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violet-shadows · 1 year

Text

Moving On (Part One)

⊱ Next Part ⊰

Masterlist

Summary: After loving Azriel in secret for years, you decide it’s time for you to move on.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: drugging with the implied intent to commit SA, attempted kidnapping

A/N: Thank you for your patience while I took some time away. Hope you like this one. And thank you to the anon who requested this!

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

The phrase “with age comes wisdom” was true. You had long known better than to compare yourself to other females. The insecurities of youth faded as you came into your own and you learned to stop obsessing over minor flaws and shortcomings. You were a mature, adult female with no need to compare yourself to others’ appearances… except one.

It wasn’t Mor’s fault that she made you question yourself, but sometimes it was difficult not to resent her all the same. Mor was, as everyone knew, beautiful. But she was also magnetic, her ability to charm unmatched. You weren’t the only one that noticed her charisma and therein lay the problem. Azriel’s interest in Mor was his worst-kept secret. Only a fool would spend time around the pair without noticing the too-long glances and subtle blush on a certain shadowsinger’s cheeks. She had ensnared plenty of Fae in her gravitational pull over the years, but none so strongly as Azriel. It was ridiculous for it to irk you so much. Despite your friendship with the Shadowsinger, you had no claim on him and no reason to expect his affection. Still, when you thought of the way he pined after the blonde, and about all the ways you didn’t even compare to Mor, your heart ached.

The idea of the truth coming to light was mortifying, though, and you knew you’d rather watch him chase after Mor forever than face his rejection. You buried your feelings for the Shadowsinger nearly as soon as you realized them, pushing them down so deep that not even your daemati High Lord would have hope of finding them. So, just as Azriel harbored his affections for Mor in secret, you hid yours, content to be nothing more than his friend if it meant keeping him in your life. You had made peace with the fact that Azriel would never be yours, accepted it, and moved on. Or at least… you thought you had. Then came Elain.

You were the first to notice Azriel’s fixation with Mor begin to slip. First, his lingering stares became mere glances. Then, he stopped tensing up every time she walked by. The night she mentioned her most recent lover and Azriel didn’t so much as flinch, something like hope bloomed within you. You tried to stop yourself, reasoning that just because he was getting over Mor didn’t mean he was getting into you, but despite your best efforts, your affection for him was reignited once more. That flicker of hope made it all the more crushing when you realized that Azriel’s feelings had not faded, but transferred to another: Elain.

The High Lady’s sister was lovely, with light hair and warm brown eyes reminiscent of the female he had coveted for so many decades. Much like Mor, she was also impossible to hate. A childish part of you wanted to dislike her as if picking her apart might ease the ache within you. But as you got to know Elain, one thing became clear: Azriel had good taste. Even worse? It appeared she returned his affections in equal measure, despite being mated to someone else. You feared it was only a matter of time before the two would go from friends to lovers, and you were struggling to brace yourself for the fallout.

It was the morning after Starfall when you finally made the decision. After watching Azriel and Elain dance around each other all night, trading warm glances and secret smiles, you knew it was foolish to continue pining. Azriel would never be yours, and it was high time for you to move on. So, the following morning you sought out Mor and made your announcement.

“I’m going to start courting,” you said, striding into the townhouse kitchen the next morning with your best attempt at a smile on your face. Mor nearly choked on her tea, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

“What changed?” she asked, composing herself. She had been trying to convince you to start courting for years, insisting that the males of the Night Court would all but line up for a chance to fall at your feet. You had always brushed her off, too caught up in your feelings for Azriel and skeptical that the pool of suitors was as vast as she claimed. Now, with your heart set on getting over the shadowsinger, there was no one better to find you a distraction.

“I just think it’s time,” you shrugged, pouring yourself a cup of tea. Mor narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to argue, but stopped, as if thinking better of it. After studying you for a moment, she nodded, a mischievous smile creeping onto her beautiful face.

“This is going to be so much fun.”

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

You should have known that Mor would take to the task of finding you a suitor with militant efficiency, but it still surprised you when she announced she had set you up on not one but three dates in the twelve hours that elapsed between your conversation and dinner. It also shouldn’t have surprised you that she would be less than subtle about her task. But alas, you were caught off guard when she gleefully informed you of this development over dinner. Family dinner. In front of everyone.

“I’ve got three dates lined up so far. First ones tomorrow so you should meet me in the afternoon so I can help you get ready,” she chattered. You were acutely aware of the hush that had fallen over the table. “I think you’re really going to like this guy.” Somewhere to your right, a fork clattered as if someone had dropped it, but you didn’t dare look.

“Since when do you go on dates?” It was Cassian who broke the silence, and soon you were being inundated with a host of invasive questions from your family.

“It’s just one date!” You shrugged, feeling your cheeks heat.

“Three dates,” Mor corrected.

“Again,” Cassian said, raising an eyebrow at you from across the table, “Since when do you date?”

“Since now,” You leveled a glare at him. Sure, you hadn’t dated much in the past, but that didn’t mean you never would. He opened his mouth to retort only to be cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs courtesy of Nesta. You shot her a grateful smile.

“I think that’s wonderful,” Feyre interrupted. “You’ve worked so hard for so long, it’s about time you took some time to enjoy yourself.” You thanked her, no doubt still flushed

“Whose the male?” Azriel, who had thus far been silent on the matter, startled you with the intensity of his tone. You turned to find him staring at you, his eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite place.

“None of your business,” Mor replied sweetly, taking a sip of wine.

“It is my business—” he growled, but you cut him off before he could finish the thought, suddenly indignant. He had no claim to you. He had done well to make that clear.

“It’s really not,” you cut in, trying and failing to keep the venom from your tone. Azriel’s mouth clamped shut and he gave a nod of acquiescence, a cold mask of indifference sliding into place. It made your insides churn with anxiety, but you tamped it down. He had spoiled your love life for long enough, you wouldn’t let him sour what should have been an exciting new experience. “I’ll let you know how it goes, though.”

Rhys cut in, swiftly changing the subject, much to your relief, but you couldn’t help but feel tense for the remainder of the meal. You glanced at Azriel every few minutes, your eyes drawn to his rigid form. Even though he was never much of a talker, his silence felt unusually heavy. By the time the meal finished, you were eager for a moment to yourself. You needed to recenter and remember why you were moving on. He wasn’t yours. He never would be.

You were leaning against the balcony railing when he appeared, clearing his throat to alert you of his presence. You tried to keep your posture relaxed as you turned to greet him, determined to act naturally. In all your years of friendship with Azriel, you never let your feelings impact your relationship. Now shouldn’t be any different, not when you were both pursuing romance with others. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, his tone subdued. He joined you at the railing, drink in hand, and you raised an eyebrow. Out of all of you, Azriel was typically the least likely to imbibe. He shrugged at your unspoken question, brushing it off, and you resisted the urge to ask him about it. ‘It’s not my business if he drinks’, you reminded yourself. ‘Not mine.’

“It’s fine,” you replied, forcing yourself to relax, “I know you can’t help but stick your nose in things. Curious creatures, you spymasters.” He chuckled and you ignored the butterflies in your stomach, forcing yourself to look away from his handsome features and out towards the night sky glittering over the Sidra.

“What changed?” he asked after a quiet moment. You didn’t turn to look at him, though you could feel his eyes on your face.

“Things are… peaceful,” you explained. “I figured it’s time to settle down.”

“Since when do you want to settle down?” Azriel asked, incredulous. You turned to look at him, your eyes meeting molten gold, and for a split second, you contemplated telling him the truth. ‘I’ve never wanted to settle down with anyone… except for you.’

Instead, you swallowed thickly and averted your gaze, “Since now… I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t want to end up alone.” The last bit slipped out before you could stop yourself and you winced. It sounded so vulnerable when said aloud. Pathetic even.

