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fanwarriorfictions · 2 days

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Not Again - Part Eleven

Summary: The morning after leaves Y/n and Azriel wanting more, but that will have to wait.

Warnings: a little spicy, no smut but it’s close, and she is Angstyyyyy

Series Masterlist

-Part Eleven-

She woke, surrounded by a familiar warmth and scent, home, she was home. The sun was shining behind her eyelids, she was hesitant to open them, to completely wake from the deepest and most peaceful slumber she had ever had in her life. When she finally forced her eyes open, it had taken a moment for her to register exactly where she was, not her bedroom in the palace of Orynth, but her room in the house of wind, and the scent of a male beside her, one that smelled of the libraries she’d spent most of her life in.

Azriel’s arms were around her, holding her close to his chest, Y/n still completely bare against him, Azriel still only half dressed, his wings splayed out across the bed on either side of him, one wrapping around them like a blanket.

He was awake, scarred hand lazily tracing shapes across her back. He halted when she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were so beautiful in the morning sunlight, so beautiful she wondered why he spent so much time in the dark, when he could look like this. His hair a mess from sleep, from her hands pulling on the strands. His skin washed in the golden light, displaying each of those slightly red lines across his chest and shoulders that matched the shape of her nails.

“Have you been staring at me all morning?”

His answering smile turns the pit of her stomach molten, “Good morning, Princess.”

“Morning, shadowsinger.” She raises a hand to his face, thumb lightly ghosting over the small split on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel nips lightly at her thumb, “Don’t be. You’re a vicious little thing but I can handle it.”

She grins, “You love it, don’t lie.”

His head tilts in that predator like motion, something in her likes the feeling of being his prey. Azriel’s hand continues to draw those small shapes across her back, his fingers trailing across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It reminds her that she’s completely naked, half laying on top of him. And she had a score to settle from the night before, a glorious score at that. She had never felt that in her life, the intensity of it, the passion, she had felt completely boneless afterwards, like her body was trying to process the sheer amount of pleasure it felt.

Her hand drifts lazily down his chest, over those raised scratches, over the dark black tattoos, down the hard muscles of his stomach. Only for her wrist to be caught between his large fingers.

She glares up at him, “Don’t ruin my fun.”

“Later, Princess.” There’s a dark haze to his eyes like he wanted nothing more than to say, now, now, now. “I promise you can have your fun, later. When did you last eat?”

She bristles at the concern in his voice, “I-“

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he interrupts, “Your stomach was growling in your sleep.”

She rips her hand free and smacks his chest, glaring at the way he laughs at her, “No it wasn’t.”

“You were drooling to,” he grins, “Dreaming of a roast dinner I’m sure.”

“You-“

He catches her hand before she can hit him again, lifting her wrist to his mouth to press a kiss to the inside, right abover her pulse. It flutters beneath his smirking lips and she wishes he’d press them to her own instead.

“Breakfast,” Azriel says, placing her hand directly above his beating heart, “You can tell me all about your little adventures from the past few days. And then you can have your fun, and I can have mine.”

The way his voice drops, that gravely sound that makes her clench around nothing. By the way he smirks, Y/n is sure he can scent the arousal pooling between her legs, she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to hide it, despite how she desperately wants to press her thighs together.

“Fine,” she says, pushing off of his chest to sit up, “Breakfast and a story, and then I have my way with you, shadowsinger.”

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes fall to her breasts, to the purple marks littering all over her chest, she’d repay him for those too. His hand slides down her back, resting just above her ass, fingers pressing firmly into her skin to hold her in place.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, like a prayer only meant for her to hear.

“Still thinking about breakfast,” she taunts.

He answers without hesitation, “Yes.”

By the way his gaze travels down her body, whiskey eyes turning to the deepest amber she’d ever seen, Y/n is sure he’s thinking about another feast. Gods she wanted him to devour her again, to feel that tongue between her legs, those fingers stretching her, preparing her for the impressive size of him that she’d felt beneath his leathers.

“Breakfast first,” he groans, throwing his head back on the pillows, “Breakfast first.”

Y/n laughs at the image, “You ruin your own fun, shadowsinger.”

“It’s what I’m good at,” he says darkly, not looking at her, “Get dressed, Princess.”

Y/n rolls her eyes at the command, “What? You don’t enjoy the view?”

The hand on her back slides down, gripping the soft flesh of her ass almost painfully. Y/n nearly moans at the sensation, sitting back into his palm.

“Get dressed,” he orders again, squeezing her even harder, “You’re distracting.”

“Poor, shadowsinger,” she coos, pushing his hand off so she can climb off the bed, “Sees a pair of tits and loses all functionality.”

Azriel chuckles darkly, eyeing her chest, “Must you make everything more difficult than necessary?”

She turns towards her dresser, feeling the weight of his gaze drift down to her backside. There’s a set of night court style clothes, in her colors, green and silver laying out on the dresser for her. Y/n takes her time, bending over to step into the tiny little scrap of lace the house deemed as undergarments, slowly pulling it up her legs, over her ass. Azriel’s eyes burn into her, watching each deliberate motion as she dresses.

“Are you planning to eat breakfast half dressed,” she throws a raised brow over her shoulder, catching the hungry look in his eye, “I won’t complain.”

A plain black shirt appears in his lap, one he looks keen on ignoring, “It would seem the house would.”

“Insufferable busybody.” She lifts her own shirt above her head, making sure to turn just enough to let him see all of her, “Put your shirt on, shadowsinger. I’m hungry.”

