin that supersedes our personal desires. And I need the Night Court's courtier present for." Rhys snapped back.

You sent a soothing message down the bond, trying to calm Cass' anger you felt growing with each second that passed. "Cass, it's alright. Both of us will be fine."

"No. Rhys, you know what happened the last time any of us stepped foot there. You really want to risk it? Can't you send anyone else to go? Lucien, Mor, Feyre?"

Now it was Rhys' turn to growl. "Watch it, Cassian. I've told y/n she will accompany to Spring and that's enough."

"But can't you just-"

"I said that's enough!" Rhys shouted, his eyes darkened dangerously as the thread of his patience snapped. "I am your High Lord, and you will not push back against what I command."

A tension so thick that it threatened to choke you immediately filled the room. You kept your eyes locked on the ground, but you didn't have to look to know Cass wore a mask of despair on his face. It had been decades since Rhys had lost his temper like that.

Cassian merely bowed his head in mock respect before dragging you from the room. He did not speak for the next hour, only doing so to whisper his love and goodbye to you, before flying to Windhaven, not saying another word to Rhys.

oOoOo

The next day found yourself in the ruins of the Spring Court. What once was a beautiful court that thrived for all its citizens now lay dilapidated and lonely, a reflection of the court's high lord's own feelings. It had rattled your nerves to set foot on Tamlin's territory considering the rocky history between the Spring and Night courts, but you would not leave Rhys' side.

Now, you were utterly exhausted from mediating with two, stubborn males all day; only for no new development to transpire, meaning you simply wasted a day away from your own court and your mate. Your only relief came from the swift exit Rhys insisted on, making sure you would arrive home before the sun set.

Yet, the tension from the previous day lingered as you and Rhys traveled to the border to be able to winnow out. But as you both walked in silence, you couldn't help but feel uneasy. Like someone, or something was watching you. Before you could communicate any of this to Rhys, you caught a solider out of the corner of your eye with an arrow notched and aimed at your high lord.

"Look out!" you shouted. With such little warning, you knew Rhys wouldn't be able to deflect the arrow on his own. And with a rush of adrenaline, you pushed your body to reach Rhys.

Mere seconds before the arrow could lodge itself in its initial target, your body collided with Rhys', knocking him out of the way and safely to the ground. Instead, the arrow lodged itself deep in your shoulder, burning like a thousand fires. You let out a guttural scream, immediately dropping to the ground. 

Being part of the Inner Circle - the Court of Dreams - meant you were no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything you ever thought existed. Very briefly, you recognized that Rhys had neutralized the threat and now hovered over your body. 

His face was contorted in pain and tears clouded his eyes. He moved to pull the arrow from your body, but halted the moment he touched it. Your scream reverberated in the stone courtyard. 

"y/n, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he cried, never seeing you like this. Quickly, Rhys gathered you in his arms and winnowed back to Velaris and directly into the med wing. He prayed Madja could mend the wounds, and he blanched at the thought of Cassian discovering the events that had played out. 

oOoOo

Meanwhile, in the Windhaven camp, Cassian was meeting with a handful of males, attempting to negotiate peace. His focus wavered, however, as a blinding wave of agony struck his heart through his bond. He froze on the spot, his heart stopped pumping blood. While on a mission, the two of you had agreed to keep the bond closed - for safety reasons. The fact that he could feel this immense pain, meant something very wrong had occurred. 

"I-I have to go." Cassian mumbled, not bothering to offer any more explanation to the Illyrians - consequences be damned.

Immediately, he took to the skies and started the flight back to Velaris. The already long flight felt like it took an eternity. The wind strung at Cassian's cheeks as he soared, but the pain didn't register like the way the bond sung in pain.

Finally, Cass could see River House in his site, and when he finally entered the house, he was met with the site of his family huddled together in the sitting room. All eyes turned his way, a mixture of pity and concern as they looked at him. 

"What happened? Where is y/n?" he demanded, fully stepping into his role as Lord of Bloodshed, eyes darkened and wings drawn out menacingly.

Before anyone could answer, another scream could be heard from the halls. Cassian's knees buckled, and he would have fallen to the floor if Azriel hadn't been standing by. Rhys blocked his path, unable to meet his brother's eye.

"She was attacked, brother. We were ambushed while visiting the Spring Court." Rhys whispered.

"And they attacked her?" Cass questioned, though he knew deep down that wasn't the case. When Rhys, or anyone else for that matter, refused to speak, Cassian growled. "What happened?"

Unable to speak, Rhysand gently scraped against Cassian's mental shields and projected to him the whole truth of what had happened at the Spring Court; the ambush, you pushing yourself into harm's way for the sake of Rhys, and the pain you felt from the moment the arrow struck your body.

As Rhys withdrew himself from his brother's mind, Cass drew, deep rugged breaths. The silence in the room was so thick it felt suffocating, but no one dared to move or speak first. However, instead of speaking, Cass pushed past everyone and demanded his way into your room to be by your side.

One look at your crumpled form, sent Cassian to his knees by your bedside. He reached out, hesitantly, to grasp your hand in his and allowed the tears to fall. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart." he mumbled.

Madja made herself known from the corner, approaching Cass the way one would a frightened animal. "The arrow she was shot with was laced with a terrible poison - much worse than faebane. I've done my best, but some of the poison already made it to her system."

"When will she wake up?" Cass asked, not allowing the possibility of you never waking to cross his lips.

The healer sighed deeply, looking over the famed general, now brought to his knees at the sight of his mate fighting for her life. "Only the Cauldron and Mother know. It will be up to y/n to bring herself back from the brink." Madja spoke slowly.

With a final, soothing touch to Cass's shoulder, Madja made her exit. Now off to deliver the same news to the rest of your waiting family.

"Please don't leave me. Y-you can't leave me." Cass whispered, clutching your hand. "I'm here with you every step of the way." he vowed.

oOoOo

And that was how it continued for the next four days as your body continued to try and heal itself from the inside out. Cass refused to move from the chair he had dragged to sit by your bed. Unwilling to leave your side for even a moment.

The rest of his family took turns sitting with you and Cass, bringing him meals, forcing him to at least take a bite. He knew that everyone else was suffering as well from your situation, but it felt like his heart was being torn apart, bit by bit, with each hour that passed and you still remained asleep.

He wasn't stupid. He knew the longer you went without improvement, the less likely it became you would heal. Cass heard the hushed conversations Mor and Azriel held outside your door, discussing what to do should the worst happen, Cauldron forbid.

It was on that fourth day that Cassian reached a tipping point. He heard the door creak open behind him, imagining it was Amren who would be sitting with him, based on the previous days' schedule.

What Cass had not anticipated was to see his High Lord approach the bed and pull a chair up on the opposite side of your bed. It was obvious to see the prominent dark circles that overtook Rhys's normally bright face, and the way his body and seemingly sunk into itself. But Cass could not bring himself to care for his brother's guilt or be the first to utter a word.

With a wave of his hand, Rhys summoned a tray of food for Cassian, and only sighed when he rejected the peace offering. Finally, Rhys found a sliver of courage and was the first to break the silence.

"Madja has yet to make headway on identifying the poison y/n was hit with, but she is not giving up. None of us are." he offered, unsure of how to breach the subject.

Rhysand could only imagine what Cassian was experiencing. The pain of losing Feyre had been so immense, but in a twisted sense, at least it had been quick. A blink of an eye and she was gone. Rhys didn't think he would have been strong enough to sit vigil, feeling her fade through the bond with each passing minute.

"Stop looking at me like she's already gone." Cass growled, eyes darkening towards Rhys.

"Brother, I only want to help her, and to support you."

"I think you've done quite enough. It's your fault she's even in this position to begin with." he spat, enjoying the way that Rhys flinched at his words.

"Now that's not fair, Cassian." Rhys tried to counter. "I never asked her to that for me."

Cass could only scoff at the High Lord's response. "Of course, you didn't have to ask. You're the fucking High Lord, of course she was going to risk her life for you. Isn't that we all do here?"

"All of you, y/n including, knew what you were getting into, what the dangers were, when you swore allegiance to my court. You don't get to throw that back on me. You think this doesn't hurt me just as it hurts you?"