“You’ll never be alone,” Azriel said quickly, leaning in slightly. “I would never let you end up alone.” You looked up, meeting his gaze, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. He didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to, and it made your heart ache all the more fiercely.

“I should go,” you murmured, looking down at the drink in your hand. “Thanks, Az.” You walked away then, afraid that if you stayed if you said anything but goodbye, the careful lie you had built up would crumble before your eyes. You needed to keep your feelings buried, now more than ever before, or you feared they might eat you alive.

“Y/N?” Mor intercepted you as you took your leave, her brow furrowed with concern. You swiped at your cheeks, only then realizing that the tears in your eyes had fallen. “You okay?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied, flashing a fake smile. You didn’t give her a chance to question you further, nor did you look back when you felt another set of eyes burning into the back of your head.

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

“So? How did it go?” Mor met you back at the townhouse, bouncing on her feet with excitement. You had just returned from your third date of the week and you were starting to feel a bit guilty about your lack of enthusiasm.

“He was… nice,” you replied, trying and failing to sound optimistic. Mor’s face fell and she sighed.

“You hated him,” she surmised.

“No!” You shook your head, desperately trying to come up with a diplomatic way to describe the male. It wasn’t that he was unpleasant, just… bland. “He was nice. And handsome. We just didn’t… click.”

Mor groaned, “I’m sorry. I really thought this one might be it.”

You shrugged, kicking off your heels and joining her next to the hearth. None of the dates had been bad, per se. They just weren’t right. They weren’t him. “Maybe it’s not the right time to date.”

“Nonsense,” Mor dismissed with a wave of her hand. “We just need a new strategy.”

“We?” You asked.

“Yes, we. We’re a team here,” she replied. “I’m taking my job as your matchmaker quite seriously.”

“Maybe matchmaking doesn’t work for me,” you mused. Mor furrowed her eyebrows as if deep in thought, then her expression brightened.

“That’s it!” She exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa. “We just need to have you meet people organically.”

“How?” you asked.

“Well, the first step is to get you out of this house,” she said, moving to fetch her bag and your coats. “You’re already dressed and the night is still young. We’re going to Rita’s.” You groaned, but before you could protest she was dragging you out the door.

You had been to Rita’s more times than you could count, most often brought there by Mor and Cass when they were in the mood for a wild night. In fact, it was at Rita’s where your friendship with Azriel was originally forged. Like you, the shadowsinger found the glitz and glamour of the club to be a bit much, preferring to hang back in the shadows and observe, rather than take part in the chaos and revelry. Over the years, the two of you had developed a sense of comradery, sticking together in the booth while the others danced and drank the night away, content to sip wine and exchange witty commentary. When Azriel stopped going to Rita’s in favor of spending time with Elain or working late, you started to decline Mor’s invitations as well. It had been months since you last stepped foot in the building and years since you did it without Azriel at your side. As you walked the streets of Valeris with Mor, you had a feeling tonight was going to be very different than you were used to.

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you asked Mor, sipping on your third drink as you watched the latest male slink away from your table, his attempts at flirtation politely declined. You were used to Mor drawing a great deal of attention, but tonight it seemed that nearly every male in the city was either staring or attempting to charm their way into your booth. It was somewhat unnerving, being under such close scrutiny.

“Tired of what?” Mor asked, raising one perfect eyebrow.

“All the attention you get,” you shrugged, accidentally making eye contact with one of the males watching you from the bar. You blushed, looking down at your drink when he met your gaze with a wink. “I feel like we’re on stage.”

“You think I’m the one drawing attention?” Mor snorted, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking down at your outfit. Your dress was perhaps a bit more conservative than the regular club attire, chosen with a romantic date on the Sidra in mind. However, you assumed Mor would tell you if you looked terribly out of place.

“They’re staring at you,” she explained. “I’m here all the time. You rarely come out, and this is their first chance to see you without your guard dog scaring them off.”

“Guard dog?”

“Why do you think males never approach you when we’re here?” she asked. You stared blankly, the alcohol muddling your mind enough to keep you from following. “Think about it. Every time you come here, one of the scariest males in all of Prythian is glued to your side and staring down anyone who breathes in your direction. Why else would you not get approached?”

You blinked, mind reeling at the revelation. In truth, you had always assumed no one was interested in you, and with your attentions firmly fixed on Azriel, you hadn’t much minded. That was part of the reason you had never put much thought into dating: you didn’t imagine you had that many options. “I just didn’t think anyone was interested.”

“Y/N!” Mor scoffed, her jaw dropping. “That’s ridiculous. I doubt there's anyone in this room who isn’t interested.” You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to dismiss her hyperbole when she caught sight of something over your shoulder and grinned. “See?” she whispered.

“Hello, ladies.” You turned to see the male from the bar approaching your table, a sly grin on his handsome face. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Azriel, with broad shoulders and sandy brown hair. He had an air of confidence about him that the others so far had lacked, and despite not being exactly what you wanted, he was undeniably attractive. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

“I was actually just about to go dance,” Mor replied, standing up from the booth. “Keep my friend Y/N company, will you?” The male smiled and nodded, sliding into Mor’s seat before you could interject. Mor shot you a wink before slinking away, leaving you with the handsome stranger.

“I’m Xavier,” he introduced himself, reaching out as if to shake your hand. When you provided your name, he surprised you by pressing a kiss to your knuckles, the way one might greet a princess. “I’ve seen you here before, but you’re usually with other… company. Are you waiting on them to arrive?”

“Just Mor and I tonight,” you replied, spotting the last glimpse of your friend’s golden hair as she disappeared into the crowd. Knowing her, it would likely be the last you saw of her for the evening. Part of you wanted to call it a night and leave now that Mor was entertained, but another part, a more rebellious part, was interested in seeing where the night might go.

“I suppose it’s my lucky night,” Xavier grinned, his eyes trailing up and down your body in a manner a bit too obvious to be polite. He flagged down a waitress then, ordering you both glasses of some fancy wine without consulting you first. It was a stark contrast to your typical experience with Azriel, who, despite memorizing your drink order long ago, always checked to make sure he got you exactly what you wanted. You shook the thought from your head as Xavier began to chatter, regaling you with tales of his travels that were no doubt meant to sound impressive.

Although the male’s personality was somewhat grating, he relieved you of the burden of making conversation by talking incessantly, and you figured the illusion of company was preferable to sitting alone. Your mind wandered as he spoke, the bitter wine he had selected going down easier by the second glass, and when the waitress returned to fill your glass again, you realized quite a bit of time had slipped by. The crowd on the dancefloor had thinned, and the barbacks were beginning to wipe down empty tables, a sure sign closing time was approaching. You yawned, your limbs feeling heavy as you considered the walk home that was ahead of you.

“I should go home,” you murmured, your head feeling fuzzier by the second. You hadn’t drunk an exorbitant amount, but the alcohol and late hour must have caught up with you, causing your eyelids to droop. When you tried to stand, the room spun so violently you nearly fell backward into the booth, grasping onto the now quiet Xavier for support. He made an off-color joke about handling your liquor, wrapping his arm around your waist to steady your swaying form. Your limbs felt numb and uncoordinated as if you had just emerged from an ice bath, and you had to cling to Xavier's side in order to exit out a side door of the club.

The cool night air was somewhat sobering, and you were able to orient yourself, turning to head in the direction of the townhouse. To your befuddlement, Xavier continued to herd you down a side street, away from your intended destination. Your garbled protests fell on deaf ears, with the male only tightening his hold on your waist, half dragging you forward through the quiet streets. A creeping feeling of dread began to penetrate your boozy haze, but you struggled to string together a coherent thought, let alone pull yourself free of his grasp. The alertness brought on by the cool breeze was fading, each step growing more difficult than the last. Soon, you were vaguely aware of Xavier slinging your arm around his shoulder, supporting most of your weight as you slumped into his side. “Take me home,” you managed to slur, your head lulling forward despite your best efforts to remain aware of your surroundings.