“I can hear that from here.” He laughs at her glare, throwing his shirt over his head, deft fingers quickly buttoning the backs beneath his wings. “Lead the way, Princess.”

Azriel marked it as a testament of his will, to walk behind her, to have her lingering arousal in his nose, to watch those hips sway, to see that beautiful bruise on her neck and not press her against the closest wall and take her from behind. He’d spent enough time the night before admiring her front, he’d neglected the view from this angle, and what a view it was. He had many plans to rectify that.

She sends him a wicked smile over her shoulder, like she knew exactly where his thoughts had drifted off to, like he’d shouted them down the bond between them.

He hadn’t, the moment he’d woken this morning he’d taken that shadow that connected them and smothered it in his chest, locking away his raging need to scream that she was his mate, to beg her to stay with him, to accept him for all his faults and scars. He shoved it all in a box in the corner of his mind, locked behind chains and walls. When she’d woken, and she’d looked up at him with those eyes full of wonder, it almost broke him. That was a testament to his strength, to hold back the words, my mate, you’re my mate.

There was a feast prepared in the dining room. Pastries and fruits and meats and cheeses, several kinds of juices and teas and coffees to choose from. The house was a busybody indeed, he could hear Y/n grumbling under her breath at it. He wasn’t the only one that knew she was hungry, had she even eaten when she’d been gone? Had she even stopped to rest? The need to know where she’d been, what she’d done, overrode his need to fuck her against the table, barely, but it did.

Azriel carefully watches her fill her plate, noting the way she piles it high with the sweet pastries, little bits of fruit scattered throughout, like it would balance out the sheer amount of sugar. Once she sat, making a cup of black tea, the only thing not filled with enough sugar to send him into a coma, Azriel fills his own plate, balanced and protein filled like he always took his breakfast. He could almost hear Cassian chiding him for the single raspberry tart he adds to the mix.

Y/n bites into one of her own tarts, blueberry by the smell of it, and lets out a deliberate little moan. Every instinct in him zeroes in on the sound, but he forces it away, she wanted a reaction out him, she wouldn’t get one.

“Are you ready to tell me where you went?”

The sigh she lets out shows just how disappointed she is about her little preformance not working on him. He almost smiles, almost concedes that inch.

“I flew north,” she says, sipping on her tea, “I didn’t know where I was going, I just-“

She cuts herself off, and any lust fades from them both as she looks down at the table. Working through whatever it was she was thinking, whatever she was feeling. It was his fault, the things he’d said to her that night, lashing out at her because he was so scared of himself, of his own problems.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “About what I said, you’re not-“

“I am,” she interrupts, looking up at him with hazy eyes, “I am a coward, you were right.”

The resignation almost breaks him. Behind the thick walls of his mind he could feel her breaking on the other side, he hated it, hated himself for causing it.

“No I wasn’t-“

“Yes, yes you were.” She looks past him, out the windows beyond, “I flew north, as far as I could into the snow capped mountains, hoping if I flew far enough I would find Terrasen, that I could go home, go back to my perfect life, where I was safe and loved and had never felt the hardships that so many have been through before me.”

She laughs without any humor, “My mother was raised by an abusive monster after seeing her parents dead in their bed. She was a slave, she was tortured, beaten, forced to give everything she was to save the world. My father found the woman he thought was his mate, was to have a child with her, only to have her die while he was fighting for the queen who’d fucked with his mind. And then there’s me, the spoiled little princess who falls apart because she’s lost.”

Those silent tears fall down her cheeks, her breathing is steady, no sobs, just this quiet breaking. It shatters his heart.

“And I’m such a coward, that instead of facing my own bullshit, of pulling myself together,” she continues, “I try to force myself on you, try to force you to fix the broken parts of me. I don’t blame you for not wanting that, for calling me out on it. I ran away because you were right, and I couldn’t handle it. I ran because I couldn’t face the truth that, that I am nothing, my family is filled with hero’s, of stories, and I am nothing but a coward who failed her own.”

“No-“

“Yes,” she takes a deep breath, “I failed so spectacularly that I almost got myself and you-“

Her voice breaks for the first time and Azriel wants to hold her in his arms, to hold the shattering pieces of her together, but there’s the cursed table between them, holding him back yet again from her. He rests his hand on the table, scarred palm up in offering, for her to take it, for him to hold them both together, she takes it.

“I almost got us killed,” she breathes, voice so soft and broken, “and that scared me so much, and that scared me even more, the fear of losing you, of being the reason of it-“

“You’re not going to lose me, Princess.” He squeezes her hand tightly in his own, “We will figure this out, we will get you home, I promise.”

He hates himself for the selfish though that crosses his mind, the hope, that they wouldn’t figure it out, and if they did, maybe she would chose to stay with him. He knew she wouldn’t.

“Together,” she says, “No more fighting, we’ll do this together, shadowsinger.”

And he nods, ignoring the cracks in his heart, “Together, Princess.”

Y/n felt so tired, so raw after that conversation, after baring her heart and soul to Azriel. Any lingering heat in her from the night before, from that morning, had disappeared with every broken word that came from her lips. Azriel seemed to understand that without her having to tell him, like he always did. If she didn’t have that protection engraved into her brow, she’d assume he was a daemati, as Rhys had called his power, able to reach into her mind and read her thoughts and emotions.

Instead of dragging him back to her room, like she had originally planned during their walk to the dining room, she asked him to fly with her. And he said yes without hesitation.

The wind felt marvelous on her wings, the early morning spring chill still lingering. Velaris was beautiful in the morning light, though she knew it truly shone at night beneath the stars. There were fae roaming through the streets, some brave enough to look up and wave at the shadowsinger as he passed. Y/n almost laughed when he awkwardly waved back.

