#he still hasn’t moved on from Rhys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

utterlyotterlyx · 10 days

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Can you do a Azriel request where Azriel exaggerating a bruise his mate got during training to be worse than it is and needing bed rest because he wants to cuddle/kiss but still hasn’t figured out how to ask for cuddles since they’ve been friends for centuries but newly accepted their mate bond?

Sparks

Summary - An injury during training with Cassian ends with Azriel fussing over you, but as always with Azriel, he has another motive.

Warnings - none really, mentions of injury, slight angst, welcome to fluff junction

If anyone would have told Azriel when he had first met you that you would end up as his mate, he would have laughed in their faces.

There were no two people as different as you and Azriel, he was a brooding thing and you were like fresh morning sunshine, opposite in every way imaginable. It also didn't help that he found your stubborn nature to be quite the nuisance.

Those feelings didn't linger long however, you had some strange ability to make those around you feel at ease, perhaps it was your charm or how your eyes sparkled whenever someone spoke to you about something important to them. It didn't take Azriel long at all to become one of the many people who sought comfort in your words, much to the delight of Rhys who always sternly told him to be nicer to you.

Azriel couldn't remember the precise moment he had met you for the first time, he was sure it had been Selene to introduce the two of you, and when she died Rhys had moved you into the River House and you had quite quickly become a pillar of the Inner Circle. Wise. Kind. Truthful.

A force to be reckoned with.

What Azriel could remember however was the moment the bond had snapped for him.

There was a special spot that you often went to when you wanted to be alone, a certain balcony that lay beyond the stained glass doors of Selene's room, a place you had used to sit with her during the night, where you'd either sit in silence and gaze at the stars, or talk about anything that you wished. Selene was your best friend, you had also lost a sister that day.

That evening, as the sun was about to draw the curtains to another performance, when the sky was painted in burnt orange and purple, did Azriel find you there. A gentle song was drifting from your lips from where you sat on a deep set chair, wrapped up in one of Selene's blankets and gazing so far away that Azriel had thought that you were peering into the past. Something about it held his attention, the way that your eyes had softened, how your hair drifted in the gentle breeze, how the sun made your eyes shine like rare diamonds and the way you held yourself for comfort.

It had snapped when he had mistakenly made a noise, being too entranced by you to be careful about where he was stepping, and you had turned your head to see who was in Selene's space with you. The sun was causing you to glow, it hugged the side of your face, and the way you had whispered his name made his entire world spin.

The bond hadn't snapped for you though, you had simply asked him what he was doing and if he wanted to join you. Which he did without hesitation. That night you had both talked through the hours, too entwined with one another to realise the sun peeking through the horizon to welcome another day.

Months had passed and you still had no idea about the bond, and unfortunately it had snapped for you at the worst possible time. When Azriel had been slung over Rhys' shoulder, badly injured, and you had rushed into the room to help Madja only to feel an onslaught of pain the moment the bond blossomed and connected your souls together.

A single look was all Azriel needed to know that it had snapped, the wide eyes of terror and worry and the drifting fingers over the skin where your heart lay.

I'm going to kick your ass for this when you can stand.

Tears had brimmed in your eyes the moment he had laughed at your quip, and then winced from the pain. You had fell to his side, running your fingers through his matted hair, telling him that you weren't going anywhere whilst Madja put him back together.

Azriel had woken in his bed to you curled into his side with your arm flung over his torso, and as soon as he moved an inch, you were awake and alert asking him if he needed anything to which he said he only needed you.

Ever since you'd been rather inseparable.

So when Azriel had felt that jolt of pain throbbing at his shoulder and the emotions to go along with it, he had taken off running to the House of Wind, leaving a rather bewildered Feyre alone in the bakery with bags of pastries that he was meant to bring back to you to halt your incessant begging for them.

Landing at the House of Wind, his shadows whispered to him where you were and he took off in that direction, following the trails of your scent before walking into the brick wall known as Rhys, "Where is she? What happened?"

Rhys lay a consoling hand on his shoulder, the same one that was throbbing and twisting with discomfort, "She's fine, Az," Rhys told him, his violet gaze burning into the Shadowsinger to make sure that he understood. Azriel loosened a breath and waited for Rhys to continue despite the itching need to find you, "She was training with Cassian, he was a bit rough with her and dislocated her shoulder. Madja is with her now."

As if on cue, a soft groan emitted from down the hall and Azriel moved around Rhys to follow it, peering into each room along the way until his eyes landed on you.

Sweat coated your brow, you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your whimpering as Madja held your arm in her hands. A low growl rumbled in his chest, his sight moved to Cassian at your side who looked at him with wide eyes, "Az, I didn't mean to hurt her," Cassian knew how protective Azriel was of you, and since the bond had been newly requited, Cassian also knew how much Azriel was dying to tear him apart in that moment.

To Azriel, Cassian was not his friend in that moment, he was the one who had hurt his mate, his reason for living, and it was making him seethe.

"Az?" A weak voice called to him and Cassian stepped aside to display you fully to him, "It's my fault, I thought I could take a bit more force."

The shadows darted from his shoulders, soaring through the air to pepper your face with comfort and love, slithering through your hair and floating atop your injured shoulder.

Cassian scratched the back of his neck, "I did body slam you into the ground, y/n."

"You body slammed her into the ground?"

Closing your eyes and inhaling deeply, you then glanced to Cassian, face deadpan and stoic, "I'm trying to save your ass from a beating here, Cass."

"Right, I'll just go. You've got it from here, Az?"

A stupid question.

Azriel's burning gaze didn't move from Cassian as he slipped from the room, then all of his attention fell onto you. The Shadowsinger knelt at your side, brushing his thumb over your cheek where the skin had been stained from your tears, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," you strained, "It's just uncomfortable. You came at the perfect time, Madja was just about to pop it back in," you said with a nervous smile directed to the healer who was paying little notice to the two of you.

Unease and nerves flew down the bond and Azriel clasped your fingers around his, "Squeeze it as hard as you need to. I can take it."

"I thought I could too," you grinned and shuffled into an upright position, bracing yourself against his body and gulping down deep breaths, "I'm sorry if I scared you."

With the bond being so new with so much to be explored, Azriel wasn't sure of what you needed. Sure, he had taken care of you during your cycle, he knew that you were affectionate and loved to be held, but it was always you that crawled onto his lap and wrapped your arms around him whenever you needed some contact. Azriel was a touch-starved thing, and he didn't know how to ask for your affection because he was so used to not having any at all and was afraid that you'd deny him.

Now he had the perfect excuse.

Once Madja had twisted your shoulder back into place, an action that made you yelp and groan to the point Azriel had felt his blood boil when looking to the healer, she wrapped it up in a sling and advised that you be on bed rest until it had fully set and healed, which would only take a couple of days.

"Can I take her home?" Madja rolled her eyes playfully and uttered her approval, and Azriel wasted no time in scooping you into his arms, smirking at your glare, "Madja said to rest, so no walking for you."

"My legs don't hurt, Az."

"I don't care," you shouldn't have been complaining really, it was nice to be the one being held for a change, and it was nice that Azriel had made the move to touch you.

It wasn't like you never cuddled or spent days in bed with one another, you had spent many days in his bed with your limbs entwined with his lips searching every single inch of your skin. But when it came to simple acts of affection, Azriel was lost, and it was obvious that he didn't know how to show affection outside of the bedroom.

Landing at the River House, you pleaded with Azriel to put you down, assuring him that you could walk on your own, but he refused, and continued to refuse you as he carried you through the house and up the stairs which led to your shared bedroom.

It was Azriel's really, but he put up quite a fuss after the bond had snapped and you had little choice in the matter. Azriel did have the largest and comfiest bed, confirmed after you had tested every single bed in the house before coming to the conclusion, and all you did was bring your feminine flair to the space and your copious amount of clothes.

Azriel placed you on the edge of the bed, pressing his lips to yours and mumbling, "I'll be right back," he left your lips needing more and you watched him retreat to the bathroom, a squeak of the taps and rushing water sounded and you shuddered with happiness when Azriel reappeared, "Let's get you out of these clothes," clothes that were sweaty and dusted with dirt from the training grounds.

Working carefully, Azriel helped you out of your leathers, he gently lifted the shirt around your injured shoulder and aided you in stepping out of your pants, folding them neatly on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.

The water was the perfect temperature for you and your body disappeared under the bubbles as Azriel lowered you into the tub, stripping his own clothes from his body and stepping in to nestle into the spot behind you and sliding his arms around you, resting your head against his chest and rubbing circles into your skin.

Wincing, you angled yourself, and you weren't able to stop the laugh spurting from your lips when Azriel said, "I'm going to make Cassian cry tomorrow," you sat upright and peered over your shoulder at him.

Azriel didn't meet your eyes, instead he was focusing on his fingers playing with the ends of your dampened hair; his bare chest glistened in the light, his muscles contorted with tense anger, and his jaw ticked. He welcomed the new position you created, wrapping your legs around his torso and pressing your chest up against his; bubbles swarmed around you and you sighed with content when his fingers ran through your hair and down your spine, when his lips peppered along your collarbone.

"What if I need you with me tomorrow?" Azriel straightened, eagerly, and leaned into you, his hands falling on the small of your back, "To take care of me?"

Those hazel orbs brightened, "I'll do whatever you need me to do," a new bond or not, you knew that there was nothing that Azriel wouldn't do for you, "I'll glue myself to you if that will make you feel better."

Through giggles you spoke, "As lovely as that sounds, Az," you brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, "Being in your arms is where I want to be, more for you if anything."

Azriel frowned, "What do you mean?"

"You've been awfully touchy today."

Sitting up a little straighter, "You're hurt," you quirked a brow and he knew from the gentle smirk on your lips that you knew full well what he was doing, and he cracked under the pressure, "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to dote on you a little bit."

Bingo.

Leaning closer to him, being careful of your shoulder, you hovered just in front of his face, noses almost touching, "You don't need an excuse to dote on me, Az. I know it's difficult for you to show affection, but you'll get used to it. If you ever want to kiss me or hold my hand or cuddle me, just do it, you never need to-"

Azriel cut you off by pressing his lips to yours, it was something he had done countless times before, but it felt different, like he was finally embracing the bond enough to stop hiding his love for you. Fingers at the back of your neck, Azriel smirked against your lips, at the fact you hadn't released a breath yet, and then pulled away, "Like that?"

"Yeah, just like that," your voice was a hush above a whisper, "Do more of that."

Grinning, Azriel purred, "Yeah?"

"Mhm," you nodded eagerly, wondering how in the world your mate was so perfect and alluring.

If Selene could see you now, happily mated to Azriel the Shadowsinger, ready to embark on the wild ride of life... you were sure she would have been thrilled about it actually.

Noticing your mind wander, Azriel cupped your cheek, "Where have you gone?"

It's what he always asked when your mind drifted elsewhere, you had told him it was never just a thought, but an image, a memory, so he had stopped asking what you were thinking about but rather where you had gone to.

"To Selene," he pulled you closer to him, running his thumb across your lips, "Do you think she would have been happy about us?"

"Are you happy?" Connecting your eyes, you nodded, softly, "Then yes, she would have been very happy. It was all she ever wanted for you, an all-consuming love and a life of happiness."

The inevitable day of your mating ceremony was bound to happen in the coming months, and whilst you were excited for it and everything that it meant for you and Azriel, the thought of it saddened you, because the one person you had grown up with speaking of marriage and children at least once a week was no longer by your side.

"Do you know how much I love you?"

Azriel had always been good at pulling you from your thoughts, you focused on him, the love of your life, and replied, "I think so, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it again."

After throwing his head back to the edge of the tub with laughter, he settled, "I swear that I couldn't love you more than I do right now, but I know that I will tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. My love for you will never stop growing." Azriel held your face in his hands, stroking the hair from your face, "The sky has nothing on you, my love, you surround my world. You are my world."

Tendrils of shadow moved from his shoulders, peeping over them, flowing down his body into the water and spreading across your thighs. You rested your forehead against his, "You are my home, Az."

With a gentle kiss, Azriel lifted you from the tub, he wrapped a towel around your body and helped you into one of his shirts that engulfed you in the scent of him, and he waited, he waited for you to clamber into the bed and get comfortable before he found his place beside you. Like he would everyday for the rest of his life.

Authors Note

Bath time Az is just ughhhhhhhh

783 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 6 months

Text

Capture the Mate

Summary: Azriel has to leave on a mission for a few days, but he asks Cassian to help look after his pregnant mate while he’s gone. Someone ambushes you and Cassian, taking you as prisoner.

Author’s note: this was requested by this lovely anon!!

“You look massive today.”