Xavier didn’t bother with a response, continuing to lead you further into an unfamiliar part of the city. The numbness in your limbs worsened, and when your legs finally buckled, he swept you into a bridal carry. You pawed at his chest, trying to demand you be set down, but your arms wouldn’t obey and your tongue felt too large in your mouth. Instead, you groan incoherently, flailing weakly in his arms. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were in grave danger, but without the cooperation of your body, you were but a passive observer at the mercy of this stranger. Just as tears began to slip free and trail down your cheeks, a deep growl broke through the quiet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You knew that voice, though you couldn’t quite place it. Deep and smooth and full of fury, but comforting all the same. You relaxed slightly, your adrenaline-fueled grip on reality beginning to wane at the prospect of rescue. Xavier set you down, freeing one hand as he turned to face his challenger. You hung loose in his other arm, your eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m just taking my girl home,” Xavier said, a nervous edge to his voice. His grip on your waist tightened to the point of pain, and for a moment, panic flared within you as you considered the possibility that your rescuer might be deceived. “She just drank too much.”

“That is not your girl,” another voice, equally as deep and familiar as the first, interjected. You trusted that voice too, though you still couldn’t put a name to either one. “And you’re not taking her home.”

“Whatever, man,” Xavier sneered, moving to leave with you still tucked into his side. “Get your own, whor—” He wasn’t able to finish his insult, the vile word cut off by the sound of crunching bone. He was thrown back by some unseen force and you pitched forward as his hold on you disappeared. You braced yourself to hit the cobblestone face-first, but a strong pair of arms caught you mid-fall. The world spun around you as you were cradled against a warm, broad chest, their touch too gentle to be Xavier. The familiar smell of morning dew and cedar smoke washed over you like a soothing tonic and you relaxed into your rescuer’s arms.

Azriel had come for you.

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

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Taglist - All ACOTAR Fics (Part One): @answer-the-sirens @microwaveallthedemons @judig92 @wolfyland07 @donttellthecats @goldentournesol @mulansaucey @starlit-terror @starrstrucked @a-frog-with-a-laptop @xxoverthinkxx @luv-xoxo @abrunettefangirlnerd @smellys-cats @crazymar15 @feyretopia @we-were-beautiful @simplywitchy @milllionthingsihaventdone @sevikas-whore @lunaralaraspace @sfhsgrad-blog @lucyysthings @debramclaren @blurredlamplight @nightscourtt @disneyandkpoplover @linduzmunna @shadowhunterfangirlforlife @shadowcrowsworld @nightcourtwritings @thefandomswhre @high-bi-andreadytocry @percyjacksonspeen @tayrae515 @a-little-disguised @itendswithussadness @strawbwebbie @hopelesslyuncreative @cityofidek @hopelesslyuncreative @5moremin @orangecreamsicle54 @bubnix @a-mexican-waffle @maddistyles17 @i-give-uppppp @bubbles-for-all-of-us @kaitswrld @nova-stardragon

✨CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST✨

#Azriel x Reader #Azriel x You #Azriel Fanfic #Azriel Fanfiction #Azriel #Azriel Shadowsinger #Azriel Imagine #ACOTAR x Reader #ACOTAR x You #ACOTAR Fanfic #ACOTAR Fanfiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #my stuff #ff

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hellodarling1357 · 1 month

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Why the fuck do you clearly ship Azriel/Gwyn and Elain/Lucien. Just ew

I... sorry but kindly fuck right off? This "ship war" is getting out of hand. They are fictional characters. FICTIONAL. It really does not matter either way. Please I'd rather you just block me than think it's ok to send people messages like this

#acotar #elucien #gwynriel #ffs

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the-darkestminds · 15 days

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I always see Elriels say that they hope the rejection of Elain and Lucien’s mating bond is mutual. That Elain and Lucien will happily decide to “sever it” and both move on. But that’s not how it works, there’s no severing of the bond, it doesn’t just go away because they both want it to?

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lizareads · 11 months

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"Meet cute" but it's him (being well over 500 yrs) preying on a twenty something woman's trauma and feelings the moment he meets her— continuously antagonizes her— and wonders why she is rejecting his advances. Like my brother in arms... why don't you try to do it in a more mundane way???

#ffs cassian #everytime i see someone supporting cassian's behaviour towards nesta #i see something flash behond my eyes #which reminds me why i hate this #sorry excuse of a man #let nesta be free #nesta archeron #acotar #anti cassian #anti ic #anti sjm #pro nesta archeron #acosf #anti acotar

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whitedemon-ladydeath · 3 months

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these comments: lmao she can't even go down 104 STAIRS

me: u know a lot of people can't do that right. ppl who are sick, ppl who are unfit, ppl who are fatigued, immobile, not able-bodied, people with weak muscles, people with heart conditions, people with severe depression, people with chronic pain, people with lung problems, people with muscle problems, people with kidney problems, people with autoimmune problems, people with nervous system problems

let's not be ableist in your roasting of a fictional character (not saying you're being ableist towards *nesta* but the splash damage of these jokes do, in fact, harm real people)

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #sjm critical #nesta archeron #ableism in acotar #ffs

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lucienarcheron · 9 months

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Tales of the Fox & the Fawn [ Masterlist ]

A series of short snippets to fill my Elucien heart.

| Season I |

[ I ] A Touch of Your Love

[ II ] Rabbit on the Run

[ III ] Territorial and Proud

[ IV ] Inappropriate Interruptions

[ V ] Morning Mischief

[ VI ] Tools of the Trade

[ VII ] The Lucien Effect

[ VIII ] A Family of Our Own

[ IX ] Quickie for Luck

[ X ] Team Ginger

[ XI ] Be My Forever

[ XII ] Ice My Cupcake

[ XIII ] Date Night

[ XIV ] Bringing Sexy Back

[ XV ] Only the Beginning

| Season 2 |

[ XVI ] Bedtime Delights

[ XVII ] Paint Night

[ XVII ] Woo You

[ XIX} Giddy in the Garden

[ XX ] Insatiable

[ XXI ] Party Surprises

[ XXII ] Distractions

[ XXIII ] Home

[ XXIV ] Smiley Pots

[ XXV ] We Are Enough

[ XXVI ] The Games We Play

[ XXVII ] Beauty Meets the Beast

[ XXVIII ] Something New

[ XXIX ] A Vision to Plan For

[ XXX ] 365 Days

#tales of the fox and the fawn #elucien #elucien fanfics #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar fanfictions #will be updated with links as I post them.#gfics #fic: ff #ff masterlist

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angelshadowsinger · 8 months

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y’all remember how in the Wattpad days you could comment on any part of the fic you wanted??

like if one line was particularly slay, the people would spEAK U P and you just felt such a sense of delusional unity.

i rly need that to be a thing on here 😔

#or some other fic site that isn’t too ugly or hard to use and is free slash no subscription over like $3 #idk i resonated with the other bitches back up in the day up in that werewolf ff LOL #angel yells into the void #notfic #not acotar #author tings #READER tings more like

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reispinkoveralls · 7 months

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Does anyone else see him as Jurian?