"No, it fucking doesn't!" Cassian screamed, his blood boiling at this point. "Because you use us like your puppets to protect you and your mate-"

"Careful how you continue, Cassian." Rhysand warned, not caring for slander against his mate, even in Cass's state of grief.

"Ever since this "death bargain" you and Feyre struck, it's like the rest of us don't matter. All we do is making sure your asses aren't killed because Cauldron forbid the saviors of Prythian are stolen from us." Cassian blazed on. "Yes, you've lost your mate before, Rhys, but she came back to you, and you to her.

"Who will remake y/n if she can't fight this? You and your High Lady are so far up on your pedestal that you don't know what it's like for the rest of us. Yes, we understood what our duties would entail, but that doesn't mean we have to continue to stand for this." Cassian spat, finally allowing years of pent-up fear and anger to spill over.

With one last, murderous, glare, Cassian turned his back on Rhysand, letting his words ring out for all in the House to hear. His wings stretched out behind him, hiding both you and he from Rhys, the Night Court, and the rest of the world. If it was to only be the two of you against everyone else from that point on, so be it.

part 2

oOoOo

a/n: part 2?

#cassian x reader #cassian imagine #actoar cassian x reader #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #rita writes

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

[hellsenthero]

Hot Under the Collar

Written by: hellsenthero

Azriel X Fem!Reader

A mandatory visit to the Illyrian war-camp takes a turn for the worst when three hot-headed males decide they want to send their High Lord a message.

Warnings/themes: Swearing, violence, blood, angst, fluff, sexist war camp.

MASTERLIST

-----

Azriel held you securely in his arms as he flew. The view of the trees and mountains was always breathtaking to you, so much so that you didn't mind the biting chill in the air that nipped at your hands and cheeks.

“I wish you could've stayed home.” Azriel spoke for the first time since you'd taken off from the House of Wind. It was a comment that had you peering up at him with furrowed brows.

“You don't want me with you?”

“God's no,” he breathed, his hazel eyes met yours and you could see the stress he was holding back. “Illyria is no place for females, Y/N, no place I want my mate near.”

“But you grew up there.” Azriel's hold on you tightened.

“Exactly.”

The rest of the flight to the war-camp was spent in silence. Azriel's Shadows twisted around the two of you in such an unsettled manner that you could practically taste his anxiety. When the camp came into view you gave Azriel a quick kiss on his cheek. “It'll be okay, Az, don't worry too much.”

You could feel the tension in the camp the second you landed. It had your nerves flaring like a spooked creature, but you knew as one of the Night Court's best healers you had a job to do here. Check the females, make sure their wings are intact, give them any remedies they require, be it for their cycles, pain relief, contraception, or anything else. Azriel was here to speak with Devlon to ensure he was sticking to the new training rules and as your protection as he all but refused to drop you off like Rhysand had originally suggested.

“Would you just drop Feyre off there and leave, Rhys?” Azriel had bit out when Rhysand called the meeting. Rhys looked pissed at just the thought of leaving his mate in the Illyrian war-camp.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then don't expect me to leave Y/N's side for a fucking second in that shit hole.”

“Shadowsinger,” Devlon greeted. His sharp eyes looked you over but he didn't bother to greet you. Azriel grit his teeth at the blatant disrespect towards his mate.

“Devlon,” Azriel said coolly, “this is Y/N, one of our Court's best healers,” he placed his left hand over his right, making sure his mating band was visible for Devlon and the other gathering fae. “She's also my mate. I expect there to be no issues with her checking on the health of the females here?” At the mention of mate the other fae backed up with wide steps, all but three males who stood side by side, glaring between the shadowsinger and you. You quickly committed their looks to memory before focusing back on Azriel. “We'll be staying at our usual cabin.” You caught Azriel saying.

“How long will you be staying?” Devlon asked.

You knew Azriel wanted to leave as soon as possible, but he instead answered with, “as long as it takes to ensure the females are healthy and cared for and that things are running smoothly.”

“We can care for our females ourselves.” Devlon bit out.

Azriel's hazel eyes narrowed. “You say that, but you've proven that to be untrue in the past.” Before Devlon could respond with a nasty remark of his own, Azriel slipped his arm behind your back and began leading you towards the cabin he more or less grew up in. “I'll meet with you just before dinner to go over specifics, Devlon.” Azriel called out without looking back.

“What a prick.” You hissed out as Azriel shut the cabin door behind the two of you.

Azriel let out a low hum of agreement. “He's the nicest male here.”

“I'll try to be quick,” you say in order to placate both him and yourself, “thorough, but quick.”

“Good,” Azriel breathed out.

—--

The next morning found you doing much the same as you had the evening before. Going cabin to cabin and checking on the females. You preferred to check on them in the comfort of their own homes, it made everyone more at ease and always allowed for the females to speak to you more freely about their health. By the afternoon you had to go back to your own cabin to make up more tonics for the female's cycles. You found out that when their cycle hit none of the males in the camp bothered to help get them soothing tonics for the pain they went through. Instead, they were told to deal with it.

With a grunt you slammed the cabin door shut out of anger as you got to brewing up more tonics. Azriel was in another meeting with Devlon and you were glad he wasn't there to see you fuming with anger. The treatment of the females in the camp made you want to scream and cry and you knew it would take a long while to decompress after leaving the Gods forsaken war-camp. Yes, Devlon had the females training and yes, they stopped the wing clipping, but the lack of equality within the camp had you nearly shaking.

You didn't bother turning around when the cabin door opened. Otherwise, you would have seen the three males standing in the doorway. Instead, you called out to who you thought was your mate. “If I'm seeing the improved version of the camp, then I can't imagine the horrors that went on here before.”

“I wouldn't say that this place has improved at all,” answered a deep voice. You shot up and out of your seat and faced the three winged males that you'd had your eyes on the day prior, the only three males who didn't seem to care that you were Azriel's mate and therefore, untouchable. “In fact, I think the camp’s gone to shit ever since your little mate and his High Lord introduced the new rules. I think we need to send them a message.”

“Get the fuck out of here.” You hissed as you scrambled to pull on the invisible golden thread tethering you to Azriel.

“Make us.” The second male hissed.

You looked to the ceiling and muttered a prayer.

“Praying won't get you out of this,” said the first male, a tall male with dark brown eyes.

You looked back down and locked eyes with him. “Oh, I'm not praying for myself.”

You threw yourself at the male just as the door burst open again on a shadow swept wind. Azriel had his hands around the third male's neck, snapping in with one quick movement before the male could draw his weapon. Azriel's shadows helped subdue the second male, keeping him in place as he took out Truth-Teller and stabbed in through the male's chest. The bond had Azriel wanting to carve his eyes out and slit his neck slowly for even thinking of hurting his mate, but now was not the time for a slow and painful death. As Azriel went to advance on the last male, he stopped. He stopped because before him, on the ground, was his mate, straddling the screaming male. Azriel watched as you clawed the eyes out of the first male. His screams of pain like music to Azriel's ears as you dug your sharp nails in further and further and further, until finally, the male grew quiet, and he stopped moving. You brought bloody fingers to the male's neck, checking for a pulse, and after a moment, you breathed a sigh of relief. “He's dead.”

Azriel looked at you with a mix of love, shock, pride, his many emotions flowing down the bond to you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered as he helped you off the floor, he didn't mind the warm blood that slipped from your fingers onto his own. “Needed to get my anger out, that really helped.”

Azriel was speechless for a moment as he looked you over.

“Fuck baby, remind me to never get you angry.”

You laughed, a sweet sound that was out of place in a cabin full of bodies. “You know I can get a bit hot under the collar, baby.”

“Right,” Azriel answered with a small uptilt of his lips, “I'm going to go tell Devlon his three best fighters are dead. Once you're done here we're going straight home and I'm not letting you leave the bedroom for a fucking week. Got it?”

Your smile was enough of an answer, but you still nodded to Azriel. “Got it.”

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acowar #acomaf #azriel #azriel x female!reader #azriel x fem!reader #acotar azriel #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader fluff #azriel x you #azriel x y/n

[tadpolesonalgae]

I think it would also be hilarious for the bat boys to see Devlon acting soft around his mate after growing up with him being an absolute terror😭)

I agree with this soo much omg, it’s living rent free in my brain

Yes!!

