#Nesta is the Most Dangerous

[yourejinx]

Late Nights

Azriel x F.Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, +18, minors dni. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v. A bit of fluff? I think that's it.

Author's note: I wanted to try something different, this is my first time writing content like this so please be gentle but also PLEASE FEEDBACK.

Word count: 4k

It was the fourth night in a row that you were deprived from sleep, cursed with listening Cass and Nesta fuck like rabbits in the room next to yours. In all honesty, you loved your friends and were absolutely thrilled they were enjoying and exploring the extent of their relationship, they deserved it after everything they went through. You just wished they had a little consideration for your poor ears and sleeping schedule. 

You had been working your ass off the past few weeks, Rhys had you and Az going around the courts every other day, plus you've been dealing with Eris, since you seemed to be the only member in the Inner Circle that the Autumn heir tolerated just fine. So you had your plate full, and wished for a little peace and quiet at your own home. But your friends had other plans.

Nesta let out a particularly loud moan that you clearly heard through the too thin wall. It made you grimace and you decided you had enough. Huffing, you tossed the sheets off your body, grabbed the shirt you had stolen from the shadowsinger years ago and opened the door, putting on the clothing while you made your way down the corridor. If you were awake, then Azriel had to be too, he didn't miss a thing happening in this house. 

You didn't bother knocking on his door, you were way past that line with him. Azriel was your best friend, your confident, the person who you most trusted in the entire world, and vice versa. You were too comfortable with each other to bother with politeness. You flung open the door to his bedroom, making your way inside and slamming the door behind you dramatically. The room was dark except for the dim fae light hanging on his bedside table, Azriel had put down the book he was reading to stare at you amusedly. 

"Good evening to you too." He uttered playfully.

You didn't reply, just scowled, walked up to the other side and plopped down face first on the bed beside him. He chuckled. 

"Finding it hard to sleep?" He asked, setting the book aside. 

"They are insufferable." You mumbled around the sheets. They smelled like him, an instant comfort for your tired mind. "Agh! You can hear them from here too! How are you not bothered?!?" You lift your head from his pillows to look at him exasperatedly. 

Azriel smiled somewhat apprehensive at you. "I'm kind of used to it by now." He shrugged. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, smirking. "Kinky."

He rolled his eyes feigning annoyance. "You have no idea, sweetheart." His voice was a deep purr as he smirked back at you. 

You lifted one eyebrow in amusement. There was this recurrent thing between you two, where you usually teased and flirted with each other but never dared to actually do something about it. It was just for fun right? You were friends who just liked messing around as a joke. Always dancing the line between friends and something more, it was a dangerous game for sure, but you had to admit you loved the thrill of it. 

“Is that so? Oh please, do enlighten me then.” You shot back, lying more comfortably on his bed. Arms behind your head, eyes fixed on him. 

Hazel gaze traveled all the way down to the now exposed skin of your upper thighs, your movement had caused the shirt – his shirt– to ridden up a little, revealing more of your legs and the underline of a pair of lacy black panties. His pulse spiked slightly at the sight. You didn’t seem to notice, he averted his eyes before you could catch him shamelessly staring at you.  

There was a glint in your eyes when he caught your stare again, a slight flush to your cheeks, but he didn’t back off. 

“Curious now, are we?” He tilted his head, resting his cheek on his fist to properly look at you. 

“Ah, don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy. You brought it up, are you backing out?” 

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, a playful spark dancing in his golden eyes, when—

“Fuck, Ness!” Cassian’s growl reached both your ears as clear as day. There was a beat of silence after that where you just stared at each other stunned, then you broke in a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously Az, I don’t know how you endure it, if I have to listen to them one more night I’m gonna lose my shit. I haven’t slept in days,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “and neither have you, it seems.” you pointed out, poking open one eye to stare at him. Azriel had laid back facing you, wings tucked behind his back, shoulders involuntarily curving inwards, a sign of tiredness. You noted the dark circles under his eyes. 

“I look that shitty, huh?” he smiled tiredly.  

“Never.” You stated matter-of-factly. “You’re always pretty.” 

It was his turn to blush then, heat rapidly crawling to his face and neck. He could handle your flirting, your teasing, but he didn’t know how to react when you blatantly called him pretty. It just sounded so…sincere, coming from you. It made his heart flutter in his chest. It was no secret that he found you attractive, he thought he made that clear, but there was more to that, wasn’t there? He didn’t just think you were hot, he thought you were beautiful, smart, and kind, and it freaked the hell out of him to acknowledge all those things because that would mean that he wanted more. More than being your friend, but it terrified him to ruin your friendship. If you wanted him in the same way, you would’ve said something by now, right? You’ve known each other for years. 

“What are you thinking about?” you whispered, breath fanning across his face. He hadn’t noticed how close you were. He could feel the heat radiating from your body. 

“I’m thinking that we should sleep.” He answered, but made no move whatsoever. You smiled at him and nodded, making to reach the faelight to turn it off. You angled your body half above him and stretched to the bedside table, hair barely grazing the hot skin of his torso. Gods, you were practically straddling him, his mind taking him to all sorts of indecent scenarios. Your breasts were just a breadths away from his mouth, he could make out the perked nipples under the shirt. He loved seeing you in his clothes, but right now he wanted nothing more than to rip the fabric out of you. Azriel swallowed dryly. 

What was his fucking problem? It wasn’t like you hadn’t shared a bed before, he blamed his friend’s heated session down the hall. He had to admit it had gotten him a bit railed up, especially with you on his bed, smelling like him. It was hard to ignore the growing want in his veins. 

“Goodnight, Az.” You said, pulling back a little to look at him through half lidded eyes, even in the dark. Was it possible you were feeling the same? or was it just tiredness in your features? 

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispered back. If you leaned in any closer, he swears he’d kiss you, consequences be damned. But you slid right back onto your side, back facing him. 

Azriel lets out a quiet, frustrating sigh, reaching an arm out to wrap around your waist pulling you close. More moaning can be heard outside his bedroom, all the way to Cassian’s room. He feels slightly jealous. 

Suddenly you snorted, “We’ll sleep better if we get past the nghs, ohh, right there Cass!” you moaned, imitating Nesta. Azriel inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the way your little whimpering had shot straight to his dick. And the bite of jealousy he felt at hearing Cassian’s name falling so sinfully from your lips.

He scented the slight change in your scent though, a pinch of sweet arousal that got him mouth-watering. It had gotten to your head too, the display of passion from your friends a few bedrooms away. Azriel debated whether it was wise to do something right now, to taste the waters maybe. But you rolled onto your back again, facing the ceiling and letting out a frustrated groan. 

“Someone has to teach them though, make them uncomfortably listen for once. Maybe I’ll go to Rita’s tomorrow, choose a random male and bring him home. Beat them at their own game.” 

“No.” Azriel growled. You turned your head to the side, looking at him and were met with the dark, lustful haze in his eyes. You felt your core pulse in response. Fuck, why was he so hot?

“What do you mean"no "?" You asked, feeling your tongue paper dry  in your mouth.

“Why wait until tomorrow, if you can beat them tonight?”

The offer hung there, unspoken, for a few heartbeats. You felt your face grow hot, felt liquid fire pooling at your belly at the mere suggestion. He hadn’t even touched you and yet he got you all hot and bothered with a few words. You licked your lips, staring at him, shirtless, hair tousled over the pillow, shadows dancing dangerously over his shoulder. As if expecting your answer. He was a sight for sore eyes. It had to be illegal to be this beautiful. 

“I’m game if you are, sweetheart.” There it was, the deep purr again that had you clenching your legs together. He noticed the shift of course, smirking smugly. 

“Haha, very funny.” you said, huffing. 

“I’m not playing.” He pulled you closer, pressing you against his front. You gasped, feeling the not so subtle bulge in his sweatpants, rubbing against the side of your thigh.

“Is this why you kept me at an arm's length tonight?” you chuckled, but he could hear the breathlessness in your voice. “So I wouldn't find out they got you all worked up?” 

“No, this isn’t their doing, angel. It's all yours.” He dared a hand down your waist, past your hips, to ghost over the skin under the hem of your shirt. You shuddered. “Tell me to stop and I will. It's okay.” 

He lifted the fabric ever so slightly, inching closer to the waistband of your underwear. 

You turned fully to him, chests pressed together, breasts dragging against the firm muscle with every breath. 

“Fuck it, let’s show them.” You breathed into his mouth before crashing your lips together in a searing kiss. 

Azriel groaned low against your mouth, grip tighter bringing your hips flushed together, and kissed you back with fervor. Your hands found purchase in the dark locks at the back of his neck, tugging gently and urging him impossibly closer. He pushed you onto your back, knees parting on their own accord to accommodate him between your legs. It was all so hot and messy. Like you both have been waiting for this for a very long time, it made you throb with need. The thought of him wanting you as much as you wanted him. 

You rolled your hips onto him, desperate for any sort of friction, moaning loudly when the clothed tip of his cock catched on your clit deliciously. Azriel took his chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch and taste of you, kissing you deeply, desperately. He wanted more, he wanted everything. A wave of arousal licked down his spine, your lips were sweet and addictive, he wondered — needed to know— if other parts of you tasted as sweet. 

He kissed your jaw, your neck, biting and licking his way down to your collarbones. His right hand came to fondle with the generous swell of your breast over the shirt, pinching at the perked nub. The smell of your arousal hit him at a full force, Azriel felt like a youngling in heat rutting his cock at your core. Fuck, he couldn't help himself, he was so enamoured with the sounds he was getting out of you. 

“Take this off,” he ordered, tugging at your shirt. “If I do it I may rip the damn thing off of you, and I love seeing you in my shirt.” 

You obeyed without a second thought, too lost in the feeling of him already. He invaded all your senses, his touch sending your skin on fire, his scent sparkling pleasure bubbling in your insides. The rich tone of his voice had you feeling all tingly and sensitive. Gods, you wanted him everywhere. 

With the offensive clothing now discarded, Azriel wasted no time dipping his head down and latching his mouth to one of your nipples, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth around the nub. His hand came to play with your other breast, giving it the same attention, switching between your tits. You arched your back into him, whining in pleasure. 

He let go of your chest, looking down to admire you, all spread out for him. Nipples hard and shiny with his spit, breathing unevenly, underwear drenched with arousal, all because of him. He felt his cock throb within the confines of his sweats. Fuck, you looked so pretty like this, he had to taste you. Azriel looked up at your face, your glazed over eyes and swollen lips, and kissed you hard. Scarred fingers found the flimsy material of your panties, pushing them aside and dragging two digits along your soaked folds; you both moaned at the feeling. He rubbed tight circles around your clit, then ran a finger through your slit, smearing your juices everywhere. Your breathing quickened and he bit down your lip before kissing his way to your heat. Azriel looked at you from between your legs, pupils blown with lust, smirking wickedly. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged the material painfully slow down your legs, snarling softly at the sight of your dripping pussy. 

“Beautiful,” he moaned. “So damn beautiful.” His tongue darted out to lick a long stripe out your center. It almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your hips bucking off the bed to get closer to his face. He chuckled darkly. “Eager, angel?”

“Az please, stop teasing,”  you whined prettily, eyes locking with his. 

At this point you didn’t care if your friends could hear or not, you wanted Azriel’s mouth on you, his fingers, his cock. You wanted to feel all of him. 

“Whatever my sweet angel wants,” he blew some air into your cunt, making you shiver in anticipation. Azriel dive in, devouring you like a male starved, like he might die if he didn’t get to taste you. He all but full on made out with your pussy, dragging his tongue along your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking sharply. He groaned at your taste, the reverberations causing your eyes to roll back into your head, hips jerking up. He wrapped one arm around your hips to keep you pin to the bed and switched between harsh sucks and flicking the wet muscle around the nub. The pleasure was all too much and not enough at the same time, you moaned his name aloud and tugged at the strands of his hair again. 

Azriel’s free hand reached down to spread your folds, soaking his digits in your arousal before proding one finger at your entrance, and pushing inside. Your walls immediately clenched around him, making you both growl in pleasure. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, so tight. Already clenching on me,” he moaned, teeth grazing your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your lower belly, walls clamping down on his finger when he added a second one. You cried out, desperately trying to ride his face. Azriel pumped his fingers inside of you faster, curling his digits to reach that sweet spot that had you seeing stars behind your lids. Words were beginning to fail you, mumbling incoherently about how close you were. “You wanna cum? C’mon angel, give it to me, cum all over my face and fingers.”

His words had an immediate effect on you, pushing you over the edge. Pleasure overpowered you and you let go, cumming hard on his fingers, moaning his name for all the house to hear. Azriel kept thrusting his fingers into your hole, guiding you through your orgasm and licking every last drop you had to offer. He watched you closely, eyes shut in pleasure, soft pants leaving your plush lips as you came down from your high. Only then he pulled his hand away, mesmerized by you. He crawled up your body, coming face to face with you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling. 

“Hey,” you replied, face flushed and smiling satisfied. You reached your hand to push away the dark strands that had fallen into his face, cupping his cheek in your palm. He looked absolutely gorgeous, hair disheveled from your tugging, lips bruised and shiny with your juices, gaze clouded with lust and something else. More intense even, more deep. 

You dragged your thumb over his bottom lip and he sucked it into his mouth, you almost whined again. Breaths coming in short. You brought his face to yours, kissing him with such devotion you couldn't hold back any longer. Azriel shuddered, leisurely kissing you back, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Moaning softly, you ranked your nails down his body, from his pecs, to the hard planes of his abdomen, all the way to his cock, palming him through the fabric. He hissed when you slid your fingers past the waistband of his pants, gripping him in your hand. His hips buckled. He was big, and warm and sticky with pre-cum. You made to put his sweatpants down but he stopped you before you could take it any further. 

“Fuck baby, are you sure?” he asked, looking intently at you. A swirl of emotions passed through his eyes, it made your heart flutter in your chest. “We don't have to, unless that's what you want. I think we made our point clear.” He laughed breathlessly. 

“It is what I want Az. I want you, I need you. Please.” You watched him with pleading eyes, full of trust and… He didn't dare acknowledge that emotion yet, not unless you spoke it out loud. Although his heart still gave a flip. Pulse picking up. 

He helped you pull his pants down, and kicked them out of his legs. His cock sprung free, slapping against his abs, tip swollen and dripping. You flashed him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen you wear, dragging your eyes shamelessly through his body. It gave him a little bit of an ego boost. 

“You're so pretty Az. So so pretty,” you murmured, eyes half lidded already devouring him. 

There it was again, you calling him pretty. He didn't know what to do with himself so he leaned in to capture your mouth in a scorching kiss. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him flush against you, both hissing when the tip of his proud cock bumped against your clit. 

You broke the kiss to slide your mouth along his jaw, down his neck, peppering his sun-kissed skin in love bites. Marking him as yours. Azriel groaned and thrust his hips forward, sliding through your folds, coating his length in your arousal. He repeated the action a couple of times before aligning himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, your wetness and the remnants of your orgasm making it easy to slide all the way in. Your walls hugged him tightly as he bottomed out, stilling, to give you time to adjust to his size. Azriel let out a moan so hot and sinful it made a new wave of arousal wash over you. 

He felt on cloud nine, his head falling to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and letting it intoxicate him. He could’ve cum right then and there, buried to the hilt in your heat. But he wanted it to last, taking his time to savor the feeling of you wrapped around him so perfectly. He had no doubt in his lust filled mind that you were made for him. You were his and only his. 

You rolled your hips at last, running your fingers down his sides urging him to move. That was all it took for him to pull out to the tip and slam his hips hard into yours, Azriel set a slow, sensual pace, intended in making you feel every last inch of him. You welcomed the stretch with a wanton moan, feeling the veins with every delicious drag of his cock against your walls. 

“Gods, Azriel, more!” you whined. “I can take it.” 

“I swear you're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” He panted. Pulling out he gripped your hips tightly and turned you onto your stomach, ass up in the air. He thrust in harsher, making you cry out in pleasure. All signs of restraint gone. 

Azriel picked up speed, angling his hips just fine so that he could reach even deeper inside you. He quickly found the spot that had you gripping him tight, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Abusing your hole, hitting your g spot every single time, mercilessly. He had you in a state of pure bliss, bringing one arm to wrap around your middle, reaching between your legs to play with your clit. You were so close, already too sensitive from your previous orgasm. Squirming around in his embrace, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuuck! Don't stop,” you managed out, fisting at the sheets for support. 

“I won't,” he grunted, the swollen head of his cock kissing your cervix. “You're mine, do you understand me? Mine. No other male gets to touch you.” 

“Yes, yes I'm yours,” you panted,  desperately wanting to please him. 

“Good girl.” 

He was relentless, hips slapping with a force that had the headboard smashing against the wall. He knew you were about to cum, could feel his own orgasm sneaking up on him. Azriel went impossibly faster, pulling sobs out of you. You clamped down on him after one particular sharp thrust and your high barreled through you without previous warning. You screamed, white hot pleasure blinding you. Cum gushed out of you, making a mess of your thighs and his. He held your trembling body up, pressed to him as he fucked you through your orgasm, thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. His wings flared proud behind him and he felt the tight knot in his gut snap. Azriel came with a growl of your name, hips coming to a stop. Your body falling limp atop the bed. 

Slowly pulling out of you, he watched astonished at the mess you made, both of your juices dripping down your legs. When his breathing became even again, Azriel leaned in to press a kiss to your spine, making you shudder. 

“You okay, angel?” He asked, scarred fingers gently pushing your hair out of your face. 

You smiled tiredly at him, content. “I feel amazing.” 

He chuckled and laid back next to you, pulling you to lay on his chest. You pressed a kiss over his heart, arms resting on his stomach, still catching your breath. No one spoke for a while, enjoying the aftermath of your actions. There was no room for worry, not with Azriel. Not ever. 

He traced iddle circles on your skin, loving how well you fit next to him. 

“Az?” You called softly to him, he hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you hear that?” 

He stilled, straining his hearing. Muffled moans could be heard down the hall and the distinct sound of a headboard smashing hard against the wall. You laughed in unison. 

“I think we may have spurred them on,” he said amusedly, voice hoarse. 

“I've never been more glad to have left my room than right now” you chuckled. 

“You and I both, angel.” He added, squeezing your ass. 

You turned to him, placing a kiss to the outline of his jaw. Silently admiring the hickies you left on his neck. 

“How does a second round sound?” You purred. 

He smirked, cock already hardening. “Absolutely delightful.” 

#azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #azriel fanfic #azriel #acotar series #acotar smut #azriel smut #cassian smut

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twelve

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None! Familiar faces return to Velaris and Y/n finally gets a chance to explore the city...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

I’ve been dreaming again. Dreaming of him. 

Thanatos. With his milky pale skin the color of bleached bones. Bold brush strokes of black ink mark his clothes and paint his hair and his marble eyes. I should feel unsettled when looking into the face of death. But I don’t. I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to see his true face and I don’t know why. He doesn’t understand it either, and it frustrates him to no end. 

He’s almost as curious as I am. Almost. 

He came to the cabin again today, carrying that black lit candle between his spindly fingers like he believed in the Mother and was prepared to pray and sing to her like the rest of us. He says he likes to hear me during the service, tiny and informal as it is, but really I think he’s here because it irks me, and because I’m some tapestry he can’t seem to unravel.

He asked me again whether I’d call upon the Mother for him. He says he has a question that needs answering, and once he has his answer, he’ll be able to tell me how we can defeat Koschei. If it’s even possible. 

But I don’t believe that male for a second. He’d sooner carve the world to bits and devour the scraps before helping us like the coyote he is.

Rest assured I will never agree to his bargain. It will take more than that to turn Bethsevah Mordeigh.  

Although he said something strange that night, when the candles had dripped and left their waxy marks on the altar. 

“You were made to ruin me, Beth,” he said, “And I will let you do it a thousand—a million—times over.” 

He spoke in a dozen different voices, but I can’t deny I liked how the sounds came together and became his own. 

You jerked awake with your hand still cradling the book against your chest. 

Bethsevah Mordeigh. 

You had a name. 

You had a name! 

You burst out of your room. 

“Az! Az! I’ve got something.” You beat your fist against his bedroom door. “Az!” There was silence. 

The kitchen was empty, dirty dishes scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. A glance at the clock above the oven told you you’d slept in a great deal.

You took the steps two at a time, sprinting down the hallway towards the west wing. The training arena took up most of the second floor stocked with enough weapons to outfit a small army. Wood and stone knobs stuck out from the wall at extreme angles as part of the climbing gym. The ceiling dipped up and down like draped fabric. On any other day you would have seen Valkyries with rippling arms and backs making their way up to the green flag pinned directly above the room’s center point, bodies straining against the pull of gravity. But not today. 

Two of the three mats spaced across the room were occupied and you heard the beat of Illyrian wings before you even opened the double doors. 

Feyre and Nesta stood against the side wall bracketed by racks of steel swords, glistening throwing knives, and an Illyrian bow as long as you were tall. 

Feyre licked her lips, greedily tracing Rhysand’s powerful form as he went toe to toe with Azriel. You couldn’t help but stare as well as they leapt around the ring in a blur of wings and shadow. You’d never seen Azriel shirtless but… well… it was a sight you could get used to. 

It was a dance — a dangerous, deadly dance — and although the language of violence wasn’t one you were familiar with, you could read the display well enough to know that Azriel would win this round. 

Sweat glistened on his skin, slipping down the curves of his back where leathery black wings fused with his shoulder blades. Tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest, pulsing with a life of their own as Azriel cleanly side stepped one of Rhysand’s kicks. There was the faintest crease in the High Lord’s brow to let you know he was getting tired. 

But Azriel was just getting started. And now that he knew you were watching? He wanted to make it worth your while.  

Rhys gritted his teeth, launching out with a strike quicker than lightning. Someway, somehow, Azriel was faster. He dipped to the side, Rhys’s knuckle just kissing his cheekbones and came up for a counterstrike, slamming his fist so hard into his brother’s cheek that he staggered back. 

That was unnecessary. Rhys snapped his jaw back into place.

Azriel grinned. Fatherhood suits you. But I can’t let you get soft.

There was a roll of violet eyes. Sure. That’s why you’re trying so hard right now.

Rhys snatched Azriel’s leg out of the air, rolling onto the ground in a move that sent the Shadowsinger twisting in a graceful arch that had your breath catching in your throat. He broke free of Rhysand’s hold, leaping onto his feet like gravity didn’t apply. 

You met his eyes, heady and dark, and could have sworn he winked. But it may have just been a trick of the light. 

You ducked your head, hurrying across the room towards Feyre and Nesta and hoping they wouldn’t comment on the flush creeping up your neck.

“Fey—” you began urgently.

The High Lady held up a hand and you fell silent. There was a sheen to her eyes that let you know she was honing in on Rhysand’s moves with more than just her eyes. 

Nesta smirked at you as you blushed. You struggled to keep your gaze from drifting back to the powerful display, even as you caught glimpses of Azriel’s tan body out of the corner of your eye. Rippling, bold, strong. 

“Don’t worry about staring,” Nesta said with a wicked glimmer. “The boys admire us. We admire them. It’s an even exchange.” 

One mat over Cassian was sparing with a new female you’d never seen before. Illyrian, but there was something wrong with her wings. They were held strong and proud above the ground, but they dragged in places where Cassian had control over every minor movement. If you concentrated closely enough, you could make out the thin, shiny scars that had snipped the tendon closest to the apex of her wings, just by the arch of her claws. 

Your stomach dropped with horror.

Her wings had been clipped. 

She held her own against the Lord of Bloodshed. Cassian might have had the advantage of experience and his longer limbs, but she moved with a daring determination. She dodged every blow by the narrowest margin, conserving her energy so when she was able to slip close and find her opening, she slammed her elbow up and into his nose with a sickening crack that echoed throughout the room. 

You winced, hands flying up to your face at the same time that Cassian’s did. 

“FUCK!” He roared. 

“Whooo! THAT’S MY WIFE!” A gorgeous, curvy blond hung off one of the ring posts, legs propped up on the tensioned ropes. 

There was only one member of their family that had ever been described as sunlight incarnate. That had to be Mor. Which meant the striking female currently giving Cassian hell on the mat was Emerie.