#i know jurian has shorter hair but suspend your disbelief ffs #lee pace #specifically lee pace as garrett from twilight #acotar #acomaf #acowar #jurian acotar

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ladymadness · 2 years

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Nesta is going to be Nyx's favorite aunt and I stand by what I said

#nesta archeron #a court of silver flames #acotar #nestha archeron #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #nyx #nestha Archeron #she saved his life ffs

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violet-shadows · 1 year

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Moving On (Part Four)

⊱ Previous Part ❈ Next Part ⊰

Masterlist

Summary: After loving Azriel in secret for years, you decide it’s time for you to move on.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: drugging with the implied intent to commit SA, attempted kidnapping, vomiting

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Hope is a fickle thing. It can be a blessing, carrying us forward when the darkness seems infinite and giving us the strength to persevere. It can also be a curse, lingering despite logic and reason, making disappointment all the more crushing. You had tried to rid yourself of hope for so long where Azriel was concerned. You even thought you succeeded a few times, accepting that your feelings would never be returned. But then, a flicker of hope would spark, only to be snuffed out once again, plunging you into darkness. Last night, when Azriel said those fateful words, the hope that bloomed within you was all but explosive, fierce as a wildfire but as brief as a candle in the wind. In the end, it left you breathless and aching. And, as always, kicking yourself for your foolish whimsy.

“Do you not understand how precious you are to me?!”

The words echoed in your mind long after you left the House of Wind, twisting like a knife in your gut. You knew he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to, and yet, for a brief moment, you had hoped you were wrong.

“Precious to you… as a friend.”

“Right.”

You replayed the memory, focusing on how he recoiled, grimacing as he clarified. As if the alternative was revolting. It had taken everything in you not to crumple as you sought out Cassian, keeping your head high and jaw tight when you asked him to fly you home. Your friend had read the look on your face but mercifully didn’t press when you shut down his line of questioning.

You spent the rest of the day shut up inside, numb and wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment, and when the sun finally set over the City of Starlight, you lay in your bed and cried.

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

“So who’s next on the roster?”

Mor startled from her place at her desk, pushing shiny blonde locks out of her face as you entered. She blinked owlishly, not answering, and you clarified, “For dates?”

“Dates?” Mor echoed, cocking her head to one side. “More dates? I thought… I figured… after what happened…”

“I’m not going to let one bad experience ruin everything,” you declared with a shrug, forcing yourself to remain the picture of nonchalance. Acting like something didn’t bother you was your specialty, and you weren’t about to switch up now. “Besides, it wasn’t one of your picks that turned out poorly.”

Mor shifted nervously, her previous enthusiasm over playing matchmaker gone. “I just thought you might want some time…” she trailed off. “Or maybe you and Az…”

“Me and Az what?” you prompted her when she didn’t finish her sentence.

“Nothing,” Mor said, plastering on a bright smile that you knew meant she was changing the subject. “If you want back in the game, we’ll get you back in the game.”

“Yep, I’m ready,” you replied, flopping into a chair across from her. Neither of you missed the way your voice wobbled with uncertainty, despite your assurances. This seemed to give Mor pause, and she was quiet for a long moment as she glanced between the fireplace and you.

“Before we go through my roster, as you call it,” Mor began, folding her hands in front of her on the desk, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Have you ever considered… would you ever consider giving Az a chance?” Her tone was gentle, almost pleading, and you shot her a questioning look.

“Az? As in… Azriel?” you asked. She nodded her expression remaining grave. “What do you mean? Give him a chance to what?”

“You know what I mean,” she pushed. “Give him a chance… to see if there’s a spark. There’s no pressure! I was just wondering if you had ever considered.”

“I’m not following,” you felt your eyebrows pinch together as you tried to unravel her words. “How would I give him a chance? He doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Very funny,” Mor snorted, rolling her eyes in good humor, but her eyebrows shot up when she saw you were completely serious. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” you exclaimed. “Did you hit your head or something? Are we talking about the same Azriel? Tall, dark, handsome, speaks to shadows… that guy?”

“Yes, that Azriel,” Mor replied. “The same one who is completely in love with you.”

The air rushed from your lungs and you sputtered, you gasp soon turning into a high, keening giggle as you took in the absurdity of Mor’s statement. “That’s a good one, Mor,” you said, shaking your head. “But you really shouldn’t tease people.”

Instead of joining in as you expected, Mor shook her head in apparent exasperation and sighed. “Look, I usually wouldn’t meddle,” she began, earning an incredulous look from you. “Not in something this personal, at least. But apparently, you’re dense enough that you need a little help, so I’ll spell it out for you. Azriel is head over heels in love with you and he has been for a while.”

“You’re serious,” you said, shock sobering you.

“Completely,” Mor nodded. “By the Mother, we all thought you were just great at pretending not to notice. You really didn’t know?!”

You opened your mouth, only to shut it again when words failed you. “I don’t think… that can’t be…”

“Well, it is,” Mor said. “You’re the last to know, apparently. And now that you do know, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you echoed numbly. Your face felt numb and a ringing filled your ears as if Mor’s revelation was a physical blow. “I don’t understand.”

“Look, if you don’t want things to change, they don’t have to,” she said. Her voice sounded distant like she was speaking from the other end of a long tunnel, and try as you might, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the fireplace to look at her. “I just thought I’d throw it out there as an option.”

The roaring in your ears grew, and if you hadn’t already been sitting, you were sure your knees would have buckled. Surely, Mor was joking… or just plain wrong. But one look at the pensive expression on her flawless face told you otherwise. Mor, as usual, was Truth, and she was being honest at this moment.

“Y/N?” the sound of your name brought you out of your thoughts, and you took a deep breath before making any reply.

“He’s not in love with me,” you said. Your voice sounded flat and dull, the polar opposite of the chaos that was roiling within you.

“He is,” was Mor’s retort.

“He’s not,” you insisted. Shock was giving way to irritation and you wanted to scream. Surely, you had enough crushed hope to last a lifetime by now. “I would know.”

Mor simply laughed at that. “Apparently, you wouldn’t know,” she said, “because he totally is.”

To your horror, helpless tears sprang to your eyes. It wasn’t her fault. Your friend didn’t know of your feelings for Azriel, so she couldn’t know how much this was ripping your heart out. But it was, and your composure was beginning to crumble. “You don’t understand,” you averted your eyes, furiously blinking back tears. “He can’t be.”

“Why not?” Mor’s voice had lost its teasing edge as she rounded her desk to sit next to you. When you finally looked up, concern and confusion were all you could read on her face. “Make me understand, Y/N.”

“He can’t be in love with me,” you said again, staring at the fire as you steeled yourself to make the confession. “He can’t be, because I’m in love with him.”

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Azriel took deep breaths as he approached the Townhouse and worked to adopt the calm facade he usually wore without effort. There were very few things that could make the shadowsinger truly nervous, and you were at the top of the list. It had been more than a day since your last conversation, and while Azriel told himself he was giving you time to cool off, he knew that wasn’t the whole reason he had stayed away. In truth, Azriel needed time as well. Time to shore up the gaping hole in his chest and to tamp down the impulses that your presence had brought out. He had been so close to telling you the truth, and yet, he had never been further. The worst part was, he couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that you left before he lost his cool entirely. Part of him wished he’d just blurted it out if only to get the burden off his shoulders. But he knew you, knew your heart, and it would be selfish to put you through the pain of rejecting him.

So, when you rushed out of the House and into Cassian’s arms, he went to the roof instead of chasing after you. He stayed up there for several hours, punching and kicking and running until his knuckles bled and his legs shook from exertion. When he finally stopped, it wasn’t because the roaring of his thoughts had quieted or the yearning within him had ceased, but the insistence of his shadows, who were growing increasingly agitated as he ignored their pleas to rest. He acquiesced eventually, long after the sun had set over the city, and trudged down the steps towards his now empty room.