Can you imagine reader coming back after a weekend or something and they’re all on edge and asking if everything was okay and making sure she knows that if he does anything they’ll be there for her but she admits she actually had a really lovely time and calls him sweet, and they’re just stood there having a small meltdown at their brutal instructor being called “sweet”

🫣😭🥹

#anons <3 #Lord Devlon #Devlon x reader

[nattblacklupin]

A/N It's mostly acotar, but I plan on writing for other fandoms, too! Request are open, just limited to acotar for now.

Cassian - lord of bloodshed

Never was much of a romantic: 1, 2

Happy

Invisible string

Blood and ice

coming soon

Eris Vanserra - heir of autumn court

Not so secret

coming soon

Lord Devlon - war lord

My fierce protector

coming soon

Amren - ancient one

Timeless

coming soon

Azriel - shadowsinger

Ice and shadows

Coming soon

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x you #masterlist #acotar masterlist #cassian acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra x you #lord devlon x y/n #lord devlon #lord devlon x reader

[sarawritestories]

You Are Not a Burden

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: You have been tasked with going to the Spring Court to check in on Tamlin for Rhys. Though You and the High Lord do not get along and this visit leaves you injured and doubting your abilities in Rhys and Feryre's court and in the Inner Circle.

Content Warning: Angst, Aggression, injury, Stubbornness, Self doubt, barely proof read.

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I hope you enjoy this angsty fic that has some really good fluff at the end.

Exhaustion had been your constant companion in the past weeks. Doing emissary work between Summer and the Day Court had been successful and have been in good company with Tarquin and Helion, who have always loved when you come to visit. Though standing on the dilapidated building of the Spring Court, you wished you could be anywhere else. The territory has been neglected as shown by the dead plants and the Mansion looking like no one has stayed there in centuries in a matter of months. The once rich color of the land had dulled, and the people of this court have suffered just as much as the land.

Rhys had asked you personally to touch base with him as you were already traveling to nearby territories and seeing the exhaustion on his face mostly from taking care of Nyx and not wanting to have Feyre endure going back there you agree. The relief in his eyes made it worth being here though it meant that you would be apart from your mate for weeks as Cassian was at the Illyrian camps handling Devlon and making sure the camps were staying in line. The time apart has left an ache in your heart, but the work has been a great distraction.

Shaking your mind from your thoughts and sending love down the bond that links you to your General. There was a warmth that took over your body as he sent warmth and comfort through the bond. Taking a breath you raise your hand and ready to knock on the door when the door opens, and your eyes meet Emerald ones. “I could hear your heart rate spike. What do you want?”

You straighten your posture, “I was in the area, I wanted to check in.”

Tamlin scowls, “Consider me checked in. You can go run to your High Lord and your Bastard, like the good little Bitch you are.”

He is about to shut the door when you breach your boot against the frame preventing it from shutting, ignoring how his blow hit his mark and gave a knowing smirk placing the mask Rhys has taught you “Look who got his bark back.” You rolled your eyes, “Can I please come in? The sooner we have an adult conversation the sooner I can leave, and you can wallow in whatever pity party you’re hosting for yourself.”

His claws peeked over his knuckles, “Why do you care, you sure as hell didn’t care when you took Feyre from me? You sure as hell did not care when your High Lord let her come in and destroy my territory.”

You cross your arms, “Tamlin, Feyre, wanted to do that on her own, there was no coercing on our end. As for your territory...you were a ticking time bomb. Your people were getting frustrated with your rule. Feyre just sped up the process. Maybe it’s time you stop blaming others for what happened in your court and take some responsibility.”

In a flash Tamlin tackles you to the ground, your head hitting the concrete at the bottom of the stairs, your vision blurred slightly as Tamlin’s claw clamps around your neck and squeezes, “I want you to listen very carefully,” He snarls and you wince, “You don’t get to judge me when its apparent there is no use for you in that vile court you call home. Rhys and Feyre have no use for you other than sending out and parade around in other territories.” He smirked as a tear escape cascading down your cheek, “I’m sure you are only good for warming your general’s cock and sitting prettily on his lap.” You wince as his blow landed some of your deepest insecurities being confirmed by the person you hate the most. “You are not welcome in my territory and if I catch your scent even in my territory, I will kill you. Leaving your Corpse on your bastard mate’s doorstep.”

He presses his face close to hers causing a whimper, “Get. Out,” he whispered and ripped away from your body the sound of a door slamming solidifying that the High Lord of the spring had slithered back into his tomb. You laid facing the sky the beautiful sight of the sky a stark contrast of what transpired.  For a moment not fully aware of how that escalated quickly, and your hand gravitated to your neck and tears began to pool. You make sure that your bond was locked so your emotions were not flooding to Cassian as he was out checking on his armies.

You stood and the ground began to spin briefly before steadying yourself a sharp pain stung behind your eyes and you touched the back of your head and something wet and warm met your fingertips. You look at your hand and find blood dripping down to your wrist, without a second glance to the manor, you winnowed back to Velaris. You ended up on Madja’s doorstep and you stunned the older Fae healer, “Oh dear, let’s get you checked out” Madja brought you inside and tried to tend to your injuries.

The familiar mental claws scraped your mental shield as Madja had you lay in her cot checking your neck to make sure Tamlin didn’t do any permanent damage as a bruise in the shape of a hand was blooming across your skin. You open your shield enough to let your High Lord come in.

“Home so soon?” Rhy’s voice was a mixture of surprise and concern, “Was your trip constructive?”

You take a steadying breath Tamlin’s words began to bubble up. You tamper it down just enough to keep it from Rhys and replied, “Yes my report, will be on your desk in a few days.”

“I’m glad you’re home, Cassian and Azriel are on their way as we speak so we’re having family dinner tonight at the River House.”

“I’ll be there. I am going to rest it’s been a long journey, and I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Rhys chuckled, “I’m sure Cassian will be more than happy to help tire you out when he sees you. He has already promised to kick my ass for keeping him away from you for this long.”

You smile briefly, and once again Tamlin’s words tried to bubble on the surface causing you stress. Rhys must have picked up on the shift of your feelings, “You sure you’re okay. Tamlin give you a hard time?”

“Rhysand, I’m fine, I’m just tired. I’ll see you at dinner.” You put your shield up before he had a chance to press further on the subject, and let unconsciousness claim you.

~Later That Evening~

You make your way down to the dining room of the River House, your plumb colored gown swishing against your bare feet. The high neckline that has a cut out that compliments your breast is why you chose this. Madja was able to close the wound on your head but the dark purple bruise dawning on your neck was going to have to heal on its own. The sound of laughter flooded your ears and the sound usually brings a smile to your face but this time insecurities run rampant.

They don’t need you.

You don’t belong.

You don’t bring anything to this group. They are better off without you.

You wince at the last one, but you school your features and put on a smile and walk into the dining room. The laughter died out and nerves racked down your body by the silence your lips turning down slightly, “Don’t mind me,” You whisper as you make your way down to the empty chair next to your mate. Your heart stopped at the sight of him as he rose from his seat to approach you. Being out in the mountains in the Fall sunshine his skin had darkened a shade and there was stubble along his face that made your toes curl. He was devastatingly handsome, his hair in a clean bun and his leathers been replaced by a dark button up shirt and dress pants.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Cassian scooped you in his arms and spun you around. Placing you down he steals a kiss from you, “I missed you. I was so happy to hear you were home early.”

His hand grazed down your face and as he neared your neck wiggled out of his grasp and got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek and gave him a small smile, “Me too, General.” You take your seat, and You see Cassian take his, his brows furrowed.  The food appeared and everyone gave approval

Feyre looked at you and gave her smile, “How is Tarquin and Helion, I hope they are doing well and treated you well.”

You are only good at parading to other courts.

You cleared your throat as fiddle with the food on your plate not having a solid “They are fine, warm and loving as always.”

“Rhys and Feyre have no use for you… you are only good for warming your general’s cock and sitting prettily on his lap.” The image of Tamlin snarling in your face and his hand squeezing your neck.