You snort at Cassian as you walked in, your giant belly making sitting down a bit difficult.

“And you look extra stupid today,” you retort, “guess we’re both glowing.”

Cassian laughs, going back to his cereal. You were in the last few months of your pregnancy and you were ready to meet your baby. You loved being pregnant, you loved how hot sex with your mate was because of it, you loved cradling your bump and the way your mates hands always find your bump.

But you didn’t love Cassian’s comments comparing you to a whale, the back pain, the inability to get comfortable, and your mate’s overprotectiveness being dialed up by a factor of a thousand.

Azriel was going on fewer missions these days due to your pregnancy, opting to delegate most of them to his most trusted spies. There are occasionally some missions he has to do himself, not happy about leaving you, practically throwing temper tantrums in the lead up to being gone. When he comes home it’s as if he’s been off at war for decades, checking every inch of you, asking you about every detail of your time in his absence (even down to what you ate exactly - he thinks you don’t eat enough vegetables in his absence).

This is the fifth mission during your pregnancy he’s gone on, and each time he can’t bear to leave you without someone who can protect you. Whenever Azriel has to go, he ensures one of his brothers or Feyre will be present with you at all times. Whenever he’s gone, you just stay in your old room at the House of Wind or at Feyre and Rhys’s new house.

At first it sounded a bit like needing a babysitter, but now it’s more like just staying at someone’s house for a sleepover. Feyre and Nesta always tried to help you have fun, spending the days you’re with them doing the things you love. Cassian loves you being there because he likes to have eating competitions with you, and Rhys likes it because he spoils you rotten.

Before Azriel left, he spent probably an hour saying goodbye to you and the babe. He’d kiss you, then move down to talk to the babe. “Stay in there until I return,” he’ll whisper. “Be nice to your mom while I’m gone, okay? Let her sleep, I won’t be here to rub her back when you kick her in the kidneys.”

This time he actually tears up a bit at leaving the two of you. He looks at you, grabbing your face in his hands, “I shouldn’t be too long, sweetheart. Be safe, I love you.”

“Any plans for the day, Cass?”

“Mmm not really, I already had training, so my day is free to be spent with you, my favorite sister.”

You smile. “You say that to both me and Feyre,” you reply, rolling your eyes fondly.

Cassian lifts his spoon to finish off the last of his cereal. “It changes day by day - today you’re the favorite.”

You had asked Cassian if you two could go back to your home with Azriel, you had some chores to do and you also wanted to work on setting up the nursery.

Looking around the nursery you take in what needs to be done. A month out from the baby’s arrival and your mate still hasn’t set up the crib. But if you set it up without him he’d give you a big lecture about how he was going to do it and how you could get yourself hurt doing it, so you’ll just leave it be.

You have a dresser set up and a wardrobe that practically rivals your own, so you decide to spend the day folding and putting away baby clothes.

Cassian graciously offered to clean the dishes that were in the sink, along with sweeping and mopping your downstairs floors.

After telling him he didn’t have to do that, he responded, “well I don’t want dirty floors for Cassian Jr. here when he starts crawling, and I don’t want you mopping because if you slip you might hurt Cassian Jr.” He finished his statement by reaching out to rub your belly.

You rolled your eyes at him, as he smiles at your belly. “Cassian, aren’t Jr’s supposed to be named after their father or mother? Last I checked, this wasn’t your baby.”

He strokes his thumb over your bump, hoping to feel a kick from within, “we could convince Az it’s mine. I think it’d be hilarious.”

You snort, “he’d kill you in a heartbeat.”

Cassian sighs, “I suppose. Maybe the next one can be Cassian Jr.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he tries to look at you suggestively.

You fling your arms, bringing on of your hands to your forehead dramatically, “Oh Cassian your powers of seduction are too strong, I’m irresistibly drawn to you! I must flee, to keep myself from pouncing on you.”

Laughter from the both of you echoing through the house as you attempt to scuttle away but it becomes more of a waddle as you climb the stairs to your nursery.

An hour or two had passed and you made a remarkable dent in the amount of clothing your baby had. The vast amount of clothes are mostly Rhys’s fault, no one alive loves buying clothes more than that male, but your mate was also quite fond of picking up clothes on the rare occasions he left your side.

He loved watching how happy you got, realizing just how much he was thinking of you and the babe while gone.

You decide to go check on Cassian, not having heard much of anything from downstairs since you’ve been in the nursery. You waddle down the stairs, holding the railing for support. You get to the last step, and you see Cassian in your living room, face down, wings splayed out, blood gushing from his head onto your rug.

You yell for him as you run to him, sitting next to him, checking for a pulse. He’s still alive, but he has a considerable amount of blood.

You press on his head wound, trying to cradle his head in your lap to apply pressure to the wound. He’s starting to wake a little, you can feel his hands squeezing on your thighs.

A hand wraps around your neck from behind, and a cool metal graces the skin of your neck.

“Here’s the pretty little thing we were looking for.”

When Cassian came to, his head was pounding. He sat up on the floor of your living room, trying to assess the situation. He was mopping the floor of your kitchen when something struck the back of his head.

He never got a good look at the assailant, the blow leaving him stuck on the floor. He was, however, able to crawl into your living room in an effort to reach you.

You.

You had cradled his head, you had come down here.

Cassian bolts up, causing him to go a little dizzy from the blood loss. He gets up, darting up your stairs.

“Sunshine? Are you here?”

He ran into the nursery, checking all the spots you could be hiding in there - the wardrobe, the closet, amongst the bags and boxes littering the floor.

His panic was starting to rise. “Sunshine, are you here? It’s me, Cassian.” The desperation was leaking through his voice, “please be here, it’s okay to come out.”

He combed through your shared bedroom with Azriel, checked every bathroom, Azriel’s study, your spare room, your library, the kitchen.

He combed through his memories, knowing Azriel kept hidden nooks everywhere. When the two of you moved in together, he remembered Azriel made several small pockets in this house so you could hide if anything were to happen.

You came to training, but you were no warrior. You couldn’t hurt anyone, and Azriel knew you’d have a hard time attacking anyone. He knew that Azriel drilled into you if anything were to happen to hide immediately.

The library.

It’s Cassian’s last hope. Of course Azriel had stuck a hidden panic room in the library. Cassian bound into the room, trying to remember what book it was that opened the secret entrance.

Combing the spines, he’s trying to remember. It was green, something that stands out a little, but not too much. Something someone who knew Azriel would know that this is off.

A book of Prythian maps. Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had all of Prythian memorized, there was no need for it.

He slides the book from its spot, watching the case move, exposing the empty tiny room.

Cassian wasted no time jumping off your balcony, flying like a bat of hell to Rhys and Feyre’s house, screaming mentally, hoping Rhys would pick up on it.

He lands on their balcony, bursting into Rhys’s study, interrupting the intimate moment between them. Feyre was perched on his lap, feeding him grapes, Cassian’s entrance causing her to drop the bowl, the ceramic shattering on the ground, a dozen or so grapes spilling across the floor.

“Cassian!” Feyre yells in shock. She didn’t even know anyone else could burst into Rhys’s office.

Rhys stands up, immediately knowing something was wrong. “Where is she, Cass?”

Cassian points to his head, allowing Rhys to see everything. Your rug he stared at after the blow to his head, hearing your distress, him going in and out, feeling your hands press against his wound, him waking up alone, his frantic search of your house.

Feyre gasps, having also seen all of it.

“Bring Azriel home now.”

Your captors had thrown a bag over your head, not allowing you to see anything as they took you away from your home, away from Cassian bleeding on your rug.

They left Cassian, probably as a message that they could take him down if they wanted, but that he wasn’t who they wanted.

Your only hope is that Cassian wakes up soon enough and alerts Rhys and Feyre about what happened, and they could get into contact with your mate.

You were filled with a mix of emotions, between fear, concern, and anger. Afraid for your life, what your captors will do to you, concern for your unborn baby, and anger for Azriel.

Azriel closes off the bond between you two during missions, a decision you both agreed to. However, the second he is available, he opens it, letting you know how he is. Your biggest hope now is just sending him how you’re feeling, hoping he’ll feel that you’re alive whenever he reopens the connection.

They had picked you up and flown you somewhere, so they’re most likely Illyrian.

They land, not nearly as gracefully as your mate or his brothers, emitting a soft ‘oof’ from your lips.

They carry you for at least ten minutes, through what you assume is decently packed area.

Are you in one of the camps?

You knew relations between Rhys and the Illyrians were bad, but would they really kidnap the spymaster’s mate?

Your thoughts are interrupted when you realize they’ve brought you into a building and have set you down in a chair, shackling you to it.

You haven’t spoken a word, barely eliciting a sound, just like your mate would do. You’re not sure if it’s what you should do, but the thought of what he would do holds you together.

You have to be strong, for yourself, for Azriel, for the baby.

They pull the bag off your head, your pupils dilating due to the sudden change in light. Four Illyrian warriors stood before you, 11 siphons glowing throughout the room.

“Hello, beautiful.”

The one who had been carrying you and taken you from your home approached you, caressing your face. You kept a stoic, neutral expression, not letting anything slip.

Just like Azriel would.

Your only response is the eye contact you refuse to break with him.

“That piece of shit struck gold when the cauldron bonded you to him,” practically spitting out the last word.

“Your little shadowsinger won’t stop snooping around our camps, won’t stop telling his precious little high lord everything he sees. They’ve been meddling in the way we deal with our women, the way we govern ourselves. We thought it was time to uh explain to them why they should just stay in their precious little city and leave us alone.”

The second the words left Cassian’s lips, Rhys was trying to reach Azriel telepathically. Within seconds of Cassian’s words, darkness was clouding the room, creating an impenetrable black, the only light shining being several blue siphons glowing with rage.

Cassian recounted the whole thing to the darkness, knowing his brother was somewhere in there. Once he got to the part of the story where you were gone, the room exploded even further, making Azriel’s siphons impossible to see now.

A few shadows whiz by Cassian, he’s assuming to double check you aren’t in their home. The rage Azriel feels is coming off in waves, when he remembers the bond is still closed.

He closes his eyes, sending a silent prayer to the mother. Please, please, please.

The bond opens, your warmth filling his chest. He can feel the initial fear you felt at being taken, but he can also feel your constant reassurance that you and the baby are okay.

Azriel feels his eyes prickle with tears as he chokes out, “they’re alive.” His brothers reach out to hug him or soothe him, but he steps back, his male instincts kicking in.

“I can feel it,” he says, holding a hand up, “the protectiveness is ramping up. I want to kill any male in sight.”

Rhys and Cassian start protesting, telling Azriel they want to come with him, but he stops them again.

“Give me a five minute head start. Then I’ll give you my location.”

Your silence was an interesting strategy, one your captors did not like one bit, their irritation with you growing by the minute.

“Maybe we should rough her up then drop her back on their door step. Pretty loud and clear message, don’t you think?” He circles around your chair, sizing you up like prey.

“We could show her how women are supposed to be treated by us,” one in the corner shouts.

The one circling you spits at your feet before he says, “those half-breed bastards have gone soft, they forget what it means to be Illyrian.”

In a flash he steps forward, his hand slapping you across the face.

Azriel used the bond to find you. He kept tugging, the bond offering him a direction to go. He kept winnowing into the direction of the tug, when he began realizing where the bond was likely taking him. He growled with anger, unable to believe they could be so stupid as to take his mate.

He disappeared into his shadows, sending a few to find out exactly where you were. Once they returned, sans the two that wanted to stay with you, they whisked him away to the room you were being kept in.

The big one who had struck you earlier was mid-strike when the shadowsinger materialized out of the shadows in front of you, his hand catching the brute’s wrist.

“Lay another hand on my mate and your hands will become trophies I hang on the wall.”

You can feel his shadows enveloping you in a soothing wave, checking you head to toe for injuries, but only finding the stinging cheek and the pain from the shackles.

The twirl through your hair, eventually skating over your swollen belly, where they settle and stay.

Your mate’s shadows were very attentive of the baby in your belly, as if your unborn babe were calling to them, too. They reacted to everything the babe did, every kick, every movement, as if telling your babe, “we are here, little master.”

The anger radiating off of Azriel was palpable, but his demeanor was terrifying. A feralness to him you’ve never seen before.

“Whose idea was this?”

Nobody in the room speaks, the assailants just gaping at your mate.

“Speak.”

One of them points to the leader, the one whose wrist was still in Azriel’s hand.

Azriel looks into the male’s eyes, piercing through his soul, as he flicks his arm, breaking the male’s arm.

He screams, shocked at the swiftness of the break. Azriel takes the moment of surprise to pull the first assailant’s head into his knee, bashing his head into his kneecap, throwing him on the ground.