She dove down towards a bustling market, the palace of salt and bone if the delicious scents of fresh bread and spices drifting through her nose were any indication. With a flash she was in her fae form again, walking through a crowd of fae who starred at her and her winged companion who lands directly behind her.

“Trying to give someone a heart attack?” He asks, rolling his eyes at the grin she sends over her shoulder.

Azriel falls in step beside her and she notes the lack of his usual shadows. It reminds her of their first encounter, when she hadn’t been able to understand him, scared and hurt. He’d sent them away to not frighten her anymore than she already was. The people of Velaris were well aware of who and what he was, and by the gleam in most eyes they passed, she was sure none of them would be truly scared of the shadowsinger.

“The markets in Orynth are a lot like this,” Y/n says, admiring a baker’s stand, “My mother and I go once a month to buy as many sweets as our hands can carry.”

“I assume you inherited your sweet tooth from her?” Azriel picks up a decorated cookie and pulls a few coins from his pocket for the high fae female behind the stand. “Here.”

Y/n grins and takes the cookie from his outstretched hand, “My father swears he doesn’t have one but I’ve seen him sneaking through our hauls. And he always has a chocolate cake for his birthday. My mother once made him one, he told me it was the worst thing he’d ever eaten but he ate every single bite.”

Azriel chuckles, “If she’s anything like you I’d say he’s a smart male.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” she glares, fighting back a grin.

Azriel smirks, “nothing, Princess.”

“Careful, shadowsinger.” She lets a small ice cold breeze push through his hair, over his wings, noting the shiver that runs down his spine, “Oh? Are those sensitive?”

And something she never thought she would see happens. A flush covers the shadowsinger’s cheeks, faint and barely visible on his deep tanned skin. But she sees it and her smile turns feline.

“I can see the idea forming in your head,” Azriel says, forcing that calm mask over his features to hide the blush, “don’t start something you don’t want to finish.”

“Oh I definitely want to finish,” Y/n says, letting another breeze cross directly over the sharp talon at the tip of his wing, “I have a score to settle, remember?”

Azriel takes a step closer to her, looking down at her with delightful intensity, “Careful, Princess.”

“Or what?” She lifts her hand, lightly dragging a finger over his forearm, “Big sensitive male, can’t handle a little teasing?”

“Careful,” Azriel says lowly, so no one passing can hear, only for her, “Or I take you into the shadows, and we’ll see who’s more sensitive.”

Her toes curl, the pit of her stomach turning molten, “Scandalous, shadowsinger.”

The hand on his arm gently reaches back, dragging over the soft membrane of a single wing. Azriel doesn’t let her dig her claws into him, he wraps those scarred fingers around her forearm and she’s engulfed in shadows. The familiar feeling of transporting falls over her, like stepping through a door into another part of the world. Her uncle had the ability, one of the rare few in her world, he’d taken her on many adventures using the ability, she was used to the disorienting feeling.

She doesn’t have the chance to see where they are, the world still covered in shadow, before her back is pressed to a wall, her hands held firmly above her head. Azriel’s mouth collides with her’s in a burning kiss. No gentleness, only fiery passion. Each stroke of his tongue sends a shock of need through her, all the way down to her core.

“You test my patience,” he grounds out against her mouth, nipping at her already swollen bottom lip, “Is this what you want, to be fucked against a back alley wall?”

He doesn’t let her respond, only takes her mouth again in that claiming kiss. She wants to touch him, to run her hands over those wings and see just how sensitive they really are, but he keeps her hands trapped against the wall above them, both wrists held in just one of his scarred palms. His other hand trails down her body, ghosting over the places she really wants him to stop and take his time.

She tries and fails to arch into his touch, his body pining her to the wall, one of his legs shoved between her own, thigh pressed to her aching center. Her hips writhe, seeking the friction she desperately needs.

Azriel laughs against her lips, “What? Can’t handle a little teasing?”

He mocks her words from the street and she’s almost to lost in the intensity of everything to be annoyed by it, almost. Y/n nips at his lip like he’d done to her, catching that already spilt bottom lip with her canine.

Azriel winces, just enough for her to be satisfied, “Vicous little creature.”

His hand grips her hip, almost painfully, coaxing her to move against his thigh. The motion makes her dizzy, her head falling back against the wall. Azriel takes the opportunity to attack her neck, almost instantly finding that spot that makes her see stars, giving her a matching bruise on the other side of her neck.

“Az,” she gasps, “Gods please.”

She can feel him smirk against her neck, and she almost sobs when he backs away.

Her hands fall to her sides as she gapes up at the smirking male, “What are you-“

“The first time I take you,” he says wickedly, that insufferable smirk growing wider, “will not be a quick fix in an alleyway, where anyone could walk by and catch us. I plan to take my time with you, Princess, to make you scream without a potential audience.”

She glares up at him, “You bast-“

“You can curse at me all you want,” Azriel says, “when we get back home, Princess.”

Home, for the first time since she’d been here, the word didn’t send a shock of pain through her. Azriel gives her a look, like he knew what she was thinking, like he was asking her if she was alright. Surprisingly, she was.

“Lead the way, shadowsinger.”

Azriel holds out a hand to her, pulling her close to his chest when she grabs it. Shadows wrap around them and they step through that invisible doorway. It’s bright when they emerge, and they’re falling, towards the house of wind far far below them. Azriel’s arms wrapped tightly around her, wings flaring to catch the wind, it feels strange to fly not in her hawk form, to rely solely on another’s wings to keep her from plummeting to the ground below them. But Azriel hold firm, and they gently drift to the balcony. Y/n is itching to get on the ground, to drag him to her room.