Rhys stilled his head shot up and his eyes met yours, your eyes widened and slam your mental shields up. Cassian’s head swiveled between his brother and you and guilt washes over you as he realizes that you have him locked out of the bond. “How was the Spring Court?” Rhys asked tension seeping into the room. Cassian’s head whipped to Rhys.

Feyre also stilled, “You sent her to the Spring Court?” she whispered her food forgotten. Mor poured more wine and filled Amren and Azriel’s goblets. Azriel’s shadows almost obscured him from view and Amren leaned against her chair and sipped her goblet.

Cassian’s grip on his fork tightened his knuckles turning white, “I chose to go,” I whispered. I reach my hand to grip Ferye’s across from me, “It was fine. I was banned but that was the only thing that happened,” Feyre didn’t return her smile.

Rhys jaw locked, “Don’t lie.”

Cassian through gritted teeth, “Someone tell me what’s going on right now!”  Rhys made eye contact with the General and his eyes went vacant along with Feyre’s. He was showing both yours and his mates the image that slipped. When the connection was severed you saw that the General had tears in his eyes as rage contorted his features. Feyre had tears streaming down her face.

You rise from your seat tears threatening, “I’m fine. I can handle myself. I’m so sorry that I ruined Family Dinner with this.” You fled and could hear Cassian call out your name as you winnowed to the door of the House of Wind and took the 10,000 steps to the top. You are aloud yourself to fall apart and sobs racked your whole body. Emotions swirling, of the pain on Feyre’s face and the pure rage on Cassian’s, the venomous truth that Tamlin spewed to you and when you reached the top. You moved as quickly as you could despite your thighs burning from the trek up the steps.

You reached the bedroom and were greeted by Hazel eyes, and you sniffled, “Cassian,” You whispered.

The General was leaning against the bed post with his arms and ankles crossed his eyes red rimmed, “Why did you block me out?” His voice was quiet and pained, his knuckles were bloody.

You open the bond and worry is sent down to him, “You’re hurt,” you whisper not looking away from his knuckles.

 He looks down at his hands and his eyes meet yours and they soften at your worry and relief shimmers down that bridge between him and you. “The blood isn’t mine. It’s Rhys’,” He shrugged, and you bit your lip, Cassian sighs and pushes of the post and approaches you and you avert your eyes. “He’s fine, he could have fought me off, he let me get the hits in. He felt guilty.”

“Why?” You ask, taking a step away from the door and approaching him.

Cassian stared at you in disbelief as he brought his arms down, pushing off the post to close the distance between the two of you. “Because he purposely put you in danger sending you to Tamlin’s territory. That the bruise your hiding behind that neckline is his fault.” Your eyes widened, “Rhys had stopped by Madja, and she told him she was worried about you.” You nod briefly, “We’re all worried about you. Especially Rhys and myself.”

You shake your head, “It wasn’t. I went willingly. I may have pushed Tamlin’s buttons, and he got the up on me.” You whisper, “It’s not Rhys’ fault it was mine.”

Cassian cupped your face in his hands, “Rhys was aware that you and Tamlin do not get along. He also knew that you wouldn’t say no whereas anyone else would have. As your High Lord and more importantly your friend, he should not have put you in that situation.”

You wrap your fingers around his hands that are still cupping your face, “Tamlin wasn’t wrong though.” Cassian’s face fell at your admission. Tears trailed down your cheek, “I feel like I don’t have a job that is really helping this court, but I can’t fight like everyone else and sometimes I feel like Rhys and Feyre really don’t know what to do with me.” Cassian wipes her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m even a good enough friend to be part of the Inner Circle. Then what he said about you.” You closed your eyes, “I know you love me. I know you value me as a friend, partner, mate and wife, but I think back to the number of times you have had to reassure me and take care of me. I can’t help but feel like a burden to you and this court.”

“Oh Sweetheart,” His voice cracked as he picked you up and led you to the bathroom where he took a moment to change you out of your gown. His eyes were flaring with anger at the sight of the bruise. He puts on one of your favorite night gowns that is red and black. He guides you to the vanity back in the bedroom and has you sit as he begins to brush your hair. “There has never been a moment since you came into my life where I ever found you as a burden. You have been such a bright light in my life, your smile brightens the room and even on my worst day that same smile always melts my problems away. You have the affect on the team too, your easy and calm demeanor grounds everyone even Amren.” He meets your gaze through the mirror with his smile that always settles your nerves. “Your charm is perfect for dealing with temperamental High Lords which is why Feyre and Rhys have you go out and touch base with them every now and then. They like you and find comfort in your presence.”

He kisses your cheek and turns you so that you’re facing him, “I love you, You have never under any circumstances simply been someone who warms my cock.” You give him a small smile and his eyes light up at the upward tick of your lips. “I love your kindness, and your bravery. Most importantly it’s your willingness to drop anything for anyone, no questions asked. People know they can come to you for a listening ear, a shopping spree. You even know when I just need to hold you after a difficult mission, and you don’t pry but you somehow know what any one of us needs at any given moment. That’s special, Sweetheart, you’re special.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I will happily remind you of that, everyday from now until my heart stops beating that you are NOT a burden.” Another kiss to your lips briefly before he pulls away.

You feel tears flooding out one more time as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck taking in his scent. “I was nervous, that if you sensed my dread and fear down the bond, you would have shown up in the Spring Court. That’s why I blocked you out and I really wish I hadn’t. I thought he was going to kill me he even told me as much.” Cassian stilled at the admission but did not say anything as you continued, “Then when I got here all I could think about was how I couldn’t inconvenience anyone to help. I was cowardly and didn’t want Rhys to think I failed him. Failed you and began and self-doubt is a parasite that is easy to come in and harder to extract. I just didn’t want to bring the mood down of everyone being home for the first time in weeks. ”

Cassian snorted and you could hear him roll his eyes, “He failed you, Sweetheart. But Tamlin will be dealt with. I promise.” You nod and continue to sob into his neck ruining his dress shirt with your tears.  “Also, you are more important to me than any dinner or game night we could have. How you’re feeling takes priority for me that will never change. Just because you're not feeling joy all the time doesn't make you a burden, it's normal to have those bad feelings as it is the good ones.”

Cassian tucks an arm under your knees and behind your back and carries you to the armchair looking out at the balcony. Holding you close as your sobs ebb and flow he strokes your back and presses his head against yours whispering sweet nothings.

A few moments go by when the sobbing turns to soft hiccups, you raise your head from his neck to meet his beautiful honey-colored eyes. “Thank you, for being you, Cassian, you always know what to say.”

He presses a kiss to your hand, “Promise me something, Sweet Girl.” You wait to let him continue, “Promise me that you will not block me out like that again, if you think you will be in a dangerous situation or territory, you keep the bond open so I can help. While we’re at it, tell me things. Don’t try to protect me from your dark feelings, or worries, it’s my job as your mate and your husband to help you through them and work on quieting those loud voices. No different than what you do for me.”

You nod, “I promise.” You kiss him, “I love you.”

He smiles and holds you tighter to him, “I love you too, Sweetheart. Let’s get some rest, we have an early meeting with the High Lord and Lady tomorrow.”

You nod and let him carry you to bed. He quickly removes his clothes, apart from his underwear and crawls into bed next to you, bringing your head to his chest and his wing wrapped around the two of you for extra warmth as your eyes droop close you feel lips on your forehead, “My beautiful, mate.” He whispers as you drift into slumber.

~FIN

#cassian acotar #cassian x reader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #cassian x you #cassian fluff #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader

[prythianpages]

Dandelions | Azriel x Witch!Reader

summary: After begging Azriel to take you with him to Windhaven, he finally concedes. But his worries of you getting hurt come to life when you're kidnapped.

warnings: violence, mentions of blood and death/killing

a/n: this is based off this request. If you're interested in reading more of Az x witch reader, you can find the masterlist here.

**

Azriel hears you gasp as he sets you down. His hands remain at your waist, keeping you steady as you find your footing. You’re still not used to the feeling of flying. Contrary to what Cassian believed, you do not fly on a broomstick so it’s all new ground to you or lack of ground you should say.

There is an unexpected allure about Windhaven. The camp is etched from the formidable terrain of bare rock and mud. There’s a quiet here that you find strangely unsettling but peaceful. It’s the stars that captivate you the most. There’s countless of them and they shimmer like celestial diamonds against the vast, dark night sky. You wonder if they shine brighter than the ones in Velaris or if it’s the lack of moon tonight that makes you think so.