He looks to the next closest one, tilting his head, deciding how he wants to play this. He decides to leave truth-teller sheathed at his side, opting instead to use his bare hands.

“I wanted to savor this, however I don’t want to keep my mate waiting,” he states, coming up to the next closest one and swiftly wrapping his hands around his head, twisting until a sickening crack echoes through the room.

One of them lunges for Azriel, fists raised to fight him. Azriel moves to the side, causing the running assailant to run into the wall behind the shadowsinger. Azriel grabs him by the back of his neck, pulling his arm back, and with all of his force, pushing his head into the wall. Over. And over. And over. His blood splattering the wall, an actual crack in the wall forming from where his head kept hitting it.

He releases his hold, allowing his body to fall to the floor. Azriel turns and looks at the last one, the one that had pointed to whose idea this was, as some of his shadows finally break free from you. “Now,” he says, as they begin pooling at the last captor’s feet, “I’ll deal with you later.”

The shadows at his feet begin pulling the male into the pool of darkness, assumingly to be questioned further about their failed plans.

Azriel undoes the shackles keeping you in place, hoisting you into his arms, the belly making it a bit more difficult.

The second he reopened the bond to find you, he began sending you a constant stream of love down it, trying to convey to you that he was on his way to you.

Being gathered in his arms, the bond was humming a sweet melody, a soft duet that can only be heard when you’re together.

He pulls back, grabbing your face in his hands. “I have never felt fear quite like I did when Rhys made me come back. I knew something was wrong, I was hoping that the babe had just come early.”

He puts his left hand on your belly, the babe inside kicking the exact spot his hand is in. Your mate laughs.

You look at him, seeing the fear and adrenaline in his eyes as he continues, “but when I got back and Cassian said they left him behind and took you, I thought ‘okay, if they’re gone, I have nothing left to live for.’”

“But then, I opened the bond, and I felt you, and I-“ he chokes up a bit, continuing, “I almost started crying. You were alive, and you were okay.”

He pulls your head in, kissing the top of your head several times.

“You’re both okay.”

You reached up, stroking his cheek, “we’re okay.”

He smiles, and you laugh, “I guess this means you’re never leaving my side again, huh?”

He laughs, a tear falling down his face as he does so. “Oh no, sweetheart. You thought I was overbearing before, just wait. You won’t remember what personal space was soon enough.”

You laugh, “at least tell me you aren’t upset with Cassian. He’s a sweet guard dog.”

He smiles at you, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “They ambushed him, I could never be upset with him over that. Now come on, let’s go see my brother before he gives himself a heart attack with worry over you.”

“He is quite fond of me, isn’t he?” You ask, his arm going around you, preparing to embark through the shadows to go back home.

“He told me he prayed every night that we would be mates,” he says, the shadows beginning to engulf the two of you.

“Why?” You ask, wrapping your arms around him.

Azriel looks into your eyes as he says, “he told me he never thought anyone was good enough for me until he met you.”

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

2K notes · View notes

glam-targaryen · 5 days

Text

In Your Dreams: I ☁️🌙☁️

Azriel x Reader

A/n: Okay this is my first time writing in years but Az is Bringing me out of retirement. Opinions and ideas are always appreciated. Enjoyy😌

Summary: Az isn’t very fond of the newest member of the Night Court so much so that you even plague his dreams.

Warnings: This is a smut series. MDNI

Song inspo:

“Az, you’re back!” Cassian’s booming voice probably alerts everyone in The House of Wind of his arrival just as Azriel touches down on the balcony.

Az can’t help the small smile directed at his brother. After being away on a mission for days, he appreciated Cassian’s loudness, it means home, comfort, relaxation-

Or so he thought until his eyes land on you, lounging on a sofa, book in hand but your empty eyes set on his own.

His smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a displeased glance before turning away.

Azriel cannot stand you. The newest member, a pick pocket from the Hewn City turned spy pupil for The Night Court. A dark presence that made him physically ill.

It’s no surprise you’re sat in the far corner of the room. Azriel hasn’t seen you speak to anyone beside Rhysand since your arrival. Even then, it was only about the minuscule missions he’d been sending you on the last 3 months.

Azriel simply nods at Cassian and Nesta. Words failing him as that illness returns deep in the pit of his stomach.

He can feel your uncanny gaze still focused on him, despite his obvious distaste for you. He knows that is precisely why you do it too.

Gods, you are the bane of his existence.

With a slight twitch of the brow, Az makes his way toward Rhysand’s study ready to give him yet another ear full about you.

How Rhys had even given you a position is beyond Azriel considering you were a straight up criminal.

Azriel had been on a mission in the slums of the Hewn City, the worst part, in fact. A part so small and forgotten that crimes are a first nature.

He just found the information he’d been looking for and his mood was nothing less than happy knowing he’d be back home soon.

That was until a cloaked figure had bumped him and continued on their way.

Naturally being in a more poor part of the city, Azriel pats his left hip making sure none of his weapons or money had been swiped. But they hadn’t.

It isn’t until he brings his left hand to move his own cloak and double check that he realizes his siphon is gone.

“How the fuck…” Azriel hasn’t been caught off guard like this in a long while. How could they swipe a stone embedded in his leathers without him feeling a thing?

Azriel wasted no time looking over the crowd to find the grey tattered cloak gracefully zipping through the crowd.

He follows just a swiftly. His eyes glued to the figure as he maneuvers past on goers.

The thief, as if sensing him, looks back for half a second before darting through the crowd, ducking and jumping over items and people. Still managing to move past them without bumping into anyone.

Az mutters a breathy, “Asshole” when he takes note of that.

At this point Azriel begins to push past the crowd. He can’t let them leave with it. Something that valuable, not just on market but to himself personally, will not fall into some slick criminals hands.

Just as they are about to round the corner Azriel sends his shadows in a silent command to detain the culprit. The shadows weave through the crowd even more speedy and graceful, wrapping around the hooded figure and yanking them back.

Their back hits the ground with an ‘oomf’ before they quickly try freeing themselves from the shadows constraints.

Azriel grabs their collar in one hand, lifting them up and bringing them to his eye level. The other hand snatching back the hood of the cloak.

He nearly gasps upon laying eyes on you. The bewitching darkness in your eyes bore into his, reaching for his soul as if you’d take it right from him.

Taking advantage of his perplexed state you kicked him in the stomach causing him to let go and his shadows to withdraw.

Azriel groans holding his middle and coughing once, twice.

You don’t hesitate to run down the empty alley but Azriel is quick to snap back.

You don’t make it half way through when he winnows in front of you. You slam into his chest and fall again, mud splattering the two of you. Azriel’s shadows bind your wrists above your head as he straddles your thighs.

You thrash beneath him, growling and clawing. His hands scanning over your arms, sides and hips until he felt the bulge of it settled on your hip…beneath the waistband of your pants.

He looks up at you, amusement dancing behind your wicked eyes as if he were being tested, ‘a will he, won’t he?’

His eyes flicker from yours to your somewhat now exposed navel. He can’t just…reach in there.

But he can’t just let you have it. He wouldn’t be wrong to take back what is his.

He scoffs, reaching under your waistband and pulling up a belt with a pocket attached causing you shriek almost inaudibly.

Azriel pulls the dull blue siphon from the pocket and looks back at you. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t half amused himself.

A strange girl from the slums of the Hewn City stealing his siphon and testing his honor as a male.

Though he is not crazy enough to indulge the amusement. You are a thief. Not just a common thief but a a thief able to pick a very valuable possession off of a very cautious male.

“What is your name?” Azriel asks still hovering over you.

You only glare back.

“I asked what your name is.” Azriel grows impatient above you but you do not respond.

It could have been over. He could have let you go and steal from some other fool who wouldn’t notice but…he didn’t want to. Perhaps your crime against him was too personal and punishment seemed fit.

“Get up.” Azriel roughly pulls you to your feet, shadows still binding your wrists. Your struggles are deemed futile when he whisks you away to his High Lord.

Azriel all but stomps into Rhys study, shutting the door behind him. “Your newest addition has a staring problem.”

Rhysand looks up from his notes to see his irritated brother throw himself into the seat across from him. “What happened to ‘hello’ ‘how are you’?”

Azriel sighs. “Rhys.”

Rhys leans back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. “What harm is a bit of staring? Maybe she likes what she sees.”

“Please.” Azriel rolls his eyes. “She likes nothing and no one.”

Rhys shrugs. “She’s not so bad, Az. You’re just pissed she was able to pick something off of you.”

“I’m pissed that you gave her a job instead of consequences.”

“How couldn’t I? I’d rather have someone that can out sneak my spy master on my side.” Rhysand teases.

“She did not ‘out sneak’ me. Her methods were textbook. Not sneaky at all.” Azriel grumbles his blatant lies. He knows not just any theif, not even an exceptional one, could do what you did.

Rhysand chuckles. “Whatever you say, brother.” He clears his throat. “I assume you found the shop?”

Azriel shakes his head. “I did not but I heard rumors of where it will turn up next.”

Rhys had assigned him a rather odd case, a book of lethal potions stolen from a temple in the Hewn City by a traveling shop now supplying those lethal drugs. Reports saying it makes users hyper aware, a party drug when used correctly but as expected there are those who abuse it, turning them aggressive and eventually killing them when too much is consumed. Azriel has spent the last week trying to track the shop down with nothing to show for it until today.

“Where?”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “Coincidentally, in two days it will be in the same part of town…she…is from.”

Rhys chuckles at his brother’s pettiness once again. “She must really get under your skin with her staring.”

Azriel shakes his head, “Rhys, I’m telling you there is something off about her.”

“She’s been here for 3 months without incident. What do you suppose she will do?” Rhy asks entertaining the idea purely for the amusement of seeing a riled up Azriel.

“Steal. Spy. Hells for all we know she could be plotting everyone’s death.”

“Well, then I guess I should fear for your life when she accompanies you on your assignment?” Rhysand lifts a brow in mock questioning.

“Absolutely not. She will not be accompanying me anywhere…ever.” Azriel laughs at the notion.

“She knows her way around, she is successful in her missions and you need to get over your bruised ego and get along with her. She is supposed to be your pupil.”

Azriel shakes his head but before he can deny his High Lord, Rhysand continues.

“You will be taking her with you to retrieve the book and shut it down. That’s final.” Rhysand crosses his arms.

Azriel hesitantes but ultimately nods, dreading the thought of having to spend any amount of time near you.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel is sat in the lounge, a book in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. His eyes read over the page for the millionth time before he slams it shut and rubs his temple.

Sleep had evaded him, unable to stop thinking of this damned mission he has to take you on. At the fact that he must push away the alarms going off in his entire being when you are around.

Azriel knows something is wrong with you. It’s your expressionless gaze, the eerie aura that follows you and the stillness of your existence, even just standing around you’re still as a statue. You’re like a ghost. His own personal poltergeist.

As if on cue, he shadows curl up his neck whispering of your presence.

His stomach drops. He’d be damned if he had to endure you anymore than he has to.

Just as he retreats into the shadows in the corner of the den, you glide straight past the room entirely. Not even peaking into the only lit room of the house.

He knows it’s ridiculous but it irked him that you didn’t even look. Had you no curiosity either? And if you aren’t coming to the den, where are you going?

Regardless, he definitely isn’t going to find out. He has no intention of being anywhere near you. He wouldn’t subject himself to that.

…

But he wants to know. What if you had some secret hobby or routine? Something that made you…a person.

Why should that matter to him!? He doesn’t give two shits about what you do. His own curiosity only further proves how offbeat you are. He certainly will not follow you and he definitely won’t care what you are doing.

…

But what if you were up to no good? What if you were stealing from the High Lord every night after he goes to sleep?

Now that he can’t allow.

Azriel emerges from the shadows, peaking out from the door frame to find you at the end of the hallway. You enter the library and shut the door closed behind you.

He slips through the hallway and into the library, careful not to make a sound.

The empty library felt cold in your wake though there was no sign of you. You weren’t sitting on the sofas or searching for a book. There is only silence in his company.

Azriel strides through each row of bookcases lined throughout the room to no avail.

And now you’ve even disappeared like a ghost.

A beam of light enters at the back of the room earning his attention. The balcony.

Azriel stealthily crosses the room, concealing himself behind the bookcase closest to the balcony.

There you were. Sitting on the marble bench, staring up at the sky. Not causing any trouble.

Well, he has his answer, he can leave. He can go about his sleepless night.

But once again he did not want to, despite those alarms going off and the growing pit deep down. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

So he didn’t for a very long time.