Cassian caught him in the hallway, his customary humor nowhere to be found as he appraised the shadowsinger. “Are you okay?” he asked. It was a stupid question and one they both knew he wouldn’t answer honestly, but Azriel appreciated the invitation to open up, nonetheless. Even after five hundred hears of his taciturn nature, Cassian still offered an ear every time.

“M’fine,” was all Azriel had muttered, brushing past his brother without a second look. He hadn’t thought about the way your smell would linger in his rooms, and when he opened the door, it drove the air out of his lungs as if he’d been walloped. Something like grief settled within him when he flopped down onto the sheets that smelled so strongly of you. The feeling weighed heavy in his chest, following him into his dreams when he finally drifted off.

When he woke the next morning, he ignored the tug in his chest as he inhaled, struck once more by the unyielding urge to search you out. He had only just avoided laying himself bare before you, and now he was itching to throw himself back in the fire. He wondered if this qualified as a form of masochism, to subject himself to the thing he wanted most but could never have. Perhaps it was, but the realization didn’t help and soon his wings were carrying him towards the Townhouse where you dwelled, driven by self-destructive tendencies and the selfish craving to see you again.

He stood outside the Townhouse door for a long minute after he arrived, debating whether or not to knock. On one hand, it seemed like the polite thing to do. On the other, he did technically live in the Townhouse from time to time, and not letting himself in would probably be seen as odd. In the interest of maintaining a facade of normalcy, he took one last moment to screw his features into a neutral mask and walked in.

The lower level of the Townhouse was empty, but he could hear the faint muttering of two feminine voices coming from the second floor. Mor had taken to living at the River House most of the time and had recently converted her old bedroom into an office. She said it was to get some peace and quiet away from Rhysand, but Azriel wondered if she did it to stay closer to you.

At one point in his life, he thought he was in love with Mor. He was sure his feelings for the blonde were as intense as they could get, that she was it for him. Then he met you, and the affection he’d felt for his friend paled in comparison. It was nearly laughable, in hindsight, that he had been so hung up on Mor. Now, he envied her, for the friendship she had with you.

He contemplated the change in his feelings as he ascended the stairs, his steps silent as ever. When he reached the landing, he paused before turning the corner into Mor’s office, his ear pricking as he caught the tail end of your sentence.

“He doesn’t feel that way about me,” you were saying to Mor, your tone slightly sad. Were you talking about a suitor? A friend? Azriel froze, torn between making his presence known and learning the context of that sentence, his shadows already swirling around him, concealing him from sight.

Before he could make a decision either way, Mor let out a scoff, “Very funny.” There was a pause, and Azriel resisted the urge to send his shadows around the corner, to ask them to describe the look on your face. “You’re serious,” Mor said after a long moment, sounding incredulous.

You spoke up, then, sounding almost scandalized. “Of course I’m serious. Did you hit your head or something? Are we talking about the same Azriel? Tall, dark, handsome, speaks to shadows… that guy?” Azriel’s mouth went dry, his heartbeat stuttering when you said his name. Now he was sure he should make his presence known. Eavesdropping was one thing, but listening in on a conversation about himself was too far. Aside from the obvious invasion of privacy, did he really want to know what you would say behind his back?

He willed himself to cough or move, to stop the conversation from progressing before he heard something he didn’t want to hear, but his feet remained rooted in place. A heartbeat later, Mor was responding in the affirmative, and Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Yes, that Azriel. The same one who is completely in love with you.”

Azriel’s heart seemed to stop in his chest as time ground to a halt. Mortification and dread swamped him and his shadows pulled in tighter, ready to ferry their master away from the nightmare unfolding just around the corner. He remained frozen in place, though, unable to resist the temptation of hearing your reaction. Distantly, he felt slightly betrayed that Mor had revealed his secrets, but he supposed he had his own lack of subtly to blame for that. Despite how his friends thought his affections for you were obvious, though, he had managed thus far to keep you from suspecting. Until now.

The silence that hung after Mor’s words seemed to stretch on for minutes while Azriel stood paralyzed. Then, a laugh rang out, so out of place he all but jumped at the sound. It took him a moment to figure out the laugh was coming from you, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t know what he expected, but laughter felt like a particularly cruel twist. It reminded Azriel of the way adults giggle at children when they make outrageous declarations, amused, and almost pitying. Was it really so preposterous, to picture Azriel at your side? He knew the answer, but a small part of him still hoped it wasn’t.

Azriel was traveling through shadows before he made the conscious decision to leave, unwilling to subject himself to further torment. He hadn’t heard the full conversation, hadn’t really known that you were laughing at his expense, but his insecurity filled the gaps in his knowledge, edging out logic with self-loathing and melancholy. Despite all of this, he wasn’t angry at you. You had every right to reject him. It was nothing less than expected, and he had been mentally preparing for it for years. He always knew you would reject him. He’d even made peace with it. So why did he feel so devastated?

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

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keepittoyourshelf · 2 years

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Been slowly making my way through Kathryn Kingsley’s full oeuvre on Kindle Unlimited and it’s made me realize in stark detail that SJM knows nothing of dark romance and villains as “heroes.” Rhys, post ACOTAR in any case, is not the villain. He’s playing at being the villain but SJM has this need to justify literally everything he does, anything that could even tangentially be perceived as bad, as ultimately being for the greater good. He’s not dark, he’s a guy that likes wearing black and playing at being dangerous. It’s like if Captain America dressed up as Winter Soldier every day and not just at Halloween, except even Captain America is more threatening than Rhys.

In order for a character to be truly dark, in order for a story to be a dark romance in the truest sense of the word, the MMC has to 1). Know he’s evil 2). Not Care about the fact that he’s evil and 3). Not make excuses as to why the evil stuff he does isn’t actually evil. The FMC has to love the MMC in spite of items 1-3. There are no apologies in dark romance.

That said, if you want real dark romance with seriously evil anti(heroes) and excellent smut, please check out Kathryn Ann Kingsley. Say hi to Valroy, Simon, and Asmodeus when you get there. Thank me later.

#anti acotar #anti feysand #anti sjm #anti rhysand #pro tamlin #anti acomaf #dark romance #acotar is not dark romance ffs

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frcmedcn · 5 months

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stupid stupid fairies have taken over my life. this is worse than my twilight phase.

#ooc. //#and twilight was what got me into rp in the first place fun fact #tell me why there aren't any acotar rps #must I slink back to the depths of ff forums #I'll do it but like...you guys it's scary there...

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velidewrites · 2 years

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Mine | Elucien One Shot

Summary: Is it love, or is the bond forcing us together?

Word Count: 4.1k

Note: My heavily unedited submission for the Day 3 of @elucienweek2022 - Bonds <3

Warnings: Injury, mentions of abuse (this fic heavily touches on the abuse Lucien sustained as a result of Tamlin's emotional state in and post-ACOWAR). Proceed at your own discretion

Lucien left the Spring Court with blood in his mouth.

The place had turned into a ghost of what he used to call his home. A dark and hollow shell of memories that no longer mattered, dimmed by the horrors of the present. Ornate halls of marble and gold had once been thriving with life, servants buzzing like the bees behind the bright windows, tapping lightly against the glass, begging to be let into the vibrant manor. Now, the walls were dull with grey light, as if the sun itself decided to shy away from their ominous ambience. Even the gold crept its way down the columns, scratched brutally by what he could only describe as nails that had somehow managed to claw their way into the stone. Lucien knew full well what caused such barbarous damage, who sucked the life out of the heart of Spring—a beast that, at one point in his long, dreadful life, he’d considered his friend; his brother, even.