They land, Azriel gently setting her feet on the floor, arms still wrapped around her, pressing her close to his body, shadows dancing around them. She can feel them whispering against her skin, she can’t understand them, but Azriel’s eyes shine with an emotion she can’t read.

“What are they-“

Footsteps, thundering down the hall beyond the open archway behind her. Her head snaps towards the sound, Azriel holding her tighter to him. His shadows press closely to her like they would shield her from whoever was running towards them, whatever danger they’d bring with them.

“Wrap it up lovebirds,” Cassian’s booming voice, he rounds the corner, wings flared wide in a fighting stance, “Something’s wrong with the gate.”

Y/n’s heart stops dead in her chest, she barely feels the way Azriel’s arms loosen in shock around her. She could feel it suddenly, that ancient and wicked presence, distant but growing stronger, pay the price.

She rips away from Azriel, wincing at that voice growing stronger, louder in her mind, it felt like claws tearing into her brain, gods killer, pay the price, pay her price.

“Rhys and Feyre are containing it as best they can, neither of them could reach you,” Cassian says, the voice of a general, “Nes is on standby with the trove.”

Y/n barely registers the words, what the trove was she didn’t care, just prayed that whatever it was could help them. She’s running for the hallway, only to be stopped by a strong hand wrapped around her bicep.

“You’re not just going to run in there,” Azriel says, voice as hard as the hand on her arm, “That thing wants you, I can feel it chanting your name. It’ll kill you.”

She could too, could hear it in her head, Y/n, Y/n, pay the price of the gods killer, pay it Y/n, pay it.

“I’m not going to sit here and let it kill all of you instead,” Y/n snaps, tugging at his iron grip. “Let me go, Azriel.”

His harden gaze breaks just enough, showing the fear behind the rage, “Y/n, don’t do this, we’ll figure this out together, I can��t, I-“

“Let me go, Az,” she repeats, more gently than before, yet still demanding, “Let me go.”

Cassian steps forward, a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “We’ve got to go, Az. They can’t hold it back forever.”

His whole face shutters, and Y/n feels the echo of his pain, it hurts her heart, her soul. She stands tall on her toes, tilting her head to capture his lips on her own, this kiss is the opposite of any they’d shared before, no heat, no passion, just the soft broken promise of whatever ties them together, whatever could have been between them.

“Let me go,” she whispers against him, and this time when she pulls her arm away, he lets her.

Come to me, Y/n, pay your mother’s price.

She’s running towards that voice, to that promise of death, she had no idea what she would face, no idea if her death would be painful, if there would be anything left of her soul or if she would be left with nothing.

Cassian and Azriel run after her, their footfalls like the ticking hands of a clock, marking the dwindling seconds left of her life. She’s half tempted to shift, to fly through the halls as fast as she can, to leave Azriel far enough behind so he wouldn’t have to witness the carnage.

They round the final corner, the green light of the gate flooding the hallway through the open door. Y/n charges inside, ignoring the shouts of warning from the males behind her.

Rhys is holding Feyre close to his side, both High Lady and Lord intensely focused on the shield they forged around the open gate. The black depths in the center reveal nothing of the world it resides in or creature beyond, but she can feel its presence, it’s anger.

“It’s waiting,” Nesta calls from the other side of Feyre, a glowing steel sword poised to strike in her hands, another is strapped to her back, the hilt as black as night, “It hasn’t moved since we got here.”

Cassian runs to his mate’s side, “Where’s the trove?”

“Ready,” Nesta replies, “In case this all goes to shit.”

Shadows wrap around Y/n’s wrists, gently caressing the skin and winding up her arms. Azriel stands by her side, the mask of deathly calm firmly in place, the only mark of his fear, his hand that firmly grips her own. She holds him just as tightly, he has to feel the way her hands shake.

There she is, finally. The voice shifts, female, ancient but somehow young. Your mother’s pride and joy, her precious Mala’s fire burning in your veins.

Y/n’s fire stirs in response, that deep well of it in the pit of her stomach waking up like the goddess had called for it, like it recognized the name of the other goddess it had come from. She has to dampen it with her own ice kissed wind. Keep it contained.

“Should I talk to a void,” Y/n says, using that bravado, hiding her fear, “Or are you to vicious sight to behold.”

The black hole ripples and a glowing pale hand reaches through. They all shift, drawing weapons, raising them towards the creature that crawls through the portal, the shield that Feyre and Rhys hold is reinforced by Y/n’s wind, and a red light from the siphons on Cassian’s armor. A blue light surrounds Y/n, and she doesn’t have to look to know it’s from Azriel’s own siphons.

The female that emerges from the inky black is beautiful, glowing skin, dark black hair that flows over her turned down face and across her body, a simple white gown covering her, long slits at the sides revealing sleek long legs, feet clad in golden sandals. Beautiful. Yet when she looks up, when her hair parts, Y/n feels like she’s going to be sick.

Turquoise eyes, ringed with silver, stare at her from a face so scarred that the rest of her features are barely discernible. Her mouth moves in what Y/n assumes is a grin.

“Beautiful,” the goddess says, “am I not?”

She’d survived the creatures her mother had subjected the gods to, somehow she’d managed to live, barely, but she’d survived.

“Who are you,” Nesta says, that blade pointed directly at the goddess’s throat.

Those eyes narrow at Nesta, and pass right through her towards the High Lady behind her. The attention draws a warning growl from her mate’s throat, one from Nesta as well, the goddess ignores them both.