He only watches your ominously still figure watching the sky. You do not look away or blink or breathe it seems. Not even a twitch of the fingers.

You just cannot be of this world.

“Azriel.” You call softly.

His heart drops into the swirling void in his stomach as chills sweep across his skin and the hairs of his arm stand.

You’d sensed him there. For how long? Though he doesn’t care what you think of him, he did not need you telling anyone he’s some stalker creep.

“You can come out.”

Azriel contemplates. He can leave as he should have done an hour ago but you already know he is here. Then again, maybe if he leaves you’ll think you were mistaken.

All of those options fly out of the door when you look back, directly at him.

He winces at his lack of options and being caught. How did you even know? He’s the fucking spy master and now he can’t even hide from you?

Azriel lets out a deep exhale, not even realizing he’d been holding his breath before coming out into your full view.

You look right into his eyes as he approaches you. Each step feels like a crushing weight as he struggles to maintain his composure.

“What are you doing out here?” Azriel asks firmly, not a shred of friendliness behind the words.

You only look back to the sky.

Were you ignoring him now? After telling him to come out?

Irritation begins to fill the void in him. The audacity. HE is the one ignoring YOU.

“What are you doing out here.” A command rather than question this time.

You subtly shrug.

Azriel rolls his eyes.

For a while the two of you are silent. What is he even supposed to say to you? You are the one that called him out here.

He isn’t surprised that you hardly speak but that doesn’t change the fact that it is annoying.

“You don’t speak much.” Azriel states plainly wanting to escape the awkward, silent tension.

“That’s your perception.” You match his blunt tone provoking his wonder. How could it be his perception when you don’t speak to anyone?

“I haven’t seen within 10 feet of anyone here.”

“That’s because you disappear anytime I’m in the same room as you.”

Azriel didn’t know what to make of your straight forwardness. Though he tends to speak directly himself, he’s not fond of such attitude. But coming from you, it seems fitting. “Perhaps I simply don’t enjoy your company.”

“Curious.” You look at him, standing up and making your way back into the library. “No male has ever complained about my company.”

Azriel follows close behind, watching your every poised step.

“As a matter of fact I’ve been told I’m quite the pleasure to be around.” You glance over your shoulder. That familiar sinister delight returning to your eyes, the same look you gave him when he realized where it is you held his siphon.

Azriel nearly trips on over his own two feet. The void beginning to whirl again. He cursed himself for needed to clear his throat. “Is that so?”

You stop abruptly and pivot on your feet, coming face to chest and tilting your head back to look up at him. His stomach leaps at the sudden proximity and your intense stare. He steps back.

“With my bright and bubbling personality, how could they not?” You raise a brow.

Azriel didn’t know if it was relief from the cut tension or the actual joke or both but he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Not to mention my breasts and ass.”

Azriel’s shock couldn’t have been anymore evident. His lips part unable to form a single word, not that his brain could form a single thought.

Azriel hadn’t thought of you in any way other than suspicion but now, standing before him, he can’t help but notice your deadly beauty. The enthralling darkness dancing behind your eyes and those plump pink lips. The thin strapped shirt clinging to your ample breasts. The outline of your peaked nipples. The perfect angle he has of your soft cleavage.

“That was also a joke.” You clarify and turn on your heel continuing towards the door. “Kind of.”

It most certainly was not a joke.

The loose shorts gripping your waist do nothing to hide the outline of your backside. Each step you take further away from him only giving him a better view of the swish of your hips and the bounce of your ass.

“Goodnight, Spy Master.” You bid farewell without so much as a glance back.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel couldn’t stop thinking of you, yet now it’s in whole different light. He would have never thought you to be so vulgar, in a cruel way maybe but not in a humorous way.

You’re so quiet and reserved and unsettling. He didn’t think you capable of making a joke, let alone a sexual one.

He couldn’t deny that it is a rather riveting piece of information. He should have known when you all but challenged him to reach into your pants a few month ago.

The memory of your tits sitting nice and pretty, your waist and full hips, your ass, all flood his mind.

Lying in his bed, Azriel turns onto his back, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He needs sleep. And he needs it now.

.☁️🌙☁️.

Exhaustion cannot begin to describe what Azriel felt. He needed not just to rest but recharge, and there is nothing better than laying down after a hard days work.

After what felt like forever he finally reaches his bedroom, twisting the nob and shutting the door behind him. He sighs, shutting his eyes and resting his head against the door.

“Azriel.” You call just as softly as you had earlier in the night.

Azriel whips around to find you sat on the center on his bed, feet under you and hands politely placed on your knees, as if you’d been waiting for him.

Azriel scans the room. Possibly a prank brought on by Rhysand but it’s only you in here.

“What are you doing in here?” Azriel hisses, sending a vicious sneer in your direction. And he thought ignoring him was the hight of your audacity but to enter his private quarters at such late hours?

“I haven’t been on my best behavior, have I.” You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence.

Azriel’s brow pinches. “What?”

“I’ve displeased you in some way.” You slowly stand from his bed. “I can’t have that.”

Azriel swallows hard as you inch closer with every word. “After all, I am a pleasure to be around.”

Azriel can only watch. Your shorts doing little to hide your exposed legs and soft thighs. That fucking shirt hiding your tight nipples.

You come to halt with only centimeters between you, looking up at him with that deceptively virtuous gaze.

He could smell you. An intoxicating scent of amber and jasmine. Like a garden in the fall.

Azriel’s heart thunders in his chest. Not fast but hard. He was sure not only you but everyone in the house could feel it. His whole being pulses with each thump as you reach for his chest.

“Let me be a pleasure.” Your delicate fingers just barely touches his chest, drawing a line down his chest. Then lower. And lower. And lower-

Azriels eyes widen as he snatches your hand in his. His chest heaving, trying to gulp down the air that slips away from him. You, however, seem un phased, eager, if anything. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”

The scent of his own arousal permeates the air he desperately tries to breathe.

With half lidded eyes and a slight pout of your lips, you take your wrist from his loose grip and place your palm over the back of his hand, brining it up to your cheek and leaning into it.

Azriel’s blood turns cold at how tender your touch is, gentle as the embrace of death. Your skin warms his palm as you drag his hand down the side of your neck painfully slow, his thumb tracing the column of your throat.

Gods, he wanted to bite it. To latch himself onto that spot. If it was possible to envy one’s own hand, he’d turn green.

“I see how you look at me.” Your voice low and sultry. “You despise me.”

You move his hand down your collar bone, to your chest, settling between your breast. Something deep inside Azriel twists and knots, his cold blood turns hot as it rushes into his pants.

“Let me fix it.” You groan, trailing his hand further down to your stomach. “Let me show you…”

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek to keep his own sounds at bay. His brows pinch together at the sight of you. The rise and fall of your swollen, flushed breasts. Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and the look of pure carnal desire.

“…just how much of a pleasure I can be.” You whisper breathlessly when you lead his scared hand beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Azriel chokes back a guttural groan when his fingers reach the slick folds of your cunt. Looking into his eyes with a feral hunger, you guide his fingers in sensual circles around your most sensitive spot. Hushed whines hum from your chest, purring at his governed touch.

His middle finger twitches against your clit, testing for himself. You respond with a low moan.

Azriel’s eyes flutter shut trying to reason with himself.

This was wrong. So fucking wrong. Azriel can’t even stand the sight of you yet here he is with his hands down your pants for the second time, and he felt just as he had the first time, he wanted to ruin you.

Another flick of his fingers causes you to throw your head back.

Azriel growls. A fire ignites in his chest, coursing through every nerve of his body as he gives in to you.

His fingers take a course of their own, rubbing your center with fervor. A noise somewhere between a yelp and moan escape your parted lips. You grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself as pleasure over takes you.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” Azriel leans forward to whisper in your ear. His warm breath tickling your skin as he asks, “Who made you this wet?”

You only moan, digging your hands into his bicep.

Still massaging your clit, he brings his free hand to strike the fat of your ass earning a very loud moan.

“Tell me.”

“You!” The stinging sensation mixes with your pleasure, encouraging you further. “Azriel made me this fucking wet.”

Azriel hums, gripping your hair and tilting your head back. “Mhm. Keep being a good girl and I’ll forgive you.”

His attacks your neck, teeth clamping down hard in what he knows will scar but he didn’t care. He wanted you marked. Proof that he could take control, even over someone with such a silent attitude as yours.

You hold back a scream. As much as it hurt, he knows you like it. “Dont hold back. I want to hear the pretty noises you make.”

Azriel’s tongue laps at the column of your throat, finally nipping at the spot he craved minutes ago. Your moans vibrate against his lips.

He pulls away to look at you. Eyes shut and jaw hung in ecstasy. His cock twitches in pants at how good he can make you feel.

The sight was anything but dark. Dare he say heavenly.

Suddenly, your eyes open, fixating on his. Lust and desperation laced in your stare as you plead, “I want your fingers in me. Please, Az.”

Azriel smirks down at you arrogantly. “Yeah?” You nod frantically, your moans and pants driving him absolutely wild.

“Whatever you want.” Azriel pulls away from you, sitting at the edge on his bed, knees spread as he pats his lap. “Come here, pretty girl.”

You stand between his legs but before you could straddle him, he grabs your wrist, roughly turning your back to him.

His texture hands glide down your back, feeling every curve until he reaches your shorts, yanking them down in one swift motion and leaving your rear exposed for his viewing enjoyment.

He gathers as much of your ass in his hands as he can, squeezing, caressing and parting for an even better view. Your slit and inner thighs glistening from your wetness.

He does dare to say heavenly.

“So fucking pretty.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your ass cheek and quickly slapping it right on top.

You jerk forward with an amused hum.

Azriel grabs your hip and brings you down to him. Your full weight falls onto his solid cock, strained in his leathers. He moans at the impact.

Azriel’s hands trail up from your hips, over your stomach and under your shirt and to your breasts. You whimper as his fingers lightly trace over your firm nipples and kneed at your breasts.

Azriel revels in it. The way you feel, the way he makes you feel. His lips latch to your neck sucking as he rolls your buds between his fingers.

“Azriel, please.” You breathe, writhing against him.

He groans, flicking your nipple harshly and immediately finding your center. The tip of his middle finger sliding up and down, toying with your hole.

“Please! Please put it in.” You whine, reaching up to tug at his dark locks. The sensation pushing him over the edge.

Promptly, his middle finger plunges into your cunt, pumping at a hungry pace.

“Oh, fuck! Azriel, yes!” You grip his hair stronger, receiving another painful bite and a slap on your tits in return.

Azriel adds another finger and you clench around them. “So fucking tight, angel. I bet you’ve never been fucked so full with two fingers, have you?”

You shake your head and throw it back over his shoulder when his fingers disappear in you to the knuckle.

“Can you take one more for me, angel?” Azriel hums placing sloppy open kisses to your bruised neck.

You dont respond.

“Answer me.” Azriel pinches your nipple, urging for your response.

“I…I don’t know.” You hesitate.

Azriel guides you to look at him, your face inches from his. His brows pinch and with a slightly patronizing pout he nods. “Yes you can, angel. Don’t you like how full I make you feel?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I can take it.”

“Good girl.” He breathes with a smug expression. Azriel can’t get enough of you like this. Pleading. Submissive to his every whim. The satisfaction of seeing that stoic demeanor dissolve because of him.

Azriel slides a third finger in slowly. Hells, you’re so fucking tight around his fingers, he can only imagine how you’d feel on his cock.

You release a long, aching moan and arch your back against him.

Azriel gasps at the sudden movement against his pants. It wouldn’t take more than a minute to make him explode. “F-fuck, y/n. Keep doing that.”

You grind in his lap, feeling his length throb beneath you. “Like this, Az?”

“Yes, angel. God’s, yes.” Azriel’s fingers sink into your cunt, over and over. Your screams of pleasure blend with the sopping sounds of your wet pussy.

Azriel was absolutely sure this was heaven.

“I’m so close! Mm, you gonna make a fucking mess out of me?” You rut against his cock.

“Fuck yes.” Azriel’s free arm wraps around you pressing you further into him and he fucks you with his fingers. “C’mon. Make a mess for me, angel.”

“Azriel!” That’s all it took for you to crumble in his lap. Your entire body trembles and euphoria seizes control of your body. Your screams informing all of Veleris of who made you cum so fucking good.

As you ride out your orgasm, Azriel lifts his own stuttering hips to grind against yours. The full weight of you quivering and fidgeting against him builds a blissful tension deep within him. And with the string of his name still being sung from your lips, the coiling pressure couldn’t hold anymore.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna-”

.☁️🌙☁️.

Azriel shoots straight up out of his bed and on to his feet, panting and looking around his room, illuminated with the first light of day.