Emerie blushed, stealing a heavy look for long enough for Cassian to snap his nose back into place. He ducked down and swept her legs out from beneath her, wrestling her to the ground in a tangle of leather and wings. But Nesta didn’t let him have the advantage for too long. 

Cassian choked on the teasing words he’d prepared for Emerie when Nesta sent him a particularly candid image of herself in a strip of black fabric. 

For later tonight. She whispered down the bond.

Damn it Nes.

Emerie smashed her forehead into his already swollen nose, then her knee surged up with enough strength to crack ribs. She braced her foot against his chest and flipped him over her head and onto his back, wrapping her powerful legs around his neck and pinning him to the ground with his arm forced back in his socket. Finally he tapped out. 

“Poor Illyrian baby,” Nesta crooned as Emerie pulled Cassian to his feet. Despite the blood that dripped from his nose, he was glowing with pride at Emerie. “Better luck next time.”

Mor grasped Emerie by the front of her training gear and yanked her close for a long kiss that left the Illyrian stumbling back with red lipstick smeared over her lips and a dark blush across her caramel cheeks. 

Nesta yelped when Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“We could try that move tonight. Your legs, my face? But this time I won’t tap out.” Cassian winked and Nesta leveled a sultry glare in his direction, eyes lingering on the sheen of his muscular chest with unabashed heat. 

“Get a room,” Mor called out and Emerie threw a towel in his direction. It landed over his shoulder with comical perfection. 

“Says the pair that had to disappear to another continent after their wedding ceremony.” 

Mor flung an obscene gesture his way and Cassian returned it with equal fervor. “Says the pair that made Azriel run for the hills when he was left to chaperone.” 

“Hey! That’s on Rhysand. He never should have left us with a chaperone at all.” Nesta cut in. 

“You rang.” Rhysand appeared sweaty and spent behind Mor’s shoulder and slung his arm around her. The bruises on his cheeks were turning darker by the second.

Azriel hovered on the edges of the crowd, glancing at Mor and then at you. He was mildly disappointed that you’d been too busy watching Cass and Emerie to see him win at the end of the fight.  

“Gross, get off of me.” Mor shoved her cousin away. 

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with laughter. He smiled at you, eyes gleaming with happiness. It had been so long since he’d last seen his cousin. 

“Mor.” He gestured to you, “Meet Y/n—” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think I just realized I don’t know your last name.” 

“Halwynn.” You offered up your mother’s last name. Even though you technically didn’t have any right to it as a bastard, it’s the name you’d gone by your whole life.

“Meet Y/n Halwynn,” Rhysand finished. 

“The resident intellect,” Mor said, caramel-brown eyes shining. “Well thank the Mother, you showed up when you did.” She looped her arm around yours easily and you caught a whiff of the perfume she’d dotted against her collarbones — amber and vanilla. A ruby the size of your thumb hung from a gold chain, following the dramatic dip in the front of her scarlet dress that left little to the imagination. You thought she might just be the most gorgeous female you’d ever seen. 

“We’d be absolutely lost without you. I hope the Library is up to your standards, although let’s be honest, it probably isn’t.”

You agreed a little too quickly. 

“Bethsevah Mordeigh.” Rhysand turned the name over in his mind, testing its familiarity and coming up empty. “Any takers?” 

You all stood around Rhysand’s desk, the book propped open beside bottles of jet-black ink, eagle-feather pens, and neat stacks of parchment paper.

Everyone shook their heads. 

“Fair enough.” He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “We’re only separated by a few thousand years, give or take.”

You paced in front of the windowsill, nervously picking at your fingernails until they were under threat of bleeding. Azriel noticed and one of his shadows gently wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands apart. You looked at him gratefully and stuck your hands in your pockets.

“The oldest text I’ve seen dates back twelve-thousand years,” Feyre offered. “I’ve also asked Gwyn and Clotho to begin searching.”

“What about the Day Court?” Azriel looked at you.

“I can ask Helion to search the archives. But I’ll warn you, records dating back that far are few and far apart. And priestesses back then were less keen on recording the movements of their members. But we might get lucky with some of her descendants if they ever joined the order. Work our way backwards through history.”

Mor shot Rhysand a look. “Why ask me to come back here now? I could have been of better use searching for this information on the Continent.”

“Now is not the time for you to be traversing foreign lands. Not with Koschei at risk of being let loose.” 

You shook your head. “And it wouldn’t matter. Bethsevah wouldn’t have been born on the Continent. If she ever went, it would have only been to trap Koschei. Our best bet is to search for information about her down south.”

The others stared at you in confusion. You blinked as if the answer was obvious. “Organized religion surrounding the Mother emerged in Southern Prythian and her priestesses didn’t spread out to Hybern or the Continent until the Insynthian Age.”

“Your point being?” Nesta folded her arms over her chest. When it came to the specifics of Prythian history, she and Feyre were about as useful as a glass rod in a lightning storm. 

“The bit about the candles is a very, very old ceremony. People would write their prayers in blood and have a priestess burn them on a candle made with a strand of their hair woven into the wick. If Bethsevah was a priestess performing this ritual, she would have been an early member of the order. Before the Insynthian Age.” 

“That would narrow things down significantly.” Rhysand nodded in approval. “I’ll reach out to Lucien, see if he’ll be able to find anything out for us.”

You pulled a sheef of paper out from your pockets and Helion’s pen. You scribbled down a note to him about what you’d discovered and within five minutes the words were racing south to the Day Court. 

“How on earth do you know this?” Mor asked incredulously, looking at you with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

“I’m a Librarian.” She looked unimpressed by that statement. “I had a religious phase.” You smoothed your thumb over your necklace, feeling for your mother’s seal — a flowering heather and fountain pen crossed over in an “x”. 

“A religious phase?”  

“Yes.” 

She clicked her tongue, red lips turning up in a smirk. “You Day Court fae are certainly something.” 

You blushed. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” You went to grab the book, but Mor’s hand slapped down first, pinning it to the table and you with a stare. 

“Nope. Work is for tomorrow,” Mor declared, eyes glittering with fondness. “Today, I want to see my city with my family.” 

You tapped the book through your robes, counting the rhythmic swings against your hip like a metronome. One. Two. One. Two. One-

Cassian leaned down to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before waving to a male with ash-blonde hair standing beside an apple cart. 

Pink ladies, honeycrisps, and ambrosias were piled high into luscious clouds. Two gestures and a flick of a coin through the air later and Cassian was shoving a small, flimsy basket in your hand. Roasted apples covered in burnt sugar and drizzled with caramel seeped into the wax paper. 

One. Two. One. Two. 

It was still too early for most of the Night Court, but the hustle and bustle in the Palace of Bone and Salt was unperturbed. Now was the time for the owners of small shops to haggle for prices without interfering with common business. The apple cart you just left had a new customer already — a wispy female with candy-floss hair lugging a basket on wheels capable of carrying three bushels for the bakery two streets over.

“Would you like some?” You held the food up to Azriel, but he only stumbled over a crack cobblestone street before shaking his head no. 

He was being awfully quiet today. Quieter than usual. 

Maybe he’s sick? You thought to yourself. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, but maybe that was just because he disliked the sandwiches you’d made. Or maybe it was because of a certain blond-haired female who kept giving him side glances with questions eating at her from the inside out.

“Come on,” you encouraged, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” 

Azriel looked at the apple slice you held out for him like it was a personal torture.

Cassian grinned and slung his arm over your shoulders, peeling you away from Azriel’s side to his relief. The weight was a comfort coming from him and you felt that thrill in your stomach whenever any member of the Inner Circle touched you. 

“Azriel won’t starve. I promise, Y/n.” 

Nyx thought he might starve. He was a growing boy, and had a stomach to match. He tapped your elbow and you wordlessly passed over the basket to him, but not before snatching a piece for yourself. The sugar crackled, then melted over your tongue, the sharpness from the apple cutting through caramel in a burst of tartness. 

“How is Helion doing by the way?” Mor dropped the question casually. “Rhys says you know him well.” 

You blinked at her. What did she care about Helion? “I’ve worked on a few projects for him before this one. And he’s doing as well as he can be, I suppose. Things aren’t exactly perfect in the Day Court right now.”

“Ah, Helion,” Mor breathed out, almost wistfully, “He was one of the few good males I ever slept with.” 

You choked on your food, sputtering and coughing for long enough that Cassian started to slap your back. You felt your bones shake with each blow.

So… Mor had slept with your father… figures.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you said meekly. You shoved more food in your mouth before anyone could ask any further questions.

Azriel felt that familiar pool of jealousy bubble in his stomach at the mention of Helion. You kept rubbing that necklace of yours, Helion’s seal displayed prominently like he’d personally stamped you as his. 

He allowed himself to get close enough to brush against your shoulder and a few of his shadows creeped onto your body, weaving themselves into your hair. You looked up at him and smiled. 

“You’re in a good mood today.” Azriel’s hazel eyes were brighter in the morning light, flecks of green poking through the amber. “You’re smiling.” 

And what didn’t you have to be smiling about? You were finally exploring Velaris. Mor, Cassian, and Nyx had touched you, albeit through the fabric of your robes, and you hadn’t been overwhelmed. And you’d finally been able to take knowledge from the book.

 It had been a pinch of information as potent as saltwater. You had gotten a name, and names held power. 

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with quiet delight. 

“I’m just happy,” you said. “I think things are getting better, with—” You glanced down at where your arms swung side by side and you reached out a finger, allowing it to gently brush against the scars at the top of his left hand. You curled your fingers around his for the briefest moment before letting go. “And… you know.” You shrugged. 

Azriel stopped walking abruptly and everyone turned to stare at him. The Shadowsinger was strung taughter than an Illyrian bow. 

Mor raised her brow in open appraisal. There was a flash of something like shock in her eyes and then she was buried in Emerie’s hair, whispering something into the female’s rounded ears that had her dark carved eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Az?” Rhys asked cheekily, “Everything alright?”

Cassian chuckled and even Nesta smirked.

Last year he was giving Elain and Gwyn the bedroom eyes, and now he short-circuits because Y/n brushes her hand against his? I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Cass.

Some females like their males a little pathetic and lovesick. 

You would know. 

Cassian chuckled, looping his arm around her waist and burying his lips in her hair. He twirled the face framing pieces between his fingers like he always did, and Nesta tried not to think about how she’d first started leaving them out after meeting the Lord of Bloodshed. It would seem she had once been a pathetic and lovesick fool herself.

I love it when you tease, Nes. 

Maybe she still was. Nesta couldn’t help but lean into his touch. 

They do make a good couple. She admitted and Cassian was in agreement.

Feyre was thinking the same thing as you twisted towards him, hand still outstretched like there was a string tying your fingers to his. You couldn’t help but want to drift towards him as surely as gravity makes rain fall to the earth. 

Does she know? Mor grasped Rhysand’s arm, eyes wide and staring. Does she know they’re mates? 

Not yet. 

Mor groaned. Are you fucking kidding me?

I wish I was.

Damn you, Azriel.

Azriel shook his head and forced his body to move forward. The world had stopped when you touched him, and it was only just starting to pick up again. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Nyx munched on his apple slice, staring at you both curiously before following after his mother and father.

“Did you hear something?” You stayed by his side, no longer interested in the aromas fluttering in the air from the bakery, the soup shop with its stone vats bubbling in the back, the smokehouse with its slabs of bacon crackling on grease. “From your shadows?”

“No. Why did you think that?”

“You had a look in your eye, like you weren’t quite there for a second. My mother used to say that I looked like that sometimes when using my powers. Like for a moment I was untethered from the earth and at risk of floating away.” 

Azriel saved that piece of information, storing it away in his mind next to the knowledge that you had always wanted a dustbear for a pet because they were such simple, mindless creatures and you never felt overcome in their presence. 

“I do feel that way at times.” He waited until your little troupe passed by the spice shops. The particles in the air always made Cassian sneeze. “But not now.” 

Everyone dipped into a paisley blue building, the bell ringing with a soft clang to announce their presence. 

“Right now I feel… settled.” 

You grinned at him brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined. “Good.” 

You followed after the others, and while your back was turned, Mor took her opportunity. She clawed the back of Azriel’s leathers, hauling him down the alleyway before anyone could notice. 

Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise when Mor shoved him up against the wall hard enough for a rain of petals to fall over their heads from the second floor balcony. It would have been romantic if it weren’t for the incredulous look in Mor’s eyes and the fact that Azriel was still caught up in your smile and the feeling of your skin against his. Gods he wished you were the one pressing him against this wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hug in Rhysand’s office. He wanted to feel the softness of your body against him once more. 

“You idiot!” Mor slapped him across the face and it shocked him back to the present. “Why didn’t you tell me you found your mate?” She hissed. 

Azriel looked frantically back to the street, half expecting you to be standing there with your inquisitive eyes. It was still a jolt to his system whenever anyone used that word: mate. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. It was such a fragile word, and the others tossed it around so dangerously. 

“I didn’t—” Azriel stammered. Mor and Emerie’s arrival this morning had been unexpected for everyone except Rhysand and Feyre. “There wasn’t time.” “So?! You should’ve made time.” Mor stepped away, letting the Shadowsinger back down onto his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while Mor tossed her waist length hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink, tanned and freckled from her time on the Continent. 

Azriel felt that familiar coil of guilt building in his stomach and he tried to remember the apology he’d been preparing for this exact moment when he and Mor would be alone. 

He cleared his throat and bowed his head to the ground in a picture of reverent apology. “Mor, about what I said—”

She crashed into him again, arms looping around his neck and squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs crack. And she was… laughing?

“You have a mate!” She giggled through happy tears, bouncing on her feet. Her heels clicked against the granite tiles. “My best friend finally has a mate!”

She kept repeating it over and over again, like she couldn’t quite believe it herself. 

“Mor, please. Keep it down.” They were attracting attention and Azriel wordlessly summoned his shadows to hide them from view.

Mor finally let him go, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry I just—” She squealed. 

Azriel let out a long, heavy sigh. This was closer to the reaction he should have had when Mor and Emerie announced their engagement. Instead he’d gone cold and silent. 

He should have known Mor preferred females, and maybe he had known all along that Mor could never love him the way he’d once loved her. But he’d done what he always did when it came to love and ran forward with a blindfold on, hoping his aim was true but never bothering to check. 

Mor furrowed her brows. “Are you upset by this? Why do you look like that?”

“What?” Azriel hissed like the question physically hurt him. “No. No! I’m not upset, I’m—” He clenched his fists and said in a small voice, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He took a deep breath and winced, “And I’m thinking that you must have felt similarly when you got together with Emerie, and that I royally fucked up by reacting the way that I did.” 

He could picture it clear as day — Mor’s radiant smile slipping off her face, left hand dropping behind her back to hide the glittering ruby, the tears that gathered in her eyes when all Azriel did was remain stiff as stone before dropping off the balcony at her engagement party. 

Mor hesitated then tucked her honey-gold waves behind her ears like she did whenever she was uncomfortable. “I should have told you sooner.” Azriel knew she was referring to more than just her relationship with Emerie. “I knew you loved me and I let you believe for so long that there might be a chance I could return those feelings. But I was scared because… because I wanted to know there would always be someone waiting for me if…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. The nails may have disappeared from her body without a trace, but they’d been hammered elsewhere in her soul and she hadn’t managed to take them out just yet. “It was wrong of me to use you like that. To keep you waiting for so long.”

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “I think you gave me more than a few hints that it wouldn’t work out. Chief among them, Cassian.” Mor’s gaze dropped to her feet, but all Azriel did was press a gentle kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I still love you, Mor, and I always will. It’s just a different kind of love now. I’m happy for you and Emerie. Truly.” 

“Yeah?” She looked up hopefully. 

Azriel nodded. He pulled Mor close, wrapping his wings around her to block out the sounds of bartering happening in the square. They stayed like that for a long while, until the shadows on the wall had dropped another inch. 

Mor sniffled and pushed him away. “Ok, enough of this now.” She carefully brushed away at the corner of her eyes, “You’re ruining my makeup.” 

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Mor noted how it seemed to come easier to him now.   

The whole day you’d felt that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until a flustered artisan carrying bolts of spider silk fabric crashed into you that you realized what it was.

You stumbled into Azriel’s sturdy arms, feeling the strength and power beneath his leathers as he propped you up against his side. 

“So sorry, miss. Please forgive me.” The artisan blubbered. His cat eyes glowed a pale orange as they flickered over you from head to toe, “Can’t see with this.” He lifted the bolt. There was something about his gaze that unsettled you, like he was searching for something. Like he was hungry. Or scared.

“It’s alright.” You adjusted your clothes, tucked the book behind your back so it was pressed up against Azriel’s hip. 

That look in his eyes disappeared and he huffed in relief before continuing down the cobblestone streets, too much in a hurry to notice the Shadowsinger glaring at him.

“Are you ok?” He let you find your footing, keeping his hand at the small of your back. 

You stared at the male’s retreating form. “He didn’t… he didn’t bow to you. To any of you.” You blinked at Feyre and Rhysand.

She wore no crown, no jewelry except the ring on her finger and the diamonds in her  ears, but the male must have known he was in the presence of his High Lady. And there was no mistaking Rhysand and his brothers.

“Like Azriel said when you first arrived here, we take the casual approach.” Feyre said, and as if to make the point, Nyx shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side in a manner so like Rhys that Azriel and Cassian burst out laughing. Rhys looked down fondly and brushed back his hair. 

Feyre drifted to your side, watching with amusement as Nyx disappeared into the forest of color that was the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Every inch of fabric was too precious to be wasted, and so the weavers collected the scraps and tied them together, end to end, until they became one long chain. They hung from the entrances of shops, from the arches criss-crossing overhead, and from hand-painted signs. They wrapped around doorways and caught on the shoulders of passerbys, whispering of the time and effort spent crafting them.

Nyx weaved in and out of these strands, chased by Cassian and Azriel as they pretended to be tricked by the little boy’s lithe footsteps. You gasped as he turned invisible, then reappeared four inches to his left, jabbing at Azriel’s side before disappearing again.

“He can wrap light around himself as much as he can weave darkness,” Feyre explained, staying close to your side, “I think he might have gotten some remnant of the Day Court’s power from me. It made him an absolute nightmare for about three years when he couldn’t control it. Can you imagine having a toddler waddling around and wreaking havoc that you can’t even see?”

Nesta let out a sharp breath of laughter. “I think that’s an experience unique to you, Fey.”

You had to agree. You’d never turned invisible as a child, although you had to admit it would have been a very useful power to inherit from your father.

“Gotcha! You little rascal!” Cassian said triumphantly. 

You heard Nyx shriek with laughter. Cassian and Azriel both had one arm raised above their heads and with a little shake the boy came back into view, dangling upside down from his ankles.  

“Don’t break the boy, Cass.” 

“I won’t break him, Rhys. Gotta let him grow old enough to beat all those bastards at Windhaven, don’t I?” 

Rhys and Feyre’s smiles slipped ever so slightly. 

Nyx was lowered to the ground. He kept his arms out and balanced on his hands for a brief moment before walking over onto his feet with a flourish. 

“Gwyn taught me that last week. She’s part river nymph. Very flexible.” He brushed invisible dirt from his shirt and continued on, leading the way towards the Sidra like he owned the place — which in some respects he did.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Just another little chapter with more slowburn antics between Y/n and Azriel! And! Mor and Emerie are here! I am slowly but surely collecting characters like pokemon cards because you know I want to have my favorites in Velaris when shit starts to go down...

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel spymaster

[redheadspark]

Never Ever

Summary - Azriel consols his son after a nightmare.

A/N - This is part of the Ocean Eyes Series

Azriel has gown accustom to the quiet in Velaris.

The little home out in the countryside was especially quiet, with the moon hanging high in the sky amongst the clouds and the grass softly swaying in the wind, Azriel loved this kind of quiet.  He was accustomed to frogs bellowing from the river not too far away, or the faint hum of fireflies that were dancing along the tops of the herbs in the garden behind the cottage.  He was used to it now, and he would prefer this over the sterile silence of the Illyrian camps or even in the city of Velaris. 

This was one of the very few nights he was home.  Most of the time he would work late or until around dinner time, Rhysand needing his Spymaster duties more frequently than ever before.  With the improved relationship with Autumn Court getting better by the day, Eris was still a targeting threat to Night Court.  He knew that threats he had two times against Azriel and his family, so The Autumn Prince has been quiet for the last few months or so.  Azriel still kept his shadows busy with intel from Eris.

He had no trust in Eris, and he wouldn’t anytime soon.

You were helping Nesta and Cassian at the House of Wind, Nesta being so close to her due date that she was restricted to her bed until it was time to give birth.  Madja had to be stern with her, knowing Nesta was a stubborn fae.  She was convinced though, Cassian staying by her side to give her plenty of rest and preparation for their new title bundle of joy.  You were more than willing to help, making plenty of herbs for her and prepping plenty of great meals for herself and Cassian to enjoy.  It meant that you were the one staying out a bit later in the night, and Azriel would be on cottage duty.

Of course, Alec missed his mother being around.  When he wasn’t attending school in the mornings in Velaris, he would be at home or on a playdate with Nyx.  Azriel could tell he was missing you from time to time when you’d be helping his Aunt Nesta.  He was good at hiding his feelings, even with the faint signs of his shadows humming against his small backside, Alec never wanted to show that he wanted his mother.  It pained Azriel to see his son trying to hide his feelings, but then again he had to do the same when he was young.

Azriel made it a point to change that with Alec.

He had finished the last of the dishes to let them air dry when he first felt it along his shadows.  Movement, very close by, making him pause from his actions.  It wasn’t a negative sense so to speak, but something familiar.  Something warm, not a threat, and nothing dangerous.  He knew that feeling, and the next thing he heard was one of the floorboards creaking from very little weight.  

Lastly, he heard a sniffle.  Instantly he turned, knowing who it was within an instant.

Alec, in his pajamas, and massive tears on his cheeks.

“D-d-daddy,” He hiccuped.

Azriel was gliding over within an instant and scooping him up within his arms.  Alec clung to him, his face digging into his father’s neck so his father could feel the tears hitting his shirt.  It broke his heart to see Alec in tears, a sweet young boy who would never hurt fly and would light up his tiresome day.  Azriel also knew his heart was tender, so tender and consumed with love, so there would be times when it would break or shatter.  

All Azriel could do was pick up those pieces and mend his heart.

“What’s wrong, Alec?  You wanna tell me?” Azriel asked him in a soothing tone, rubbing his back with his knuckles as he walked them over to the couch to sit.  Alec was hiccuping in his lap, his fingers clinging to Azriel’s shirt too tight as Azriel kept cooing at him, “I got you, okay?  You’re safe with me,”

“I-I had a b-b-bad dream,” Alec mumbled into his shirt, sniffling a bit.

“I’m sorry, buddy.  Nightmares are simply scary dreams.  But that’s all they are: dreams.  Nothing real, okay?” Azriel reminded his son, who nodded his head rapidly as he moved his head to look up at his other.  His bright eyes were almost illuminated, and the tears on his cheeks were evident.

“I didn’t l-l-like the dream though, Daddy,” he explained, Azriel hummed and pushed his tears away gently with his thumbs.

“I know you didn’t, buddy.  You wanna tell me about it?” He asked his son, he bit his lower lip for a brief moment as his father waited patiently.  It was one of the traits Ariel loved about his son: always in deep thought.

“You and momma weren’t there,” Alec explained, Azriel watching his son’s piercing blue eyes start to mist again as he was looking at his fingers that were fiddling in his lap, “I was lost and I tried to find you, and momma.  But I couldn’t find you, and I..I g-g-ot—“

Azriel tucked him into a hug again as Alec sniffled and blinked out a few more tears.  Azriel knew his son loved being around his parents, he had a sense of safety with you and Azriel.  It was one of the main goals Azriel had: to make his son feel loved and safe.  It wasn’t that Alec was insanely introverted, he had friends at his school and a wonderful relationship with his cousin Nyx.  Alec would rather be around his big loving family than anywhere else. The last thing Azriel would ever want is for his son to not feel safe at any time.  