Stepping out of the manor, cold despite the blooming spring, Lucien held his head high with whatever was left of his dignity. He would not be coming back, no matter how many letters he was sure to receive in the coming weeks, no matter how many pleading words would beseech his forgiveness. A breaking point had been reached today, an end of a path with no way to return. And though the red, pink and white roses blossomed wildly in the remnants of what used to be a magnificent garden, Lucien did not miss the sight of thorns this time. The tangy, metallic taste on his tongue reminded him of too many times he’d been stung by them, too. Without remorse and without consequences.

Cauldron, his face hurt. Thankfully, he had been used to pain.

He knew the beast would still be roaming in the large yet empty rooms, trashing everything in its wake—golden plates, crystal chalices, dark, wooden tables. Picturing the broken pieces of porcelain mixing with glass shards that would catch the weak sunlight, reflecting the life they used to share, Lucien left the Spring Court, never to return again.

***

Nyx must have been the cutest little creature Elain had ever seen. But by the Mother, was he loud.

“Please, darling,” she cooed, tuning her voice to the softest possible pitch. Somehow, it only made things worse. “Please, don’t scream.” He did. “The party is starting in fifteen minutes. Your party,” she argued, taking everything in her power to remain calm, rather than succumb to insanity.

The child wailed again.

“Please, stop crying” Elain begged, on the verge of tears, praying for the newborn to occupy himself otherwise to any gods that would listen. “People will bring you presents.” Pathetic. Did a newborn even understand the concept of gifts?

From the growing volume of high-pitched screams, Elain guessed not.

“Nyx,” she pleaded in her last attempt. “There are guests who want to meet you, coming from all the corners of Prythian. High Lords, even. That’s how important you are. You can’t welcome them by screaming your lungs out.”

A fitting welcome, her nephew’s tearful eyes informed her.

“Elain,” Feyre said behind her, the long, deep-blue train of her velvety gown trailing her steps as she strode into the nursery. The screams immediately stopped.

She whipped her head back, honey-brown eyes wide with shock and, Elain hated to admit, a little bit of jealousy. “How do you do that?”

Her sister chuckled, blue-grey eyes twinkling with amusement as she reached her side. Reaching into the bassinet, Feyre gently picked up her son, cooing soft words of comfort. Nyx, now happily resting in his mother’s arms, started babbling happily, chubby little fingers tangled in the golden-brown locks falling neatly down the sleek back of her dress. Elain still couldn’t comprehend just how alike they looked—the way small dimples creased their cheeks when they smiled broadly, the way their eyes sparkled with the same kind of mischief. She supposed she just couldn’t believe her younger sister was a mother now—though there was no denying motherhood suited her. Elain had expected nothing less, from the way Feyre had taken care of their family back in their cottage. When the days would get too long and cold to leave the thin, feeble walls, and yet, Feyre had always managed to keep the fireplace warm and their bellies fed. Enough to survive—enough to, one day, be able to live.

Elain was still waiting for that chance.

Something tightened in her chest at that—guilt, perhaps—as she let her thoughts wonder, watching her sister gently attempt to pull her son’s hands from her hair. What seconds ago had been an intricate updo was now a complete mess of tangled pins and strands, though Feyre didn’t seem to mind, her face radiant as she grinned back at her child. Elain knew she should have been grateful—for many things, like the two-month old addition to their lives. Like the smell of fresh bread she got to bake every morning. Like the sunlight over the garden she got to grow. Simple things, like the free access to hot water or roof over her head—more ornate than necessary. Elain had been offered everything, but deep down, a treacherous feeling crept up her chest, settling anxiously inside her heart.

This life—this family—was not her own.

Elain hated that.

“Where did you go?” her sister’s voice pulled Elain out of her thoughts.

She shook her head, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Nowhere important,” she lied. Realising that wasn’t enough of an explanation, she offered, “I’m just happy to be here. To have this.”

Feyre’s eyes gleamed as her gaze slid back to her son. “Me too.”

Elain had enough.

“So who’s coming today?” she asked, desperately needing to change the subject.

Pursing her lips in thought, Feyre looked out the window, as if the sky held the answers to all of her questions. Elain wished she had that sort of certainty in something so trivial. For her, it used to be the sun. Sunlight made her skin warm and her eyes bright. Happy. But with each passing day, Elain felt as though she was being further submerged in darkness.

“Helion,” Feyre said, eyes searching the clouds knowingly. “He said he’d take his Pegasi. They’re beautiful creatures, you’ll see. You will love them, Elain.”

Elain didn’t care.

Feyre continued, “Varian said he’d come.” Elain forgot who that was. “Though I assume he’ll be late. Amren invited him over for…ah…pre-drinks.” Right. He was the white-haired prince Amren was seeing. Still, what did it matter? She’d exchanged perhaps two sentences with Amren in her life. She doubted there would be any more coming.

“Mor invited Viviane, too, though she might still be occupied. On business in Vallahan, I believe. Let’s see…” Elain had stopped listening, forgetting why she’d asked in the first place.

All these people and yet not a single one tied her to this new life she’d been given ever since emerging from the Cauldron. No bond to the night sky of this Court, no matter how beautiful the stars that draped it had been.

Elain had many homes in her lifetime. Her childhood home, though Elain had only remembered flashes of it—the ballroom, the chandeliers, her mother’s tea room, where she would host all the women she hated, simply for the pleasure of flaunting her grand life to their faces. The cottage, a place she never thought she would call her home and was still reluctant to think of it as such. The lavish manor gifted to them by the male her sister had once loved. Greysen’s home she’d thought would be her last. The House of Wind, a blur between her visions. The townhouse, where she’d planted her first garden and poured her new, immortal soul into it—a place she’d allowed herself to heal. Heal, but not live.

And finally, this.

The River House, Feyre had called it, from the way its opulent grounds overlooked the sparkling Sidra. A beautiful residence with enough space to host Feyre and Rhysand’s entire family and more. To welcome more children whenever the time would blessed them with the opportunity. To roam around the gardens, play in the trees, picnic under the moon that sent the stone walls gleaming. The perfect home for eternity. But not Elain’s.

“And Lucien, too, of course.”

Elain’s arched ears perked up at that, something cold in the pit of her stomach spreading fast enough to make her blood freeze in her veins. “What?”

“Lucien,” Feyre repeated, and Elain fought the urge to cry at the sound of his name. “He said he’d come.”

Her voice was tight as she demanded, “And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

Feyre’s brow lifted in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d care.” Her tone was careful as she spoke, “You leave the room whenever his name is spoken.”

That she did. But for reasons far different than her sister had imagined. “It would have been nice to have been given a warning.”

Adjusting the baby to sit in her arms more comfortably, Feyre sighed. “Truly, Elain, sometimes I wish I could sell the stars to understand what it is you really want.”

So did she.

***

The smell of freshly-baked bread hit him first.

It was ridiculous to think a manor of this size could feel so homelike. But if there was one person with the ability, it was her.

His mate.

Oh, how he’d dreaded to see her.

Entering the spacious family room, Lucien expected Elain to be absent, surely having scented his presence crossing the threshold; perhaps even earlier, when he strode through the front garden, admiring the work that had gone into making an empty land a thriving corner of life. His suspicions were confirmed when he was welcomed by her sweet absence.

It was for the best, Lucien told himself.

What a pathetic lie.

He had no idea why he’d come in the first place. The thought crossed his mind when he was greeted by a cold stare of his mate’s sister—the viper—and a tight smile of her own mate. A decent male, Lucien thought, that seemed to hate him for reasons beyond his understanding. Lucien did not care. He had not come for him.

In truth, he hadn’t come for Elain, either.

He’d given up on trying to force conversation on her when she’d clearly rather do anything else. Lucien supposed she’d rather grow into soil and become a silent, unmoving flower if it meant never have to sustain a shred of time spent in his presence. He couldn’t blame her. He was starting to grow increasingly tired of himself, too.