But there was no one. No you.

Azriel blinks and wipes his eyes. It was a dream?

He looks around once more.

It couldn’t have been a dream. He’s dreamt of many females but never anything so…real.

He could still feel the weight of your body flushed against him. He could still feel the blissful aftermath of an orgasm.

Azriel looks down at his stained tented pants. His half hard cock still dripping on his thigh.

What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would he dream of that? Of you.

Mor? Sure. Elain? Once or twice, but you? Someone he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with?

Azriel huffs and makes his way to his bathroom to clean up, angry with himself and his deplorable dream. A nightmare, he decides, considering it involved you.

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel smut #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #acotar smut #acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst

538 notes · View notes

azsazz · 4 months

Text

Lips of an Angel (Part 4)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the song ‘Lips of an Angel’ by Hinder. Azriel left you for Elain. After finding out that he has a child he didn’t know about, he’s furious.

**Daddy!Az AU**

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,805

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

_________________________________________

The glass in his hand is empty again, the bottle next to it too.

Azriel sits at his desk, thinking about everything that has led up to this very moment: nursing the wounds he’d amassed from Rhysand as well as the full liquor bottle that he kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk in a secret compartment where Elain would never notice.

His left eye is swollen shut and throbbing. Bruises and cuts litter his body from the brawl he’d had with his High Lord in his office only an hour ago, over his ex and the fact that she’d had a child and never told him about.

The High Lord still packs a pretty good punch, he thinks as he shifts to pull open another drawer. His entire body aches with each movement but the alcohol has made it a touch easier. He’s burned through most of the bottle with his anger, but he could’ve sworn he had shoved another bottle in there somewhere.

Elain hasn’t arrived yet and he hopes that she doesn’t. Hopes that she doesn’t walk into his home with her striking smile and eager aura. Right now what he needs is to be alone. Alone with his thoughts, in the dark, silent and nurturing like they were when he was a child and his father trapped him in the dungeons.

The age his child is now. Wren. His chest aches an insurmountable amount when he thinks of the child, so much like him despite having never met. Eyes so strikingly similar to his own that Azriel knows you think about him everytime you look at your son. With tiny wings to match and the most stoic face he’s ever seen on a child, there was no doubting that Wren was his.

But you hadn’t even denied it when he asked, couldn’t, and that made him all the more angry at himself. That he had pushed you so far away from him, had hurt you so badly that you didn’t even tell him he had a child? That you had gone so far as to tell the High Lord and the rest of his family but not him?

“I deserved to know about my child,” he screamed into Rhysands face. The bellow was followed by a blow to his jaw, his bones reverberating beneath his skin from the force of it. It had been a long time since they’d come to blows like this, not training, but actually fighting. Azriel thinks the last time they’d had a real argument that had led to injuring each other like this was when they were still learning in the camps and Cassian and Rhysand had teased him, pushed him to his brink before accepting him into their found family.

“And you could have,” Rhys spits back, the utter fury in his voice shaking the paintings on the walls. The High Lord’s power had unleashed then, slamming Azriel back into the wall. His head crashed into the plaster with a harsh thunk and when he blinked the spots from his vision Rhysand was already pouncing towards him, ringed-fist raised. “We all put it together before you ever made a move on Elain. The signs were right there! Think about it! They were right in front of your fucking face and you didn’t even care.”

“Gods,” Azriel groans. He’s been leaning over his chair for far too long and the broken rib his brother had given him makes it hard to breathe.

But Rhysand had been right, all of the signs were there, he was just too infatuated with finding a mate that he overlooked them.

When you’d started having dizzy spells and he’d passed it off as you not drinking enough water, or when you’d told him you missed your cycle, he remembers that like it was yesterday and curses himself for being so dimwitted.

All of the times you’d tried to cuddle up to him or kissed him just the way he liked but he still pushed you away because it had felt wrong to kiss you back when Elain was standing right over there. He was so busy chasing after Feyre’s middle sister that he didn’t notice your scent shifting, thinking you were coming down with a sickness that would keep you in bed for a day or two so he could have some time with Elain and didn’t have to worry about you finding out.

It was all right fucking there, and he hadn’t been able to see it.

Even when he’d come home to find you sitting in the guest room one night. The door had been cracked open and you’d been sitting on the edge of the bed looking around the room with a look on your face he hadn’t even cared to decipher, but he remembers it now. It was awe, excitement as you clutched your belly, probably thinking to yourself how exciting it was going to be to decorate a room for the babe growing in your belly. But all Azriel had done was pass it off as you starting to realize the distance he was forcing between the both of you and maybe you had decided to sleep in there that night instead of the room you shared.

There is no denying that he’s fucked up. Fucked up to the point of never finding love again. He realizes in this moment how badly he’s treated you, treated the little boy that dons his face and doesn’t even know him. Wren already thinks that Malik is his father, and with the way that the fae male looks Azriel can’t blame him. While you clearly had a type, your current boyfriend doesn’t seem to be as broody or cruel to you as he’d been.

Azriel sighs, saddened by the lack of alcohol he’s hidden in his desk, and sits in self-pity instead.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Azriel wipes his hands on his pants because truly, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Sitting across the table from you, Malik, and Rhysand was not something he’d ever thought he’d be doing. Let alone being in the same room as you again.

And fuck, you’re as gorgeous as he remembers, even with the guarded way you’re sitting, arms crossed over your chest and your mouth set into a firm line as you stare him down like it’s not fucking burning you up to see him as much as it is for him to see you.

Rhysand looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. They’ve both healed up due to the nature of their fae healing, but his brother’s glare makes Azriel want to allow the shadows curling around his ankles to shroud him behind their blackness.

And Malik. Malik is here, with his arm around the back of your chair. He’s slid his own closer to yours for comfort, and even the cheerful male he’d seen with his son doesn’t seem so joyful right now. His straight brows are drawn and he keeps glancing over at you in concern.

Azriel can’t even find it in himself to hate the male. The one who’s taken care of you, of his son all of these years he’d been so oblivious. He wants to hate him with the fires of a thousand autumn fires, but, after the way that he’s treated you, he can’t help but to feel a little bit grateful for the male.

Wren hadn’t joined you, of course not. Feyre had taken him and Nyx down into the Rainbow for an afternoon art class followed by the most ice cream they could even imagine. Normally, you wouldn’t allow Wren so many sweets, but he’s been more than stressed lately with the information of seeing his birth father, and you’ve been trying to help him work through his own feelings on the matter.

Feyre even helped place Wren into an art therapy course with one of her good friends. Everett owns the studio next door and you’ve heard nothing but the best about the therapist. She’s been a light in Wren’s life as of late, and he seems to be responding well to the therapy. So well that he’s mentioned he might be open to meeting Azriel one day.

Today is not that day.

He doesn’t know what to say. His throat is clogged with years worth of emotions. Azriel prides himself on his cool, calm exterior, but right now, there’s none of that front on display. His palms are slick with sweat, leg jerking up and down to try and dispel some of the anxiety wracking his body. It’s no use at all.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he starts, and it’s more than a little awkward. He watches you and Rhysand share a glance and deflates in his chair. He’s more than a fucking prick.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you start, and he’s never heard your voice so cold. “I’m doing this for Wren.”

Azriel looks up at the sound of his son’s voice. There’s a hopeful note in his golden eyes that you don’t want to diminish, even if there’s still a sting as you’re reminded when his eyes had lit up like that at the sight of you. Your hands fall from where they’re crossed across your chest as the dread settles in, and you can’t seem to fight the tingling of your sinuses. You don’t love him anymore, but seeing him so often after years spent apart brings the feelings of everything he had done right back.

Sensing your shifting emotions, Malik drops his hand from the back of your chair to your lap, threading his fingers through yours. Azriel’s shadows relay the way that you cling to his hand tightly, and he shifts in his seat.

He watches the way that your eyes go glossy, unfocusing from his and he knows that Rhysand is speaking to you, mind-to-mind. Azriel is sure that his brother is doing his best to reassure you, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. It should have been him reassuring you. It should have been him by your side all of this time.

Just the thought of Elain pains him. Everything that he has fucking done to you because he thought that he wanted her plays over and over and over again in his head. He will never forgive himself for any of this, but the road to making things up to you, up to his son, starts now.

Rhysand takes the reins of the conversation, and Azriel doesn’t like the way that he’s looking at him like any one of his courtiers, hands folded together as they sit on the table.

He’s even wearing his crown.

“Wren has decided that he wants to meet you. Properly, this time.”

The floor falls out from under Azriel’s chair.

#azriel acotar #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel angst #lips of an angel

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sapchat · 7 months

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We Are Not Our Fathers, But I Am Yours

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Back by quite literal popular demand: It’s been a few months since you and Az have taken Hawthorne in, and now he has questions about what you guys are to him.

Warnings: I say bastard once. We talk about Azriel's lovely father and the rest of his family. oo I mention that Elain and Lucien had a weird relationship, but just saying "whatever they got going on"

Words: 2.8k

Part One

You're Reading Part Two!!(2)

“How is it, being a mother?” Feyre asked while watching Hawthorne play with little Nyx. The six-year-old, whilst bigger than the one-and-a-half-year-old, still knew to be gentle enough to play.

“It’s… nice, I mean I know I’m not his actual mother. But it’s weird, in the last couple of months I feel like I’d do anything to protect him, I mean honestly, I’d probably sacrifice Az to protect him.” I say, giving a chuckle towards the end.

“I know, Rhys and I said the same thing with Nyx. I mean you remember how Rhys was while I was pregnant, but the minute that little boy got here. It was game over for us both.” Feyre said smiling at the little boys.

We sat drinking our tea a little more watching them play in Elain’s garden before she turned to me again.

“I know that you guys are unofficially planning on moving to Windhaven once he’s eight, so he can be trained. Me and Rhys want you guys in his mother’s house. I know you will be back and forth but instead of getting your guys’ own place, just use it.”

I look at Feyre tears in my eyes from what she and Rhys are offering, then grab her hand, “Thank you guys, I’ll be sure to tell Az when we get home.”

“How is the spymaster doing with this… adjustment?” The High Lady asked a small glint in her eye.

I’d taken to the adjustment quite quickly, as I had already been playing caregiver before we had decided. Azriel was adjusting a little slower. I couldn’t tell if it was due to the lack of parental figures in his younger years, or because of how quickly it went from me and him, to me him and a child.

“He’s,” a quick pause, “Adjusting. It’s been slow, and he’s more awkward than usual. Hawthorne pretty quickly accepted that I was essentially a mother to him. But with Az, I don’t know. Hawthorne had a father who protected him for five years, and then we showed up and told him he wouldn’t see him again. He still calls him Azriel, or Azzie, or a variation of that. And whilst he hasn’t called me his mother it’s like it’s on the tip of his tongue.” I tell her honestly.

I mean we never truly expected him to see us as his parents, but it’s still weird having a child call you by name. Nothing with aunt or uncle in front of it or anything either.

“I think it’ll be okay. Hawthorne knows you both love him, and you both care for him and protect him. You get that and Azriel gets that. He couldn’t have two better parents.” Feyre tells me reassuringly. It seemed like she was going to add something else but then Hawthrone ran over, Nyx stumbling after him.

“Can we have cake now Aunty Feyre?” Hawthorne asked looking from his spot at her knees batty his dark eyelashes.

The child really could pass for our child if it came down to it. The same Illyrian features, hazel eyes, dark almost black hair, and golden skin. There have been times when we walked down the street after collecting him from the Velaris school that people had stopped and awed at how cute of a family we were. How our son was so cute and a carbon copy of his father.

Taking the smiles, they receive as thanks; they don’t notice how tense we become. How I glance at my mate, and he just glances down, some distant look in his eye that I can’t describe.

“That’s not up to me,” Feyre says nodding her head in my direction. The little boy looked at me, eyes gleaming in hope.

“Come on little shadow, let’s see if Aunt Elain and the twins have lunch for us,” I say standing and straightening my pantsuit out. I took his hand and waited for Feyre to pick up the little prince and we went into the Townhouse.

Nuala, Cerridwen, and Elain greeted us, pouring some tea into glasses, and watered-down juice into small cups for the boys. Hawthorne ran excitedly to the three in the kitchenette, and looked into Elain’s brown eyes, “You have snacks?”

Elain smiled down at the boy, smiling down at the little Illyrian. “We do have snacks. But I don’t know if you get to have any.” She said, joy glinting in her eyes at pestering the little boy.

Hawthorne looked stunned at her for a second, as if he couldn’t believe he was being denied something, and quickly turned to me, “Aunt Elain’s being mean!”