“My sweet boy,” Azriel hummed into his son’s hair while he rubbed Alec’s back soothingly with the tips of his fingers, “You should never be afraid of being alone.  You will never be alone, okay?  Your momma and I will never ever leave you alone,”

Azriel heard his son sniffle a bit, then pausing before speaking in a mere murmur, “Never?”

He had to smile against his son’s black locks, hearing the small inkling of hope in his son’s tone, “Never ever.  You’re our son, Alec Rhysand, and we love and adore you too much to leave you alone,”

It seemed to do the trick since Azriel could no longer hear Alec crying or sniffling too much.  But he was still holding onto his father, not as tightly but possessively.  He finally sat back up, Azriel seeing how he was a bit calmer and sleep was evident on his face and under his eyes.  He grinned, “How about I tuck you back into bed, okay?”

“Mmkay, and daddy?” Alec asked tentatively.

“Yeah, Alec?”

“I miss momma,”  

Azriel heard the pain in his voice from those three words, which broke his heart a bit.  He knew Alec loved his mother and wanted to be around her constantly.  You were an exceptional mother to Alec, you knew just how to shower him with love and still be firm at the same time when it was needed.  But the best thing that you did, in Azriel’s opinion at least, was make Alec feel like the most important Illryian throughout the land.  

It was as if you were born to be a mother.  Azriel firmly believed that.

“I know, buddy. I miss her too,” Azriel agreed, standing up with Alec in his arms as Alec’s head was snuggled on his shoulder with his eyes blinking slowly and a yawn on his lips, “However, if I know your momma, she should be back very soon.  But right now she’s helping Aunt Nesta, remember?”

“Helping her before she has the baby?” Alec asked as Azriel walked down the hallway back to Alec’s little bedroom.

“That’s right. Your momma wants to help her before the baby comes, and that means she has to be away for a bit.  But not forever,” Azriel reassured his son as he made it to the door that was left ajar that led into Alec’s room.  

“I hope not forever,” Alec mumbled, yawning again as Azriel chuckled and poked his head into the small room.  Alec’s bed was tucked against the wall and by a window that looked out into the open meadow, Velaris not too far away along with the massive mountains.  His dresser was in the closet that had his clothes and small trinkets sitting on the top.  The walls were painted in tints of purple and blue to reflect the night sky, all thanks to Aunt Feyre, and plenty of toys that were tucked into a beautiful wooden toy chest with his name engraved on the top, a generous gift from his Uncle Rhysand.  

Azriel walked his son across the room, dodging the wooden sword that Alec got as a Winter Solstice gift from Cassian last year and then placing his son back in bed.  Alec snuggled into the bed as Azriel tucked the blanket up and around his arms.  Azriel could see that he was beyond sleepy, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and trying to stay awake as his head was sinking into the plush pillow, “Tomorrow we can go to the harbor. You, me, and momma. How does that sound?”

Alec lit up a bit from the suggestion, his smile infectious as he nodded his head, “Mmkay, Daddy.  I wanna get a present for Nesta’s baby too,” 

“You want to get a gift?” Azriel asked, almost in a bit of shock as Alec nodded his head again.

“Mmhmm.  Maybe a stuffy like my owl, so that if the baby gets sad, the stuffy will help,” He suggested, his voice showing signs of slumber and his eyes starting to drift close with ease.  Azriel was immensely proud of his son, seeing how big his heart was even when he was missing his mother and experiencing a nightmare.  

“That sounds like a great idea, Alec.  Now, let’s get some sleep, okay?  I’ll make sure momma comes in to give you a kiss when she gets home, okay?”  Azriel asked him as Alec held his stuffed owl in his tiny arms.

“Okay, Daddy.  Night night,” Alec replied, letting out one more big yawn before his eyes drifted closed.

“Goodnight, buddy.  I love you,” Azriel hummed against his head, pressing one more kiss against his dark locks.  He then got up from the bed, about to walk out of the bedroom and close the door behind him when he heard a soft sound from the bed.

“Love you too, daddy,”

Azriel turned back and looked, seeing Alec drifting back to sleep with a soft smile.  Once again, Azriel had to pause and drink in his life: to anyone else, it would be seen as mundane or ordinary.  Not to him, not to the Spymaster who went through torment and pain as a youngster and always had to have people arm's length away.  He saw death head-on and fought back, he’s seen fae and other beings die around him as he went on, and he always assumed he wouldn’t have a simple life or that the simple life would fulfill him.

He was wrong.  This life was the only life he would ever want and need. 

As he turned off the light and closed the door, with the moonlight dancing along his son’s sleeping face, Azriel considered himself a lucky Illryian for this life.  He no longer had to rely on fear or brutality as other Illryians did, nor did he have to be uncertain if he would ever be happy.  He was beyond happy, happy with a mate who loved him with all his flaws, happy that he had a found family who brought him out of darkness and doubt, and most importantly, happy with his son who saw Azriel as his world and more.  

The next morning Azriel noticed that your side of the bed was still untouched, which made him slightly panic.  But your jacket was hung on the back of a chair, as well as your messenger bag you would take.  That made him confused as he got up from bed and ruffled his hair.  Anytime either one of you would come in late, you would notify each other.  Azriel couldn’t recall hearing you whisper to him last night or getting a kiss on the cheek, yet your things were in the room.  

He poked his head into Alec’s room, seeing an adorable and loving sight as you cradled your son in your arms and the pair of you sleeping in Alec’s bed.  Your wings drooped over the side of the small bed, Alec snoring away as his head was on your chest fast asleep while you too were in deep sleep with your arms tucked around him.  With the early morning sun rays dancing in the room to brighten the space, it felt peaceful and almost tranquil in a way.  

Azriel had to grin: the two most important beings in his life were sleeping together.  

The End.

tagged - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #Azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #azriel spymaster #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #fanfiction #writing #daddyazriel #daddyazrielandalec #azriel x female reader #acomar #acowar

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: eek not a request but an idea that wouldn't leave me alone! thus... we embark on a mulan-esque story that i hope u will enjoy <3 big thank you's to @strangerstilinski who listened and helped immensely as i whittled a hunky idea down to a plot

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: Someone in the Illryians Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lords. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter. fem!reader

— CHAPTER ONE :: STRANGERS

Frost was everywhere.

Despite all the eerie memories that tainted them, the Illyrian Mountains were hauntingly beautiful, even Azriel could admit that.

Pine trees stretched up tall, their timber trunks hidden beneath the snow-leaden branches. It was a sea of swirling frost. Snowflakes eddied down from the frozen sky, a soft blanket of white draped across the landscape.

He was sure that some, maybe the likes of Feyre and her artist's eye, could see that beauty easier than he could.

Beautiful, Azriel thought bitterly, but fucking freezing.

Normally, dealing with the likes of the war camps that riddled these mountains was left to Cassian. He had that raucous, fiery way about him that was far better suited to it. Enough pride to challenge the warriors and more than enough eager attitude to back his taunts if need be.

But Cassian was currently very much occupied— and highly unsuited to crack the whip against some rowdy Illyrians in his current state.

Azriel couldn't help the smile at the thought of when he'd last seen his brother.

Freshly mated Cassian looked as though he had tiny hearts circling around his head at all times. He resembled a puppy following his nose, always that wicked grin on his face as he trailed after Nesta. His adoration was impossible to miss.

Cassian had more than earned the time off. He deserved to celebrate properly, to have a couple weeks with no badgering worries, with no bickering Illyrian warriors to deal with (beyond his usual two).

So, as a mating gift to his brother —and partially to escape a house filled with intolerably mated couples— Azriel had taken over his duty temporarily. To oversee the war camps he detested so much.

Today, he was to investigate the rumoured stirrings amongst the camps and assess the level of threat it posed. More often than not, these sorts of stirrings were simply whispers of rebellion but nothing more.

There was an easy fix; a visit from one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, or even from Rhys himself. It always made the Illyrians a little nervous and those whispers of a coup would sweep away with the wind in a matter of time.

This time, however, the network of spies that operated under Azriel had not come back spinning such rumours.

Instead, there was talk of Lords with ruffled feathers. Lords with bruised egos due to a single bastard warrior, rising in the ranks and not playing by the rules.

The familiarity of the situation was almost too ironic, Azriel thought. He had half a mind to tell Rhys what he had learned and leave them to it. Cauldron knew these brutal camps needed a bastard to challenge their ways from time to time.

But still, there was always the potential for such a warrior to pose a threat in the future. Azriel could not leave a possible danger to brew. No stone left unturned.

The snow beneath his boots was beginning to melt.

He had been standing in the cold and peering up at the war camp ahead, barely seen through the heavy snow falling, for too long now. Snow was gathering on his wings, tendrils of ice shooting through their sensitive membrane. Find the bastard.

Shaking off the snow, he began to walk.

—

Gods forsaken males and their egos.

The bone in your forearm ached, having taken the brunt of your initial fall in the mud. It's covered in it too, the muck of the ground that always seemed to linger. Always a layer of dirt beneath your fingernails. Truly, one of the many incredible appeals of the Illyrian mountains was never actually being clean.

You'd probably hate it more— if it didn't do such a good job of masking unwanted scents.

But right now with a jagged cut that tears up your left arm, all the way to the elbow, you're cursing the mud. It's likely festering with uncountable grim diseases. You'll have to flush the wound to properly clean it before it begins to heal.

That means water. That means energy that you don't particularly feel like summoning to fetch it. You cast your glance to the window.

Outside, the Mother's Kiss howls loudly.

The southerly chilled wind current that Illyrians don such a precious name is quite fitting for their backward ways — to expect a kiss from your mother to have such a sting on the face.

Tonight, the current seems particularly fierce. The windows of your shelter rattle in warning. A storm had blown through camp rather unexpectedly and you'd caught the worst of it, tangled up in a snarling fest against Brudam.

Brudam, who is responsible for the current state of your arm. Your lip curls at the mere thought of the arrogant male. Your wings bunch up tightly and you huff quietly to nobody.

He'd caught wind of the broth you had made that had filled the stomach of three ravenous bastards in the camp. It had been just enough to keep them on their feet. Tonight, you know that one hot meal might very well be the difference that helps them survive the night.

But Illyrians are a tough breed— and they don't take kindly to people giving handouts, as Brudam had put it.

You preferred the term leveling the playing field.

As if Brudam and his Lord father had ever experienced to ache of starvation. Ever had to sleep in the snow with nothing but their own wings for warmth against a blizzard.

Another deep pain twinges in your arm and you hiss, drawn out of your thoughts. If you have to pick your wins, you can at least admit you're glad he had only found out about the broth— and had seemed none the wiser to the healing tonics you were slipping the freshly-clipped girls.

It ached to see them and their quivering wings. The way the muscles in their backs buckled when they tried to spread their wings, a cut too deep into the wrong nerve. It ached to see it, yes, but beneath that pain was an ocean of bitter and furious fire.

But your righteous anger would not help these girls.

You were not the most proficient healer and the tonics you were attempting... it was hard to say if they would make any difference in saving any females' wings.

You were gathering knowledge as best you could though, scraping together herbs that scarcely grew in the frozen climate. It was a poor imitation of something that might work.

Whether it would be enough... that was up to the Mother. But you had to try.

You assess the wound on your arm once more, wondering about the reserve of water you had in your small hut— whether you could both clean your wound and have enough to hydrate.

Another glance out at the wintry snowscape outside. You grimaced. If you didn't, you would have to bear the blistering chill of the Mother's Kiss to get more.

Weariness weighs on your bones. You hadn't been prepared for the fight, hence your almost embarrassing injury, and it drained you more than you expected.

You stand with a sigh and drag your feet toward the tiny cauldron filled with melted snow collected earlier in the day. It hangs over the fireplace, the embers within long since snuffed out. Your motion stirs them up.

For a moment, you stare into the fireplace. The water in the cauldron shimmers. The shelter creaks around you, bending in the wind.

It's covered in soot, marred by the flames that usually lick it from beneath it. The lip of it, however, is still clean enough to see your own reflection. You peer into it.

And in that reflection, you find a tall figure with massive wings looming above their shoulders standing behind you.

Your heart spasms in shock and you have to swallow your gasp of surprise. Your eyes dart up, frantically hunting for a weapon. You grab the closest object you can, your hand closing around a kitchen fork. And before they get the chance, you twist and lunge, arm raised.

The floorboards groan as your boots slam into them, darting forward to attack. But the male dodges you easily, your strike passing through empty air.

You don't stop, turning and striking for him once again. The male sways back again easily to avoid your swing and you scowl.

Quickly feigning one way, you watch as his hands, weaponless, move to defend his gut — and you change direction, fast. Neck exposed, you snarl as you sink the fork deep into his shoulder.

The male hisses in pain.

You falter for a moment at the noise but it's a mistake. His hands move so fast you barely see them, gripping your wrist that holds the fork and twisting it down to the ground, immobilising you from using it.

You snarl again and tug against him fruitlessly. A swell of panic begins to rise within you as you tug again, again, again. His hold doesn't falter.

"Stop," The male commands you quietly.

This time when you tug, he opens his fingers and you fly back onto your ass, wings flaring out a moment too late to catch yourself.

You expect him to trudge forward, to beat an attack down on you now that you're less defended, but he doesn't move from his spot.

In fact, you realise as you stare at him, cheat heaving, he hasn't attacked you at all.

His weapons, which there are many of them, stay strapped to his side, glittering against the snow's reflected light. You spot the siphon on his hand, a churning sapphire colour — and clock the matching one on his other hand.

This was not just any Illyrian warrior in your home.

Faintly, your panic subsides as you realise that if this male meant to hurt you —to kill you— he very well could have done so by now.

You let your eyes trail up, taking in the face so hidden in shadow, and recognize that the darkness swirling around him is not ordinary shadow.

The revelation has you sitting up a bit straighter, the bindings around your chest pulling tight. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

What do you say to one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history —one who served on Rhysand's inner circle, friend of the High Lord of the Night Court— when you've just stabbed him with a fork?

As if your thought had reminded him, the male —Azriel, you know his name to be— shifts and reaches for the utensil still sticking out of his shoulder. He yanks it out without a noise of complaint.

Then he says, "Considering your choice of weapon, it's no surprise Brudam cut up your arm."

You scowl at him but at a closer look, you can see that his expression isn't condescending. No, with his raised brows, he almost looks... impressed.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." You bite back defensively.

Azriel's eyes dance with amusement. He throws the fork onto your table with a clatter. "That's how you greet visitors?"

"Uninvited ones, yes."

His amusement fades, the planes of his face shadowed and yet still handsome. Like most Illyrians, there's this incomprehensible sense of elegance to him, an alluring pull tied to his very demeanor.

But looking at him now, even in the dimness of your shelter, you could see Azriel went beyond to type of beauty that usual Illyrians had. An unparalleled grace, an unmatched Adonis.

He is the most beautiful male you had ever seen—and you had just stabbed him with a fork.

"Sorry," You mutter eventually when he doesn't say anything.

You shift onto your knees to stand, your hand coming to cup beneath your elbow— the ache of the injury had begun to bleed back in now that you weren't focused on fighting off an intruder.

"You're forgiven." He says. You can see lightly, through the dimming light, the faint blood on his neck you've caused.

"You fight well," He comments, with the air of a compliment. Something like amusement is in his eyes when he says, "Even with your unusual choice of weapon."

You glare at him as you climb to your feet and all but collapse into a chair. You don't even have another to offer to him. Buried beneath your leathers, your chest aches in pain — a reminder that it's been bound for far too long. You ignore it and tilt your chin towards him.

"Why are you here?"

You're actually sure that even if you offered Azriel a chair he wouldn't take it, given how stiffly he stands before you. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze flitting around the small room you both stand in. Calculating, categorizing.

"There were rumours of a warrior turning up trouble here."

He fixes his hazel-eyed gaze on you. You steel yourself beneath it. "A couple days in your camp and it became clear who the outlier was."

A couple days? For some reason, you can't believe that he's been surveying this place without detection from anyone. Another glance at his shadows, the dark masses that hang around his shoulders, and you can believe it a little more.

Besides, it's hardly as though the Lords would deign to tell a bastard like you anything important.

You clench your jaw but don't say anything.

"Brudam mentioned you feeding some warriors." Azriel continues, his tone unreadable. Though something, you couldn't tell what, glittered in his eyes. "Not very in the spirit of Illyrians."

You scowl at him again. Even if he had once faced these conditions before, you wondered if his time away, spent Cauldron knows where, had softened his memory.

"It's not against any law."

"No, it isn't," Azriel says. His eyes narrow. "But making healing tonics without a Healer's jurisdiction and selling them to young females is."

Your heart stops for just a moment. How could he know that? The last batch you had dropped off had been over a month ago.

Without thinking you snarl back, "I'm not selling them, you prick."

Something blooms on Azriel's face, surprise and a hint of smugness.

Your mouth snaps shut as you realise what you've done. You curse yourself. Slumping back in your chair, your wings sag with you and you let them droop onto the floor, uncaring. He could very well be here to kill you, given the knowledge of what you had just admitted.

For a long moment, there's just silence.

You stare at the floor and wonder which version of the High Lord is true; the Court of Nightmares whose power ripples through these camps and keeps them in line. Or the rumours of a softer side, a dreamer.

You wonder, more importantly, which of those this male before you is friends with.

Something in the floor creaks when Azriel finally moves. He crosses the room swiftly to the fireplace and gathers two logs from the stack of firewood beside it, tossing them onto the pile of ash.

You watch, perturbed, as he hunches over the fireplace for a quiet minute— and when he pulls back, a small flame is burning on the wood. It dances on the log, entrancing and amber-coloured.

Heat begins to fill the room. You pick your wings up and stretch them towards it, grateful for how they begin to warm. You hadn't quite realised the extent of your chill until right now.

It's such a kindness that hasn't been shown to you in many years. Surprise and silent gratitude bloom in your chest.

Azriel turns back to face you. You school your surprise away.

"What's your name?" He asks, his voice gruff.

It's been a while since anyone asked that either. Bastard. Mongrel. Imposter. There are a thousand other words that have become your name whilst growing up here.

You can't tell him your name. In the same way you can't tell anyone here your real name without revealing too much about yourself.

So you shorten it and tell him that instead.

Azriel nods. Doesn't repeat it, doesn't blink at your hesitance. Instead, he just says, "Like I said, you fight well. You could be better though."

You frown at the backhanded compliment, something in you sneering at the jab at your fighting skills. Worse, you know he's right.

If you had weapons suited to your size, exercises that focused on your agility more than your brute strength... There's a good reason you have to work twice as hard as every other warrior in camp.

Azriel looks at your arm, no longer bleeding and beginning to stitch itself up. Shit, you really need to clean that first.

"Clean that and get a good night's rest." He orders, not meanly. Then he crosses the space of your shelter in a few paces of his long legs, heading for the door.

"You—" The question dares to come out of you. "You're not going to turn me in?"

Azriel pauses, one hand, one scarred hand you can now see with the fire going, on the door. So, the rumours of that were true.

"No," He says lowly. He sees you staring, and as if on command, the shadows swirling around his shoulders dart down to cover his hands. They and the doorknob in his hand disappear from sight completely.

You evade your eyes back up to his hauntingly beautiful face. His expression is stony, unreadable. He stares at you for a long moment, the dancing fire reflected in his hazel eyes.

"I'm going to train you."

[next part]

#ahhhh!!! i'm very excited for this one!! #pray i can do it justice !! #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel fic

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

You are alone. The room is dark. Silent. Not a single noise audible. Not a single candle burning. Nothing but deafening silence and darkness, almost like an endless void.

And you. You are alone with your thoughts. Your fears. Your memories. 

Nesta has left a moment ago, the wooden door is now closed, the room dark. She had asked you a few times if it would be alright to leave you alone, and of course, you said yes. You decided that you like Nesta. She has a powerful aura around her and is definitely not one to mess with. You would have loved to talk to her a bit more, but you couldn’t keep her here. 

But damn, do you hate being alone now. You said you would be alright, but deep inside you knew you wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to keep her here. You couldn’t do this to her.

You are miserable and considered one of the most dangerous beings in this world — what would she do here? With you. She definitely has better things to do...

But now that you are alone, the room suddenly scares you. Being alone does. You didn’t want to keep her here, but you also don’t want to be alone.

Your curl your fingers towards your palms, drawing blood when your sharp nails pierce into your flesh. But the pain…you don’t even notice it anymore, having done this so many times over the past centuries. Whenever you were scared, or panic.king It was not in order to harm or hurt yourself, but to remind yourself that what is happening to you real, not some wild nightmare or hallucination, that you haven’t gone mad.

You lift your gaze and turn your head slightly, your neck aching. You realise quickly that you can’t stay here. You don’t want to stay here. Not alone. Not in the dark. Never again. You can’t do this. You can’t stay here right now. 

No one told you you had to stay in your room, only in the Library. So the Library is where you want to be. Outside of this room. In the light. Surrounded by books and maybe one or the other person – the priestesses.

You shoot to the door and rip it open, dashing toward the first light source you spot. The large, towering bookshelves at the end of the corridor are lit and this is where you are heading right now, tired feet still carrying you over the floor rather quickly.

Once surrounded by many books, the scent of the old pages seeping into your nostrils, you inhale deeply and close your eyes for a moment, trying to level your breathing and still your mind.

The Valkyries once had breathing techniques you still like to use. Mind-stilling techniques that helped you to not go insane in your time in the Prison.

You hand reaches out and you brush over some books.

It is a soft, female voice that startles you slightly when you hear it behind you. “You must be, Y/N.”

You spin around and are met with a beautiful, tall female with teal eyes. She kindly smiles at you and you nod.

“I‘m Gwyn. I also live here. Welcome to the Library.”

You meet her gaze and stop dead in your tracks. "Gwyn?"

"Yes," she says, "actually Gwyneth Berdara, but I prefer Gwyn. Just Gwyn."

You look at her in slight surprise, feeling both nostalgic and sad. Your friend, a former member of the Wild Hunt, was called Gwyn. He is dead now.

"You are not scared?" You don't want to think about him, the friend you have lost. Another person who left the world too soon.

You swallow around a lump in your throat and your sharp fingernails brush over the spine of a book. You are thankful for the sweater Nesta has offered you on your way down here, having seen how much you shivered, now hanging loosely over your shoulders, the nightgown beneath still the same you have been wearing for centuries.

"Of you?" Gwyn asks with a smile and takes one step closer. You almost want to warn her to not get too close, but you know you would never hurt her. It’s only what you’ve heard your whole life. Don’t get too close to the demon. Stay away from the evil female. 

The Bloodthirsty Baroness comes at midnight to steal your soul and leave you to bleed out. The Silent Reaper executes you before you can defend yourself. Not once have you done such a thing - only tales and legends made you seem like this demonic monster. You only ever avenged victims, took care of those who hurt them, and devoured the revenge you exerted. But you never hurt someone only to hurt them.

"Yes, of me." You meet her eyes again and see how she shakes her head.

"I have a lot of respect for you, but scared? I know you won’t harm me, so I'm not scared."

"Because the High Lord would kill me for it."

Her warm, soft palm lands on your chest before you have time to react. It startles you, massively, and you nearly choke on a breath. Your eyeballs threaten to fall out of their sockets by how wide your eyes are open — she is touching you. You are not irritated or shocked about the audacity, you are confused, startled, about her...kindness.

She smiles when she takes in the shock on your face.

"I am not scared of you because I know you have a good heart. Right in there, you are good, and I don’t have to be afraid of you, with the High Lord’s protection or without it. I know you wouldn’t harm me."

She pulls back her hand and you almost want to reach for her and just pull her into an embrace. She reminds you of your sister and right now you would give the world for just a simple hug from your sister. Or just a simple hug. Just someone caring enough for you to hold you.

“The fangs? The claws, the—”

“Incredibly amazing assets and most definitely very handy in battle. And as I said, I have a lot of respect for you, I can feel your power and I know what you are probably capable of. I am incredibly impressed by you and your powers, but they don't scare me.”

You almost want to laugh about the powers part. Because right now...you don't have them. Not with the amulet not being in your possession, not with some training. Every ounce of power you had, slowly drained from your body during the imprisonment.