“It’s beautiful,” you say as you step forward, eyes darting around.

“It’s a camp on a mountain.” Cassian deadpans but you’re too engrossed in taking the sights before you to shoot him a sly remark.

“She finds beauty in everything,” Azriel seems to reply, his lips curling up fondly as he lets you continue to admire Windhaven, even though he feels the same as Cassian about it. “I should take her back to the house before–”

But it’s already too late.

Amidst the rugged expanse of the Illyrian camp, there are figures coming into their view. Lord Devlon is among them. Azriel’s shadows are tugging you back to his side until his arm is brushing against your cloak. He’s starting to regret bringing you with him and realizes it’s also too late to hide you in his shadows as the Lord Camp’s cold eyes fall onto your form.

You clutch your cloak tighter around your chest, keeping the obsidian necklace you wear hidden. It doesn’t matter though. Your presence itself pulses with an unseen energy–a dance of ancient whispers that tease the senses. You’re darkness and light. Wildness and wisdom.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the Illyrian males make a sign against evil and although you’re a green witch, you instinctively take a step back. You bump into Azriel’s wing, which curls around you protectively and you feel a rush of reassurance and comfort through the bond.

“You brought a witch.”

The other males flinch at the word. Though Azriel is on alert and his shadows are whispering to him, he finds the sight of full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords showing fear at the sight of you amusing. You would never hurt a fly. But he would never tell them that. He wants them to fear you.

“Is that a problem?” His voice carries a firm edge and his eyes narrow, issuing a silent challenge.

“Keep her away from the females and children.”

Azriel’s jaw is clenching and Cassian is stepping forward to ease the situation. He does not agree with the cold way the Illyrian camp lords are regarding you but they are here on a mission and need to see it through. “She is none of your concern,” Cassian says and then with a dark chuckle adds. “Unless you give her a reason to be.”

You look at each of them, adopting a stoic demeanor. It’s a skill you’ve honed from observing your mate–the master of impassivity. Their eyes widen momentarily before diverting their gazes. 

“We’re here to oversee that all arrangements for tomorrow’s Blood Rite go as planned.”

**

Azriel takes you to one of the few houses in Windhaven. He tells you it’s where he grew up besides Rhysand and Cassian under the careful and loving watch of Rhysand’s mother. The small house is a haven against the biting winds of the camp. 

The house bears the marks of countless footsteps and memories that have weathered its walls over the years, radiating a well-loved charm. Azriel guides you further into the house until you’re standing in the living area and your eyes are eager to take everything in, curious to know more about the place your mate spent so much time in. There’s a series of marks on one of the walls and you smile as you recognize Azriel’s, Rhysand’s, and Cassian’s names scribbled along dates that grow higher and higher with every year. 

“The room I stayed in is right around the corner,” Azriel tells you, inclining his head in said direction. “The bathroom is right next to it and the kitchen is further down the hall, if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you reply, turning to face him. “This house is so warm and cozy.”

Azriel’s smile, though appreciative, carries a hint of amusement. He closes the distance between you, a playful glint in his hazel eyes. “Please don’t get any ideas.”

“I still prefer Velaris.”

A soft chuckle escapes Azriel’s lips. “Thank the Cauldron.”

He leans in and his hand softly traces the contours of your face. His eyes drink you in and are brimming with a burning affection he harbors just for you–the way they always do before he has to leave. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and then I can show you around the forests.”

“Okay,” you exhale, looking into his eyes with a gaze that reflects his own. You stand on your tip-toes to press a brief kiss onto his lips. “Love you.”

Azriel holds you close before you can pull away. He kisses your lips again. Then your cheek and then your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer. “I love you too.”

**

Settling yourself onto the floor, you rest your back against the foot of the couch as you scribble down your intentions for the next month. There’s candles lit around you, bringing light to the room and offering a calming place for you to pause and reflect. It took a lot of effort for you to light each one of them as your powers are at their weakest every new moon.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, centering yourself. The state of peaceful bliss you crafted for yourself unravels abruptly, shattered by a piercing noise that startles you. You open your eyes to find a stranger smirking back at you and horror strikes you when you realize he’s not alone.

Your heart skips a beat and you press yourself further into the couch, calling upon your powers. “Who are you?”

“So it is true,” the Illyrian male snickers in wicked delight, ignoring your question. His keen eyes take note of the way your eyes flicker between black and your natural eye color and the fact that you’re not putting up a fight. “You’re powerless under the new moon. How unfortunate for you that it landed on the one night we’re able to use magic.”

“Just to be safe.” Another male says, throwing something in the air.

The male in front of you catches the object with ease and your nose crinkles as a metallic odor overwhelms your senses. Iron. It may not be a weakness to most fae–or any, at all, despite the mortal’s claims–but it’s a witch’s weakness. Your stomach churns, bile rising up your throat.

You tug on the bond in the hopes to reach Azriel but as the male clamps the iron chains around your wrist, you’re overcome with a sudden wave of weakness. You can’t feel the bond. It’s eerily silent.

**

You don’t know how long you’re out for or if you were out at all. All you know is the cold, hard uneven ground beneath you feels like it’s moving and there’s a growing weakness in your limbs that make it hard for you to move. Your head feels unusually light and your throat tightens. You barely manage to roll over and prop yourself up with a shaky arm before hurling.

“Let’s hurry and get it done with.”

“What–what do you want from me?” You rasp. Your arms are still shaking as they hold you up and you will yourself to sit up, your back meeting a hard and rock surface. You blink your eyes and your surroundings clear enough for you to register that you’re in a cave. The feeble glow of torches cast long, sinister shadows that seem to writhe and contort along the jagged walls.

The male you had seen earlier comes into your line of sight. There’s a sharp dagger in his hand and its blade catches the dancing flames of the torches with a malevolent gleam. He points it at you, aiming for a place slightly to the left of the center of your chest.

“Your heart.”

You let out a choked laugh. To capture a witch’s heart is to hold a key to the very core of their being. It’s a sacred vessel through which profound magic flows and can transfer over to whoever holds it. But your heart’s chambers are only filled with the blood that sustains you.

The magic and enchantment that resides in your heart and defines your existence is bound to Azriel. It has been ever since you gave your heart to him. Taking your heart would be an act in vain for the Illyrian males who captured you.

You don’t tell them this though. You don’t want to die but the thought of putting a target on Azriel’s back terrifies you and overrides the former. You’d never bring any harm upon Azriel.

The male pulls on your hair, forcing your gaze up. His lips curl up into a snarl. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, you witch.”

“Should we have a little fun with her first?”

“We don’t have the time. There’s only a little over an hour before the magic leaves us.”

“That’s plenty of time to make her scream.”

A shiver courses through your spine, leaving a trail of cold unease. You squirm under your restraints but go entirely still when you feel something sharp. Your heartbeat quickens in response to the press of the dagger into your skin. 

“What if the Shadowsinger comes?”

“He won’t. He’s–”

There’s a knot in your stomach, tightening with the vulnerability of raw, unbridled panic. You’re going to die. The only comfort you have is that you’ll die, knowing that your last words to Azriel were “love you.”

“Did you not see the way he looked at her? Even if we rip her heart out, there’s no telling if we’ll escape his–”

“Then, we’ll be quick about this,” the male in front of you growls, pushing the dagger further into you. You gasp at the stinging pain and your whole body grows entirely still. “We’ll take her heart, harness her powers and run. The Shadowsinger will never find us–”

“I just did.”

**

There’s a burning in Azriel's chest that unsettles him deeply. He catches a flash of green and realizes that the searing sensation he feels is flaring out from the emerald that lives in the pocket of his leathers. Right over his own heart.

“What is it?” Cassian asks, noticing the subtle shift in the Shadowsinger’s stance. They’re standing near a fire pit, surrounded by tents that this year’s blood rite’s participants are being winnowed to. Their task is to ensure that no stunts are pulled such as the one from last year where Nesta, Emerie and Gywn were forced into the blood rite.