We all laughed as the little boy pouted in disbelief, even more so when he saw us all laughing. His foot stomped the ground, his wings flaring a little.

The laughing calmed a little as Rhys, Cass, and Az entered the house. They stood in the doorway watching all of us standing around looking at a little grumpy Illyrian.

The child looked at the three males and ran over to Azriel slamming into his legs. He placed a hand lightly on his back and looked around in question. “They’re being mean to me Azzie!”

At that Rhys let out a laugh, Cassian joining in. My mate looked at me in question, “Is there a reason I have a grumpy child hiding in my legs?”

“He’s just trying to get snacks for our lunch. Which he wouldn’t expect that unless someone kept letting him sneak some.” I told him, lightly glaring in his direction, but sent love down the bond nonetheless.

Azriel picked the boy up, his wings fluttering away as he did. “She’s right, you have to eat your lunch before sweets.” Hawthorne looked at Azriel in shock.

“But you and Uncle Cassin always give snacks like that before dinner!” Everyone turned to look at the two in question, a little glimmer of amusement shining through.

Feyre looked to me with humor all over her face, “Well, now we know why he hardly eats his lunch and dinner now.”

It was later in the evening; you were trying to give the boy a quick little bath. He was mainly just splashing around. Azriel watched with amusement as you tried to run a cloth over him.

“You could help you know. I mean how did Rhys’ mother give all of you baths.” I say huffing wiping sweaty hair from my face. You were going to need a bath after this.

Azriel had a small smile on his usual blank face, “She usually gave up after the first five minutes. I’m surprised you’ve tried this for as long as you have.”

Having the child around has made him more emotionally viewable. Where he used to only show how he felt, few and far between, now it’s more common. Sitting on your heels you let an exhausted sigh leave.

“You know little thorn in my side,” You say pinching his nose, he laughs in response, “I’m just going to sit over here and when you deem yourself clean let me know.” The dark-haired boy nodded and went back to playing immediately.

You walked over and sat by Az, leaning your head against him. “Who knew raising a little Illyrian was such work.”

Azriel leaned his head down letting out a huff of a laugh. “Imagine more than one in a house.” And you did, just for a second. But it wasn’t Rhys, Cassian, or Azriel you were picturing. It was Hawthorne and a few others. Some that did look like Azriel and one that looked like you. You pictured it long enough that you must have somehow sent what you were thinking down the bond. Because Azriel sent nothing but joy and love back.

“Let’s get this one situated first,” Azriel whispered, arm wrapping around you. You smiled up at him, excitement glistening in your eyes.

By the time you sent Azriel to put the kid to bed, you stayed back to clean up the mess in the bathroom. By the time you got to the boys’ room, you could hear them talking.

“Why don’t I have ears like her?” It was Hawthorne asking the question, and it made you pause in confusion.

“Because she’s what is called High-Fae, and you’re an Illyrian. Like me.” There was shuffling, Azriel must have been tucking him in.

“So… does that mean she can’t be my mom?” It was a quiet question, and silence followed after it.

“What makes you say that little shadow?”

“Well, if I’m like you, and she’s not like us. Then she can’t be my mom, right? Like Nyx. Aunt Feyre and Uncle Rhys both have pointy ears, just like Nyx.”

“You don’t have to look like someone for them to be family. Just like me and your uncles don’t look alike, they’re still my brothers. Just like she can still be your mom. Now, it’s time for you to get to bed.” You smiled, and quickly wiped your face before entering the room.

“What are we still doing up little soldier?” You walked over to him and took Az’s spot on the bed. Hawthrone smiled at you, peeking out from under the covers.

You tucked him in just a little tighter, leaned over and gave him a kiss on the head then brushed his hair from his face.

You sat for a second, looking at your little joy, then whispered goodnight, and just when you went to shut the door you heard it. “Goodnight mama.”

Holding back your tears just a little, you turned back and said, “Goodnight little shadow.” Then shut the door. And turned to Azriel's chest to shed some of the tears.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s get you cleaned up and then to bed.”

You had picked Hawthrone up from school a few days later when he asked you a question.

“You and Azriel are together, right?” It surprised you; it was an odd question for a six-year-old. “Like… Like Aunty Feyre and Uncle Rhys?”

“Yes. Just like them, me and Azriel are mates. You remember what mates are right?” I said holding his hand as we walked down the sidewalk by the Sidra. You and Azriel had talked to him about a few things before you guys could get him in a school. So, he could know who his family would be, and about some of the world.

He nodded his head, he knew the story of me and Azriel, at least as kid friendly as you could get with Az’s job. I mean you yourself were only a healer at the school before meeting the Inner Circle. Then Madja recruited you to help with what few kids came through her shop. After about three years you were Madja’s right-hand man, thus introducing you to the Inner Circle for all their bumps and bruises. So Hawthrone knew you two were mates, like Feyre and Rhysand, and Nesta and Cassian. Whilst Elain and Lucien’s dynamic still confused him a little.

“So, if you’re my mother, does that make Az my father?” You almost stumbled at the question. Azriel had struggled in the first few weeks of having Hawthrone, he didn’t have good parental figures, so trying to play dad to a kid was a struggle.

With Nyx he had no issue, he could play uncle, be there for a few hours but at the end of the day Nyx went back to his own parents.

“Do you want Azriel to be your father?” I asked a little hesitant, I didn’t want to cause any issue for Az, or Hawthorne. It hadn’t been that long ago that you guys got him out of a bad situation in an Illyrian camp. From his own father.

“I don’t know. I know he likes me now. Before it was… strange,”

“Confusing, you’re looking for the word confusing.”

“Cun-fushion.”

“Well, if you’re really confused then you could ask him. He always tells you that you can tell him anything. The same goes for asking questions. That’s called communicating.” Hawthorne sounded the word out to himself, then sat for a minute in thought. Right as you were about to ask him a question he perked up, wings twitching.

“Oo oo oo can we stop and get sweets!” You’ve got to pick a different path to walk along.

“We’re home-!”

“We got sweets!!”

“We got sweets! Hawthorne those were supposed to be a surprise.” Setting the box of treats down on the table of the River House you followed the tiny stuttering of feet flying through the house in the direction of the rest of the voices.

You found some of the family in the sitting room and joined Azriel on the arm of his chair. Hawthorne was already telling Elain about his very eventful day at school, using his arms to explain it better.

I leaned over just slightly so Az could hear me, “He was asking some questions on the walk here.”

Azriel turned and looked at me, a look of almost fear in his eyes. Then furrowed his eyebrows in question.

“Nothing serious was just asking if we were together, a few other things I’ll tell you alone.”

“He asked if we were together?” I laughed a little then ran a hand through his hair looking at my boy.

“Yea, I thought the same thing. Asked if it was the same way as Rhys and Feyre.”

“Was it serious? What he asked, which is why you don’t want to tell me here.” There’s that wariness that Azriel always had regarding us.

“Just… something I figured we could talk to him about later, about parentage.” Azriel is all but locked up at that. Hands that had been clasped together moved to hide almost, shadows coming to drape over him a little. One moved to join Hawthorne and wrapping around him. “Just the basics, but it could be time to tell him something though, before we all go to Windhaven.”

Azriel nodded his head, distress flowing down the bond, I sent reassurance back.

By the time dinner was done, the sweets were eaten, and everyone went off to their respective houses. You met Hawthorne and Azriel in his room with some cocoa. Whipp cream and cinnamon on top.

“Wanna know how I got these marks on my hands?” Hawthorne glanced down at Azriel’s hand, then to his face, an indescribable look on his little face. Then he slightly nodded.

“I was born to a lord in a camp. My mother wasn’t with him though, remember how you had called me a bastard when we first met?” Hawthorne nodded guiltily, “It’s okay, that’s what it’s called when your mother and father have a kid without being together. My father’s wife didn’t like it, didn’t like me.” Azriel took a deep breath, and I handed him a cup, so he had something to fidget with.

“They had two other sons, older that didn’t like. Since they didn’t like me, they kept me locked away in… my bedroom,” the safest option rather than a ‘dungeon’ “One day, my brothers decided to test how well we could heal…. By the time my father’s guards got there, it was too late, and the fire did this.”

“Did your father do anything to stop them from being mean to you…?” Hawthorne silently asked Azriel, looking at his hands and then back to his face.

“No. My father was a really bad man. Really mean too. Kept me away from people and from flying, but when they found out I could talk with the shadows, they took me to the camp we’ll go to when you’re older. And I met your Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cassian, and Aunt Mor.” Azriel told him, Hawthorne glanced in my direction now.

“Was my father like yours was?” Hawthorne asked me, Azriel eyes widened a little, I opened my mouth to answer and reassure him but Azriel beat me to hit.

“No! You are nothing like your father. Understood?” Hawthorne nodded, “Just like I’m not my father.”

Hawthorne sat for a second, even more silent than usual when pondering a question.

“Are… are you, my father? Like she’s my Mother?” A silent tear dripped down your mate's face, almost matching the ones building in your own.

“I am nothing like either of our fathers. And whilst I might not be the one who created you, your father, I can be your father. If you’ll allow me to.” Hawthorne’s eyes watered up then flung himself into Azriels’ arms, wings trying to wrap around him. Azriel hugged back and wrapped his own wings around him, as you sat taking in the scene.

He stood from his hugging position and took your hand, and the three of you went just two doors down to your own room. Where the three of you slept, you on the left, Azriel on the right, and just under Azriel’s wing and under your arms was Hawthorne. The little dark-haired, hazel-eyed Illyrian slept soundly, between his two parents.

Like it, tell me how you feel, share it with your friends. Share it with your grandma. Share it with the weird guy that lives at the end of the street who knows way too much about the K.G.B

Side note if you made it this far please dear god tell me what you would get the IC for solstice/Christmas presents. I have ideas for them all but Rhys. Please it can be on anom or anything 😂

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tadpolesonalgae · 2 months

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Moon Cycle

Dark!Rhysand x reader

a/n: this goes along with desk pet and play-mate 🧡💛

warnings: menstruation, mentions of non-con, references to play-mate, fluff (kind of?), hurt/comfort?

word count: 2,501

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You wake to waves of heat rolling off your skin in wet waves, feeling damp and hyper-sensitive to temperature.

A single shift of your body, and you can feel the slickness between your thighs, far too spread out to be the results of his occasional midnight trips. You swallow thickly, heart thumping heavily as the first aches blossom through the right side of your abdomen, legs bending at the knees in attempts to relieve tension, but to little relief.

Gritting your teeth, trying to calm your pulse, you push back the blanket, keeping it as far from your legs as possible, hoping to keep the carnage to a minimum. Even in the dark the bloody patches are clear to see, eyes already well-adjusted to pick out the dry stains on the previously fluffy fur. Fear dilutes your scent, and as quietly as possible you attempt to roll from the floor bed, pulling the already-bloody blanket close should more begin to drip down your thighs.

Thankfully the blood hasn’t yet passed your knees, but now you’re upright you can feel things shifting, a wave of heat and nausea suctioning the strength from your muscles. On wobbly feet you tiptoe from the bed chambers, praying to the Mother you don’t wake him, fearing for your life as prey does near its hunter—a beast raised to kill.

You manage to make it to the large washroom, immediately dropping the blanket in favour of the roll beside the latrine, hastily tearing a sizeable few sheets away to fold up and place between your legs, temporarily buying you time to clean the murder scene on your inner thighs. Easing in a breath, you pull off the shorts, heading over to the basin, never having been more grateful for the instant water, turning on the cold tap as you attempt to rub the stains free.

Minutes later and you’re still scrubbing, aware of the blanket at your back that’s still caked in blood, so you push it into the empty bath, running cold water as silently as possible in the hopes of beginning to loosen the grip of the blood while you deal with the shorts. After a while you realise it’s the best it’s going to get, ringing the now off-white cotton over the side of the basin, refocusing to your thighs.

Fatigue weighs heavily on your body, eyes wishing to close but adrenaline keeps you awake and alert, moving through the familiar motions of removing more of the latrine roll and dampening it under cold water, dabbing at the dried stains, dislodging the grip it has on your skin. Aches become more prominent, a fresh wave of heat sweeping through you and you want to cry—but there’s no time for that. Instead you continue working on rubbing your skin clean, easing away the dark redness that’s blotchy and stubborn to move.

At last you’re free, and you turn to the blanket, having been left to soak for a while. You try layering roll over the stains in attempt to absorb the colour, but it seems firmly lodged in, and you don’t want to rub it which will result in pushing the stains deeper, only spreading them. You glance around the bathroom, finding twisted gratitude for Rhys’ luxurious taste. It’s not perfect, but it’s worth a try.