But you shake your head and inhale deeply. You don't want to let your anger and frustration show right now, it wouldn't be fair when Gwyn has only been kind to you.

With a little chuckle slipping through your lips you shake your head. “You have a heart of pure gold, Gwyn.”

She only smiles politely, but a faint blush stains her cheeks. “You want company this evening?”

A sigh of relief leaves you. “There is nothing I would rather want." You sling your arms around yourself. "If you don’t mind, of course.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

The following day – armed with several books Gwyn helped you collect in the Library– you start to read up on Koschei, on spells and curses, on anything that could be important. 

You dive into one book after the other, each one captivating you so much you forget about the time and world around you as you gather information, noting things done or remembering by heart. Your mind is sharp, fully focused on the book, eyes scanning every single word, taking it all in. There is so much that is important, you let your head fall back and then you inhale deeply. 

Hopefully, they will give you back your amulet soon. You need it and you also want it back. It has been in your family’s possession for centuries, until Azriel–

You don’t dwell on this thought, straightening up and focusing back on the task at hand – going through yet another book and some pieces of parchment that come along with it. 

By the special request of Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court, you are always working upstairs, in the living room of the House of Wind. It doesn’t bother you; most of the time you are alone, some tending to business inside the house, others training (Gwyn told you so) on the rooftop. 

Sunlight brushes your skin and you revel in the feel of it. You haven’t felt, nor seen, sunlight in so long it now feels like balm against your skin. It is so good, you haven’t felt that alive in so long. 

You are still kept somehow locked in, but it almost feels like freedom. You are allowed to roam freely in the House of Wind and the Library. You haven’t got your powers back, but as long as you are in here, you don’t need them. You only need a bit of sunlight, some wonderful conversations with Gwyn, a soft bed to sleep in and good food. It is enough and slowly contentment crawls back into your body – nothing you’ve never thought to ever happen again. 

But now there is hope for you to find happiness again. Not with Azriel, and also not with him in your life, but there will be a way to avoid him somehow. Once you have your powers back and Koschei is defeated they might let you leave. You would go to the continent or even further away. As far away from the male who caused you that much pain as possible. 

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

The voice startles you and you almost shriek, jumping up in your chair, snatching the book close. Your heart races like a wild horse and you whip around to look at Nesta. 

There is a smile on her face, one that is too kind and empathetic – you are not used to that sort of friendly behaviour towards you. 

“I am fine.” You'r answer is too quick. Too tight, and Nesta purses her lips.

“You may pretend to be, and you are damn good at it, but I know you are not.” She closes the door behind her and moves toward the table, bracing her slim hands upon the surface, manicured nails tapping against it. “What you have gone through…I think none of us can imagine, but I don’t want you to have to swallow it all up.”

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “I know what it does to someone, not opening up or not having anyone to talk to.”

“I don’t need anyone to talk to.” You meet her gaze. “I don’t need anyone.” You want this statement to be strong and steadfast, but your voice gives you away, breaking slightly towards the end, so you quickly add. “All my life, I’ve been alone. I was orphaned when I was a babe, later no one ever cared about me, then my powers manifested and everyone got scared and they started to fear and hate me.”

“You were part of the Wild Hunt.” Nesta interrupts you and you don’t like it. But her statement surprises you. How the hell does she know? Well, Rhysand has probably told everyone. How he knew? Either from his father or Azriel.

“I was.”

She claims the seat across you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m sure they cared about you.” Neither of you looks away and power stretches out between you. You are both strong-willed and powerful, neither of you is giving in now. You wonder if she really only wants to help you, be there for you. There is not a kernel of bad blood inside her body, your soul detects nothing, and so it makes you truly think she might only want to be nice to you. But why?

“We didn’t care about each other. We tolerated each other, had our backs when we went out for the hunt, but that was it.” Slowly, you scrape a talon down the cover of the book. 

“Did you give yourself your nicknames?”

Does none of them have manners? No knocking, no announcing oneself, just showing up. 

You turn to Gwyn and raise your brow at her. You can’t be mad at her, she was too kind to you the other evening, and her words have strung cords within your heart you thought no longer to exist. So, inhaling deeply and calming your heart, your decide to be polite to her.

“The Bloodthirsty Baroness.” Gwyn walks up to Nesta, nothing but curiosity shimmering within her teal eyes. "The Silent Reaper."

Your eyes flick to her and in a smooth, polished voice you say, “I earned myself the titles.”

Neither Gwyn nor Nesta show a reaction but a chill courses through the room, cooling the temperature at least two degrees.

“But probably not for the reason you think," you silently add. You move the book away from you and flex your fingers, then curl them towards your palms. “I wasn’t bloodthirsty for innocent people, I only took revenge for those who could no longer do so. My hands were drenched in blood, but it wasn’t spilled in vain.”

“See,” Gwyn says with a small smile and slumps into the chair next to Nesta. “I knew you had a good heart.”

A cold chuckle parts your lips. “I wouldn’t quite say that I have a good heart, but I’m not quite as cruel as the legends and stories paint me. And the silent part is definitely true - always appearing at midnight, taking the souls of those with me who deserved it. No noise could be heard, no one could be seen and no trace was left behind.”

A smirk appears on Nesta’s face and she slowly bows her head. “Are you alright with being here?” She changes the topic and you are incredibly thankful for it. Or would be, if she hadn’t asked this question. 

You can’t quite say no, because being here is not the worst place you have ever been at, but then, with Azriel always being somewhere around, it kind of is (not as bad as the Prison though…)

“It is alright.”

“I asked if you are alright.”

You chuckle again and give your head a shake. “I’m alright.” 

Now, Nesta dips her chin and seems content with your answer. Insufferable, you think, but you have to admit you actually like her. She partly reminds you of yourself. 

There is a little spark inside your mind, just a very small thought, a fleeting moment, that lets you think what if. What if you stayed here and became friends with Nesta and Gwyn. You could see yourself being friends with them and–

You immediately cut off your string of thouhgts. 

This is bullshit. You won’t stay here. The first chance you get, you will be gone. Far away and never return. People who live here have hurt you, and you will never find forgiveness for them.

“Shall we let you work again?”

With a smile you dip your chin at Gwyn. “That would be nice. I’ve found quite some things already.” You don’t really know why you share so much, but you are all in this together, so why keep things from them. And so you continue, letting them in on what you have found out already, sharing some bits and pieces with them that could be of interest. 

When the sun already starts to set outside and Gwyn and Nesta leave for training with the other priestesses you are for the first time reminded how much time you have spent bent over the books this day.

“Nesta,” you call after her once she is nearly out of the door. 

She slowly turns to you, waiting, but Gwyn is already gone, her humming filling the otherwise silent corridor. 

“Thank you for offering me to talk to you whenever I need it. And thank you…just thank you.” You smile a little sheepishly but she returns it with a bright grin. “Anytime,” she says and you add, “If you get a chance, just tell Gwyn thank you from me again as well.”

She bows her head and is gone in the next moment. 

With a small, barely-there smile on your lips you focus your attention back to the task at hand. Spending so much time researching seems like a good thing to make time pass, you realise and reach for yet another book. It is big and has a thick velvety binding. Your fingers stroke over the golden lettering that says something about darkness and its creatures. 

When you flip it open the first lovely being revealed to you is the Naaga. You haven’t seen them in a long time, you think, but you have had both good and bad memories with those little beasts. You flick through more pages, getting lost in every little word you read, reminding you of a time long ago. 

So enthralled by the knowledge you gather from the book, you haven’t noticed that someone opened the door, nor that someone has walked in.

Not someone – Azriel. 

"Can we talk?"

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel

[littlemisssatanist]

my acotar unpopular opinions

taking this time to come out as an acotar reader. yes i've read all the books and i've spent way too much time thinking about it. i enjoy the books in the sense that i enjoy hating on many of the characters and loving a few of the others.

be forewarned inner circle fans. you will not like this.

rhysand is not a 'morally grey' character. he's a rapist and a groomer. he sexually assaulted feyre utm, he groomed her (reminder that she was 19 in acotar), and he withheld important medical information from her. 'you'll always have a choice' my ass.

nesta telling feyre about her pregnancy was not a bad thing. why do people act like it is? 'oh she did it to hurt feyre' hurt her by doing what? revealing the lies that her beloved husband had woven? revealing the fact that she'd die giving birth? the fact that rhysand told literally everybody but feyre?

mor is not the champion for women everyone thinks she is. this i will give to sjm it is truly impressive to make a character like women and still be a pick me. i'm not even going to go into her whole weird ass relationship with her dad (i still don't understand why she wouldn't just kill him. 'oh rhys needed the army' rhys is supposed to be the most powerful high lord ever. either admit he's a fucking loser or give me an actual good reason for this) or the fact she's seemingly incapable of doing anything to help the women in the court of nightmares, but everytime she was mentioned, i had to let out a heavy sigh and rub my temples.

on a similar topic. i liked eris. like a lot. out of all the acotar characters sjm has written, eris is by far my favorite.

the inner circle needs to sit the fuck down. they are the most hypocritical bitches i've ever met. they like to think themselves high and mighty. reading them make fun of lucien's band of exiles while their name is literally 'court of dreamers' was the most infuriating thing ever. and then they have the gall to be insulted when called out. don't dish what you can't take.

out of all the inner circle, the only one i don't hate is azriel. this is simply because he is the only one who hasn't opened his big fat mouth and done something bad (except if you maybe count his whole thing with elain). cassian is on my hit list. it's on sight with cassian.

nessian is sjm's worst ship and i will stand by that. lucien/nesta could have been so much. 'nesta would have ripped lucien apart' and cassian was your first choice? not even azriel was considered? like be so for real right now. sjm didn't see the potential of lucien/nesta and i will forever mourn that.

sjm is a terrible writer. i'm not saying this to be mean but she seriously just sucks at it. that being said i admire her ability to still make millions of dollars off her shitty writing. as a woman, i am rooting for her. as a reader, every day i wake up a shoot a prayer to the heavens begging the gods to not let sjm write any more books from the inner circle's pov.

lucien/elain is better than azriel/elain. argue with the wall.

eris/azriel is better than azriel/elain. you can kiss my ass.

NESTA/ERIS IS BETTER THAN RHYSAND/FEYRE. i know this because i have been enlightened.

feyre is a victim to rhysand. that being said, she is also a major bitch. both can be true because these things are not mutually exclusive. i wish she could make friends outside of the ic like nesta did, but i know that's unlikely.

feyre's pregnancy storyline was completely useless and went against her whole character.

acomaf retconned everything about tamlin and feyre's relationship in order to make more money. idc.

tamlin gets a ridiculous amount of hate. rhysand is hypocritical. so tamlin locking feyre in a house because she wants to ride out with him into potential danger is terrible and abusive, but rhysand locking nesta in the house of wind for... *checks notes*... having sex and spending money on alcohol is helping her? what?

#anti rhysand #anti sjm #anti inner circle #anti acotar #rhysand critical #inner circle critical #acotar #acotar critical #pro nesta #anti nessian #pro eris vanserra #anti mor #this might be a controversial one

[foxglovebells]

The Winter Writer

Azriel x Reader

Summary: One day Mor brings her best friend to the house of wind for game night with the inner circle. Azriel takes immediate interest, as well as Nesta, Feyre, and Gwyn when they find out she’s the author to their favorite smutty romances.

Warnings: None

Notes: My first fic! This is just the first part and there will me much more to come (😏)

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

“They’re going to love you” Mor squeals excitedly as she finishes up your makeup. “You have no idea.”

You and Mor had been best friends for centuries. You both knew absolutely everything about each other. Even after all these years you had still never met her family. Though, you weren’t very adamant on pushing it because they made you very nervous. She didn’t want them to scare you away, she had said, when you brought them up once.

You take a deep breath to gather your nerves before replying, “I don’t know Mor, I feel like I’m intruding on your inner circle.” You look up at her from where you’re sitting on the vanity in your apartment. Mor stands and looks down on you as she roles her eyes.

“I don’t think anyone could hate you, you’re like the most likable person I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve been alive for a long time.”

You moved to Velaris from the winter court half a century ago. Mor had said she would feel more secure knowing that her best friend was safe and not being caught up in the Amarantha drama. Having parents that had high positions in the Winter court put you too close to danger for Mor’s liking.

While you had never met the inner circle, you had heard almost everything about each one of them. Rhysand was the almighty, powerful high lord who had the biggest soft spot for everyone he loved and cared about. Feyre was kind, selfless, and had a touch for art. Cassian was an Illyrian who was cocky and funny but also gave the best hugs. Amren was a little scary and fierce, but she would always stand up and fight for her friends. Nesta was a tough shell to crack, but she still managed to be the best to talk to when you need advice. Elain was quiet but kind and nurturing. And Azriel, oh Azriel, you had never met him, but Mor always described him as silent, observant, kind, and so many more things. Was it possible to have a crush on someone you’d never met? You based a couple of your book characters on what you had heard of him. Of course, he could be completely different than what you imagined, in that case, you would be severely disappointed.

But even having heard all these things, you’ve yet to meet a single one of them, and because of this you were freaking the fuck out.

“I promise, hun.” She places her hands on either side of your face and looks straight into your eyes, “Plus, I know for a fact that the girls will like you. They have a little book club that has read every single one of your books.” A mischievous expression takes over her face.

“No way, Mor.” Your eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me they’ve read my books.” You shoot up from the vanity chair and pace through the room with your hands twirling a piece of hair to occupy yourself. “Cauldron, Mor, that would have been nice to know.”

Mor throws her head back in laughter, “They haven’t just read them darling, you’re a common talk amongst the library, you’re their favorite.” She walks up and boops you on the nose, you swat her hand away. “Nesta and Feyre are always talking about how sexy they are, I’ve even seen Amren reading one from time to time.”

“Is it too late to back out now?” You sigh in exasperation.

“Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t let you.”

You glare at her, “I know.”

“Come on, sugar plum, we gotta get going.” Before you can protest she takes your hand and winnows you out of your apartment.

***

“Do we even know if she’s real?” Cassian mutters as he nurses a glass of whiskey. “I mean, Mor said she’s lived here for nearly 50 years—and been friends with her for longer—but we’ve never met her.”

“Probably because she didn’t want your horny ass to hit on her.” Azriel buts in as Rhys lets out a laugh in agreement.

“Your not much better, brother.” Cassian shoots him an amused glare but it’s ignored as Az takes a sip from his glass.

“I can’t say I’m not curious, though.” Rhys starts, “Mor said she was trustworthy enough to know about Velaris, and that she knew her for centuries before she moved here.”

“And yet we’ve never met her and when ever she comes up Mor shuts the subject down.” Cassian replies.

It did make Azriel wonder, he could send his shadows to get information on her, but she’s coming tonight so he might as well just wait and ask her—like a normal person.

All at once the 3 brothers perked up as soon and the felt someone winnow into the house.

“Guess it’s time to finally meet the mystery girl.” Rhys says before sauntering off and going to the main living area where the girls were already there drinking wine and gossiping about the latest book by their favorite author—Y/n Y/l/n.

***

When they enter the room Feyre, Nesta, Elain, Gwyn, and Emerie are all sitting in front of the fire, drinking wine and giggling quietly.

“Where’s Nyx, darling?” Was the first thing Rhys asks as he makes his way to Feyre’s side and places a loving kiss on her cheek.

Azriel always envied their mating bond, Cassian’s too. He had waited so long to feel the love of a mate, but he would wait as long as it took. He often tried to occupy his heart with harmless relationships to fill the void that hopefully would one day be filled with his mate. But even after centuries of waiting he had yet to even suspect someone. It made him insecure sometimes, how could anyone love someone as scared and broken as him? So to refrain from thinking these thoughts he buried himself into other activities, spying, reading, training. Anything that could take his mind off of the restless thoughts that invaded his brain.

“He ran off to greet Mor.” She replied while leaning into his kiss.

All the males looked slightly of put as they recalled the new unknown guest around around Nyx. Rhys stood straight and was about to go seek them out when they heard the sound of footsteps making their way towards them from the hall.

They all stood and watched as Mor entered the room followed by someone who was still out of view behind Mor.

Mor moved to the side and revealed the most beautiful female Azriel had even seen in his life. You were wearing a silky slip style dress in a deep midnight blue, it contrasted beautifully to the long white waves cascading down to your waist. Winter court, Azriel thought. What caught his attention the most was the small Illyrian at your side with his hand in yours.

“Daddy I found a girl!” Nyx shouts as he tries to drag you towards his father.

You have a small nervous smile on your face and you allow yourself to be dragged towards Rhysand.

“Nyx!” Feyre shoots up from her seat on the chaise and rushes over to snatch up Nyx, releasing your hand in the process. “I’m so sorry.” She says turning to you.

Mor makes her way back up to your side and you look over to her for reassurance. She nods at you and you look back to Feyre with a sweet smile. “That’s all right, nothing to be sorry about” you reply. “I’m Y/n, you must be Feyre.” Rhysand takes Nyx out of his mates arms and you hold out your hand to shake hers. She shakes her head at your hand and instead wraps her arms around you in a hug. You freeze slightly in surprise but quickly relax and return the hug.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Y/n. Mor is awfully protective.” Feyre sends a playful glare to your best friend and she returns it with a sheepish smile. You simply laugh at the exchange.

Mor takes your arm and walks you to the seating area and you take a seat on an armchair close to the fire.

“Y/n,” Mor starts, “This is Nesta, Elain, Gwyn, Emerie and you’ve already met Feyre.” She takes her time pointing to each female around the room. Gwyn and Nesta are sat beside each other on a two seater lounge while Elain sits on the arm chair across from you. Mor walks over to Emerie and lays a hand on her shoulder. You try to hide your smirk behind your hand as you glance between the two of them. The look she gives you is a mix between shut the fuck up and she’s hot isn’t she. It became clear to you that her family doesn’t know about her sexually orientation, that became more clear when you caught the confusion in the eyes of a couple of the others.

“Anyway,” she claps her hands together and walks back to where Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel were standing. “This is Rhysand—“

“Call me Rhys, please, any friend of Mor’s is a friends of mine.” You smile at him before Mor continues.

“Then my most favorite nephew, Nyx, whom you’ve already met.” She walks up and pinched the little boys cheeks, who squirms in his dads arms, resulting in him putting Nyx down. Nyx does something no one expects—especially not you—when he runs up to you, climbs onto your chair, and settles into your lap as if nothing was wrong in the world. Every one stares in shock while you just let it has happen, chuckling slightly.

Azriel watches you along with everyone else, but the thought churning in his mind aren’t ones that revolve around Nyx, no, the only thing he can think about is how, beautiful and sweet you are, he might not be able to forgive Mor for keeping you from him. Of course, not literally, but he had never felt to drawn to someone, especially not someone he had never met in his life.

“Sorry.” You say with a small laugh. “Is he normally this friendly?” You look up to see Feyre snickering and Rhys shaking his head in amusement. Mor just looks as if she’s having a proud mother moment.

“Not usually, but he doesn’t meet new people often.” Rhys supplies. “But if he’s bothering you feel free to tell us, we won’t be offended.”

“Oh no, he’s perfect.” You look to the little boy in your lap who’s the split image of his father. His big violet eyes are looking up at you as you smile down at him.

You remember that you hadn’t been introduced to everyone yet. “And I’m guessing these two are Cassian and Azriel.” You gesture to each of them.

Cassian beamed at you, “The one and only, nice to meet you Y/n.”

“You too, Cassian.”

Azriel kept silent but he gave you a forced tight lipped smile, that made your stomach drop a little. He didn’t like you, you concluded.

You looked over to Mor who noticed the interaction and noticed that slightly devastated look on your face. She was quick to change the subject.

“Nice going, asshole.” Cassian says to Azriel out of your ear shot, “She thinks you hate her.”

“What?” Azriel heart sinks, “Why would she think that?” He could never hate you, he knew it the minute he saw you. He wanted to talk to you but he didn’t know what to say.

“You gave her the same obviously fake smile that you give every female that any of us try to set you up with.” Cassian sends him a looks that screams could you be any more oblivious, “Didn’t you see her smile drop slightly and her look to Mor for reassurance?”

No, he did not, and now he feels like a dick. “I didn’t mean too.” He replies solemnly.

“Y/n’s from the winter court. We became friends the first time a visited when I was a child.” Mor smiled at you cheekily before continuing, “I wanted her to move here a few decades ago—“

“—because you’re like an overprotective mother hen.” You cut her off with a laugh but she shushes you playfully.

“No,” she asserts firmly with a glare in your direction, “Well, yes I guess a little.” The group around you laughs.

“If she’s lived here for decades why have we never met her?” Cassian asks and Mor roles her eyes at the questions.

“Did you not hear Y/n, Cass, protective mother hen.” She gestures to herself while you along with everyone else smiles at the interaction. “She needed protecting from the like of you, all of you and your corrupt sense of humor. Now, drinks.”

“Ugh, Yes please” and other mutters of agreement are heard from all around. Rhysand snaps his fingers and wine appears atop the coffee table at the center of the seating.

Elain pours you a glass and hands it to you, you smile gratefully. Nyx has since fallen asleep on your lap, his face tucked into your neck and you run your hand over his head while paying attention to conversation around you.

“So Y/n, you want to tell everyone what you do for a living?” Mor says, bringing everyone’s attention to you once more, though, you couldn’t help but notice that one particular person attention had been on you the whole time.

You glare at Mor, a real glare this time, no playfulness in your stare. “Morrigan, what did we talk about.” You say to her while everyone listens with interest. She doesn’t reply, but instead hold your stare with a challenging look. Eventually giving up you cave. “I’m an author.”

“I expected something completely different from the way you two were looking at each other.” Nesta laughs as she finished her glass of wine.

“Me too.” Pipes Gwyn who was sitting on the lounge where Feyre had once been. Feyre was now curled up in the lap of the high lord. “Are you published.”

“Um—” you hesitate.

“Yes, she is.” Mor states simply once she’s decided that you’re taking far to long to answer such an easy question.

“Do you think we’d know any?” Gwyn asks curiously. “The girls and I are in a book club, I’m sure we’ve had to at least heard of it.”

“Oh I write under pseudonym, you probably haven’t heard of me.” You attempt to laugh it off, but Nesta and Gwyn seem keen on getting the answer out of you.

“Try us.” Nesta pushes.

“Sellyn Drake.” You say quietly with a slight embarrassed chuckle. Please tell me they haven’t read my books, please, please, ple—

“Fucking shit!” Nesta shoots up, her refilled glass of wine spilling over the lip of the glass. Every female in the room seems to sit up, even Feyre from where she was comfortably tucked into Rhysand.

“You’re kidding, right?” Gwyn shrieks with an excited smile on her face.

“You’ve heard of me?” You say sheepishly.

“Heard of you!” Nesta snaps her fingers and every single book that you’ve ever published appears directly in front of you. You reach for a book, trying not to jostle the sleeping Illyrian in your arms. Opening the book you’re surprised to see annotations on every page, highlighted words and thoughts fill each blank space.

“Um wow, I didn’t expect this.” You laugh as you flip through the pages coming across and especially spicy scene before slamming the book shut and placing it back on the pile.

“Would it be weird if I asked you to sign them?”

“Not at all, how about we meet for coffee sometime, I can even bring the manuscript for my next book, I’ve been looking for some insight on it.” You suggest, a little bit nervous that she might turn you down.

“Holy shit, of course!” She looks over to Feyre, Gwyn, and Emerie. “You know what? What do you think about coming to our next book club meeting?”

You return her excitement at that, “That sounds perfect.”

Nesta excitedly goes to Cassian and plops in his lap. His arms wrap around her waist and kisses her neck.

“You’re the smutty romance author, eh.” Cassian guesses in response to his mates excitement.

Your face burns red and you attempt to hide it by looking away. Azriel watched the exchange with a barely there smirk on his face. Ah maybe he could use that as a conversation starter, he thought. He would only have to get you alone first. He observed that you weren’t to comfortable talking about your occupation in a large group like this with new people. Though, he didn’t understand why an extremely successful author wouldn’t want to flaunt her talents.

“Y/n?” Starts Rhys. “Are you comfortable talking about your family?” He didn’t want to pry, but he was curious, something about you was just so familiar.