Lucien Vanserra, an everlasting imposition, he thought bitterly as Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster and, Lucien knew, best torturer, offered him a cold nod. Gods, he’d now started wallowing in his own despair. The Spring Court visit had not done his mood any favours, either. All Lucien now wanted to do was return to the human lands, sit in his favourite, worn out burgundy chair, and stick a bag of ice onto his face, fading out into a dreamless sleep. The perfect evening, just sleep and the easing pain. Not whatever this evening was supposed to be.

But he’d promised Feyre he’d come. He did want to meet her child. He really did. Today had just been…bad timing, he supposed.

To think the stubborn, crass woman he’d once sent to the naga was a mother now. Crazy world.

As if his thoughts conjured her, Feyre strode into the room with a baby in her arms. Lucien almost gaped.

They looked so similar. It was only natural, of course—as a mother and son would. Lucien hadn’t exactly looked like his mother, perhaps that was why he’d allowed himself to be taken by surprise. He hadn’t looked like his father, either. Thank the Cauldron for that.

Feyre’s son, though, was a spitting image of his mother, with the way he smiled, a broad, toothy grin that made Lucien’s mouth twitch in return. The gleaming blue eyes that promised a good fight if prompted. He could see some of Rhysand’s features in him too, naturally. But this child was nothing if not Feyre’s—his friend’s—son.

She beamed as her sparkling gaze landed on Lucien—the first warm welcome he’d received so far—and made her way to approach him, the baby babbling happily in her arms. Standing in front of Lucien, she offered a clumsy kiss on his cheek, careful not to squish the baby between their much larger bodies.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Feyre greeted him, eyes motioning down to the chubby mess propped up on her hands. “This is Nyx.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed . “Nyx?” he asked. “Like the goddess of night?”

Feyre’s eyes flashed in surprise. “Exactly.”

His gaze slid back to the child, its small wings gleaming darkly despite the golden rays of sunset peering through the windows. “Seems fitting,” he said, unable to resist the urge to snicker when Nyx angled his tiny head slightly, as if taking him all in.

The baby was ridiculously cute. Adorable on the outside, but with nothing but pure mischief sizzling behind his big, innocent eyes. He was definitely going to be a troublemaker, Lucien decided. Something warmed inside his hollow chest at the thought.

He almost didn’t notice Elain had entered the room had it not been for her scent.

It infused the air, a sweet mixture of jasmine and honey, and filled his nostrils mercilessly, forcing his head to her direction.

There she was, looking so achingly beautiful he forgot all about his swollen face.

Draped in a gown of bright amethyst, Elain was a picture of a dream too good to be true. The soft fabric accentuated her curves, the sparkle of her skin—healthy after months of malnourishment, and Lucien couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Her golden-brown hair reflected the light of the sun outside, shining like a sun of its own, and her eyes…

Her eyes. Lucien would happily drown in them. Pools of honey, rich and full of flavour—sweet and vibrant, with hidden taste of something he felt on his tongue, but had yet to identify.

Full of delicate grace, her gaze landed on him at last, widening in surprise to find him staring right back at her.

He looked away and cursed himself for the decision right away. Leaving her bright eyes was like stepping out of the warmth of the sun into darkness—a cold room with no windows, tight and suffocating. He found himself trying to meet her eyes again, like they were his only way onto the next breath. His chest tightened when he realised he would not be getting another.

So he turned away, and did not seek her again.

***

Against her best efforts, Elain had dragged her sister to the side as soon as Lucien was done with her.

“What happened?” she hissed, her tight grip not letting go of Feyre’s arm.

Blue-grey eyes widened in shock. “What do you mean? We just talked.”

Elain was stunned. Was her sister really that stupid?

“I’m not asking what you two were talking about,” she seethed, her blood starting to boil inside her veins, threatening to burst them open at no sign of an explanation. “I’m asking what happened to his face.”

Feyre went still as death.

“Elain,” she breathed.

“Tell me,” Elain commanded, voice dropping so low she could hardly recognise it herself.

Heart thudding in her chest, Elain fought the urge to remain still, every instinct shouting to run to Lucien and drag him to whatever had caused the skin under his russet eye to swell with colours that should never stain his usually handsome face. She’d noticed the dried out bloodstains smearing his tunic, too. Hidden beneath his jacket, but Elain had noticed because she’d looked. Of course she’d looked.

She hated that she had.

It was only the mating bond, she had told herself. Not her own mind.

But she needed to know anyway. If only to calm her raging heart.

“Well?” she pressed. Nyx stirred below her, whining in her sister’s arms.

“Elain,” Feyre repeated. “You’re scaring the baby.”

The swell of his golden-brown skin, the small cut beneath his cheekbone, the light tremble of his large hands—mate. Mate, mate, mate.

“What’s going on?” a voice sounded behind her. Rhysand.

“Nothing,” Feyre said quickly, though Elain did not miss her eyes shooting him a knowing look. She’d been living around them long enough to know what it meant; Feyre had entered his mind—a skill Elain had utterly despised—telling her mate to take the baby and wait for an explanation later.

Soon enough, Rhysand had left the kitchen with his son, dozing off in his father’s large arms, and she and Feyre had been left alone.

“Lucien was at the Spring Court today,” Feyre informed her quietly. It was not enough.

Elain was only growing more angry. Stupidly, irrationally angry. She didn’t care. “With Tamlin?”

Her sister flinched. “Yes. He’s…not doing well. Especially after finding out about the baby.”

Elain went rigid, feeling her face drain of colour at the realisation. “Why didn’t you do something?”

A long silence.

“It is not out place,” Feyre finally said, eyes set firmly on her tattooed hand. Elain fought the urge to scoff. She couldn’t even face her.

She turned on her foot and strode out of the room. “Where are you going?” her sister asked behind her.

Elain didn’t look back. “I need to speak to my mate.”

***

Lucien found the quiet of the small library oddly satisfying.

He’d dropped onto a chair, resting by a pile of old books scattered on a small, wooden table. The room had been decorated in a dark colour scheme, with splashes of emerald green on the chairs’ soft cushions and parchment-like maps hanging from the walls. The design was pleasing to the eye, but unusual—human, almost, which made him wonder if Feyre had modelled this space after her father’s old office she’d mentioned to him on a few occasions.

Hoping to catch a breath after the day’s exhaustion, Lucien’s head tilted back, and he closed his eyes, content to welcome nothing but silence.

He was quickly denied the option as her scent hit him like a crashing wave.

She was raging, that had been clear. Her furious haze sent his eyes open, immediately on high alert and in search of anything and anyone that might have imposed such a state on his mate.

Lucien’s chest heaved with a breath as their eyes met—a pair of russet and gold, gleaming in confusion, meeting one of simmering flame. Had he not been sitting, Elain’s gaze might have sent him off his feet, so full of hurt and anger they seemed to burn. She looked completely and utterly feral.

He wasn’t sure whether he should be concerned or turned on.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Elain said, emotions clear despite the tightness in her throat.

Lucien sat up. “Oh?”

“I want to speak to you.”

He almost laughed. Her words awoke something cynical in him, a side he had grown accustomed to in the two years she’d refused to utter so much as a single word in his direction. “Since when?”

His tone seemed to knock the rage from her—temporarily, at least. “Excuse me?” she asked.

Lucien leaned back in his seat, arms crossed as he spoke, “Since when do you wish to speak to me?” he repeated, only to add a second later, “My lady.”

As cynical as he was, Lucien had still been a gentleman.