Azriel pulls out the gem. Despite the burn, he handles your heart with care and tenderness. The gem pulses with life, glowing like the vibrant green of a sunlit meadow. He tugs on the bond and his heart drops to his stomach.

He can no longer feel you. All he can feel is the relentless echo of imagined horrors. Something is wrong.

“It’s y/n,” Azriel breathes, eyes wide with worry.

Cassian’s eyebrows knit together in concern. He nods his head. “Go,” he tells his friend and Azriel is already vanishing into his shadows. “I can handle this.”

**

Azriel’s muscle are tense, coiled like springs. Each of his siphons are glowing like icy glaciers, threatening to release their raw power. the emerald led him to this cave. His eyes darken when he sees you. You’re held against your will with a dagger pressed into your chest and a hand against your throat, pulling you flush into an Illyrian male’s chest. The look of fear in your eyes nearly destroys him.

“If you don’t get your filthy fucking hands off of her, I will rip each finger. One. By. One.”

Azriel’s voice is cold, each utterance sending a chilling vibration through the air. With every passing second, his words are no longer a warning but become a promise. The Illyrian males are visibly shaking under Azriel’s intense gaze and the one holding you swallows thickly. Azriel catches the way his gaze flickers to the opening of the cave and then you’re being roughly shoved to the ground.

Dark tendrils cushion your fall and in an instant, Azriel is crouching beside you. His shadows are brushing against you, assessing you for your injuries. They whisper to him about the injury on your chest and at the sight of your blood, his own runs cold. He’s breaking the iron imprisoning you and rendering your hands useless with his bare hands.

“Azriel,” you breathe in relief.

“You’re safe now,” he reassures you, holding your distressed gaze. He gently brushes your hair back. “But I need you to close your eyes for me, okay? Can you do that for me, love?”

He waits for your response–a meager nod, before leaving your side. He leaves a couple of his shadows with you. They wrap around your eyes and curl against your ears, clouding your senses. He doesn’t want to subject you to the violence that is about to unfold.

When he stands to his feet, he takes delight in the anguished screams coming from the Illyrians as they realize they’re trapped inside the cave with him. His shadows are forming a wall against the only entrance and exit.

One of the males turns and drops to his knees. “Please,” he cries desperately. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re pathetic,” Azriel nearly growls with a sickening smirk. “All of you.”

He makes sure each of their deaths is slow and painful and he doesn’t stop until the very last staggering breath.

**

Azriel’s shadows lift from your eyes and ears and you’re looking into a pair of familiar hazel eyes. Your eyes glisten with tears and with a gentle touch, his fingertips brush away the traces of terrors that run down your cheeks. His palm cradles your face and you lean into his touch. He rests his other hand against your chest, over your bleeding wound.

Green light slips from his fingertips, seeping into your wound and you both watch in shock as he uses your magic to heal you. “I didn’t know I could do that,” he murmurs in awe.

When he lifts his hand and unmarked skin is revealed, relief overcomes him, coursing through him and through the bond. He can't help but dwell on the what ifs because he knows that he was only a few minutes away from being too late. From losing you.

Gods, he was a fool for bringing you--his sweet, loving mate to a cold and harsh place like Windhaven. Especially on the night before the blood rite. But you had begged him to take you with him. You wanted to see the place he grew up in and explore the forest of Illyria and Azriel found it extremely hard to say no to you.

You’re safe now, he reminds himself, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. Although still slightly shaken, you're also now unharmed. And that's all that matters to him.

“It’s because you hold my heart,” you tell him as your crying comes to a stop and with a shaky breath continue. “That’s what they wanted–to take my heart and use it for themselves.”

An arm slips under your knees and the hand on your face drops to embrace your neck. He pulls you close, cradling you to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

You know what he’s asking. You bury your face into the comfort of his chest. It’s warm and you can feel his heartbeat. It’s fast but beginning to steady and it’s like music to your ears–the sweetest symphony. You turn your head in a way that allows you to rest your ear against his heart but also to speak.

“Because I was scared they’d go after you next.”

“Oh, my sweet little wildflower,” he purrs. He leans his head down and his breath is hot against your neck. He's touched by your concern. “They’d never get within 10 feet from me if they came for me.”

You dare to lift your head and barely catch a glimpse of the carnage around you before Azriel is tightening his hold on you and coaxing your gaze back to him.

“I see that now.”

“Does it scare you?”

There’s a subtle hint of vulnerability within his hazel eyes. Concern etches into his features as the weight of his question lingers in the air. Azriel was a strong and lethal man. A warrior. A spymaster. You knew this. Yet, he always kept the nature of his work concealed, not wanting to burden you with the horrors of it all.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you avoid his heated gaze. “No.”

Azriel tuts. He can sense there’s something more and he needs to know. He coaxes your gaze back to his. “What is it?”

“I found it kind of…hot,” you admit, a bit sheepishly. “That you’d kill for me.”

Azriel chuckles. The corner of his lips, molded by shadows and softened by affection, tug upwards. Gods, he loves you so much. You’re perfect, made just for him. You're everything he could ever wish for and more.

“I’d do anything for you, love.”

**

a/n: To the anon who requested this, I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

tagging: @fxckmiup

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagines #azriel angst #azriel x witch!reader #acotar imagines #acotar x reader #az!dandelions

[k-daydreams]

My Fearless Mate

Pairing: Azriel Shadowsinger x daemati!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: misogyny, graphic, Fluff at the end!

Based off this ask

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You hated traveling to the war camps. Especially in the winter. Even as you walked arm in arm pressed up as close as you could against your mate, Azriel, the heat did not help against the bitter wind and cold nipping at your face. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had been here just paying their usual visit to make sure Lord Devlon was doing his job and ensuring the girls were training. They had been here for a few days already and you had desperately missed Az that you swallowed your pride and hatred towards the camp and Illyrian culture to see your mate. You hadn’t let him know you were coming, it was a surprise, a damn good one indeed.

Not only was the shock evident on his face as you winnowed into the middle of the camp. His shadows had excitedly darted to you in greeting as soon as he caught your scent from the dark swirling clouds winnowing. The Illyrian warriors were taken back as well. Disgust and surprise written all over their faces, but you didn’t care. You practically ran to Azriel giddily greeting him with a kiss on his cheek as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. He tried to keep his mask of iciness on, but you could feel his toothy grin in the crook of your neck, his dissolve fading in your arms.

He led you around the camp, telling you all the updates, and you filled him in on what you had spent the last few days doing in Velaris. You watched as the warriors trained in the sparring rings. Then you came to a sparring ring with a couple girls cornered by some higher ranked warrior commanders. You halted in your steps, causing Azriel to stop mid sentence.

“You’re supposed to be doing your chores.” One of the males said to the young girls who had to be no older than twelve. His siphons were half the size of the girl’s head.

“W-we’re done, the high lord said we could train as we pleased.” She stammered.

“There is always work to be done.” Another warrior countered back. “The sparring ring is no place for a girl, no matter what the high lord says.” Azriel tensed at that, and you looked up to your mate biting your lip anxiously. You had let go of his arm, on alert for what was about to unfold.

“The high lord’s orders go above yours.” The other girl stepped up to the male ten times her size. Defiance in her small voice as she pushed the other girl behind her. Satisfaction prickled at your skin, but you knew this wasn’t going to end well. The males scoffed and glowered towards them. Your face and ears heated.

“The high lord doesn’t have a say in your punishment though.” One grabbed the more defiant girl’s arm. She tried to get out of his clutch, but he was far more stronger than her. Azriel was ready to walk towards them, but you beat him to it. Rage filled you to the point you had tunnel vision, marching over. How dare these assholes.

“Hey! You let them go!” You yelled at the warriors as another grabbed the other girl. She was shaking in his grasp, scared out of her mind, a terrified look in her brown eyes as she made eye contact with you.

The warriors laughed at you as you approached. “I didn’t realize they opened camp borders to courtiers.” One mocked you while the other bellowed even louder. You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling the familiar sensation in your bones. Azriel tugged on the bond as warning, but you ignored him. Other warriors and workers had stopped what they were doing, noticing the commotion.

You clenched your gloved fists, “it would be wise if you did as I say.”

“What or you'll file a formal complaint with the high lord?” He sneered sarcastically. You could feel your blood get hot and the taste of magic tang on your tongue. A wave of power rolled off you settling over the camp.