“Oh, of course.” You loved your family dearly and enjoyed any excuse to talk about them, especially your sister. “My sister is the lady of the winter court.”

“Viviane?” Feyre asks and you nod in response.

“Yes, we’re fraternal twins.” You smile as you think about your twin sister who was such a talented warrior.

“She’s amazing, and so is my niece, Seely, who was born 3 years ago, about the same age as Nyx actually.” You gesture to the sleeping form wrapped in your arms.

“I hadn’t realized you had such useful connections—” Rhys starts.

“—No.” Mor cuts him off before he can continue. “You are not using my best friend for a winter court alliance. You want an alliance, figure out how to get it without using her as pawn.”

Rhys looked apologetic, “She’s right, I apologize Y/n.”

“No harm done, if it’s any reassurance Kallias and Vivian are rather fond of your inner circle. I’m sure if you ever did want an alliance you wouldn’t have trouble achieving it, with or without my assistance.” You reply, you truly didn’t mind, you actually found it quite comforting that he was willing to talk politics with you, even if it was an odd situation to do so.

A new voice speaks up, surprising everyone in the room. “So you can fight?” Azriel kicks off from his place in the shadows against the wall, finally stepping into the light of the fire and taking the empty seat to your left.

“What do you mean?” You ask him to specify.

“We’ll Viviane is a highly trained warrior, and I’ve seen how well trained the winter court army is. I was wondering if you were trained similarly.”

“Yes, Viviane and I were trained by our father from the moment we could walk.” You smile in remembrance, your father was such a good teacher and was kind and gave you advice on how to improve rather than yelling. Many of your favorite memories were training beside him and your sister. “It’s been several years though, I probably a bit rusty.”

“I could always help.” He rushes out, as if he didn’t really mean to say that. He clears his throat. “I mean, if you ever wanted to train again I would be happy to be your partner.” Azriel cursed himself for not controlling his words, he hoped you wouldn’t turn him down.

“I would love that Azriel, thank you.” You smile widely at him and you look back to the group.

Feyre stands up and begins to make her way towards you. “As much fun as this has been I really need to get Nyx into his bed.”

“Of course, do you want to take him or I would be happy to walk up with you so he doesn’t wake.” You offer, cradling Nyx against your chest in preparation for her answer.

“That would be amazing, Y/n.” She smiles graciously at you. You stand from the comfy armchair and follow Feyre out of the room and through a series of hallways. She comes to a bedroom and you both go in and put Nyx to bed. “I’ve never seen him act so attached to someone new before. He really likes you.”

“I’m glad, I really like him too.” You both make your way back to the sitting room as you yawn.

“I’ve had so much fun, but I really should get going before I become too tired to winnow home.” You stay standing up instead of sitting back down. You were sure that if you sat back down you would surely fall asleep.

“Stay the night, please.” Rhys offers, “you could join us tomorrow for breakfast and training.”

“And a book club meeting, the girls and I have one in the library tomorrow.” Nesta adds while each of the girls agrees.

“I don’t know,” you start to reply “I don’t want to intrude—”

“Y/n! How many times do I have to repeat myself before you process it in you thick skull.” Mor throws her hand up, exasperated. “You. Are. Not. Intruding.”

You fidget with a strand of your snowy white hair before replying. “Just because you feel that way doesn’t mean the others do. You’re biased Mor.”

“Oh Mother.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if you are a insulant child.

“If you fear that you are intruding I can guarantee that you are not.” Feyre tells you kindly, a much kinder approach than Mor’s.

You’re still hesitant, but you make up your mind. “Alright, I guess I’ll stay.”

Everyone looks content with your response. But it’s Nesta who’s the first to talk. “Perfect. Training starts at sunrise.”

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel x you #mor #Rhysand #Feyre #Nyx #Acotar #night court #winter court #author #sellyn drake #books #foxglovebells

[readychilledwine]

Glory Hole

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

We all probably know a glory hole is a place, typically in a bathroom, where people can pay for an anonymous sexual encounter. Here's what I didn't know before digging into this kink a lot more, though!

Glory holes have been used for hundreds of years but are believed to have originated or grown most popular among the LGBTQIA community. It was a safe way for closeted members of the community to be able to have sex with someone without risking their identity being revealed. Glory holes have resurged in popularity since 2020 due to the CDC and WHO being unable to provide people with ideas for safe sex during the Covid 19 pandemic. They can now be found in sex clubs, legal practicing brothels, and a ton of other locations. Typically, oral is what commonly happens with glory holes, but modern motivation and technology have made so much more possible with them, allowing both parties to receive pleasure and enjoy the experience.

The appeal of glory holes is the anonymous aspect of it. Sex with a stranger is always more thrilling, right? There's no expectations. You aren't as focused on impressing them. It is about pleasure and pleasure only, and that is the appeal that has made so many people fall in lust with the idea of them.

At least, Cassian will think that's pretty exciting.

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

As always, NSFW below the cut

Cassian x Reader

Warnings - reader is a sex worker, sketchy business practice, inferred danger, dp via toy use, toy use, p in v, unprotected sex, restraints, praise, Liz throwing possible fic content into what's supposed to be one shots. Sorry, friends 💕💕

You sighed as you walked into the pleasure hall for the night. 

To the outside world, it was no different than Rita's. Drinks, loud music, a dance floor. The only difference was the upstairs of the hall. 

Whereas Rita's had private booths, here had something much much different. For a pretty penny, only the wealthiest of guests could enter and be taken into a whole new experience kept private from the High Lord himself. 

You were led up the steps, already going numb to what you had to do to pay bills, to stay alive. You entered the room males and females alike stood in. It was a haven here, a place you all could run to after one too many clients as you were asked to call them. A board with countless messages and warnings on clients who were banned sat on the largest wall. Every day, each of you received a new assignment, a new place you were to be stationed and kept until you were purchased and moved into a new room for the time allowed. 

You did not know if the Mother was blessing you or mocking you as you read your assignment, “The Hole.” One of your coworkers, a new girl fresh out of school, came next to you, taking your hand. “You can take the lay down spot,” you squeezed her hand gently. “It's your first time in there. You'll want it.”

“I heard we'll make good money tonight.” You smiled at her, kissing her forehead as you walked her towards the room.

“You'll make your rent within two hours. We have an 8 hour shift, so you'll be able to safely afford recovery time off. Or a spa trip.”

Cassian hated being used by Azriel for spywork. 

The general was hardly stealthy, too bold and loud to keep secrets, and frankly, everyone knew who he was. This was one spy scout out he was salivating at the idea of, though. A pleasure hall with a brothel hidden above it. A brothel that was hidden so well it and its workers had sat under Rhysand's nose for years, dodging thousands in taxes. 

Nesta accidentally told Azriel about it after doing something to him that had the spymaster seeing the heavens. “A pretty female taught me when I went to Haven once.” 

Haven wasn't an unknown pleasure hall to them. The inner circle would go there when they wanted more of a party atmosphere than Rita's offered, but Nesta had unknowingly confirmed a rumor that had been circling the court for years. 

The large sum of gold in Cassian's pocket was a heavy reminder of why he was here. He handed the guard of the club 100 gold, a steep price just to be taken up the the brothel, and almost had a heart attack when he entered.

It was the cleanest whore house he had ever been in. The females all wore dresses similar to what Rhysand dressed Feyre in for the court of Nightmares. The men wore silk boxers. Cassian was approached by a pretty blonde with a menu of services they offered. One section stood out to him, though. “Anonymous Sex.” It was 800 gold, 2 hour time limit, a room with two females, a female and a male, or two males. “The females room please.” 

The blonde smiled, head tilted almost longingly. “You're the first in there tonight. My girls will think they've been blessed with a God.”

He almost died again upon entering. Inside the large room, a wall of toys and discipline implements say, chairs in case you had brought friends with you, and a sink for aftercare for the girls. What really had Cassian stirring, thinking he was going to partake instead of question, was the two naked females, one on her back with her feet positioned into a harness, the other standing bent over whatever lied beyond that wall. All he could see was their lower bodies, wet and waiting with anticipation.

And the best part, the absolute best part? They could not see an inch of him. 

You could hear the new girl crying out to any Gods that would listen as the wet sound of flesh smacking against each other was rhythmic. It was rare for one guest to enter the room normally reserved for parties of 2 or 3, but who were you to just if someone wanted to pay to have females to themselves. 

It had happened once before in your time here. The female had not thought any of you would know who she was, but a sandy blonde female with grey eyes spending and tipping so freely and without concern was clearly a high ranking member of the court. And from the glimpse you had gotten, it was clearly Nesta Archeron. 

You wanted to applaud when you heard your partner finishing. It was a genuine completion, not her faking the orgasm, training you all had and thanked the Cauldron for daily. You were dripping, but would have been content with being left alone. Maybe that's why you were so surprised when a harsh smack landed on your ass, cracking through the air and sending pleasure through you like a wave. 

Cassian was memorizing the scent of both of the females in front of him. He wasn't going to waste the gold he had already spent to get into the brothel and into this room, so instead, he made the choice to mix work with pleasure, and fuck both of these girls until he could stand it anymore. 

He left the first girl, dripping his cum and hers while she whimpered, legs visibly shaking. She had a preference for gentler sex, no aftercare. Whereas the girl, who's ass he was currently stroking himself to the sight of, had a preference for rough, toys allowed, aftercare preferred. 

He saved her for last for that reason alone. 

Cassian looked at the wall of toys, eyes locked on a thick dildo and lube and went to grab them. He set the lube down after taking some on his hand, rubbing it on the toys and then her pretty waiting holes. If she liked rough sex and toys, then fine, he'd stuff her full, filling both of those pretty waiting holes.

“Pretty thing, aren't you,” he purred, voice laced with lust. “We'll see how pretty you are when I'm done with you.”

You jumped in surprise and moaned as the male behind you began working a toy into your back entrance slowly. It was suddenly torture to be in the restraints they used to keep you both in place, to prevent you from ruining the allusion that the fae paying for these rooms were unknown to everyone. Every slow inch stretching had your body igniting, wanting you to beg for more. 

You whimpered once it was fully inside of you, wiggling your hips in a silent plea. “Eager little thing.” That voice, Gods that voice, it had your cunt twitching around nothing. “Oh don't worry, kitten, I plan on filling that too.” 

And Gods did he. That stretch started after a few sloppy thrusts of the dildo, and you could have sworn you saw the Mother once he was seated inside of you.

He either had the largest cock you've ever taken, or, the use of the toy made it seem that way. He gave you a few moments, cooing praise to you as a large calloused hand ran the outsides of your thighs. 

The first roll of his hips inside of you did have you seeing the Mother. His cock was heavy and perfect, rubbing every nerve in your velvety walls. Once his testing was over, you felt those hands grip your hips, bruising them instantly, and he began.

This male began fucking you like both of your lives depended on your orgasm. He fucked you like he owned you, like he owned that peak of pleasure he was quickly driving you to. Between his cock and the toy, you were stuffed full and so sensitive, mind going numb and you moaned, cried, and begged. 

He was so deep inside of you he hit places others had easily failed to. “Fuck you feel like Heaven, kitten.” 

Your eyes rolled back at the praise, a soft “Thank you, sir,” leaving your mouth as you began to twitch around him.

Cassian was lost in the softness, warmth and wetness of this female's heat.

He would have paid 800 gold just for her. For just one hour with her. Each twitch of her silk had him on edge, ready to pump his seed so deep into her every single fae trying to fuck her afterwards would have to use him as lubricant. 

She tightened around him again, moans becoming higher in pitch and more desperate. “Gonna cum for me, kitten? Gonna cum around my cock? Cum with that toy in your ass like a good whore?”

He was practically begging for it knowing he was going to finish in what he felt was embarrassingly record time. One of his hands moved to her clit, groaning as she gasped and wailed loudly. “That's it baby, cum for me.”

Those skilled fingers circled your clit over and over in time with him fucking into you with reckless abandonment. You were right on that edge, ready to fall, and then he growled. The noise so primal it shot through your body like an arrow, and in true nature, you came. 

You came so hard you saw the cosmos, the afterlife, the ocean. Your high ripped through you like a tidal wave, walls milking him as he roared behind you. 

You heard him him lean against the wall, panting as he gave a few sloppy finishing twitchs. He pulled himself and the toy out at the same time, chuckling as you whined from the sudden emptiness. You heard him following protocol, washing the toy and setting it on the table closest to you so any Other clients knew who it had been used on. 

The warm rag he used to clean you while he whispered to you gently was almost better than the sex as it wiped away the remnants and dripping reminders of this sin. 

Something made you pause, though, the rough sound of leathery wings flapping. 

You replayed the voice in your head over and over after he left. Thinking to where you had heard it before and then whispered, “Oh fuck.” Your hand slapped the release for the restraints and you stepped out and into the room, grabbing your robe and pulling it to the other side as you did. You touched the new girl's leg, “I'll be right back, babe. We have a problem.” 

You left the room, entering the hall quickly. You made eye contact with the front desk girl, then the Illyrian male leaving tips for you and your partner.

Cassian, the general of the Night Court, paused as he saw you. He smirked, but that quickly fell when you hit a button. On the wall and the fae lights died, the establishment was going dark. 

The female before him began to glow. “You should leave before she gets the owner.” Cassian blinked, confused as to what was happening. “Big daddy doesn't like having his business potentially fucked with. He's killed for less. Leave before she gets him. It won't end well if you don't.”

Cassian heard movement in the room, cursing himself for not wearing his siphons and left, throwing gold on the table for the females. 

He called for Rhysand to send Azriel as he walked through that shady part of Velaris alone. His shoulders fell in relief as his brothers both walked beside him in time.

“One,” he started. “I just had the best sex experience of my life.”

“Two,” he sighed. “It's fucking expensive, Rhys. The common citizen isn't getting in there unless they've saved for months.”

He turned to Azriel, “They call the owner Big Daddy.”

The shadowsinger paled before masking his concern. “Let's winnow,” he said firmly. “I do not feel like dealing with him tonight.”

General tag list:

Rhys nodded, grabbing Cassian's arm and then Azriel's. “Let's go home, and then I want to hear about this sex.”

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

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@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

#acotar #acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian smut #cassian of illyria #lord of bloodshed #cassian acotar #readychilledwine valentines day bingo

[captainsophiestark]

The Hard Call

Azriel x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requeted by Anon! Nonnie, thank you for enabling me to write about Az and Flynn, I absolutely love you for it ❤️ Feel free to drop by any time you want to talk anything SJM-related! Hope you like this, and good news, I have a Flynn fic coming in the next couple days too!

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Summary: Azriel made the hard call when he had to, but he's feeling pretty guilty about it.

Word Count: 1,610

Category: Angst, Fluff

WARNING: House of Flame and Shadow spoilers below the cut!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I swore under my breath as Nesta jammed Ataraxia into the back of the Daglan, the Asteri, whatever it was called. Black blood spurted out of its mouth, but a moment later, the thing—Vesperus—pushed back against the tip of the blade and removed it from her chest. It shouldn't have been possible for something to survive a direct hit like that from Nesta and that sword, but a lot of things from the past few days shouldn't have been possible.

When a fae female had landed in a heap on the River House lawn in front of my mate, I knew we were in for some strange new challenges. But never in a million years could I have predicted the journey she'd led us on through tunnels apparently running all under the Night Court, straight into the heart of the Prison. And now we were facing down one of the most dangerous creatures in the universe, just me, Az, and Nesta, with the female Bryce as an unreliable additional ally.

I tightened my grip on my sword and tried to calm my racing heart as I stood shoulder to shoulder with Azriel. We'd gotten through countless life and death situations together before, but for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure we'd be able to get out of this one.

Vesperus gave Nesta a horrifying smile as the wound in her chest quickly healed. I glanced to Az, but he kept his eyes locked on the monster before us.

"Ataraxia didn't work," Nesta breathed. "The Trove-"

"Do not summon the Trove," barked my mate. Based on what we knew about this thing before us, I immediately agreed. "Don't bring it near her."

"But-"

"Not even for our lives," he snarled, leaving no room for argument. The same harsh resolve solidified itself in my mind, and I braced myself for the possibility of a last stand. At least if we went down, it would be fighting side by side with my mate.

A flicker of shadows floating softly over my shoulders was the only indication that my mate felt the same. The Daglan grinned, and I got ready to pounce.

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

Hours later, I sat slumped in my favorite chair in the Velaris townhouse, trying to recover from everything that had happened under the prison. We'd managed to kill the Daglan-Asteri, despite Bryce trying to question it, no matter the risk to our world. But she had gotten away in an impressive display of power, which meant her world's Asteri might have a chance at using her to find us.

Needless to say, when Az, Nesta, and I had made it out of the Prison, we'd had a lot to debrief about with the rest of the Inner Circle.

Nobody was happy about the situation we now found ourselves in, but for the time being, there was also nothing we could do about it. So once we made a basic plan to try to gather information and prepare in case something from that other world came back, we all split off for our separate tasks. Az still had a few things to go over with Rhys, but I was free for the time being, so I'd come to my favorite cozy spot in Velaris to try to come down from the insane adrenaline that had been pumping since Bryce got here.

One perk of Rhys and Feyre building the River House and Nesta keeping Cassian at the House of Wind more often was that the townhouse, my personal favorite location, was often free for Az and I to use as our own. I closed my eyes in my favorite armchair by the fire, still in my fighting leathers, and focused on taking deep breaths to try to get the tension out of my shoulders.

I'd actually almost managed to drift off to sleep when I heard the front door open and shut heavily. I didn't need to look to know Az had just arrived, so with a deep sigh to drag me back from the edge of sleep, I raised my head and turned to look at my mate.

"Everything figured out with Rhys?" I asked. He nodded once, moving into the room with a face like stone. I frowned, sitting up and paying a little better attention as he took a seat on the couch, his gorgeous hazel eyes never leaving mine. "What's wrong?"

A muscle in Az's jaw ticked, and I knew he was mustering a response to my words. Despite his reputation as the unreadable spymaster, all our time together as friends and then as mates had given me a leg up on everyone else who tried to read his expressions.

I stood from my seat in the armchair and moved to sit before Az on the couch instead, taking his hands in mine. His eyes searched my face, and I let a small smile work its way through the exhaustion, trying to put him at ease. He could take however long he needed to, and I'd be ready to listen when he wanted to talk.

"I'm... sorry."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what, exactly?"

That muscle in his jaw was working over time, the rest of his face the same inscrutable mask he'd worked so hard to perfect.

"For what happened in the Prison. For... being willing to let you die down there, rather than risk Nesta summoning the Trove. You deserve a better mate than that."

My jaw dropped, shock preventing me from responding for a few small moments. Az just kept staring at me, and even though his face didn't show it, I could feel the guilt eating him up at his core.

"Az, you have nothing to apologize for!" I finally managed. One of his eyebrows quirked up and he frowned, expressing doubt at my words without speaking one of his own. I huffed and squeezed his hands tighter.

"Listen to me, Azriel. The reason you are my mate is because you made that decision in the Prison. We both know that letting something like that into the world with a weapon like the Mask is an unacceptable option, as long as there is anything in this world we can do to prevent it. If the Daglan or the Asteri or whatever she was had gotten her hands on the mask, it probably would've cost the lives of everyone we've ever cared about, and the rest of this world along with it. Nothing is worth allowing that to happen."

Az ground his jaw, his gaze softening and his eyebrows furrowing as he continued to scan my face.

"Are you... sure? Cassian and Rhys... I think they'd tear the world to shreds for their mates."

I just shrugged. "For what? If the world is gone, if the cost of that choice is absolutely everything else, then what's the point of saving each other in the first place? We'd have nothing left, other than the blood of the world on our hands."

Az grunted, and I shifted closer to him, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek.

"Az. I love you, so much, and a part of that love is because you're not so selfish as to risk throwing the world away for me. Especially since, more likely than not, we'd be dead anyway not long after she got that mask. Neither of us is selfish enough to make a call like that, and I love that about us. The only thing that matters is that we stand together as long as we can, and I knew damn well in the cave that if either of us was going down, we were going down side by side, fighting to our last breath. Obviously I'm happy we both made it out of there, and I'm not saying we shouldn't fight for each other, but that call you made today? I'd be pissed if you'd made a different one."

Az studied me for another second, and I let him see every truth and emotion written in my face. Finally, he sighed, the tension going out of his shoulders as he reached out and pulled me closer to him, arms around my waist. I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my hands in his hair. We'd almost died today, and I wasn't about to take the fact that we were both still here together for granted.

"Have I mentioned lately how happy I am to have you as my mate?" Az asked, his voice a little gravelly as he leaned in closer to me. I smiled, leaning forward and letting my lips ghost over his own.

"Yeah, actually, you have. But I'll never complain about hearing it again."

Az smirked, then gently closed the last of that distance between us, his lips brushing softly against mine. I leaned into the kiss, eager for more contact, and I could feel Az's smirk widening right before I deepened the kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me as tight to his body as possible, and I tangled my hands in his hair, letting myself get swept up in him.

I'd meant every word I'd said to my mate, about the choice he'd made and how I felt about it. But I was also incredibly happy it hadn't come down to the cost of our lives, and that we'd made it out of there together. And now that Official Night Court Business had been taken care of, I intended to fully celebrate and appreciate Azriel, and the fact that we were still here together. And I knew he intended to do the same.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a house of flame and shadow #crescent city #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel oneshot #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #the night court #bryce quinlan #nesta #rhysand #the inner circle #azriel shadowsinger #acotar oneshot #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

[harrystylesfan2686]

Ferryman

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!Reader.

Summary: (I have no idea how to summarize this.)

Warnings: slight mention of suicide and hating oneself.

A/N: This is an idea i got after watching TVD and Legacies. For those who dont know, Ferryman is a psychopomp, the ferryman of the Greek underworld, also known as Hades. He carries the souls of those who have been given funeral rites across the rivers Acheron and Styx, which separate the worlds of the living and the dead. This definition is taken from wikipedia. I changed the legand a little bit. I hope you like this. 🫶

Masterlist

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My life changed entirely after me and my sisters were forced in the world of fae.

Being thrown in a cauldron and turned into a powerful being can be dreadful after having heard all the stories about fae. Hearing how cruel they were to humankind sure was terrifying but after knowing what they looked like and how they acted, I have different thoughts.

The man male, my sister married is one of the most powerful lords of Prythian. One that is so sweet to two of my sisters and so rude to the other.

After we were all thrown into the cauldron, we all got different powers along with our immortal bodies. As we slowly discovered our powers, we got our names too. Elain got named a Seer, discovering her ability of supernatural insight. Nesta became The Death Lady, because of her silver flames.

And I?

I became the Ferryman.

The one who connects the living world and after life. The one who carries souls to their finale destination after death. The anchor guilding the lost souls.

Every fae that dies has to touch me in order to go to the after life. Now while they have a painless journey, I on the other hand, feel everything they did while dying. When they touch me, I feel thier pain, distress, sadness and everything that filled them in their last moments.

At first I was alright with it. But it got tiring very quickly. Then I started despised it. And now? I'm petrified.

I fear it so much, I'm starting to hate myself. I dread my every living moment, just fearing that I will see a soul lurking around and will have to send them to the other side. Feeling thier pain and going through it all over again.

Everyday exactly like the one before. See a soul, touch, feel, hurt, and do it again and again with no end in sight.

Can't you just handle it and get over yourself?

Nesta had hissed at me when I tried to share my feelings to her. Indeed, she was in pain too but she isn't the only person our father's death has effected. I wasn't there that day. At least they got to see father for one last time before he died. I didn't. I was held up in a tent, following Rhysands commands, saying it's too dangerous for me out there.

Her cruel words still roam my head everytime I try to feel sorry for myself. I can't communicate my feelings to anyone anymore.

Feyre forced me to reveal myself one day and couldn't do anything else as she, too, doesn't understand what I go through everyday. She told me that she'll see what she can do and try to help me but hasn't said or done anything else so I believe nothing can be done about this except to accept it just as what it is.

I just suffer in silence and not tell anyone.

-☆-

I take a sip from the wine bottle I stole from Rhysand's finest wine stock, and rest it between my spread legs, holding the bottle from it's neck. I look down at the mountains beyond me. My legs dangling off as I sit on the balcony edge.