Her lips formed a tight line. “This is not the time. I—”

“When will it be the time, Elain?” Lucien asked, unable to stop the word pouring out of his mouth. “It has been two years. Two years. I have only ever asked for a conversation. To meet you and talk about this Cauldron-damned bond,” he spat the word out as if it burned. “Hate it all you want, but I know it leaves you restless as much as it does me. It doesn’t stop at dreams, every waking moment I am reminded we are tied to each other, even though neither of us ever asked to be. I have only asked for a conversation, Elain.” Right now, he hated how her name sounded on his tongue. Hated the way it tasted so good when all he wanted to do was chew on it and leave it crinkled like the folds of his heart. Mates were supposed to be equals.

They would be equally broken.

“But you denied me even that. I wouldn’t have forced you into anything. I wanted to tell you that I wished to know you and give this bond a chance because the alternative would leave us both in pieces that could never be picked up and put back together. I wanted to tell you that even though I already had someone in my life as much as you did, you plagued my sleep every single night since I felt our bond snap into place. I wanted to tell you that I wanted to fight for you because no one had ever fought for me. But most importantly, I wanted to tell you that I would be yours—only if you wished me to be. Whatever you needed—a mate, a lover, or a friend—I would be there, my only goal to make you happy, to make you safe. To make sure you had a life you wanted to live.”

Lucien couldn’t finish. He was in too much pain, physically and emotionally, and his words hadn’t mattered anyway when she’d already made up her mind and denied him. Every Solstice, every chance meeting. So he slumped back into his chair, and exhaled.

There was a long silence and he didn’t think she would speak again—grace him with an answer. She wouldn’t.

Elain only asked, voice clear as she raised her chin, “What happened to you?”

Lucien sighed, propping himself up to his feet. He didn’t look at her as he said, “We should get back to the party.”

“I mean your face. I want to know what happened.”

He stiffened, his spine a straight line as she stepped in closer.

“My lady—”

“Sit,” she commanded. What else could he do but listen?

“I have slayed kings before,” Elain said, standing inches away from his frozen form. Her eyes fixed just below his russet eye, she leaned down, reaching out a hand to put on his cheek, the movement halting mere inches away from his scarred face. “I won’t hesitate to kill again.”

Lucien could only gape as her fingers brushed against his skin, trailing the scar that slashed over his golden eye. “Elain—”

“You’re right,” she breathed, and he felt the soft air on his cheek, caressing the swelling so gently he forgot all about the pain. “I’ve been avoiding you. Denied you. Do you want to know why?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Because of this,” Elain said, gritting her teeth as if the words physically hurt. “This bond. It makes me think, it makes me act in a way I never had before. I am afraid of what it might to do me.”

Lucien stopped breathing.

She continued, “When you’re near me, all I feel is you. You fill every nerve in my body and every thought in my mind. You overwhelm me. You consume me, but it doesn’t cause me pain. I want to be consumed. And I want to consume you in return.”

“You have me,” Lucien rasped. “You have all of me.”

“Your heart keeps chanting to me,” Elain said. “You are mine, and I am yours. Is it true? Or is it just the bond?”

When he dared touch her, slipping her hand from his cheek into the strong palm of his own, it sent nothing but light into their souls. “My heart,” Lucien said. “You can crush it, trample it, shred it if you like. But it is true.”

Fresh honey swirled in her eyes as she looked at him for the very first time—not at her mate, but at Lucien. “I wish to protect it. I wish to cherish it the way it deserves to be. I wish to keep it safe. Most importantly, I wish to get to know it.”

Was this what life felt like?

“I wish to know yours, too."

#elucienweek2022 #elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #elucien ff #elucien one shot #pro elucien #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #tw: abuse #my writing

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whitedemon-ladydeath · 6 months

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me: goes into the Elain Tag

The Elain Tag: Elucien Elucien Elucien Valkyries Elriel Elriel Elriel Feyre Elriel Elriel Elriel Feysand

me: WHERE IS ELAIN

#elain archeron #im begging yall REMOVE!! this girl from a SHIP ffs #a court of thorns and roses #acotar

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lucienarcheron · 9 months

Text

Tales of the Fox & the Fawn - III

Season I - A series of short snippets to fill my Elucien heart.

Masterlist

Territorial and Proud

It wasn’t that Elain didn’t like Vassa. The enchanted queen was very friendly and pleasant.

But she had a very loud personality and made Lucien laugh.

She made Lucien laugh a lot and while Elain always wanted Lucien in a good mood and laughing, she didn’t like it when other females made him laugh. Constantly.

It also didn’t help that Vassa’s visit came around the time of their mating frenzy, which had barely passed.

So it wasn’t that Elain didn’t like her. She actually liked her quite a bit! They would absolutely become the closest of friends. It was just that...she found herself a tad territorial around her mate. In that irrational way the mating frenzy could make a person.

And in Elain’s humble opinion, Vassa had over-welcomed her stay.

So the logical thing was to remind the very nice, very friendly queen, that she needed to go home. This logical thing included no pants.

Elain’s bare feet padded softly down the stairs and into the hall, towards the dining area of the House of Wind where she knew they would all be. By they, she meant everyone and by everyone, she specifically meant Lucien and Vassa.

She ran her fingers through her loose hair, letting it fall over her shoulder and down her back as she fixed Lucien’s tunic on her frame. She swam in it, the sleeve falling off one shoulder, and only reaching her mid-thighs. It smelled like their scents mixed together and if that wasn’t encouragement enough for the others to scatter on sight, Elain already had another way in mind.

She didn’t even have to say a word when she came into the room. She knew she had Lucien’s attention instantly, knew she had everyone’s attention now but Elain chose to head to the dining table that had an array of finger food arranged on it instead. The silence that followed her entrance merely confirmed to her that indeed, she had left everyone speechless.

Human Elain would’ve fainted at the sight of this Elain. But this Elain had shed human etiquette a long time ago.

“Dove. You seem to be forgetting something.”

Lucien’s voice was breathless in her ear. His face was flushed as he stood in front of her, shielding her from everyone else’s sight. Her gaze dropped down to the crotch of his pants where his arousal was evident and Elain met his gaze again with a coy smile.

“No. I’m not forgetting anything.”

“You’re not wearing any pants.”

“I’m not wearing panties either.”

“Elain.”

“Does it bother you that I’m not wearing anything but your shirt?” she asked, innocently blinking at him, shifting a little so that she was once again in full view of their audience. She watched him run a hand over his lips.

“Not in the slightest.” he replied quietly, shifting in front of her once more. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re doing it in front of everyone else.”

“Because I like people to know that I’m yours. And that you’re mine.” Elain replied. Her eyes flickered to the table then back to him and she smiled, shifting again. “Do you think people would know that if we fucked on the table?”

She saw, felt, and heard his breath hitch and Elain knew he was seconds away from whining.

“Elain.” he begged, his body in front of hers, shielding her away from the others once more. “People already know about us, dove. We have nothing to prove.”

“Who said anything about proving to anyone?” she questioned with a quirked brow. “What if I just want you to fuck me on this table? Right here, right now.”

Lucien’s fists clenched, the scent of their arousal taking over the room and Elain was vaguely aware of their said audience trying to scatter away from them as quickly as possible.

“We have guests.” he said quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose and she giggled.

“They can watch.” she replied and tugged gently at the end of his tunic. Her cheeks heated at her own bold words. “I don’t mind.”

Lucien growled, his control finally snapping. The table had been cleared — Rhys seemed to know what would happen next — and Lucien had Elain sprawled on the table in the next second, a whimper slipping from her lips as he tore at the tunic, the shirt falling open – like Elain was a gift he was meant to unwrap.

“When I fuck you, dove,” he began, spreading her legs, his hands slowly trailing up and down her body. “I am the only one who gets the privilege of watching you unravel.”

#elucien #elucien fanfics #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar fanfiction #tales of the fox and the fawn #fic: ff #fic: territorial and proud #couldn't help but post an elucien one too today #gfics

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