The one that seemed the most powerful walked towards you, his nostrils flared like he was a wild beast. “You have no authority in this camp.”

Azriel tugged again on the invisible thread that connected you two together. A silent reassuring stroke that gave you the silent permission to let go of your control if needed.

“I am one of the high lord’s secondhand commands, I see that as good enough authority.” You stuck your nose high up, not intimidated by the size of a warrior. He continued towards you like a predator. He wanted you to be his prey. Unfortunately for him, you had considered yourself a much more dangerous predator. Already prowling and circling around him, getting ready to pounce.

“I believe that means my authority outranks your authority.” You said almost too casually. “Now as I said before—let. them. go.”

The two warriors behind the aloof meathead in front of you now looked wary towards your opposition. But they held a firm grip on the young girls, the one in front of you puffing out his chest, wings flaring as wide as they could go.

“You are no more than a fae female to me,” he got mere inches from your face looking down at you with a disgusting rage. You could feel specks of saliva hit your face as he spoke, but you didn’t flinch. “And you know what we do to fae females? We take them into the forest in the middle of the night and we sully—“

Before he could finish, he dropped to the ground howling in agony writhing in the mud. You just merely narrowed your eyes, twisting the invisible ropes around his mind and body. Your daemati powers had overtaken your instincts with every twist you envisioned.

“What was that?” You asked innocently, slamming your heavy icy muddy boot atop his abdomen. He hissed, snarling at you like a rabid animal trying to fight the power that you coursed through him. You dug the heel of your boot with a bruising force. The crowd that circled gone quiet with the roar of the Illyrian male that convulsed under your boot.

“Now you listen to me,” you bent down looking at him, forcing his eyes to look towards you. His face beet red, eyes bulging in horror as you infiltrated his brain further. No mental shields, just a wide open gate to walk through. “You let the girls train and you don’t bother them ever. I don’t want you to even breathe their way again, and if I ever—ever hear a word about you going against the high lord’s or my order…” you lunged into the deepest part of his mind.

I’ll personally clip your wings myself. You had threatened him mentally.

You released the invisible force upon him, and lifted your boot from his abdomen. He rolled away, panting to catch his breath. You looked up from him and saw the two warriors holding the girls. You strided towards them, and they all but threw the young illyrians in your direction. Both of landing on the ground with a hard thud.

“W-what are you?” The one male asked terrified, backing away with the other.

You glared at them, “that’s none of your concern. What is your concern is bringing your commander to first aid before you end up like him.” They kept still, watching you bend down to the two girls. “Now!” You demanded. They scurried off like field mice to their brother who laid in the mud nearly unconscious.

Bringing your attention to girls, smiling softly at their scared faces. They rubbed their arms where the men had gripped them. “Did they hurt you?” You asked.

“I’m not sure,” the more timid one answered first, rolling up her long sleeve to check. You gently examined the forming bruise around her arm, frowning slightly.

“You two were so courageous to stick up to them. You will both be strong warriors one day.” You looked at the other’s arm. Her arm is much more swollen than her friend’s. You smiled reassuringly at them, “I’ll have someone bring you two to our house to have the healer tend to you.” You took a hold of both their hands, helping them up, leading them to your mate and friends.

“Cassian get a healer to the house,” Azriel asked for you, wholly keeping his eyes locked on you.

“Of course,” Cassian winked at you slyly when he passed. Proceeding to yell at everyone to get back to work while he made his way to the first aid tent. Rhys chuckled, patting Azriel on the shoulder.

“I know,” He guided the girls to his mother’s old house by your request, leaving you and Azriel alone.

His eyes were still fixated on you, hazel orbs shining brightly, mouth slightly agape. He didn’t have to say anything because you felt it. Adoration, pride, and pure love swelled down the bond.

I absolutely adore you. He spoke to you mentally. You caressed the shadows that even swirled in his mind, stroking gently. His wings rustled slightly, unable to contain it.

Wrapping his arm around you, he led you to the house to go check on the girls. A couple people still looked at you with terrifed expressions. Azriel’s lip curled upward to ghost of smirk before kissing your brow sweetly. You were his fearless mate.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to request, give feedback, reply, like, and reblog!

#acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger fic #azriel shadowsinger imagine #azriel shadowsinger blurb

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Evasively Yours

EVASIVELY YOURS | Azriel x Female!Illyrian!Reader (Part 2 of NEVER YOURS)

SUMMARY: The fallout after Azriel found out you were his mate, and that you kept it from him.

WARNINGS: Angst angst angst. I think I have found my true calling as an angst writer. Swearing. Rhys is the big brother we deserve. Azriel is a bit of an asshole and Mor is a gem.

WORDS: 2.6K

You wished you could stay at the mountain camps forever. The males were training the females as required, with you watching over their teaching techniques and helping the girls out when they needed it. You didn’t mind helping the females – some of them even seemed to be relieved in receiving your assistance. The females were all younger, with the oldest being twenty, and the youngest thirteen. You understood why the older females weren’t training – the backwards ways of the Illyrian people had been ingrained within them for too long.

You extended your stay from two days to three, to four, and on the fifth day, you could tell that you were not going to be welcome much longer. So you packed up, threatened Devlon a little bit, promised to be back to see how the females were faring, and left.

Up in the air, the wind pushed against your wings, almost as if it were telling you not to return to Velaris. Because in the city of starlight awaited the shadowsinger who seemed to want nothing to do with you. Which hurt. So much so, it hurt. There were many ways you could attempt to describe the shredding of your soul, but none of those descriptions would do the pain you felt justice. It was unbearable to think about… so you didn’t.

You arrived in Velaris just before sunset and landed out the front of the River House, leaves and plants rustling at the force of your landing and the final sweep of your wings. Those plants, those flowers and bushes – Elain had planted those. Part of you wanted to rip them out from the roots and burn them, watch as the flames consumed that part of her – but the other part, the more logical side told you not to. This was not Elain’s fault. It was yours.

You entered the River House with a slight droop to your wings as Azriel clouded your mind. You tried to push him away but – how many times had you walked in here for a family dinner, betting on who would start a fight that night? How many times had you walked into this house together, him bumping your shoulder playfully as he chuckled at a joke you told? How many times had you both shushed each other, trying not to laugh too loudly as Nyx slept soundly upstairs? By the Mother, everything seemed to remind you of him now that he wasn’t yours.

Not that he’d ever been yours. That was just wishful thinking on your part.

You turned through the hallways, so consumed by your thoughts that you didn’t even notice someone was in front of you until you bumped into them.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” you apologised, steading them.

You instantly let go as if you’d been burned when you realised it was Elain who stood before you. A bubbling anger rose inside of you, threatening to overcome your logical thinking, but you pushed it down. None of this was Elain’s fault. The only person to blame was you.

“You’re back,” Elain stated with a small smile. “How was your mission?”

Ugh. If only Elain was rude, and didn’t care about you. It would make your life so much simpler if she was easy to hate. But you didn’t hate her. She had always been kind to you, always caring and thoughtful. She was gentle by nature.

You shrugged. “It went… well. I, uh… I have to update Rhys about it.”

“Of course,” Elain acknowledged, a smile still plastered on her pretty face.

You gave her a slightly strained smile and continued on through the house, all the way to Rhys’s office. You knocked this time, and Rhys responded, telling you to come in. You entered and walked up to his desk, the High Lord raising his head to survey you.

“Did it really take five days for you to figure out how to get Devlon to train the females properly?” Rhys questioned as he stood up from his desk.

“He has agreed to train the female properly,” you began, “and I stayed back to make sure he did as he said he would.”

Rhys studied you for a moment before leaning against his desk, arms crossed and eyeing you closely. You stood tall, not allowing him to see the sea of anguish within you, the ocean that churned with your heartache. You couldn’t let anyone ever see this part of you, the part that had once been full of hope and light, but was now shrouded in misery and darkness. And not the darkness you were used to. No, the darkness you were used to was calm and soothing, protective and familiar. This darkness was never ending, tormenting, and devastating.

“You don’t have to keep everything to yourself, you know,” Rhys murmured. “I’m here for you – not as your High Lord, but as your friend. As your brother.”