It's starfall tonight.

And I'm sitting on a balcony of the only room I saw empty. It only views is mountains, lining up from The House Of Wind, of all sizes and shapes.

It's a beautiful site.

Stars in the dark sky, shining down on the mountains and forests that rest between them. I can see nothing but the hills and the beautiful start sky. It's so peaceful not being around strangers and just staying here, lost in the nature, drinking wine and just being with your own thoughts.

"What are you doing here alone?" A deep voice asks behind me. I don't turn to see who it is, already knowing it is the Spymaster.

"What does it seem like?" I take another sip of the wine. The sound of boats against the floor, walking towards me. His presence looms behind me, his shadows already wrapping around me. They seem to like me. Always surrounding me whenever we are near. I raise my free hand to play with one.

"You going to fall." He grunts.

"Nothing's going to happen. It's not like I can die." I chuckle at the irony, the sound doesn't seem real.

It's true. I truly cannot die. I'm the anchor, after all. If I die, nobody is going to get their haven after life. I tried a few months ago, when I finally decided I couldn't live in this much pain my entire life. It didn't work. I'm still standing. I did end up with a lot of injuries though.

I take another sip.

"I hope you know you can talk to me whenever you want. We can sit without talking too." He sits beside me. Dangling his feet off of the edge too.

I silently offer him the wine bottle. He silently accepts. We sit there for god knows how long, just quietly passing the wine around and looking out in the sky. Drinking and enjoying one another's company in silence. I feel good, comfortable around him.

Suddenly stars start to move. Skiping through the sky, shimmering glitter. Colors of all kinds fill the sky. I breath out. My lips tug up on thier own, curling into a small smile I can not contain.

"It's truly beautiful, isn't it." My eyes on the stars when I speak to Azriel.

"It truly is." He whispers.

I force my eyes to move to him, noticing he's not looking at the sky.

He's looking at me.

His eyes on my face, switching between my eyes and lips. I feel a rush to my cheeks. For a minute we don't move at all. Just looking at each other, drinking in how we look under the sparkling colourfull stars.

We smile at the same time and look away from one another.

For the first time in a while, my face holds a genuine smile.

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#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel angst

[throneofsmut]

Kinktober Day Twenty-Three : Hate Fucking

Eris Vanserra x Female Reader

You don’t know why Rhys chose you to go meet with Eris. He told you it was because he trusted you, which meant a lot to you, but maybe it was because your fire rivaled Eris’s.

The Cauldron gave - more like you took from it - your fire, among other types of magic but you always favored the flames.

You were Feyre’s younger sister and you went to the Spring Court with her. Well to be honest you kind of forced Tamlin into letting you stay if Feyre was going to stay.

Nesta and Elain had each other. Feyre and you had each other, so if she was going so were you.

A month before Tamlin and Lucien had been forced to go under the mountain, Lucien told you about the curse but Feyre had already given too much. So had you, the both of you were the main providers for your family but she was your sister, so you’d give it all up for her.

One night Amarantha had send the attor to Spring and it had smelled Tamlin’s scent on you, from hugging Feyre before setting out for a ride with Lucien. It was too late but by the time he had tried to help you. The attor had knocked you unconscious and was flying you back under the mountain.

Months passed and you completed every trial set for you, which is where you met Rhys. Immediately seeing through the mask he wore, the mask of the dark prince, because it was the same one you wore to protect your family. To protect Feyre.

He tried to protect you when he could and help you when he could. Rhys was like the big brother you never had but always wanted. To him you were the little sister he had needed, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t - could not - fail you like he failed his sister all those years ago.

When Amarantha’s last trial for you was to survive the Cauldron he fought back, but it wasn’t enough, you were shoved in. The water was so cold, it burned hotter than any fire. Lungs burning as you thrashed in its darkness. Your rage was all consuming, like its water, you were forced into the cauldron with nothing else to give. So you took from it.

You blazed brighter than any star, glowing, fire made flesh. So lost in a primal rage that you hadn’t even noticed your pointed ears and elongated limbs. The cauldron had made you High Fae. But when you saw your sister. Dead. You killed her. You killed Amarantha.

Rhys took you in after everything, he was your family. When the both of you got back to Velaris, his family had accepted you and took you in as well, making you part of the inner circle. Yet Rhys and you had a bond that they could never understand, under the mountain all you had was each other. In a way you were his closest, most trusted friend, his confidant.

Which made sense as to why he trusted you to meet with Eris Vanserra, even if you couldn’t stand the male, nor he, you.

He was glaring at you, as soon as you had winnowed into the agreed meeting place in the forest.

“Stop glaring, sweet cheeks. I know you’re obsessed with me.” You teased, a smirk on your lips.

Within a blink of an eye, his flames were wrapped around your neck. Tight enough to frighten and warm enough that you knew they would burn if he willed it so, but you had nothing left to lose. “Watch. It.” He snarled.

“Is that really all you got ?”

You felt the flames around your neck heat slightly, before your magic was reacting to them. Wrapping around his neck so tight and warm enough to make his skin red, making his flames wink out completely. After a couple heartbeats and him glaring at you, you rein in your flames.

“I’m gonna kill you.” Eris growled, soothing the skin around his neck with his large hand.

“Is that a promise ?” You taunted, mouth curving into a smile.

“I can’t stand you.”

Giving him a wicked grin, “Then kneel.”

Something flickered in his gaze at your words. Then he spoke, his voice dangerously sensual, “I can’t tell whether I want to make you bleed or moan.”

You raised a brow at his confession. Tilting your head slightly, “Take your pick, lordling.”

Keeping his eyes on yours as he stalked forward. Gaze falling to your lips before claiming them in a bruising kiss. Eris’s hands fist into your hair, roughly, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip for entry. You met him stroke for stroke. Both of you fighting for dominance, then he's pulling away winnowing the both of you somewhere else.

Chest still heaving as you take in your surroundings, “Where are we ?”

You can feel his burning gaze on the back of your head as he rasps out, “My home away from home.” Then he’s pressing his body against yours, growling into your ear, “I still fucking hate you.”

“Shut up and fuck me Eris.” You retort, to which Eris wraps one of his hands around your neck, choking you slightly. The other roughly squeezes your breast, eliciting a moan out of you.

Then he’s bending you over the kitchen counter. And fuck you, he does.

Eris buries himself in your soaked cunt in one thrust. You cry out at the stretch, he doesn’t give you the time to adjust to his size before he pulls almost all the way out and slamming back into you.

All you can hear is skin slapping skin as he fucks you hard and rough. Your hips slam against the counter again and again, hard enough to bruise. His hands dig into your hips harshly, holding onto them and thrusting faster. “F-fuck Er-ris !” You cry out.

“Fuck- Fucking knew,” he growls in your ear, “that your tight little cunt would squeeze like this. Milking me.” Then he’s moving his hands to clasp both of your arms, pulling them behind you to use as leverage to fuck you even harder. He leans back slightly and the sound that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.

You can feel every single inch of him at this angle, every time he shoves into you he hits that sweet spot inside you. Tears escape your eyes at the pleasure, staining the counter, as your voice cracks “Oh Eris!”

“You like that, little flame ?” He chuckles darkly, biting into your shoulder, drawing blood. You scream, a mistake that has him still his hips, “I need words, little flame.”

“Fuck you.” You snarl in between pants as he rolls his hips into yours, making you feel all of him. Every fucking inch. Then he’s drawing back and slamming back into you, you can hear the smirk in his voice as he sneers, “You already are.”

The ways he’s gripping your arms while he drives his hips into yours, fast and rough has the both of you feeling the coil within you tightening. Eris is taking you the way you want him to and the way that he wants to. He’s all grunts, snarls and moans as does.

The heat in your belly coils even tighter and it spurs you on. Bucking your hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust as his hips begin to stutter. Then the both of you are crying out in pleasure as he cums inside of you and you on his cock.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris smut #eris x reader

[historiaxvanserra]

Ruin

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Velaris is beautiful but under all the pomp and ceremony it is a den of hedonistic desire. Since you arrived you have tried to hide from that desire. But tonight, Azriel just might be your ruin.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: drinking, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, pinv, public sex, rough sex, slight blood kink if you squint and I think that's it.

This is the first part of a 2 part fic but they can be read separately. Part I here.

The room is ablaze with electricity. It’s humming and pulsing and coming alive with the movements of the patrons. It’s palpable. The air is thick and sweet, tainted with something darker. The marble floor is awash with dancing bodies and you find yourself entranced in the sway of the waltzing sea, the people pressed against one another twisting and contorting, like columns of technicolour seafoam. Your body moves in similar a similar fluid motion as the current sweeps you up. For a few moments, you allow yourself to get lost in the primal give and take of the dancing tide and the sound of hypnotic music is enough to calm your jittering nerves. 

The lavish reception at Rita’s seems exhume decadence. The glittering chandeliers cast the room in an amethyst glow and as you wade through the crowds the eyes of males and females alike seem to stand in silent judgment, lingering over the curve of your hips and unusually low neck line. In makes you feel exposed. As though you are a sacrificial lamb and they hungry wolves baying for blood. 

The world of The Night Court is a world away from your home; a colourful oasis into which you had been welcomed with open arms.  But, under all the grandiose and ceremony of Court life, Valeris was a den of iniquity. One you felt compelled to avoid lest you surrender yourself to your most base desires. Tonight, though you had acquiesced to Mor’s pleading and Cassian’s knowing glances and agreed to be initiated into the seedy underbelly of Velaris’ nightlife. 

Or as Cassian so eloquently put it to Nesta, We need to get her laid.

In reality, you don’t think that their goal is to get you laid at all. Only to tear down the walls you had built so tall that no one could seem to climb. It’s touching really that your friends want you to feel comfortable enough around them that no want is too taboo to confide in them but growing up where you had untamed desire is a dangerous vice and lust a short-lived fire that threatened to burn those walls to ash. 

The mirrors are hung in a long line along the back wall of the club, their reflections felt like a taunt. Like holding up a mirror to your own perverse desires. 

Looking at your own reflection you hardly recognised yourself; the chandeliers shadowed light becoming entangled in the siken tresses of hair that is usually tightly braided, now falls freely, and the dress that Mor had selected melts into the curves and contours of your body in a way that leaves little to the imagination. This woman before you is not the lamb she is the wolf. 

In your inebriated state, you press your empty glass flush against your chest, the cool glass drawing the fire to the surface of your skin, as you observe the main room from your spot in the corner. By now, the rest of the Inner Circle has trailed one by one into the private lounge next door looking for a reprieve from the glare of neon light and the rhythm of the music. The alcohol had done its job in setting your throat ablaze and the fae wine pressed its burning kisses against your skin, staining your cheeks with a gentle blush.

It’s then that your eyes find Azriel. He’s standing against the bar with a Female whose face is concealed from view, she’s lithe and willowy and you try to fight the feeling of jealousy that burns through you then. Try not to think about him taking her hips in his beautiful hands as she thrusts lucidly in his firm grip. Or what her garish cobalt dress will look like on his bedroom floor. 

You’d been a goner from the moment you arrived in Valeris with Feyre and Lucien. For months you have hidden away from him. Played the meek and studious exile all the while longing from afar for a man who you think you could love if only he’d let you.

Tonight though, you feel as though your inhibitions had been utterly compromised. Perhaps its the alcohol running hot in your veins or the way he looks at her under his darkening amber gaze but it’s a deadly combination of wanton desire and weeks of  unspoken longing and the threat of ruination lingers on your mind. 

Azriel is handsome in the way an angel might be; lust incarnate and devastatingly beautiful, with an almost sordid quality to him, that hinted at unspoken sacrilege. He looks at home here, in the thick of it, soaked in the neon glow, his signature sly smirk ghosting his lips. In these indulgent moments, you think that he is the only thing in this room worth looking at. In the cool light, he looks almost ethereal. His onyx hair is tousled purposely, the longer strands of hair curling away from his face and his eyes look like molten gold in the shadowed light. He has since shed his outer tunic and was left in a white undershirt, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and in the summer heat, it clings to him like a second skin. 

It’s hard not to think about him like this; he’s sex personified. He’s built like some great Adonis with a face that could launch a thousand ships. But he’s not just beautiful. That’s the complicated part. He’s more than meets the eye; he’s dark and brooding, with a kind heart and sad eyes. He makes you want to sink to your kness and pray to him in reverence until he sees in himself what you see in him. 

You find yourself turning over Rhys’ words in your head. Azriel has a great many lovers. He’s just better at hiding it than the rest of us.

Okay, so maybe he isn’t that lonely but none of them ever last that long. Of that you are certain. 

It’s Cassian’s laughter that rouses you from thought as Mor motions for you to follow her into the next room. You trail behind her somewhat reluctantly as she takes your hand in her own. You venture deeper into the masses of bodies as Mor tightens her hold on you. 

You cast your eyes over to Azriel once more only this time he is looking back. From here he is only an arm's length away as he shouts over the music. Only it’s futile and  his shouts fall on deaf ears. Instead, you gesture to him that Mor is here. You point at the entrance to the private room and he seems to nod in acknowledgement before holding up a finger to you. Only before he can finish signalling to you, Mor’s gentle tug on your arm sees you gone from him once again.

Having reached the other end of the bar you and Mor separate before venturing further into the private area of the club. 

“There you are,” Rhys says, opening his arms to you and drawing you into a friendly hug, “we wondered where you might have gotten to.”

The private room of Rita’s is reserved just for the Inner Circle only. It’s smaller than the main room but more inviting. The chandelier casts the room in a honeyed glow and the walls are hung with rich oil paintings and portraits rather than the mirrors and cold, neon light of the main bar. It’s quiet and cool and the frosted glass doors offer some privacy from the club beyond. 

You shift uncomfortably as the group looks at you expectantly for an explanation for your absence but you offer none. Your throat seizes and the familiar heat of embarrassment pools in your stomach. 

“Never mind,” Nesta says reassuringly as she pats the empty seat next to her, “you’re here now.”. 

Cassian casts you a sidelong glance before opening his mouth to speak. 

“We’re going to play a game,” he says, the devilment clear in his voice, “do you want to join us or just stare at Az all night?”. 

“Sure, I’ll play,” you say opting to repress the thought of Azriel from your mind lest you look like even more of a lovestruck fool. 

The booth in the middle of the room is a large, crescent moon shape, the seats are upholstered with emerald green leather and the table is a complimentary black. The table itself is high and round and set with enough drink to supply an army. Rhysand and Feyre are seated in the middle of the booth, his arm draped over her shoulder in a lazy show of affection and they share one cup of wine. Cassian and Nesta are sat to the side of Feyre and Mor, Amren and Emery pile into the opposite side next to Rhys. 

You pay them little mind as you slide into the spot next to Nesta, who presses herself closer to Cassian as the group settles in.

“Right, the game is Truth or drink,” Cassian announces happily, the perverse implication clear from the look in his eye, “Mor you can start.”

Just as Mor begins to open her mouth to speak she is interrupted by the double doors swinging open unceremoniously. In the doorway Azriel leans languidly, he’s covered in a thin veil of sweat and he has forgone the first three buttons of his shirt, exposing the taut muscle beneath.

“I brought a guest,” he says in his cool tenor as the beautiful Female from earlier strolls in, with an air of confidence, verging on arrogance that irks you to no end. 

You avert your eyes feigning ignorance until his commanding shadow looms ominously over you. When you crane your neck to look at him he’s already staring intently at you, his eyes meeting yours; soft ochre and flecks of molten gold. The booth strains under his hulking mass as he slides in beside you. You’re nearing delirium when his sculpted thigh presses against yours and the beautiful Female takes her place perched on his knee. 

You cast him a sidelong glance and you swear he’s smirking at you. He brings his cup to his lips, drinking deeply before speaking to the group. 

“Shall we play?” his voice is dark and laced with menace. 

Mor clears her throat before turning to Nesta and asking her first question which Nesta answers with ease. 

The group has been passing their questions back and forth along the row and at some point you let the inebriation take hold. Letting go of your inhibitions has you confessing to playing truant to practise with Cass, cheating at game nights and having your own small collection of dirty books stashed away in the library, much to the amusement of the group. 

 ‘Not so innocent now, eh?’ says Mor over a glass of wine. 

‘And to think!” exclaims Rhys, cluthicng at imaginary pearls, “I thought you were the good one”.

‘Dirty girl’.

At your side Azriel stiffens against you, his calloused hand sinking beneath the table, his fingers accidentally ghosting the exposed skin of your thigh. You try to catch his attention and in silent protests but he is not looking at you, his eyes are trained dead in front of him as Rhys asks the question.

“Come on then Az,” he starts with a jovial chuckle, “Have you ever had a sex dream about one of us?”.

“I have.” Azriel admits, his voice is loaded with indecency. 

Mor sends you a smirk as she points to you and one by one, seven sets of eyes turn on you as you drink.

Azriel still will not look at you. 

“Truth or drink,” Mor starts, “Have you ever imagined anyone in this room when reading your one of your books?”.

You swallow hard then. Mor isn’t playing fair at all. You had confided in her your most shameful thoughts and now she was trying to play matchmaker while the object of your desire sat at your side with another woman in his lap. 

The eyes of the group linger on you expectantly. You know their game and you don’t care to play it tonight. 

“Um I-i,” you start, your voice wavers with uncertainty. You drink deep again and hang your head low in lieu of confession. 

As the game continues your mind begins to wander and you abandon yourself to the thought of Azriel. His hands were deliberate and rough against your thigh. His chest and how its all taut muscle and raw power. His low growl as he sinks into you for the first time.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” the whisper comes low in your ear, his voice is laden with transgressive desire.

Your eyes seek out Mor’s in the small room but she seems all too interested in the game that they are playing now. Instead, you will play him at his own game. Your eyes are trained forward and Azriel turns back.

“Tell me, darling,” he implores you, “who is it you think of?” his voice is measured as he slides his big palm to your thigh.

“All those late nights in the library,” his breath is hot and accusatory against your neck and he sinks hisa calloused finger along the soft flesh of your thigh, “I wonder.”

He lets the implication hang in the air unanswered as the female on his knee draws his attention back to her. She’s fussing with her dress and saying she wants to dance. The commotion draws the attention of the Inner Circle and it’s then you catch Mor’s eye. You must look thoroughly frustrated as she raises her eyebrows at you in question. All it takes is a glance in Azriel’s direction and Mor seems to grasp the situation. She slips from her place between Amren and Emery and begins to move in time with the faint hum of the music next door. Her body is beautiful, graceful and tempered as she turns to the stranger hanging off Azriel’s arm and holds out her hand to her. 

“Dance with me, sweetheart.” it’s not an invitation but a command to which the woman obliges happily. You send Mor an apologetic smile as she backs out into the darkness of the club next door. 

As the door closes on Mor the group quickly resumes their previous conversations and once again you stare ahead at the paintings hung on the wall, trying your hardest not to look Azriel in his eyes lest he see the truth. That he will be your ruination. 

“Is it Cassian perhaps?” he asks, eyeing his friend as he laughs loudly at something Rhys is saying. 

Looking at him through half-lidded eyes you shake your head and attempt to put distance between your body and his. He only laughs to himself leaning in closer. 

“Mor?” he presses, inclining his head to the door, “Rhys even?” he continues. 

“Amren?”, there’s amusement in his tone.

 “No?” His hand resumes his assault on your thigh daring to climb higher and higher with every heaving breath you take. He buries his head in the crook of your neck breathing in your scent like it's a lifeline. 

“Feyre? Nesta?” you’re silent, as his finger finally reaches the apex of your thigh under the material of your dress. 

You look at him now. His eyes are like wildfire and his pupils are blown wide; he looks like a fallen angel. Divine and annihilating. And there, in the sulk of his bottom lip, you are reminded of the pull of your body to his. It’s instinctual. A need. 

 “Then that just leaves…” you cut him off before he can finish. 

You stand abruptly drawing the attention of your friends who all look between you and Azriel confusion written on their faces as you push past him and slip out of the booth and into the night. 

It’s witching hour and the club is saturated in hues of inky blue and indigo. The floor is awash with dancing bodies. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of lust lingers in the air. It’s savage and indulgent. You brace yourself against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, looking at yourself through dark lashes; shame and arousal still hot in your veins. Your breathing is deep and slow, your cheeks are flushed and your hair falls in haphazard waves around your shoulders. You are no wolf, little girl. 

You feel his presence before you see him. He cuts an intimidating figure in this light. He’s tall and hardened by rejection and white-hot fury burns through him. He meets your eyes in the mirror; they’re glinting and profane against the black. He stalks towards you with a resolute coolness entirely his own. His approach is unchrateristically lax. Feigning surrender. It’s a trap. This you know; one you will let yourself fall into. 

He’s a wolf and you are a lamb being led to the slaughter. 

He reaches out a sculpted arm to cage you between the mirrored wall and his rippling frame. He smiles then as he slides in behind you. He’s all potent power and brute strength that encircles you completely. Shrouding you from view. 

His head sinks into the junction between your neck and collarbone and drags his teeth along the skin there. A threat. A promise. 

The neon lights colour you in shades of pink and blue and over the blaring music the sounds of drunken whispers are a savage rhapsody in the stilted air. In the reflections the bar is littered with glasses and bottled of wine and at the far edge of the room you can see Mor and the girl that Azriel has long forgotten dancing by the bar. 

Suddenly, his hips thrust sharply into your ass and you have to brace yourself against the mirror as you’re pressed flush against the wall. Your shock comes out in a sharp inhale. Azriel chuckles darkly at that. 

His hand gently brushes the hair out of your face, gathering it in his fist before tugging at it gently. Turning in his bruising grip you look up at him like you look at the sun. Reverence and agony. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces your gaze forward.

Arousal pools between your thighs and you press them together desperate for some semblance of release. 

“No, darling,” he says, “I want you to watch.” he elaborates tapping the mirror with two sturdy fingers for emphasis. 

You make eye contact with him in the reflection. Your gaze is unyielding and defiant as he comes to whisper in your ear again. 

“Do you think you can do that for me pretty girl?” your consent is all her needs. You can’t utter a single word but a look passes between you that says what words cannot. 

Please. 

“Fuck” he says, “I can smell you from here.” 

The thought sends rippling waves of pleasure right to your core, the friction of your thighs doing nothing to quell the dull ache for him. 

Despite the layers between you, you can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass as he roughly thrusts against you. You angle your hips away from him as he pushes you against the wall a second time, the cold railing digging painfully into your hips. 

Azriel frees you from his grip, taking his free hand to tear his member from his leather breeches. The sound breaks through the haze of lust and suddenly you are painfully aware of the people around you. Although, no one has cared to notice any of the depravity that has passed between the two of you. If they have they haven’t said as much. 

“Azriel-I” you stop yourself as he looks at you, taking his hardened length in his hand and stroking the head, coating it in the first beads of sticky pre-cum.

 Azriel hisses sharply, throwing his head back in unbridled pleasure before taking you in his rough embrace again, searching your eyes for a hint of protest and when he finds none he uses one arm to spin your around so that your cheek is pushed up against the mirror held in place by the pressure of his fingers tangled in roots of your hair.

He hurriedly gathers the swathes of fabric that separate you and in one swift movement presses his naked hips flush to yours. You feel his cock like cool marble against the bare skin of your ass. He lets the material of your dress fall freely now, covering your sin. He uses the same hand to snake under your dress, his hands pressing odes into your thighs as he had before under the table. Only now his hand doesn't stop only climbing higher and higher until-

“Fuck Azriel,” the gasp tears through you as he reaches your pubic bone before sinking lower, spreading your folds, gathering your wetness and drawing it up again to rub slow circles into your most sensitive parts. His circling is deliberate and poised, his fingers knowing what you body craved almost instinctively. It sends electricity through your body, enough to bring you to your knees if not for Azriel holding you upright. 

The ghost of a smile graces his perfect face and he presses a kiss to your pulse point. 

“I need you to be quiet, y/n,” he sighs into your shoulder as he peppers kisses along the exposed planes of skin, leaving a trail of angry red marks in his wake. 