You reach for the powdered bath salts, drying your hands before tapping out some of the fine dust over the afflicted area, hoping it will do the trick. Your pulse kicks up, and you find yourself searching for something to do instead of anxiously waiting. You’ll have to find something to put on your lower half, but he rarely lets you know where clothing is kept—it’s rare enough you’re even allowed night robes since he sees no point in hiding your body.

Panic thrums beneath your skin, and you briefly consider a trip down to the kitchen where there must be vinegar, and if you’re lucky, something else acidic, like a lemon or two. But then you would risk waking him, and the thought of him finding out the mess you’ve made is—

“I knew you’d pretty in blood,” a sultry voice drawls from the doorway.

You spin around weakly, hands dropping between your thighs so he won’t be able to see the roll you’ve neatly folded up. His violet eyes flick about the bathroom with analytical care, cataloguing the displacement of various items. A fresh ache blooms in your thighs, and you find your back hunching, having to support yourself on the basin, fear making you sick.

His attention settles on you, and you feel like hot coals are being pressed to your bare flesh, trembling beneath his cold gaze. Soft, sensual lips part, about to speak, and the terror slices deeper, making you stumble, loosing your grip on the marble. The world spins, and you brace for the racket of pain that will undoubtedly burst through your spine and skull, yet the impact never comes.

He hisses, powerful arms wrapped around your body, holding you securely flush to his chest. Your muscles lock at the proximity, able to feel his gaze boring into your cheek, but your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted as bubbles of pressure push up from your abdomen, glistening along your hip. Rhys stiffens, hearing the shallow breaths, aware of how little you’re resisting his touch, how greatly you’re struggling to even stand on your own.

You flutter in and out, lower stomach throbbing and it’s all you can do to keep your feet on the floor, unable to fully support yourself, remaining in his intrusive hold.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks lowly, grip tight on your shoulder, able to scent your fear. Enjoying it a little more than usual.

“I didn’t know it was happening tonight or I would have prepared better,” you mumble snappily, legs trembling as you force yourself to stand, one palm settling over the pain, the other braced against the basin. Rhys chuckles lowly, pressing himself flush against your bare back, arms wrapping snuggly around your waist, fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach. “Where do you think you’re going?” He muses, tracing feather-light patterns over your abdomen.

“I need…I need to clean the pallet,” you mutter, unable to raise your attention from the floor, palm still attempting to soothing the cramping.

Rhys hums nonchalantly, but you could hear the wicked grin on his lover’s mouth from the next room over, discomfort zipping across your skin, squirming beneath his touch, only a thin layer of cotton between you—likely the thinnest he could have made. “But you’ve woken me up now,” he reminds, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you shiver with disgust.

You’re prepared to plead for disuse for the rest of the night, but he’s raising you into his arms, easily sweeping you off your feet and you struggle weakly. “Rhys, I can’t,” you whisper sharply, hands locked over the broad width of his shoulders, bare and hot beneath your fingertips. “You can’t— You’ll tear me apart,” you plead quietly, stiffening when violet flicks to you.

He carries you over to his bed, setting you down, pallet having vanished and he pulls away. “I don’t think I will,” he replies, smiling faintly in the now candle-lit room, and you’re thankful he hasn’t turned to the faelights. “You’re far too valuable to be wrecked in a single night,” he drawls, bringing your knuckles to his cruelly soft mouth. You hiss at him weakly, hardly able to pull away—as if that’s something you’re normally capable of.

But then he’s turning away, humming a deep, rich tune from his chest, turning to a chest of drawers and pulling something out: a new pair of shorts. Skimpier than the last, but you can’t be picky here. What it takes you a moment to notice is the linen lining the crotch, thick padding that will be suitable for your first night. His sensual lips stretch in a feline grin, “you didn’t think I was going to fuck you while you were bleeding did you, little lamb?”

Humiliation flushes your body, shame sitting thick at the back of your throat and you duck your head, unable to fight on two fronts with your body trying to tear you apart. He laughs lowly, dropping the shorts onto your stomach, watching as you try to wriggle into them with as much dignity as possible. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done something so immoral,” you manage to reply, though your voice lacks its usual venom, tender from embarrassment. He hums, the sound settling low in your stomach as he walks to the other side of the bed.

While his back is turned, you reach down to remove the latrine roll sheets you’d folded up. But they vanish from your fingers.

“And I can assure you it won’t be the last,” he muses silkily, settling close to your side, moving with that lethal silence again, cat-soft paws carrying him like a ghost. You flinch from his proximity, huddling deeper into your clothes in attempts to hide from his overwhelming presence. “I wasn’t doubting you,” you whisper hoarsely, causing his smile to widen by a fraction, eyes gleaming with hunger and you quickly look away, disinclined to tempt the beast before you.

“Finally starting to get a hang of it,” he murmurs, settling on his back, pulling the covers up over the two of you, and you initially stiffen from the touch of his sheets, imbued with his scent. So crisp and clean.

You turn on your side, anxious to be as far from him as possible, confused by the curve-ball he’s thrown tonight. A few moments later the candles extinguish, and you flinch as he rolls to his side, arms wrapping around your waist almost delicately, dragging you back to be tucked into his body. You don’t dare ask what he’s doing, fear already present in your bloodstream before he’s nosing at your throat.

Shock zaps through you when he drags the tip of his tongue across the skin, teeth nipping softly soon after, and you shudder. Despite him suggesting he wouldn’t touch you tonight, a deep sense of unease crawls below your flesh, wriggling and squirming like worms in mud. You flinch when his palm flattens over your stomach, the tremors becoming more pronounced, knowing the intensity of pain he could inflict at any second. Yet heat warms your abdomen, sinking into you with soothing grace, instantly easing the pressure contained beneath your skin.

“I can’t have my favourite thing suffering, now can I?” He muses quietly beside your ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. “What sort of High Lord would that make me if I didn’t take care of my subjects? Is there anything else you want?” You tremble in his arms, confused and afraid, unsure whether you can take him at face value tonight—he hadn’t seemed angry despite the blood staining the no-doubt expensive bedding. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

“What are you playing at?” You breathe weakly, aches slightly soothed from the heat of the water bottle, thighs pressing together, curling closer to your stomach, his palm keeping the heat pressed against your skin. “I’m capable of not playing with you, lamb,” he says, lips curving into a smirk as they brush the side of your throat, making your toes curl. “As much as I’m against it.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, pathetically trying to wriggle from his hold, making him hum approvingly. “We both know you love it,” he croons, kissing up your neck. “Love being my perfect little toy.” Mortification burns across your skin, wild heat fluttering through your flesh at the reminder of the crude things he’d manipulated you into saying. “That was under duress,” you whisper, flushing intensely, “it means nothing.”

“It means nothing?” He hums, able to hear the mirth in his voice, free hand gliding up your sternum to brush his fingers over your collar bones. “Then why are you so embarrassed?”

“You’re being crass,” you hiss, shaky hands trying to push his away from your abdomen—you can hold the water bottle by yourself. “Am I?” He grins, and you flinch when his fingers interleaf with your own, trapped in his grip even as you try to pull away. “I could be much worse, if it would help distract you.”

“Stop it,” you say, wriggling uncomfortably. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“That’s cruel,” he remarks casually, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “I was hoping you’d ask for something nicer. No warm milk? Heated blanket?” You seethe, shifting enough to shoot him with a heated glare. “That’s vile.”

He pauses, blinking once as your eyes lock, before his features fill with barely suppressed laughter. Disgust squirms beneath your flesh at his lightheartedness. “You’re a fucking psycho,” you mutter, making to turn your back on him again, but his hand skates higher, forearm pressing between your breasts as he grips your jaw, forcing your to face him, fingers biting into your cheeks. “You’re the one whose mind was in the gutter. I was offering genuine help,” he drawls atop your mouth, able to feel as you suck in a sharp inhale at his sudden proximity. Embarrassment flushes your skin as you realise your mistake, eyes widening marginally.

“Of course,” he murmurs, sensuous lips curving in a suggestive tilt. “If you’d like that…” Violet seems to gleam with wicked delight at the shock on your features, quick to scrunch with forced disgust. “You’re an unloveable monster, Rhys.”

“I know,” he whispers, before pressing his mouth to your own, hot and wet. His admission is washed away as his tongue dips in, velvet soft as it strokes against your own.

You hiss as arousal blossoms unfairly in your abdomen, clashing with the glistening aches that are plucking across your thighs and stomach, pulling away from him forcefully, breathing heavily as you curl tighter, desperate to alleviate the pain.

“You know,” he murmurs close to your ear, “we could try something else.” You stiffen as his fingers tease the band of your shorts, lightly snapping it against your hip, careful to avoid the source of your pain. A strangled whimper breaks from your lungs, squeezing your eyes shut, hands clutching his crisp and clean sheets tight, preparing for him to inflict his cruelty.

Yet to your surprise he’s quiet, skin prickling as his attention brushes over your cheek. Then he hums softly, hand drawing away as he settles at your back, the bare heat of his chest warming you, body draped over your own, pulling you closer so you’re tucked against the powerful lines of him. Allowing you time to rest.

You remain tense, conditioned to expect violation, but his hands remain still, the only movement being his thumbs, oscillating in slow, smooth motions.

“Relax,” he murmurs, nosing at the crown of your head. “Rest for tonight.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#dark!rhysand x reader #dark!rhysand #dark!rhys #desk pet #play-mate

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cherhys · 1 year

Text

Anything, Always

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhysand has been running himself ragged, and it hasn’t escaped your notice. In an effort to quell old nightmares, Rhysand has an interesting suggestion…

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Mild angst (pining + UTM reminder whoops), Feelings™️

Notes: The longest fic to date! I was working on some Azriel WIPs when this piece just happened. I wanted Rhys to get some well-deserved, utterly devoted, loving. Thank you for all the support so far; it means more than you know! ♡

You noticed that as the week has passed, you’ve seen less and less of Rhys around the townhouse. First, it was less frequented dinners, followed by mornings spent alone. Being High Lord is no easy task, but it’s all the more reason for you to lend a helping hand where possible. Instead, all of your offers have been promptly shut down with a wry smile leaving little room for argument since it's nothing more than I usually deal with, darling.

His words echo in your head as you approach his office, the ease with which he said them in juxtaposition with the dark circles beneath his eyes. You doubt he’s been sleeping very well; it was no secret that the High Lord preferred staying up in the evenings, but he always reclaimed that sleep the following morning. Recently you’ve observed his absence from the townhouse in favour of training even before Cassian, the earliest morning bird you know. This simply could not go on—he had to take care of himself. A male like him deserved better than that.

The door to his study was closed and after a brief knock, you slowly cracked it open to peer inside. His head didn’t so much as lift from where he was scanning his papers, a crease between his ink-dark eyebrows. The evening light filtered through the windows behind him, casting him in an iridescent glow befitting his title. He had changed into a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal solid tan forearms corded with prominent veins. He scrubbed a calloused hand along his uncharacteristically scruffy jaw. The usual sparkle in his jewel-tone eyes was lost to his evident lack of sleep.

Despite this, he was still the most beautiful male you’ve ever beheld. Even feeling ragged, Rhysand was nothing short of magnificent. No amount of stress could take away from his plush lips, the delicate column of his neck, and the elegant sweep of his collarbones leading to the strong planes of his chest. The age-old flutter in your chest surfaced, a delicate thing you had neglected for so long.

“You can come in, darling.” Finally, those tired eyes lifted to yours where you stood in the doorway. When you don’t move he sweeps a hand towards the cushioned chairs before his rich mahogany desk. You quash any semblance of that flutter until a deep void is all that remains in your chest; a talent you had mastered after all these years.

“I’d say I’m surprised to find my dearest High Lord secluded in his office on a Friday evening, but I made an oath not to lie.” You idle your way in, running your finger along the books on his shelf. You frown at the faint layer of dust over his more loved collections.

“Well, Friday evening or not, doesn’t my dearest advisor have work to do instead of chatting me up like some girl at Rita’s?” Like a delicate brush stroke, his ebony brow arched. Rhysand’s eyes tracked your approach as you walked around the spacious office, feet padding against the soft carpet. The snack you had brought him earlier remained untouched on his desk, and you clenched your clasped hands behind your back.

“Girls at bars aren't worth my time, though it wouldn’t hurt for you to try. All you do is hide away here; you’ll have the year-end papers done at this rate.”

He shrugged, nonchalant, “Better to be more prepared than found lacking, no?”

You stopped before his desk and stared, “It’s only springtime Rhysand.” At your unflinching gaze, he sighed.