“A huntress,” she coos at Feyre, “I’d recognize one of my own anywhere.”

Huntress. Y/n’s body locks up, and Azriel at her side takes a casual step in front of her, like he could sense exactly what dots she was connecting. The shadows wrap around her, that blue shield settling over her like armor.

The motion draws the goddess’s attention to them, her head tilting in a predator like motion, “Well this is interesting.”

“Deanna,” Y/n breathes, “You’re Deanna.”

The goddess chuckles, “So she didn’t erase us completely. Do the mortals in your realm still worship us faithfully? Or do they worship Aelin Galathynius, their glorious savior?”

Deanna practically spits her mother’s name, and that well of power inside of Y/n rumbles. Azriel, squeezes her hand once, twice, calm down, he seems to tell her, like he could feel the fire beneath her skin, warming their joined hands. He doesn’t flinch from the heat, doesn’t shy away from her, only holds her tighter, not afraid.

“Did she raise her precious daughter to hide behind pretty males?” Deanna laughs, “She didn’t want to share the spotlight I’m sure.”

“What do you want?” Azriel says, cutting straight to the point, “Why are you here?”

Deanna tuts at him, “You males have no manners. Someone aught to train you.”

To fast, she moved to fast. Y/n didn’t see her arm raise, didn’t see that bow materialize in her hands, didn’t see her draw back that string, all she saw was that golden arrow, flying through the air faster than it possibly could, propelled by that ancient magic of Deanna’s. It splits through every shield, through the wall of shadows, directly into Azriel’s chest.

She felt it in her own, that sharp searing pain, his and her own. The scream tears through her, ripping her throat to shreds, bleeding through her lips. Azriel falls, the grip on her hand falling with him, his shadows disappear, scattering into the corners of the room, leaving their master below her, bleeding, dying.

Dead, dead, she killed him, gone, dead. There’s this string tied to her heart, twisting and pulling, reaching for him, a tether between that she yanks on, begging him to stay. She’s screaming and screaming and lunging through those shields, Azriel’s own dagger in her hands, she doesn’t remember grabbing it.

Deanna is smiling beneath those scars, laughing, “Finally.”

Fire, burning through her, Mala’s fire, so hot it burns blue. It imbues into the dagger, the black blade spitting those blue flames as Y/n takes it to the goddess’ throat. Deanna doesn’t move, doesn’t fire an arrow, doesn’t burn her with that moon fire.

She simply sighs, “Pay the price, Y/n, finish what your mother started, let me finally rest with my kin.”

Y/n gives her exactly what she wants, what she gave Azriel, death. His dagger finds home in her throat, fire burning through the goddess, turning her to ash from the inside out. Time seems to completely stop, seconds turning to hours, to days, to years, Deanna burns and burns for a millennium, till there’s nothing left but that ancient bow and the golden arrow in Azriel’s chest.

Time shifts, moves faster and faster. The inner court is screaming around her, screaming for a healer, for Azriel, for her. She doesn’t hear them, doesn’t even know who or where she is, she simply collapses, throwing up a shield of hard air around her and Azriel. And she lays her head on her mate’s chest and screams.

Tag list

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#I am actually screaming over this one #i love them your honor #they finally are able to talk like normal people #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin #not again #a court of thorns and roses

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darkest-fantasy · 22 hours

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It’s all there

Rowan+ Aelin and Gwyn+ Azriel mate language similarities

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leiawritesstories · 1 day

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sleepless in terrasen

@throneofglassmicrofics instead of final papers i wrote...this 🫣

prompts: Sleepless & Rapture & Elixir

word count: 1,059 (whoops)

warnings: NSFW CONTENT OOPSIES

enjoy!!!

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She hadn't been able to sleep.

After two hours of tossing and turning, silken sheets rustling in agitation beneath her flushed skin, Aelin groaned in frustration and rolled out of her bed. Damn the man sleeping one door away from her. Damn his stupid sexy smirk and his stupid hot lips and his stupid big hands. Damn Rowan Whitethorn for kissing every coherent thought out of her head and locking the door behind him as he went to his own damned room.

Damn that gentlemanly tendency of his.

With a half-grunt, half-moan of frustration, Aelin reached for the small vial of medicine that she always kept with her whenever she traveled. Whether it was a long business trip with her parents and the rest of their government staff or a trip like this, a simple two-day drive from university back to her home, she always kept some sleep medication on hand. After nearly a decade of chronic insomnia, she knew how handy even a single does of that elixir was.

Fumbling in the dark, her hand soon closed around the familiar bottle. She quickly unscrewed the top, lifted the tiny glass bottle to her lips, and drank down the slightly-sweet medicine. After she placed the empty vial back on the nightstand, she tucked herself back into the very comfortable hotel bed, rolled onto her side, and waited for the familiar drowsiness to wash over her body.

Instead of sleepiness, though, a powerful wave of heat spread through her.

Shocked, Aelin flipped on the bedside lamp and grabbed the tiny glass bottle, squinting at the tiny print. Slowly, the words became clear.

Oh, fuck.

"Intensify Her Pleasure!" screamed the crimson lettering on the small black label. That wasn't her sleeping meds--it was a goddamn aphrodisiac.

And the need pulsing through her veins reared its head in full force, her nipples peaking to stiff little points at the thought of needing stimulation. Craving stimulation. From a certain pair of rough, calloused hands that had just recently gripped her hips as the man who owned them pressed her back into the wall and kissed a fire into her blood.