“Can you do that for me?”, he asks, raising an eyebrow in question through the mirror. But it’s not a question. It’s a dare. 

You take another look at yourself in the mirror; you’re pressed against it, your eyes veiled with this a desperate ache. It’s almost tangible. It’s intoxicating and all consuming and any notion of shame or self-respect had been abandoned the minute you laid eyes on him tonight. 

You could be quiet. 

Your vow of silence is all he needs to continue.

He continues down to the curve of your shoulder as his mouth roams freely now. His teeth on your neck feel like divine absolution. Or maybe damnation. All the while the scarred pad of his thumb presses deft circles between your thighs, the contours and ridges of scarred skin providing all the necessary friction to send you into delirium as your orgasm rages like a tempest through your body. His name, one fierce on your tongue comes out broken. You whisper it. Like prayer. Azriel. 

“I thought I told you to be quiet.” he reprimands, it comes out in an almost broken pant pressed against the clammy skin of your shoulder. 

“If you are,” he offers, “I’ll let you come on my cock.” his voice is different now; no longer the cool, low tenor he wears so well. It’s filled with the dark promise. 

That this will be your undoing. Your ruin. 

His movement is hypnotic as he takes your delicate throat in his hand, his fingers nipping cruelly at your jaw and the flesh of your cheeks so that your mouth opens for him. You moan gospel around his fingers as your eyes meet in the reflection. 

So you will let him ruin you. 

He touches you with urgency now as he gathers the shroud of fabric about your waist, letting the cool air fan the tops of your bare thighs. He uses your hip as leverage, angling your body away from his granting him access so that his long fingers trace a agonising line down the seam of your aching cunt. 

His length is hard and punishing against your tightness as he sinks into you for the first time tonight. Azriel burns. It’s blasphemy but the thick tip of him fills you in a way that, when he is gone from you, you feel hollow. 

He growls in your ear as he is sheathed to the hilt, your walls a velvet vice that flutters around him so beautifully and he swears no one could have foretold that bliss could feel so profane. His hazel eyes blaze golden as he sucks at the skin of your throat. His kiss is vehement, devout, fervent. His relection watches yours and you swear that when his eyes meet yours at the same moment his teeth draw blood from you, you see a God looking back at you. The bite is ravenous and your blood pools like rubies in the valley of your breasts. He moans into your neck, your blood staining his lips and you know there is beauty in the bite. 

Then he starts to move and oh Gods!  

He fucks like a seraphim. All pleasure and pain; brought together in perfect unison, melting into one another as he begins to seek his redemption in the flutter of your walls around his cock. Scarred hands kiss hymns up your sides. He sanctifies your body. Worships you in the way a devil worships sin. It’s hedonistic and pleasure-seeking. Greedy and his. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he whispers it like a vow into your skin, bringing a hand to flex around your throat before dropping it again, “so good for me.”

You feel the pad of his thumb pressing sharply into your folds, drawing moisture upwards from where his cock threstens to split you in two. His circles on your clit align with the punishing pace that he is fucking you; it’s savage and feral. 

“Look at me when you cum on my cock.” he commands. 

You crane your neck to look at his face. Devastating and elegant. But he only laughs cruelly, twisting your back towards the mirror. Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ as his reflection meets your gaze. 

So you watch him. He’s surrounded by shadow and framed by the neon light of the club; his hair falls in raven tresses, the longer stands, becoming damp and curling away from him, his jaw is set like perfect marble and he stands tall and statuesque behind you. He bares his teeth to you, nipping at your ear as he resumes his assault on your clit. 

Through the reflection, you can still see the dancing sea as it rages into a tempest as if goading you to reach your peak before the wave breaks against the shore. The liquor runs hot in your veins and your gaze hardens on the woman at the bar and her vulgar cobalt dress. 

Azriels breath in your ear comes in sharp rasps that cut through the haze of jealousy as he buries himself in you again. 

“Takin’ my cock so well.”

“Azriel I-” The words dissolve like sugar on your tongue as his wild eyes bore into yours. 

“You need to come, baby?” he coos in your ear. It’s perverse the way it sounds on his lips. 

You nod in his direction, it's desperate and any altruistic desire you may have had is long gone. You’re drunk on his touch and chasing your release above all else. So you surrender yourself to him completely. 

“Then come for me.” 

“Want to feel you come on my cock, darling” It’s all the permission you need. 

Coming undone around him is a fall from grace. It’s desperate; all teeth and tongue as he presses his lips to your bare shoulder blade with an ardour akin to worship. In those moments where your world melts away like some psychedelic fever dream you are reminded of the fervid desire that holds you both in thrall as he fucks you through the waves of your orgasm as it comes crashing down around you. 

Muscles spasm and contract and Azriel refuses to yield to the orgasm that tears through you, setting synapses on fire and leaving wildfire in its wake. You brace yourself against the mirror once more to stop your legs from giving way. He takes you firm in his arms, one hand kneading the skin of your hips roughly and the other holding you by the throat as his orgasm begins to take root. 

The world frays at its edges as he buries himself so deep in you that you feel the thread that runs from his body to yours go taut. It snaps into place as the hot ropes of his come spill into your tightness. 

In the quiet moments that follow he says your name; whispers it. Recites it like poetry. You cast your eyes onto his reflection. He’s looking at you now and there, through dark, romantic eyes you relish in a heaven that only exists when he is looking at you. 

You’re not sure how long you stay this way, wrapped around his softening length, as fingers rub delicate circles into the swell of your hips and his lips leave almost kisses running from your ear to the tip of your shoulder. 

And then he is gone from you, pulling out of you with a pained growl, as he lets the material that once separated you fall back into place. He smooths the fabric of your dress, his hand firm and calculating as it grazes over the sensitive skin of your hips and ass. 

The remnants of your shared orgasm pools between slicked thighs as Azriel comes behind you again, taking you by the shoulders so that you are facing him now. 

His smile is easy now and his voice is filled with his usual careful tenor he twists a loose curl in his finger before brushing it from your face as he starts to speak. 

“Let's get you home now, darling”

He takes your hand in his and places the other on the small of your back as he guides you through the winding crowds and out into the cool night air. 

Velaris at night is beautiful; it's alive. The stars are hung in the sky with care, each a brilliant white that glints against the canopy of twilight and pearlescent cloud and the moon is ghostly and annihilating. From here you can see the House of Wind as it stands monumental on the distant horizon. You could get used to this.

The stirring of the body next to you draws your attention back to Azriel. He’s looking at you again. Like he wants to ruin you. Like he wants to love you.

So you will permit to him put his lips upon yours once again, and let him learn to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other. 

You know then that he has ruined you. 

#acotar #acotar smut #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel headcanons #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel acotar #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses

[litnerdwrites]

"You shouldn't criticise/analyse SJM's characters/worldbuilding because it just isn't that deep." Is a take I see a lot when someone analyses or criticises SJM, and while I get where you're coming from, I do have a couple of issues with this take.

First of all, it's important to be able to criticise all media, even your your favourites, no matter how good or bad they are. Media of all formats is a product of it's time and goes a long way into helping us learn about the sociopolitical climate of the time it was written, from the past, present or future. As a result, no piece of media can be considered 'perfect' or without points to criticise, and analysing it can give us perspective on issues we may not even realise exist. This is true for most, if not all media, from books to news channels to music or tv shows.

If you don't want to analyse or criticise it though, that's fine. Just ignore posts and videos of people who do, since there's no use in telling them that they're wasting their time. Some people enjoy criticising/analysing the media they consume, but if you don't, then just let them be.

Now, here's the bigger issue I have with this take. It might really not be that deep to you, but it might really be that deep for other people. Especially since SJM books have a pretty young fanbase. The books are YA, and are advertised as being for ages 12 and up.

Many kids, young girls mostly, that read, even just the first book, are shown Feyre forgiving Rhys at the end of the book after SA-ing her for three months or Feyre getting back with Tamlin after he watched her get tortured for three months, and romanticise it. Then there's the second book, where she ends up with Rhysand despite what he did, and even lets him do it again at the CON.

Nesta is pressured by Elain and Feyre to let her use their home for something incredibly dangerous despite her very reasonable concerns, only to then be insulted by Feyre's friends for a situation he wasn't even there for, only for some romance to between them to be hinted at. In Acowar she's further pressured by her sister, and strangers who hate her, to put her healing and coping from her trauma aside to push her clear boundaries to help her sister even more despite her and her friends not having a great track record of holding up their ends of deals from Nesta's experience.

And don't even get me started on the train wreck that was ACOFAS- ACOSF. If these actions and behaviours were acknowledged as being toxic or wrong, that would be fine, somewhat. However, the narrative paints these characters and behaviour in a positive light, despite the fact they aren't. For young readers to look at this, and to idolise these characters and their behaviours, thinking that it's what they want in a partner, is disturbing.

It's fine to not want to critique or thoroughly analyse a book, but discrediting people who do, especially if they're pointing out harmful behaviour being perpetuated in said books, is not. Ignoring the harmful behaviour these books perpetuate is making you a part of the problem, and I truly hope that your view on this behaviour would change if it was coming from a living person instead of a fictional one. Be it towards you or somebody you know.

#sjm critical #acotar critical #acomaf critical #acowar critical #acofas critical #acosf critical #inner circle critical #nesta deserves better #anti rhys #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro nesta #anti acosf #anti amren #anti mor

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Heart of Fire - Azriel x Reader Request

Hiii! A lil fluff request by @charlottewelshshit - hope this is okay for you love<;3

could you do one where the reader is the second eldest archeron sister, she has powers because of the cauldron and Azriel and her are mates please. If It ends in fluff It would be great. Thank you very much <3

Warnings: None.

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Breaking point.

You were truly, utterly at breaking point. 

You didn’t know what was different about that day. Each of them, of late, had been a blur of anger and longing swirling and melding into one. Anger at your situation. Longing for some semblance of normality. 

But that day—that day, you just knew you would break. 

And the trigger was right there before you. Your youngest and eldest sister bickering across the dinner table. 

It was no different to when you’d been mortals—Nesta wielding sharp words and Feyre biting back. You didn’t even know what they were arguing about. But these days, it was more than just you and Elain who bore witness to it. The entire Inner Circle watched and held their tongues as Nesta and Feyre tore verbal chunks out of each other.

You just…didn’t get it. Didn’t get how, when you’d been shoved into the Cauldron, had your mortality and your prospects of a normal life ripped from you, they could still find such pathetic, petty things to squabble over. As if you weren’t sat right there, trapped in a life you never gods-damned asked for. 

“If you don’t like it, Nesta,” Feyre sniped. “You don’t have to come. Stay home, read your novels, I don’t care.”

You gripped onto your fork, feeling the metal bend out of shape in your palm. Your eyes were pinned, unseeing, to the white table linen.

“Well.” Nesta’s jaw set, sarcasm drenching her tone. “Thank you so much for your permission, High Lady.”

“Do not,” Rhys chimed in, his voice like steel, “use Feyre’s title to condescend to her.”

The fork clattered from your hand. You were going to tip this fucking table over, tear the room apart. Your anger was growing, shaping into its own being. 

“Stay out of it, Rhysand.” Nesta spat at your brother-in-law.

You snapped. Totally fucking snapped. 

“That’s enough!” You shouted, and your voice was the most horrifying thing you’d ever heard. Like ice and heat, and wind and rain, old and young. It wasn’t you.

But the voice was nothing — nothing — against the physical impact of your anger. Like a storm had swept through the room, the tableware was sent flying on a phantom wind, plates and bowls smashing against the walls, knives and forks imbedding in furniture, drinks spilling all over the place. 

And as quickly as it had raged through, it stopped. Anything flying through the air clattered to the floor, and silence cloaked the room. Everyone blinked up at you.

“…my food.” Mor frowned down at the empty space her plate had been sat in.

But it was Cassian you were staring at, guilt immediately choking you. He dislodged a fork from the back of his hand, the wound already healing, the blood already drying. He seemed stunned — and impressed.

You immediately stepped towards him, reaching out as if you could do—something. “Oh, gods, Cassian—”

You could feel it…feel yourself breaking on the inside. If you didn’t get out of there, you would cry, or scream, or maybe stab a fork into your own hand.

“I’m fine.” Cassian promised. “No harm done.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, stepping away from the table. “So sorry.”

You hurried from the room, every bit of you trembling, a cold sweat breaking out over your skin. How were you supposed to live like this? You were a danger — to yourself, and to everyone around you. Everyone you loved. 

You staggered to a stop in the garden, bracing your hands against the solid surface of a wall. Tried to calm your breathing. You were so, so angry at the way things had become. What kind of curse was this that the Cauldron had bestowed on you? The ability to feel every damn emotion so strongly it would rip you apart from the inside? And the emotions of others too? You couldn’t live a life of being battered by feelings, couldn’t—

“Y/N.” The voice behind you was soft, gentle.

So heartbreakingly gentle. You felt a tear roll down your cheek.

“Y/N.” Azriel said again, stopping just behind you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright—”

“How can it possibly be alright, Az?” You rounded on him. There — there was that flare of emotion again. You tried to swallow it down, to steady your breathing. Your voice broke as you said, “How will this ever be alright?”

Azriel’s eyes were soft as they studied you. There no was judgement in them, none of the anger you thought you deserved from him and everyone else after your outburst. Just…kindness. Understanding. Affection.

“It’s not your fault.” He took a step closer. “It will get better.”

A wry laugh fell from your lips. “It will get worse, Azriel. Way worse. I’m completely out of control. You saw what happened in there. What if…what if next time, it’s more than just an injury to the hand? What if I kill someone because I can’t control how I’m feeling?”

His full lips pursed as he studied you. You were suddenly an open book, and he was reading all the thoughts, all the feelings, you’d tried to keep hidden since you'd emerged from the Cauldron as a fae. Each one was tumbling out now.

“You have to stop seeing it as a curse—as a weakness.” He said. “You have to be kinder to yourself. To train and hone it as you would any other power.”

“Power.” You barked another laugh. “Is that what it is? Why couldn’t I have just become a Seer like Elain? Why am I stuck with some damn power that turns emotions into weapons?”

Az was staring at you again, his brow furrowed. You didn’t know what that look meant. The two of you had been growing closer since you’d moved to Velaris, a connection between you definitely blossoming and manifesting in subtle touches and glances — but maybe that was all about to change. Maybe he was seeing you for the liability you’d become. 

He took another step closer — and then slowly, gently, took your hand in his. The warmth of it was soothing, like a droplet of calm in a vast ocean of chaos. With such careful movements, he tugged you with him, and sat down with you on a nearby bench.

“Do you know when I first realised you were someone special?” He asked quietly, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of your palm.

You frowned, shaking your head. Someone special—that was what he thought of you?

“It was when you were still human. Way before you were dragged into that Cauldron.” His eyes scanned your face. “When Feyre brought us to your estate in the human lands, seeking your help. You were the only one who wasn’t scared of us or rude to us. Nesta and Elain retired to bed that night, but you stayed up and talked to us. Helped us write the letter to the human queens.”

You remembered — of course you did. Because you couldn’t deny the excitement you felt that might, to have three brilliant, breathtaking fae males in your home. Nesta would have throttled you if she’d known that you’d stayed awake and chatted with Feyre and the Illyrians well into the early hours. 

And you’d been utterly enamoured with Azriel right from the very beginning. But you hadn’t considered that he may have seen you as anything other than a plain, human woman.

His fingers laced between yours, dragging you back to the present. “That night,” He said, “We told you all about Amarantha—what she’d done to our kind. The horrors that everyone trapped Under the Mountain had suffered. And even though you’d been taught to fear us…even though you didn’t know us…you cried for us. For our pain and our suffering. You didn’t hesitate to volunteer your help in any way we needed it. And I knew—I knew then that you were something special. Because most people can’t feel emotions the way you feel them. On such a deep level.”

You didn’t realise you were crying again until a teardrop fell onto your lap. Azriel reached out his other hand, gently wiping your cheek with his thumb. 

“You mustn’t fear yourself, Y/N.” He whispered. “You should be proud of that fire in your heart. To feel so freely…to empathise with others…it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

The dam on your tears broke, and Azriel tugged you closer as they flowed free—months and months of pent-up emotion being expelled from your body, your heart.

Suddenly, you were in Az’s lap, his arms wrapped around you. He rocked you through your shuddering sobs, his hand stroking your back. His shadows coiled around you, wiping your tears with feather-light touches.

“You’re brilliant.” Az murmured in your ear, his lips brushing the lobe. “And you’re going to be okay. We’ll be okay–together.”

You pulled back just slightly — just enough to look at him, to meet his eyes. There was pure truth shining there — he truly, thoroughly believed his own words. 

And if he could…surely you could, too.

Your eyes flickered to his lips. So wonderful, this male. So quiet and sensitive and real. Your anger was quickly dissipating and being replaced with another emotion. One that was far more pleasant and tasted like winter berries and warmth. 

You loved him. You were in love with the Shadowsinger. 

“You…you feel it too, don’t you?” You glanced at his lips again. “This…bond between us.” 

His answering nod was strong – sure. “I do…I always have. But even more since the Cauldron. I think I’ve always known that you…that you’re my mate.”

Mate. The word sang in your head. You’d seen the bond between Feyre and Rhys…that unbreakable, invisible thing that tethered them together so passionately. Had you truly been lucky enough to have found the same thing? And with a brilliant male like Azriel, no less?

And if you had…maybe the Cauldron hadn’t damned you so terribly like you’d thought. Maybe you could weather the bad to have the good. To have him. 

Your mate.

It only took that thought, that realisation, to spur you on. Azriel watched you as you leaned closer, lifting your hand to cup his cheek. You tentatively brushed your lips against his, giving him a moment to pull away, to change his mind.

But it was he who closed that gap and kissed you properly. 

It was both firm and gentle, a soft kiss as he moved his hand from your back to cradle the back of your head, his fingers twisting within your hair. The reciprocation gave you the confidence you needed to push a bit further — you pulled him against you and nipped his bottom lip, slipping your tongue into his mouth as it opened on a gasp. 

Kissing him was like being home. Just…just right. You wanted to do this forever, feel this forever. You wouldn’t be at all surprised if you pulled back and found yourself literally glowing. 

His tongue danced around yours, his lips working utter magic. Only when the two of you were huffing breaths did you both pull away, and a smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. 

“That,” He said, kissing you once, “is my favourite emotion.”

You couldn’t help mirroring his smile, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. This was how you wanted to feel. Forever. 

Maybe things really could be okay. 

It certainly seemed that way as Azriel leaned in and kissed you again.

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#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfic #rhysand #mating bond #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #feyre #amren #morrigan #nesta #elain #azriel fluff #acotar fandom #acotar series #shadowsinger #spymaster #fluff #azriel fic #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar writing #acotar fluff #acotar x reader

[fieldofdaisiies]

Of Wings and Secrecy

paring: adult!Nyx x Reader | type: angst | words: 3,4k words | warnings: mentions of abuse, violence | based on this request

“What a weak punch.” 

You throw Nyx a withering glare over your shoulder, hands dropping to your sides. You really have to fight the urge to flip him off, and at the same time want nothing more than to kiss those formidable lips.

“Shall I demonstrate how it should be done?” His wings flare behind his back when he starts to stroll toward you, sauntering with nothing but cocky smugness, a grin on his lips.

Your little sister, Salia, next to you giggles, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I guess I‘ll leave you two alone then.”

She winks and before you can stop her, she is heading towards where Emerie, Gwyn and Nesta, Nyx‘s aunts, train a few young Illyrian females.

Salia is the only one to know about what is actually between the two of you — a bond, a mating bond, always glamoured to keep it hidden. But she knows about the mutual love, how and when the bond snapped, about your secret meetings and the dangers along with it. The dangers that prevent you from—

Your thoughts are cut off when you feel the hard and warm press of a solid chest against your back. 

“A little higher.” His hands support your elbows, his lips brushing your earlobe. You fight against a shudder, and hold your breath. 

“Not here.” Your voice is silent, hushed. “Someone could see us.”

“I’m only helping you train, my star.” A smirk appears on Nyx’s lips, but falters the moment he sees your scared expression after you have turned to him. The Night Court heir steps away, and bows his head. 

You open your mental shields for him, holding his gaze. I’m so sorry, but it‘s too dangerous, Nyx.

Making sure no one is looking, Nyx moves in again, lifting your elbow with one of his warm and gentle hands, acting like he is explaining something. “Let me protect you.” He leans in the slightest bit. “Come to Velaris with me. Let me protect you.”

You turn away and pick up a sword. “You know I can‘t.” Straightening your posture and using one hand to smooth out your leathers you take a few steps back. “I can‘t leave my mother and sister alone.”

Nyx knows this, and yet the truth —the awareness about you not coming with him— sends a pang of hurt right into his heart. Your hearts belong together, so do your souls, and should never be kept apart. You had fallen in love with each other the first moment you lay eyes on each other. But life isn’t too kind to you, doesn’t allow your love to flourish.

Devlon forbids this relationship, threatens to hurt the once you love most. It has to be kept secret. Nyx promised you that with his father’s protection —with the High Lord’s protection — nothing would ever happen to you. And despite that sounding very promising, you couldn’t accept.

This is not solely about you. You have a sister and a mother who live here as well and they will be in danger. Especially if you go with Nyx or if your relationship —if the bond— becomes public.

Nyx moves in closer again, helping you position your legs a little differently. “I want to be alone with you.”

“Nyx.” A corner of your mouth tips up.

He raises a brow, twin flames of desire lighting up his blue eyes. “My late grandmother‘s hut?”

“Now?”

Nyx grins and turns you, so your back is against his front, always careful of your beautiful wings, acting like he is showing you some self-defence techniques. “Always.”

His body vibrates with passion, and it reaches you, fuels the need within your veins. You have been apart for so long. You have missed him. And you need him. Now.

—-

A loud giggle parts your lips and you shove at Nyx‘s bare, and solid chest. “I‘m sure I love you more.”

He kisses your shoulder and shakes his head. “Not possible.” His damp lips coast over your salty skin, tongue poking out. “My love for you is endless.”

“Well,” you breathe, “mine is endless and just a bit more.” 

He tips his head up, gaze meeting yours and laughs. “You are impossible.”

To that you grin and chuckle. Your hand comes up and you stroke your thumb over his cheek, slowly, assessing him with your eyes. “You look tired,” you say with a contemplative look on your face.

“We‘ve been tangled in the sheets for the whole night, my star, I am exhausted.” The beautiful smile on his lips doesn’t reach his eyes and the corners of your mouth turn downwards. 

“It’s because the glamour, isn’t it.”

He doesn’t want to say yes, but you can read him so well, so he silently admits, “I constantly need to use a lot of magic to glamour the both of us, and over a far distance when I am back in Velaris.”

You find yourself nodding, your heart hurting about the knowledge of what it does to him.

“But it’s fine.” He kisses your nose. “As long as the two of us have a chance to be with each other, I would accept everything.” Now, he kisses the corner of your mouth, hands falling to your hips, pulling you closer, the counter below your bare thighs, cool.

“I don’t want you to—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. But it is a kiss you can’t really focus on. You love him, you want to be with him — Cauldron he is your mate! But that doesn’t make this relationship easy. It only makes it hella difficult. 

Nyx is a bit over 100, sooner or later he will have to take over as High Lord, you don’t want to cause him additional issues.

“You are distracted, my star.” His hand slides beneath your —his— shirt and he cups your breast, thumb pressing down on your nipple, rubbing. “Let me help you focus on us.”

Your curl legs around his hips, hoping that the press of his hard length against your core will really centre you in the moment. And it truly does. 

You allow yourself to enjoy this moment with him, knowing it is fleeting and will be over way too soon and Nyx back in Velaris. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

You cup the nape of his neck with your hand, fingers entangled in his soft silken strands, mouths colliding, teeth clacking.

“I love you—”

“Nyx!” The entrance door bangs against the wall of the hut, so loud even the mice in the smallest nooks can hear it. It feels like time stands still when Nyx steps away and whips his head into…the High Lord’s direction.

There is nothing but confusion and a hunt of shock etched upon Nyx‘s father‘s face, like he can’t really believe what he is seeing.