Your heart swelled at his words and before you could stop it, the tears came tumbling down. Rhys was there instantly, holding you tight as you cried into his shoulder, sobbing and allowing five days’ worth of torture and grief to tumble out in the form of your cries. You held Rhys tight to you, as if he was a lifeline, knowing that if you let go right now you’d be lost in your sea of sorrow forever.

Rhys stroked your hair softly and you tried to get deep breaths into your lungs in an attempt to calm down. You’d cried in front of Rhys before, but you never liked it. Of course, people rarely liked to cry, but it made you feel weak, like all the males who told you that your emotions would get the best of you were right. Because when you were crying, those emotions really did take over. You didn’t feel anything except sorrow and pain.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rhys inquired.

You looked up at him, at your High Lord, and nearly shook your head. But… he couldn’t look inside your head, lest he see the depths of your suffering. So you took a deep breath, and hiccupped, “Azriel is my mate.” Rhys cocked his head, his only indication of surprise, and you continued, “He – I… he kissed Elain, because I hadn’t told him. I don’t think he knew, and… and he followed me to Windhaven, and then I accidentally told him and now… now he hates me.”

Rhys’s lips twisted. “Why do you think he hates you?”

“You should have heard the way he spoke to me,” you whispered weakly. “He – he’s never spoken to me like that. And he just… left.”

Rhys hummed lowly in thought, and even rubbed his chin. You wiped the tears from your cheeks and sniffed, pulling away from Rhys’s warm embrace. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You wanted solitude, and peace. Peace from your mind, and the thoughts that raged through it like a wildfire, only to be drowned out by the waves of misery that chased you.

“I’m going to go now,” you uttered, rubbing your arms.

Rhys was silent for a moment, before he admitted, “We all guessed, you know.” You looked up at him, and he clarified, “That the two of you were mates.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter anymore. See you, Rhys.”

You left him in his office, and he did not follow. Maybe he knew you were at your breaking point, and that if you had to say one more word about it you might quite literally explode. You exited the River House, shutting the door behind you quietly and took off, your wings lifting you into the air with a single swoop. You glided across the city of starlight and all the way to the House of Wind, where you prayed to the Mother that Azriel would not be. You landed on the balcony, already feeling exhaustion cloud you and your thoughts. Maybe you could sleep peacefully for years and years and never have to face this problem.

Your footsteps echoed on the marble floors of the mountain palace as you made your way to your room, trying to ignore the thoughts that hounded you. You reached your hallway, intending to have a very long bath before getting into bed, when you stopped in your tracks. Azriel stood at the other end of the hall, also seemingly halted.

Now that you could see him, the only thing you wanted to do was talk to him. You just wanted to figure things out, to fix the fracturing of your heart and soul.

“Az–”

But he turned away and into his own room, closing the door with a loud slam, with enough force that you flinched. So maybe he couldn’t be reasoned with. Maybe that was it, maybe him closing the door meant he was closing the door on any possibility that you could work through it.

Because if Azriel couldn’t work through it, then no one could.

So you entered your own room, closing your door with much less force, and stood in the middle of your room. It used to be familiar and comforting, but now… it just reminded you of Azriel. Over there, by the window, the two of you would sit and read when you had a free moment. On the bed, the two of you would lay together after a particularly bad nightmare, comforting each other simply with your presence. 

You left the room and entered your adjoining bathroom, twisting the faucet handle, allowing hot, steaming water to fill the bathtub. You slid out of your leathers and stepped into the tub, hissing slightly at the heat, before lowering yourself down, and resting against the lip and tipping your head back. When the water reached the top, you turned it off and soaked, feeling the water settle around you as you stilled. You grabbed your soap, smelling of lavender and vanilla, and scrubbed yourself down, trying to wash away the grime of the Illyrian camps, as well as the pain of the rejection of the bond.

Because that’s what it was. You could deny it no longer – Azriel wanted nothing to do with you, it was clear as day. He had rejected the bond, and you felt it in your chest, felt the string that bound your two souls weakening. The pain was still there, the anguish and aching, but the bond felt… less. It was as if a veil had come down, shrouding the bond and concealing it from view. You knew it was still there, you could feel it faintly, but… it was as if something was cutting away at it, as if the bond was wilting away. Maybe when it finally did, you’d no longer feel the torment that threatened to overwhelm you.

Something caught your eye as you tried to relax. A shadow, small and harmless, sat in the corner of the room. If you didn’t know better, you’d assume that the candles were causing the strange silhouette. But you did know better.

“And what do you want?” you hissed.

The shadow recoiled and disappeared, leaving you alone.

You stayed in the bath until the water was cold and urged you to get out. You dried yourself off, the cotton towel soft against your skin, and you opened your drawer in search of sleepwear. You pulled on a pair of comfy pants, and opened the top drawer, freezing as you saw an oversized shirt tucked away, the ebony shade of the item almost hiding it from view. You hesitantly reached out for the fabric, and against your better judgement, picked it up, allowing the cloth to slide between your fingers. You inhaled the scent – night-chilled wind and cedar, with a hint of your own scent – and your hands fisted around it.

You should get rid of it. You doubted Azriel would want it, now that it gave off your smell of lavender and vanilla, so maybe you could burn it. Maybe it would be therapeutic, in a way.

A knock at your door dragged you from your thoughts, and you let out a, “just a minute!” before stuffing the shirt back in your drawer and grabbing another, shrugging in on and not bothering to do up the buttons in the slats, instead letting the clothing hang from your frame as you opened the door.

Mor stood at the door, eyes searching yours in concern. You moved aside to let her in and you shut the door behind her. Her stare never left you, and after a moment she sighed and walked over, motioning for you to turn around. You did as she ordered, allowing her deft fingers to do up the slats of your nightclothes.

“Thanks,” you mumbled once she had finished.

She only hummed in response, care and compassion clear in her warm brown eyes as she studied you. She opened up her arms and you sighed, falling into them. Mor held you tightly, her arms protecting you from the world and all its sorrow. You rested your head against her shoulder as she held you close, and you allowed a single tear to escape. 

“Now, now,” Mor murmured, rubbing your arms. “Starfall is in a few days. Do you have something to wear?”

You smiled at the blonde in thanks as she changed the subject, most likely sensing that you did not want to talk about it. Not now, and maybe not ever. Maybe if you pushed it all down far enough, it would disappear.

“No,” you admitted, “but I’m sure you have something for me.”

“You know me so well,” Mor grinned.

You smiled at your friend and she smiled back, but you could still see concern in her eyes. You could tell her that Azriel rejected the bond, but she’d probably already guessed. Besides, you didn’t want to talk about it. You wanted to get lost in talk of dresses and parties and shoes and other useless things, if only to distract yourself from the drowning of your soul.

You felt bad for Lucien. You’d never really thought about how Elain’s rejection of the mating bond had felt for him. You didn’t realise it would be like this, like your soul was screaming and wailing until it could no longer, only to start back up again as soon as it could. You didn’t know it would feel like a stabbing pain in your chest, like someone had jammed a knife up your ribs and into your heart, and was slowly twisting with every minute that passed.

And of course, both of your mates ended up together. Of course the two beings who rejected the bond were together. Because that was what usually happened, right? When a person rejected the bond, it was because they wanted someone else. Had Elain decided, all those years ago when Azriel had first visited the Archeron Estate, that she wanted him? Was that another reason why she rejected Lucien?

It would do you no good to ponder it. So you sat with Mor and gossiped and chatted away until the sun rose, talking of nothing important.

TAGLIST (all users that could not be tagged are in bold) :

@sv0430 @bsenpai @mich0731 @nobody00sthings @vickykazuya @abrunettefangirlnerd @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @elizabethrosecresswell @my-otrand @fuckthatfeeling @im-bili @littlebookbengal @feyretopia @satellitesunshine @marina468 @fartimagines @fussel9913 @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @fan-of-many-bands @azriel-luvr @xreaderbooksreads @twsssmlmaa @ilov3sharks @mllemarianne @gamarancianne @holywolfsstuff @shadowsinger-654 @lovra974 @cullenswife @megudragon @fieldofdaisiies @psychobookoholic​

i’m sorry if i forgot anyone, i tried to get them all down <3 Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in part three!!

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