Gods. Aelin flipped the light off, dropped the bottle, and curled herself into a tight little ball under the sheets, willing the lust to calm itself down. Willing the image of Rowan's shirtless chest out of her--holy gods. Against her will, that image suddenly lost its pants.

And the fire in her veins burned brighter, demanding attention.

She stretched out, sliding the worn cotton shirt off her body. His shirt, its pine scent warm, comforting, familiar. Even the gentle rasp of the fabric against her peaked nipples sent a shudder through her body, and she lowered her hands to her breasts, gently circling the hardened buds. Harder. Rougher. Like she imagined Rowan would do if he wasn't so insistent on being a gentleman.

She didn't need him to be gentle with her.

As she slipped one hand between her thighs, Aelin couldn't muffle her soft moan. Fuck, she was so wet, turned on by the heated kiss, her need intensified by the damn aphrodisiac. Her fingers found her needy, throbbing clit, and she groaned, then grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her mouth, muffling her sounds. She should have been embarrassed that Rowan's name left her mouth in a broken moan as she slid two fingers into her pussy, but she wasn't. She wanted that man. Needed him.

And her fingers weren't nearly as good as she dreamed his thick, rough ones would be. Fuck. Breathing heavily, she reached her free hand into the nightstand drawer and grabbed her vibrator, switching it on to the lowest setting and trailing the bright blue toy over her nipples. She moaned louder, the sound muffled by the pillow, and slid it down her stomach, replacing her fingers with the vibe and flicking up the speed of the toy.

One more speed, love. Rowan's imagined voice filled her ears. That's a good girl.

"Rowan," Aelin moaned, pushing the vibrator harder against her clit and flipping on the suction as she flicked it up to its highest speed. "Oh my god, Ro!" Eyes closed, legs spread, fingers twisting her nipples with just the right amount of roughness, her body shook as she fractured, her orgasm tearing through her like wildfire as she pictured Rowan's darkened eyes gleaming up at her from between her legs.

Too slowly, she turned the vibe down and pulled it away, chest heaving as she caught her breath from the powerful orgasm. From the dream that had fueled it.

She really didn't know how she was going to manage spending six hours in a car next to Rowan tomorrow, as if she hadn't just pictured him devouring her pussy while she used her favorite vibrator. On the other side of the wall, she heard a faint shifting of sheets, as if Rowan was just as sleepless as her.

Though that couldn't be possible, since she was the one who'd just gotten off thanks to taking the wrong medicine.

"Aelin..." She jerked upright, half believing she was dreaming. As silently as she could, she pressed her ear to the rather thin hotel wall, listening carefully. On the other side of the wall, Rowan's bed creaked, and he groaned. "Fuck, Aelin!"

Holy. Fuck.

In a split second, Aelin made a Very Bad Decision. She pushed herself out of bed, tugged Rowan's shirt over her bare body, and went to the door that separated their two rooms. Knowing Rowan had left it unlocked, she turned the handle and quietly opened the door and stepped into his room before the embers still sparking in her blood could cool her impulsiveness.

In his bed, Rowan yanked himself upright, his sweaty chest glistening in the slivers of moonlight that spilled in through the gauzy curtains. His eyes widened as he took in her flushed, wild-haired appearance, her parted lips. Her breathing hitched as she drank in his bare skin and the bulge barely hidden beneath the sheets.

"Aelin?" he whispered. Rough, jagged, hopeful.

"Rowan," she breathed. Rough, jagged. Needy.

He pushed the sheets aside and stood, and her knees weakened even as the fire in her blood roared right back to life.

"Come. Here." A demand. A promise.

She dropped her shirt to the floor and did just that.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

#my writing #prompt fill #throne of glass microfics #throne of glass #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fun times hehehe

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lyssasdrafts · 3 days

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sometimes i think about how sam, dorian, and chaol loved celeana but rowan loved her as aelin

#no hate towards sam btw!! i loved him sm #— lyssa’s thoughts #tog #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #aelin galathynius #celeana sardothien #sam cortland #sam x celaena #sjm

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simmanin · 3 days

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saw someone say feys*nd is the best love story SJM has and ever will write and I’m just like ….

god, i hope not.

Also, her love stories in ToG are eons above anything in ACOTAR lmao. I especially appreciate how *most* of them don’t start off with abuse and or drugging 😭

#acotar #feysand critical #critical sjm #throne of glass #throne of glass relationships #elorcan #chaol and yrene #nesryn x sartaq #chaol x yrene #chaol x yrene supremacy #quinlar #rowaelin #even though i dont care for rowan #manon x dorian #aedion x lysandra #anti feysand #anti nessian

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rise-deepseamonster · 1 day

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original post by @sarahandersoncomics on instagram

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sydneymack · 2 months

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Aelin and Rowan - Throne of Glass

Artist: @romannaboch

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver whitethorn galathynius #tog #throne of glass #sjmaas

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throughstarlitfields · 5 months

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𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮…

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐠𝐨𝐰𝐧.

🎨: @spearthymint

Commissioned by me

𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻. 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑰𝑻 𝑮𝑰𝑽𝑬𝑵.

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serien-grl-22 · 7 months

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There are two kinds of male fae love interests:

300+ years older than the girl, powerful, dark-haired, cold

Cardan

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i-only-see-daylight · 1 month

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Aelin: If I died-

Rowan, sharpening his knives: Death will not get you out of this relationship.