“I was looking for you.” The High Lord is not stuttering, but something close to it and Nyx, his cheeks a deep red, looks like he is wringing for the right words, all engines in his mind working on high speed.

“This is Y/N,” he finally says and adds, “And she is my mate.”

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“And the hating each other part…?”

“Fake.” A sheepish grin spreads over Nyx‘s face and he bites down on his lower lip.

His father chuckles lowly and shakes his head at his son. “When did this happen? The bond I mean. When did it snap in place for you?”

Rhysand still looks a little flabbergasted. Even minutes later when the three of you sit together on the couch, now you and Nyx fully dressed.

“Shortly after the Blood Rite. I went to congratulate her on becoming Arktosion, and well…our eyes met and the bond snapped.” Nyx turns to you and takes your hand into his, squeezing softly.

“That was nearly a year ago,” the High Lord expresses and throws his son an incredulous look. “You’ve been keeping your bond a secret for so long!?”

Nyx and you nod.

“You could have told us. At least your mother and—”

“We couldn‘t.” Nyx shakes his head again, then leans into you and kisses the top of your head.

Then he continues, “It would have been too dangerous. Dad, I know you. And I know mum. You would have wanted to get involved. You would have tried to talk to Devlon and we couldn’t risk it. Y/N‘s mother and sister are in his tight grip and—”

“If he finds out about our mating bond he will do unspeakable things to them.” Your gaze drops, voice so vulnerable and silent you hope the High Lord could even hear you.

He did, and his power stretches out, brushing you. “You will have our protection always. And so will your sister and mother. You can come to live in Velaris with us.”

You are grateful for this, really, but you cannot accept just yet. You will first have to talk to your mother and your sister. Explain everything to them. And you will have to catch them when your father is not home. And then you need to arrange everything and—

“Thank you so much,” you finally say and meet the High Lord’s gaze. Sitting here with him feels a bit surreal, considering who he is. But then you remember that you have been rolling around in the sheets with the prince of the night for the whole previous night and it no longer feels so odd.

Many times you have already asked him if you are truly good enough for him, for a prince, and he has always told you yes, then poked you or smacked your arm lightly to make his point clear. And then most of the time he kissed you. Or more.

“Really. Thank you much. For the offer. I will gladly accept but I need a little time.”

“Whenever you are ready,” Nyx whispers, but there is worry in his eyes. “You have time. Talk to your mother and sister and then you let me know how we will go forward.” Lifting your intertwined hands, he kisses your knuckles.

You sit together for a little longer, Rhysand wanting to find out a bit more who is tied to his son‘s soul by the mating bond and who has consequently stolen Nyx’s heart.

You open up easily to him, his kindness and love for his son, visible in every word he says. They are an amazing family and you feel very lucky to somehow be a part of it.

Only a while later, and when Rhys and Nyx truly have to leave for Velaris (the High now finally having found his son who had closed the mental to his father during the night he spent with you) you go back home to your mother and sister, hoping to catch them before you father gets home. But he is already there and so decide to wait a few more days, think about it, clear your mind and really form a plan. You have been hiding this relationship for so long, you can now also wait a bit longer. 

Nothing is rushing you. You and Nyx will one day be together, that is true, and if one more day lies between you and him being ultimately together or not, doesn’t matter to you. Not with the prosperity of being with him and the knowledge that while living a life with him your mother and sister will be safe.

You will fill them in on your plan in a few days, when the time is right.

But you later find out that waiting was a fatal decision.

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“You want to leave Windhaven?” Your father raises a brow, and you vigorously shake your head. Your cousins leave the shadows behind you, closing in on you until they catch your arms. “You were going to leave us, weren’t you?”

“No, father.” Your voice is so vulnerable, why would I?

The door hasn’t even fallen into the lock when you knew you stepped right into a trap. Your mother and sister are cowered together in the corner of the room, shaking so hard you even see it from the distance.

You wiggle against their hold, but your cousins are just stronger, their nails biting into your skin, their silent laughter ringing in your ears.

“Letting your mother and sister alone to do all the work?” Devlon —your father— takes a step forward and this is the first time you see the tool in his hands. The same tool that was used to clip a female's wings. Your stomach coils, panic, strong and terrible, blazing through you. You feel how your knees start to buckle, but you fight against it.

“I wasn’t going to leave.”

“Bullshit!” Devlon shouts. “Do you think I am stupid. That I couldn’t detect this damn mating bond. The heir‘s powers are strong but not that stronger. The glamour starts to fade.” Disdain laces his features.

“Were you hoping to become a princess one day, huh?” He stalks forward and weighs the tool in his hands.

You want to growl at him but you keep your mouth shut.

“I need to disappoint you. Someone like you will never be a princess, and most definitely not a High Lady. You are a laundry girl and you will stay like that.”

“Father, I—”

The click of his tongue shuts you up. “Too late for silly apologies. It is not time to make sure you stay where you belong.” Darkness falls over his face, and he tips his chin. It is your cousin’s cue to move. They turn you and force your chest down to lie atop the wooden table.

He is going to clip your wings and there is nothing you can do against it. You are strong, but not stronger than the three of them. 

The content of your stomach sours at the helplessness you are feeling, tears burning behind your eyes. But you won’t give him that. You won’t cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears. You won’t be vulnerable. You won’t be weak. And if he clips your wings, you will—

“Devlon don’t!” your mother cries out, but your father shuts her up with a snarl and a pointed, warning look into her direction. He steps closer and presses down on your back, forcing your face to rub against the harsh, wooden surface, some splinters definitely piercing into your skin, drawing blood. Your spine cracks and your shoulders ache from the angle your cousins are still holding your arms and you cry out in pain — it is just too much, you can’t hold it in any longer.

“It is her fault. She didn’t want it any differently. She brought—”

Devlon‘s sneer is cut short.

The main door bursts open with an impact that has the whole hut shaking, power so strong and lethal when it stretches out makes you aware that it can only be the High Lord and your mate who have arrived. You whip your head into their direction and a loud sob parts your lips.

Morrigan is also in tow, the first to move towards you and your father. “Hands off the girl! Now!” she growls, fury swirling in her hazel eyes.

It must be the shock, and definitely fear that makes your cousins step back, letting go off your hands. One of the stupid brutes even has the audacity to speak up and say, “He made us do it.”

But no one pays him any attention. Everything is focused on you, and the tool, the large clipping tool, positioned at the base of your wings and the male holding it. Devlon, despite stepping back, does not seem remorseful about his actions.

“Devlon.” Rhysand’s growl ripples through the hut and Nyx sets out to get to you as quickly as possible. He helps you up and pulls your shivering body to his chest. “I got you. Nothing can happen now,” Nyx whispers against your head, but you can’t quite focus, your attention on your father.

“What is going on here!” Rhysand demands and his lethal power fills the room.

But your father is not afraid. His face displays nothing but purely male smugness when he says, “Do you know about it, Rhysand? What they did?”

“That they are mates,” the High Lord answers matter-of-factly. He slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and pins the camp lord with a look. 

Surprise passes over Devlon’s face – he hasn’t expected Rhysand to know. Thought, or maybe even hope, to catch him off guard and shock him. But quite the opposite is the case.

“I know that.” Rhysand turns to look at you and his son. “And I also know what you were about to do. What would have happened if we had arrived here any moment later.” Lethal calm graces each of his words, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You hold tighter onto your mate. 

In the corner of your eye you can see that Lady Morrigan moves swiftly across the room, crouching down at the opposite side and throwing both her arms around your sister and your mother. She whispers something to them but you can’t make out the words

Your heart is beating so rapidly, nearly jumps out of your chest. Ragged breaths leave you and you feel lucky you’re holding onto your mate for support. You know you would fall to the ground otherwise.

“Your daughter is my son’s mate and that makes her part of my family. She is mine to protect.”

The High Lord’s power lashes out but before you can see what happens to your father, black mist swirl around, blurring your vision until everything is dark and you enter a state of oblivion. 

　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“No-o!” Your throat is too dry, voice hoarse and the shout that leaves your croaky. You re shaking, chest heaving rapidly, but when strong arms wrap around you and you are pulled flush to a solid, warm chest, every seems to ease.

“Nyx—”

“I am right here. With you.” His lips brush your head. “You are safe. We are in Velaris. Far away from your father, my star.”

Now there is no more holding back for the tears. The run freely. The damn breaks and they burst out of your eyes. 

“I-I-my wings. He wanted to—” Your breath catches and you tio back your head, finally opening your eyes despite the stinging burn in them. “Mother. Salia!”

“Here as well.” Nyx appears in your vision and rests his forehead against yours, not giving you a chance to take in the room you are currently in. 

He exhales softly. “They are all here and safe. And your father—” He swallows. “He is taken care of.”

He offers no more of an explanation and you also don’t ask. Because you simply don’t care. He can rot in Hel…

“Thank—”

He kisses you. And then the corner of your mouth. “Never, ever thank me for something like this. You are my mate. My love. My soon-to-be wife. You are mine and also mine to protect. I love you, my star.”

“I love you, my prince.” You smile through your tears and kiss him again.

After holding each other for a bit longer, Nyx helps you rise and you can finally see the room —his room— you are in and marvel at it. It is phenomenal and Nyx explains that it is your room from now on as well.

He helps you bath and get dressed and when all is done you join the rest of his family, of your family, in the kitchen for breakfast, embracing both your mother and sister tightly, holding on so tightly as if you never want to let go again.

“The nightmare is over,” your mother whispers, and the three of you start to cry.

You later learn that Rhysand that you are under full protection of them and your mother and sister were given a small house near the Sidra river to live in from now on. You can barely thank them enough, but High Lady Feyre reaches her hand out to you and says, “We have to thank you. For the reason for our son’s happiness.”

#nyx archeron #nyx x reader #adultnyx x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf #nyx archeron x reader

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

We bleed tonight

Next chapter

a/n Had an idea and well... tadaa. It's been a hot minute since I wrote for our shadow boy so go easy on me. Don't ask me what this is cause I myself have no clue.

Summary: Love all of the sudden becomes too good to be true and two lovers find themselves being torn apart.

warnings: I want to say nothing? Dunking someone's head under the water? Fighting?

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Truth be told, everyone was talking about how the night court's sky got just a tad lighter once you stepped into Azriel's life. It was a miracle in Azriel's eyes. It was exactly what he deserved in yours. He was worth it all. Worth of love. Care. Tender touch. Deprived of it for way too long. And the fact that you got to be the one to show him love was an honor. Something you cherished so dearly. Slowly but surely introducing him to the power of touch. A loving power of touch. A touch that was still so unfamiliar to him.

After initial joy came fear. Azriel suddenly realized how much danger you were going to be in. How many of his and Night Court's enemies would want to harm you. Harm him. Harm him because now they know how to. The fact that for so long Azriel had nothing that could hurt him was both a gift and a curse. He craved to have someone. Yet in the depths of the night, when he felt the most lonely and thoughts about his brothers sharing beds with their mates lingered, in a way Azriel was thankful that he had no one. Because he didn't need to worry. To be scared of waking up in a pool of blood next to the one he loved.

But now Azriel had you. His everything. He never knew how powerful it was to see someone smiling because of you, because of something you had said or done. To be greeted with a warm embrace. To be looked up to with so much admiration Azriel still remembered when he overheard a conversation you were having with Nesta and Feyre. "He's just… perfect", you had said. "He stayed up all night fetching me anything and everything. He could have just slept, but no…" You had fallen ill, puking the night away as the fever hit you. You tried unsuccessfully to push your boyfriend away, but he didn't budge.

Your back was pressed to Azriel's chest. His hands were wrapped around your torso, tenderly holding you close to him. His scared palms lay directly on the soft skin of your lower belly. You stirred slightly. Even if Azriel never forgot to close the blinds, the room still looked way too bright for it to just be morning. Your body felt disgusting. The lingering smell of sickness still didn't seem to have gone away. You turned ever so slightly, frowning at the sight of Azriel still in bed.

"You're still here", you muttered tiredly, and Azriel's eyes instantly shot open. "You want me out?", the spymaster questioned lazily as his eyes closed once again. You nuzzled into his chest, and Azriel was quick to wrap a protective arm around you. "Didn't you have a meeting?", your voice rang out in the morning silence. The male hummed, "I did". You knew how much Azriel valued work. That was what he had known to be his top priority for years. You started to wonder that he probably just slipped out quietly and came back to bed once he was done. But then you were such a light sleeper…

"I haven't left the bed yet", your boyfriend said, as if he could read your mind. You tilted your head up so you could see his face better. "I just wanted to hold you", Azriel admitted, "Especially after everything." His words trailed off. You instantly felt embarrassed, "Sorry for it all, and…" But Azriel only cupped your face, "None of that. Are you feeling at least a bit better?", you nodded your head, but it didn't satisfy Azriel's worries. "We'll get you to the healer today". You rolled your eyes slightly, "That's not necessary", "You can walk or I will carry you there. Your choice", Azriel said firmly, making you chuckle.

Now those moments felt so distant. Like a feverish dream. And maybe they were right. That the honeymoon phase eventually ends. Pink glasses shatter, and you are harshly disappointed by the reality. You had no clue what had gone wrong. You two had been together for over a year by then. You had met his family. You had become family. Or that's what you had hoped for…

You knew Azriel was rather a closed-off person, and even his brother didn't stop the teasing of "I'm still blown away that Azriel got a girlfriend" and a bit of "I can't imagine this bruit communicating? Does he talk to you or just stare?". You laughed with them then. Yet always made sure to ensure everyone that your man was perfect and that it was their loss for not getting to know Azriel in that way.

But as they say, all lies are usually half-truths. You thought you were understanding. You never pushed Azriel. You weren't blind; you could tell that the physical closeness and tenderness of the touch frightened him at times. Every time his muscles tensed under your touch, you felt your heart break, but you always told him that it was okay. That he was free to set the pace There was no rush. And you generally thought that you had made some progress. Azriel would come up to hold you on his own. You two slept tangled together.

And then it all stopped. You were having breakfast at the river house. The place was lively, especially with Cassian and Nyx singing by the river while everyone was slowly gathering on the huge patio outside. You smiled to yourself as you placed different pastries on the plate. "Sometimes I wonder if Rhys was as wild or if Cassian's gynes somehow converted into Nyx", Feyre shook her head, looking at the two crackheads trying to stand on their hands. "I think it's just Cass rubbing off on him. The general rarely lets the boy out of his arms", it was a dream to see them all like this. To see so much love and so much care for one another. You never thought you would get to feel like you belonged again. That your presence mattered, you not only got yourself a boyfriend but also a whole bunch of amazing friends.

Setting the tray on the table, you sat down next to Azriel. You wanted to rest on his side slightly, but the moment you started to lean closer, the spymaster moved to the side. You didn't think much of it considering that he had reached for a jar with jam, so he probably just didn't notice you. But then you moved your hand closer to Azriel's, wanting to intertwine your fingers with his. The moment your skin touched his, Azriel jerked his hand back. An embarrassed shiver ran down your back. You hoped that no one saw it as you plastered a smile on your face, trying to swallow the lump that made it hard to breathe and offered a piece of your baked good to Nyx. As a distraction.

Yet those two moments played in your mind through the whole breakfast. Had you forgotten something? Said something to upset him? But everything was fine. Sure, Azriel seemed slightly off this morning, but then again, he returned home so late. The meeting must not have gone very smoothly, then. However, you had no clue where he went or what the meeting was about, meaning that you couldn't calculate the seriousness of it all. You rubbed your hands together under the table as the worrying thoughts grew louder and louder.

"Will you come to my birthday party?", Nyx caught your attention as he pulled on your dress sleeve gently. Your eyes softened as you looked down at him. "Of course, how could I miss it", you said, pushing a strand of his messy black hair as you smiled at him. Nyx scrambled to climb onto your lap, and when he was at a pleasant distance from Azriel, his tiny fingers poked at the spymaster's arm, "And you, uncle Azzy?" Azriel turned toward you for the first time that morning, but his eyes never truly looked your way. "I already promised you that I would", "And you will sit with aunty Y/N, right?"

Your body tensed, and part of you wanted to just laugh it off. He was so young still that he didn't understand many of the emotions. He wasn't meant to do it yet. "We'll see, bud", Azriel ruffled Nyx's hair before turning back to join the conversation with Cassian. You bit the inside of your cheek as the tears suddenly threatened to roll down your cheeks. But then you remembered the boy who sat on your lap with a puzzled look. In his tiny world, his uncles always sat with his aunties. You ran your finger over Nyx's slightly scrunched-up brows, "You know why we might not sit together?", you questioned the boy, and he shook his head, "Because I will come to sit with you so I could steal your cake". You let out a fake, evil laugh as your fingers moved to tickle his tummy. The lighthearted giggle filled the patio once again as Nyx wiggled happily in your embrace.

You and Azriel were the first ones to leave. In all honesty, Azriel just got up and announced that he was going home. You let out a huff of annoyance. Feyre threw you a worried look, but you just shook your head, placing the napkin on the table as you followed suit. This was ridiculous. Azriel wasn't the one to cause scenes. So whatever had him this riled up had to be serious. "Do you want to talk?", you called after him, aware that the rest of the family could still most definitely hear you.

"Do YOU want to talk?", Azriel asked you the same question, emphasizing your part dramatically. You picked up your pace, moving to reach for his hand in hopes of making him stop or at least look at you. "Seriously, Azriel, what the hell is wrong", you pleaded. If you had done something wrong, you were willing to apologize, but you had no clue what was wrong. "Why would there be something wrong?", he asked. "Because you're acting like an absolute ass", You crossed your arms over your chest when he finally stopped in his tracks. "Maybe you just have a bone to pick with me", Azriel said coldly, and you couldn't help but laugh a little, "Right blame it on me". You stormed past your boyfriend, ignoring the hand that he had reached out towards you so he could winnow you both home. Not to mention that it was ridiculous that he even thought that you would accept it. You heard him growl in frustration. Brood all you want, you thought to yourself as you walked toward the center of Velaris.

You walked through streets for hours. The sun was starting to go down at that point. You just couldn't seem to bring yourself home. A part of you didn't want to face it. You were too afraid that Azriel was going to leave you the moment you returned. Truth be told, he wasn't your first. And the males in the past had been nothing but bastards. And you were nothing but a rag doll to them. You were just as scared of this relationship, if not more. But you never showed it. Never said anything. Instead, you found strength in assisting Azriel, and you began to wonder if you had told him everything, would he have acted differently? Yet you both had deep scars. Some of them still bled. You knew that there were things that Azriel still hadn't shared with you, so you reassured yourself that keeping all of your past to yourself was only fair.

You stood in front of your shared apartment door till your hands had nearly turned to ice. Burning holes at the door. Your body screamed at you to not go inside. You knew you couldn't face him. You didn't want to let the dream that was slowly fading away fully vanish. It was all too short. You've got to love Azriel for way too short. But the apartment was empty once you stepped inside. There was no trace of Azriel even being here after you two left in the morning. Somehow, this made your stomach sink even more. Had he just left? Went to someone else? Had he been going to someone else? You stood in the darkness for some time. Secretly hoping that in the midst of it all, you would feel the cold breeze of Azriel's shadows.

"You're spying on me, aren't you?", the voice came out of nowhere, making you shiver. You felt Azriel before you could even make out his frame in the dark. "What the hell are you talking about?", you muttered into the nothingness, hating how weak your voice sounded. "You're scared", Azriel's voice hit your senses from a completely different part of the room, making you quickly turn your head to the side. Of course, your heart was beating like crazy. You had no clue what was happening. "Azriel quit this nonsense", "He sent you here, didn't he?", your body ran cold. No, there was no way. You… Azriel—even if he were to meet the male, there would have been no reason for them to talk about you.

"I brought you into my family. I gave you a home, and you do this", he said, pulling his shadows away, letting the flame in the fireplace ignite once again, allowing you a glimpse into your lover's eyes. Cold eyes. Eyes that you had never seen before. "I don't know what you are talking about", you muttered. "Lier", Azriel hissed. You tried not to tremble, but with the way, the spymaster was gawking at you… A long death felt more painless than this. "I'm not a spy", you croaked out once again. Azriel only shook his head, moving to firmly wrap his arm around your forearm as he moved to pull you across the apartment. "What are you doing? Azriel… You're scaring me", you said, pushing against his hold. You tried to hold onto the doorframe, but it was for nothing. His shadows bound themselves around your wrists and ankles, restricting any form of movement, as the spymaster shoved you to your knees in front of the bathtub.

You shot him a puzzled look, but Azriel didn't care for your scared eyes. As he took a fistful of your hair, "We'll take a little bath, see what's underneath this mask. Shall we?". You didn't have time to respond as your face hit the icy water. The fear in your body mixed with the sensation of drowning made everything stop for a second as the sick feeling in your stomach started to burn.

You're nothing. You're my subject. I'll make a woman out of you. I don't breed out weak links in this bloodline.

Your brain burned as the roar of that painfully familiar voice pierced your senses. You struggled against Azirel's grip as the lack of oxygen slowly burned your lungs. Always too weak. Always to blame. When you were finally pulled back up, you genuinely hoped Azriel would have kept you under just a bit longer. The brownish tint was running down your shoulders, revealing the true color of your hair. Azriel chuckled bitterly, "All this time. Right under my nose, and I didn't realize it". You kept staring at the man you no longer recognized as you coughed up the water from your lungs. "Please, I swear on everything…", "As if there's anything holy for you", Azriel barked out, shoving you to the side.

Your knees graze the cold tiles. "Summon", the spymaster strictly ordered, "No, please. I don't have anything to do with any of this. Azriel, you know I love you", you cried out. But you could tell that the steel walls had been built back up. This was the man the whole world feared. This was the spymaster of the night court. The darkness. The coldness itself. "Summon or I will drag it out of you myself", he roared, making more tears slip down your cheeks. With a quiet sob, you closed your eyes, moving your palms in front of you. You hadn't done it in over a year. Ever since you fled to Velaris. It seemed almost foreign. Like you no longer knew how. You felt it before you saw it. The crackling picked up right as your palms burst into flames. Your cries only got louder at the sight of the blazing lights that filled the dim bathroom.

Azriel dunked your hands into the water before his iron grip was back on your skin as the darkness swirled around you. You knew the sensation of winnowing. It had become familiar to you over the past year with Azriel. But where to? Was he going to dump you by the border? Into the river to drown? All of those scenarios would have been a blessing compared to the dungeon bars that surrounded you once you opened your eyes. Your wet clothes stuck to your body, and the cold air in the cell made your whole body tremble twice as badly. Azriel moved like a robot as he shackled you to the floor. The metal biting your skin, no doubt leaving bruises. Another sob slipped out of you, but you didn't fight his actions. "Quit the fake sob; it won't buy you anything", Azriel snarled right as the wooden door burst open.

"Have you lost your mind?", Cassian's voice made your knees shake as your hopeless eyes met his in a silent plea. But his attempt to reach you was blocked by Azriel's wings and a low growl. "She's autumn's rat and now is my to interrogate", "Azriel, this is…She hasn't done anything", Rhys said calmly. Tried to reason with his brother, but Azriel didn't buck, pulling at the chains harder and once again sending you to the ground. You let out yet another shriek of pain. Azriel moved out of the cell, locking the doors as he went. You reached for the front bars, gripping them with your trembling hands. "No, no, please. Rhys, I swear I didn't", you watched the high lord, who was still trying to process what was happening, "You are in no position to speak to my high lord", Azriel said bitterly before turning to his two male companions, who still watched it all in confusion.

"You let her out, and I swear… She doesn't leave this cell until I say so". With a warning growl, Azriel stormed out of the dungeon, Rhys following suit. It was Cassian who had lingered. Who held eye contact with you. "Please", you muttered for what felt like a thousand times that night. You could tell that Cassian wanted to say something, but you also knew how many obligations bound him. So when he too turned away from you, you didn't feel surprised. Resting your throbbing head on the cold metal bars, the tears continued to roll down your cheeks. Truly letting the fear of your life falling to pieces lace your body. Hating yourself for being so naive. Hating yourself for letting your silly heart believe that this fairytale was possible in the first place. The ones like you did not have the luxury of love.

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All acotar writing: @brekkershadowsinger @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideing @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x reader