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rainingriversofyou · 1 month

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Throne Of Glass characters & couples 🤍 Artist: inkfaeart

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myfriendscallmeraba · 3 months

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HoFaS spoilers

So you’re telling me that in another world

AELINS FREAKING BLOODLINE AND RHYSAND FREAKING BLOODLINE

mated

The two bloodlines that gave the universe two of the most powerful beings run years and years gave us Ruhn and Lidia AND THEYRE MATES

Daaaaaaamn I do not know how to process

Tho I do wanna comment that it fees like al the fanfics and head canons of shipping the feysand and rowaelin kids😂

#some serious fate sh*t #hofas spoilers #house of flame and shadow #rhysand #aelin galathynius #lidia cervos #ruhn danaan #crescent city #feysand #rowaelin #lidia x ruhn #crescent city 3 #sarah j maas #sjm universe #maasverse

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fanwarriorfictions · 27 days

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Not Again

Azriel x Rowaelin Daughter Reader

Summary: Azriel has a bad habit of finding random females falling onto the River House lawn. This time, the female in question catches him off guard, and she seems to be even stranger than the last.

Series Masterlist

-Part One-

There was a shift in the air, so subtle that it could’ve been passed off as a breeze through a cracked window. He would’ve thought just that if it hadn’t been for the keen wisps of shadows at his shoulders whispering in his ears, outside, someone’s here, outside, here, here, here, here.

The room filled with his family was non the wiser as the shadowsinger shifted towards the door, all of them talking and laughing by the fire place. Feyre and Rhys cozied up on the loveseat, little Nyx nestled in his mothers arms. Nesta sitting on Cassian’s lap, the sisters talking about the recent books they’d read, his brothers admiring their mates. Mor sipped on her third glass of wine, listening to Elain talk about her blooming garden while she absently fiddled with her still full glass, Lucien sitting comfortably by her side, content to just listen to his mate talk. Amren was nowhere to be found tonight, Varian presumably in town.

Azriel found it easy to slip out the back door, ready to deal with the supposed trouble without disturbing his family’s peace. His shadows didn’t seem alarmed, persistent, but not noting any imminent threat. Despite their ease, he found Truth Teller in his hand, ready to deal with whoever he found if necessary.

It was dark outside, the brisk night air dancing over his fire warmed skin. Calm, no sign of that subtle shift, nothing but his shadows urging him towards the garden, towards whoever was out here causing the small disturbance.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, what he was expecting to find. Maybe a drunk who wandered to far from the main streets of Velaris, maybe a curious young fae who just wanted a glimpse of the inner circle. He’d dealt with his fair share of both, gently warning them away from the home.

But whatever he’d been expecting it certainly wasn’t what he found. A female laid on the ground, clothes and skin covered with dirt and blood, her body sprawled like she’d been thrown down without care. He could sent fresh blood on her coming from a wound on her head, the stream of it dripping down onto the stones beneath her. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat strong.

Azriel clenched the blade’s hilt tight in his hand, drawing closer to her slowly. Her scent drifted towards him on a phantom wind, pine and snow, like the mountains of Illryia. Despite his resentment of the people who lived there, the scent reminded him of home.

His shadows curiously trail around the female, finding more and more injuries, a cut on her thigh, bruising across her abdomen. Whoever she was, she had seen her fair share of violence. She was high fae, her ears arched into delicate points, though he could not discern which court she may belong too. Her clothes were to disheveled to detect a distinct style, black leather pants and a long sleeved green shirt beneath a leather vest sheathed with knives like a bandolier. Clothes that could belong to any court, maybe even from the continent.

So busy examining her he didn’t detect the change in her breathing until it was to late.

The female launched up with such speed he was almost to slow to block the attack. She’d pulled one of those knives from her vest, it’s wickedly sharp edge to close to his throat for comfort. Truth Teller blocked the blade, the metal singing against her dagger. The female was quick to pull back, not lunging again like he thought she would but reaching for a smaller knife at her ribs, it was flying through the air faster than he could blink, aiming for his eye with remarkable accuracy, Cassian would be proud of a throw like that. The only reason it didn’t take his eye was due to a shadow darting out to grab the blade midair.

The female is a blur as she lunges again, going for the arm holding his blade. He dodges back, the strike missing him by a hair. She’s fast, faster than most fae he’s fought over the centuries. He catches her next strike, a blow to his side that could’ve left him bleeding out on the floor. She pulls back and retreats a few steps, her stance shifting back like she might jump at him again.

“Stop,” he snarls at her.

She hisses, baring her teeth at him, teeth with unusually sharp canines, and then she speaks, a language he’d never heard before. And that’s when the pieces start to click, when his shadows start to whisper, not of this world, another, another world, another, another, another.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he grounds out, “not again.”

The female only snarls, reaching for another of those small wicked blades. She flips it, pinching the sharp tip between her fingers.

“Wait,” he says, sheathing his dagger at his side, “just wait.”

Her eyes track his movements, the ice cold look in them enough to make him shiver. It felt like the air around them tried to freeze under her gaze, the wind no longer a soft breeze but an ice kissed howl.

His head cocked to the side, that was her, she was controlling the wind. The air swirling around them faster and faster, colder and colder.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said though he was sure she couldn’t understand him.

He held his hands up so she could see them, willing his shadows away so he could look as unthreatening as possible. When the last unknown female had landed on this lawn, she’d fallen right in front of him, he’d been able to get his blade angled to her throat before she had anytime to react, this female on the other hand, had managed to get the jump on him first, a fact that his brothers would never let him live down.

The wind bit at his wings, discomfort sooner turning to pain if it kept up like that. It felt like the moisture in the air was turning to ice, slicing into his skin.

She repeats her words, her voice hard and unforgiving just like the wind around them. A shield, he realized, a casing of wind to block all sound, to keep others out and to keep him trapped.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again, hoping she can understand the plea in his tone.

Her head tilts, examining him from head to toe, a predator studying its next meal. In that moment, Azriel had never felt more like prey in his life. She had an intensity that rivaled Nesta and Amren, like she knew she was the most powerful creature in the room and she’d be happy to prove it. This female was dangerous, strong, fast, and from another world just like Bryce Quinlann, he could only hope she’d turn out to be an ally as well.

Blood still drips down her face, the cut on her brow deep and jagged, like it had been ripped across a dull object. The scent of her blood filled his nose, laced with that pine and snow, and something warm, like an ember drifting from a fire. Again, it smelled uncannily like home.

Those cold eyes flare wide, the frost bitten wind warming a fraction. Something in her posture shifts, no longer in fight mode, but flight.

“Stop,” he pleads, “hold on.”

Her voice shifts when she speaks, lighter and less harsh, he still can’t understand any of it. His confusion must be evident on his face because she scoffs, lowering the dagger to her side, still not sheathing it. The wind fades away, replaced by a warm gentle breeze that thaws his near frozen wings.

Azriel sighs in relief and she cocks her head at the sound. Her eyes take in his wings, noting the frost on them that slowly melts away. The air seems to get even warmer then.

“Thank you,” he says, bowing his head to show his gratitude, all while keeping an eye on her.

Though she seems to be less hostile, he wouldn’t let his guard down for a second around her.

He felt it then, the gentle prying talons on his mind, ones he instantly let in. Showing Rhys exactly where he was and who was before him.

Not again, Rhys sighs.

That’s what I said, Azriel replies.

And then that night kissed power settles around them, the female’s eyes hardening back to ice, dagger already raised and ready to defend herself. Azriel was half tempted to tell her it wasn’t worth it, that there was little she could do against Rhys, but he kept his mouth shut as his high lord appeared before them. Giving the female that cool charming look that had most ready to eat out of the palm of his hand.

She didn’t have that kind of reaction, instead she lifted that dagger towards his high lord, a snarl on her lips, those vicious canines on display.

“Well that’s interesting,” Rhys says, coolly looking her over, “high fae, but not one of ours.”

She snaps at him, words he couldn’t understand but by the way she ground them out Azriel could tell they weren’t niceties.

“I’m sure that was her way of calling me a prick,” Rhys chuckles, “I’d recognize it in any language.”

Azriel eyes the two of them, he has no doubts that his high lord could defend himself against the female, but after the last encounter he’d had with a foreign fae he didn’t want to underestimate her. Rhys seems to agree, Azriel can almost see the invisible attack he launches, and he sees the exact moment Rhys hits a wall of pure ice around her mind.

His high lord hisses in pain at the exact moment a bright blue light flares from the female, a mark shining on her brow. The mark like those in the book of breathings, like the horn on Bryce’s back.

The female swears, free hand touching that mark as if she could will it back beneath her skin. Her dagger is aimed for Rhys, but her eyes dance between them both, watching for any movement from Azriel, ready to take both of them on in a heartbeat if it was necessary.

“Go get Amren,” Azriel says, “and bring one of those damned translators.”

Rhys is gone within a split second, and the female is angling that dagger at Azriel instead, a warning to stay back, she makes no move to fight nor flee, her frozen stare colder than before though the air continues to stay warm.

Azriel simply holds his hands in the air, “We mean you no harm.”

She responds in that soft swirling language, his shadows writhe in answer, almost like they could understand her. She frowns at them as they travel across the ground towards her, a soft snarl from her lips has them skittering back. Interesting, the way she seems almost familiar with them, he wonders if she’d encountered fae like him before, maybe like Quinlann’s brother.

Rhys and Amren appear in that night kissed darkness, the female’s attention snapping towards them. Amren curiously examines the girl, that mark that still simmers faintly in her brow.

“Are you collecting more strays?”

Azriel doesn’t respond to the jab, watching as Amren takes the small silver bean from her pocket and throws it towards the female without warning. She catches it with ease, glancing between it and Amren with a raised brow.

“Eat,” Amren commands, miming the action, taping on her mouth as she speaks, “to understand.”

Her eyes find Azriel’s, brow quirked in confusion. He simply nods, mimicking Amren’s actions. She seems to understand that, as she lifts the translator to her mouth and swallows it down.

And just like that she erupts, not with that ice cold wind, but with fire, hotter and stronger than that of the heirs of Autumn. Maybe even hotter than Beron’s himself. A shield from Rhys traps the explosion of power though he winces from the effort of keeping her contained. The fire rages, the earth below her turning to ash in an instant. She burns so hot that the flame around her starts to turn blue. She burns and burns and burns, so bright Azriel shields his eyes, so hot that the shield around her can barely contain that heat.

Rhys does not remove the shield until that fire stops its raging, until all that’s left is smoke and ash. She had collapsed on the floor, her dagger red hot against her skin yet it doesn’t burn her hand. That mark burns brighter as she glares up at them, vibrant blue that lights up the world around them.

“A little warning would’ve been nice,” she snaps, her voice tinged with that soft accent of her language.

“Hard to do that when we don’t speak your tongue,” Amren snaps back. “Who are you?”

Her ice cold stare is unsettling as it examines them all. She stands from the ground, that red hot blade lifting towards them, the air warping from the heat.

“My name is Y/n Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius,” her voice is steady, regal, “Crown Princess of Terrasen. And I’d like to know which one of you opened the gate that dragged me here.”

#this is so self indulgent #but I don’t care at all #Azriel’s shadows are cute little busybodies and I love them #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin

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