“I was unimpressed with some of the projections submitted by the Court of Nightmares. Sloppy work.” His jaw worked in time to the pulse in his neck. You nodded, acquiescing as much. As Rhysand’s advisor, you were expressly aware of the substandard documents that Kier had submitted. Despite his abysmal summation of the Court of Nightmare’s projections, Kier could receive a verbal (or literal) lashing later.

“Rhys, this isn’t an express concern at the moment.” He dropped his head back to his papers, dipping the fountain pen in the inkwell. The sound of your breathing and scratching on parchment permeated the silence. The dismissal was clear, though surprisingly cruel from your usual playful High Lord.

“Rhys, look at me.” Despite your pleading tone, he remained fixed on his writing. In a few swift steps, you rounded the desk. You placed a gentle hand beneath his chin, lifting his face to your searching eyes. Where his silence was defiant, now there is only weariness.

“Rhysand… what’s wrong honey?” The endearment slips out, but your chest constricts at the sight of the defeated male before you. You miss your charming friend. Your thumb lightly caresses his cheek and his lashes flutter at the sensation. He gives you a wry smile and grips your fingers in his warm hand, “Nothing is wrong. I’m only a little tired.”

You breathed deeply, willing yourself to remain calm. Rhysand was known to undertake everything by himself, an expression of his love towards his family. While you appreciate the care he tries to show, his selflessness couldn’t happen at the expense of his well-being. This was something different.

Your silence unnerved the usually unshakeable male, and he seemed to deflate under your scrutiny. So you waited—let him process his thoughts, choose what he wanted to say.

When his grip tightened on your hand but his silence persisted, you offered an olive branch.

“I have never been able to share my feelings with ease; to feel so much… it is an overwhelming burden. And yet–” You took a steadying breath, hesitant to reveal so much but unable to help him understand otherwise. His expectant gaze was patient, if not encouraging.

“And yet, unravelling my feelings and sharing them with you is effortless. With you, I know I am safe. That I am understood. Rhysand, I want to be that person for you. You are welcome to share, and I will always be there to listen.”

When you finished, you shifted to perch on the desk space poised between his legs. Rhysand unconsciously moved his chair closer, his head pressing into your jointly entwined hands. He slowly inhaled, the scent of you a balm to his fraying senses.

“They’re back. She’s back,” Rhys didn’t need to elaborate on who and what for you to catch his meaning. You had known that nightmares plagued him often in the time since his return from Under the Mountain. Years had passed since then but the horrors he endured were not easily forgotten, “I don’t know what to do.”

The defeat in his tone nearly brought tears to your eyes, but you reigned them in—this was his opportunity to be vulnerable and you must remain strong.

“I think about all of the lives I–... I think about all of it, often. It is never not on my mind, but I can usually move past it. You all help,” At this, he squeezed your palm again, an earnest look in his violet eyes, “But sometimes the guilt–” He loosed a sigh, shaking his head, “It is unbearable.’

Rhysand pulled his hand away from yours, leaving it cold. He stared down at his hands between you both as if all of his sins were still visible. To him, you’re sure they were.

His voice was lowered to a whisper now, “When I sleep, she taunts me. She stokes that guilt from an ember to a flame and eats away at me. All I can think to do is run myself ragged, in some form of masochistic repenting.”

Rhys glances up at you, his heart dropping when he sees your eyes are closed. Even you couldn’t bear to look at him after what he had done. Clenching his jaw, he begins to pull away and prepares for your imminent disgust.

He doesn’t expect you to grip his cheeks, and pull him back to you. Rhysand’s eyes are comically large this close, your noses a hair's breadth away from touching. He has never seen your mouth set in such a serious line, your eyes blazing with such fire.

“Listen to me very closely. Everything you did? It was necessary for survival. For yours. For the Night Court’s. For our family’s. It is only normal to feel guilt—that’s what makes you the wonderful, kind male I know.” Your hands pressed almost painfully, as if you could physically push the words into his head, “But you should never regret what you did. Because it brought you back to us.” To me, but you left that part unspoken.

When he seems to hesitate you reinforce, “Any of us would’ve done it for you. If I could've traded places with you I would have done so in a heartbeat, Rhysand. And it kills me to see you blame yourself. You can repay those you mourn by living your life to the fullest in their honour.”

He regards you for a moment, plush lip pulled tightly between his teeth. Rhysand nods slowly at your searching stare, the sorrow clearing from his eyes like clouds in a bright night sky. Those stars you so love wink back at you from his midnight gaze.

Unable to help yourself, you swoop him up into your tight embrace. Rhys’s strong arms wrap around you in no time, his head at your breast. He can hear the rapid but sure beating of your heart and it brings him a peace that he hasn’t felt since the nightmares returned.

“Thank you.” His soft words lift your heart and you place a swift kiss on the top of his head.

“Always.”

You stroke his raven hair in soothing motions, running your nails lightly along his scalp. Rhys visibly relaxes in your hold, his shoulders slumping with a weight unloaded. You dare to enjoy the moment, knowing that the likes of these are few and far between; you seldom let yourself get this close, the ache in your heart too much.

Finally, you pull away, a determined look on your face, “How can I help you, Rhys?”

His face softened, and he let out a light chuckle, “I doubt you can, darling. This is just one of those things.”

“It most certainly will not be one of those things. There has to be something; maybe if we help you relax? A sleeping draught?”

He winced at that, “No sleeping draughts, preferably. I’m not fond of drugging myself.”

You scratched your chin, “No, that doesn’t seem sustainable long term.”

While you brainstormed ideas to help the male before you, Rhys glanced at you through thick lashes. He had begun to fiddle with the fountain pen, twisting the top, “I think I may have a suggestion.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, “Already? What is it?” A beaming smile stretched across your face—anything. You would do anything to help him.

He locked his eyes on yours, voice level, “Sleep with me.”

You blinked, unmoving. You stared at him a few seconds longer, the words failing to process. You’re sure you must have stopped breathing, the thumping of your heart overwhelming your senses.

Sleep with me.

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you, “I’m sorry? ‘Sleep with you’?”

A million thoughts were spinning in your head, each faster than the last. Slick skin on skin; hands fisted in sheets, in hair, scratching down a tan, tatted back; clothes haphazardly strewn around the room; pleasurable pants filling the air. You shook your head. Surely you had misheard? Misunderstood?

A cocky smile spread across Rhysand’s face, although the dusting of pink crawling up his neck isn't lost on you.

What dirty thoughts are you thinking, darling? That midnight voice lightly caressed your mental shields.

Your cheeks were flaming if the heat under your skin was anything to go by. You persevered and pursed your lips in mock irritation. You would not be undone by his aimless teasing after all these years.

Nothing that would involve the likes of you, the thought pushed right back at his adamantine mental shield.

Rhysands thick lashes lowered, his bottom lip jutting slightly. You wondered what those plush lips would taste like. Although you knew he was playing at seducing you, it didn’t stop the primal need in you from rearing its ugly head.

Would it truly be so bad with me, darling? You know I’d treat you well.

Your lashes fluttered; this had to stop before your heart wilted any further in your chest.

“What is your real suggestion Rhys?” The serious cock of your brows sobered him up near immediately. The twinge in his chest only further cooled him; the way you brushed his teasing off irritated him for reasons beyond what he dared admit.

“It is my real suggestion. I struggle with my sleep—therefore having you there will help.” The cool way he spoke, as if this was only a logical solution, helped to put you at ease. But you couldn’t help but wonder—

“Why me? How would I help?”

He shrugged, “You seem peaceful.”

Your mind whirred at his laconic response. ‘Peaceful’? You couldn’t decide what to make of the situation, but one thing had always been clear.

“I said I’d help you, however I could. If you believe me… sleeping beside you will be beneficial, then I’ll do it.”

He nodded, the same calm look plastered on his face. Rhysand’s nonchalant manner bothered you: did this genuinely mean so little to him? If so, then you would treat it with the same aloof, professional fashion.

“Alright then, we can try tonight if you’re willing?”

His ink-dark eyebrows shot up, “You wish to begin right away?”

“The sooner the better, no?” You couldn’t allow any more sleepless nights; the faster you determined whether this would work, the more time you had to find different options before Rhys ran on empty.

Rhysand’s head tilted, a panther sizing up its prey. Finally, he nodded in agreeance.

Quickly, you stood from his desk, realizing you were still perched between his legs. You dusted off your skirts and swiftly moved to the door. With a hand on the frame, you turned, “Tonight in yours?”

He swallowed, your eyes tracking the bobbing of his Adam's apple along his smooth neck, “Yes, that’ll work just fine darling.”

You stepped away from his office, the final, sure look in Rhysand’s eyes burning through you even hours later.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

You nervously tugged on your silken sleep shorts, psyching yourself up to knock on Rhysand’s bedroom door.

After leaving his office earlier, your heart had been in your throat all day. Even at dinner in the House of Wind, you’d had to be snapped out of thought multiple times by members of your family. While circumventing the reason why you had been so inattentive, your friends spared no insult and pestered you to high hell. Your face had flushed, sure that Rhysand could pick up on your nervousness. Instead, there were no teasing comments; he only returned to his meal.

Now before his room, you took a steadying breath and lightly knocked, in the unlikely event he had fallen asleep. At his faint call you entered, softly shutting the door behind you. The room was aptly decorated for a High Lord. Rich jewel tones complimented Night Court black in various opulent fabrics. Pointedly ignoring the massive bed, you took in the polished mahogany furniture, surely crafted by a masterful hand. From the intricately designed rugs, to the velvet cushions, and the elaborate drapery; it was all magnificent. However, it all paled in comparison to the male inhabiting the room.

Rhys was lounging on a plush divan, drink and papers in hand, looking fresh from the finest of paintings. The loose shirt from earlier was gone, baring his muscled chest. Your eyes tracked along the elegant dark swirls that decorated his tan skin. A pair of black sleep pants adorned his lower body, looking dangerously low on his waist. As you gently padded over, you tried not to focus on the light smattering of dark hair leading below the band. He glanced up at you, violet eyes sparkling like the stars visible through the windows beyond him.

His eyes slowly roved over your figure, noting your bare legs; how you clutched your cream robe, book in hand, a delicate lacy strap peeking out. He took a restrained sip of his amber drink. You settled on a comfortable settee across from him, the book already splayed across your lap.

“Good evening, darling. Care for a drink?” He waved his glass lightly, the ice clinking softly.

You chuckled, shaking your head, “I’m alright, thank you. Is it not a little late to indulge?”

He inspected his drink as if he might find the solution to all his problems within the crystal glass, “I find it soothes the nerves.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Are you nervous?”

Rhys lifted the drink to his mouth, only to gaze at you over the rim with heavy-lidded eyes, “With you? Always, darling. I mean—you simply strike such an imposing figure.”

You dramatically placed the back of your hand to your head, draping yourself over the settee with all the theatrics you could muster, “Oh, how I plague man with my beauty!”

A deep and joyous laugh broke the silence of the night. You glanced over at Rhysand in slight surprise to see his head thrown back, a hand to his chest. Your heart warmed at the clear mirth on his face. This was the Rhysand you had missed. You soon joined him, your laugh bubbling up with the vigour of a freshly opened champagne bottle.

Gradually, you both settled into silence, and with a wink from Rhys, you both returned to your previous occupations. The cool breeze from the open window carried with it Rhysand’s citrus and sea smell, the faint note of jasmine like a goodnight’s kiss. You basked in the peaceful mood, snuggling closer to the settee with your book. You couldn’t help but look up at Rhys every few pages, taking in his striking profile as the ambient lighting cast shadows across his elegant features. Eventually, you noticed his eyelids beginning to droop and knew he was only stalling the inevitable.

You yawned loudly, covering your mouth for effect, “I think it’s time we retire for the night.”

He smiled, gently placing his empty glass and papers aside, “I agree, darling. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Rhysand stood and stretched his arms over his head, and you quickly made your way over to his bed, refusing to stare any longer at his chest than necessary. You shed your robe and tossed it over a nearby chair while you both silently readied yourselves for bed. No longer was the silence comforting—instead, your heart threatened to burst from your chest.

You didn't realize how stiff you were until Rhys settled under the covers beside you, the shroud of night concealing your reddened cheeks. You remained rigid, arms at your side like a soldier at attention.

It’s only me, darling. The smooth voice slipped through the cracks of your mind. Rhysand’s low timber reminded you to take a deep breath—you turned towards him and lightly reached your hand out in the space between your pillows. Even in the stygian dark, his eyes shone brighter than ever. That midnight gaze fixed on your open palm. Slowly, he crept his large hand up and brought it to yours, strong fingers caressing your palm. You held your breath as he steadily entwined his fingers with yours, hand sliding across your own. You squeezed lightly in assurance, your eyes falling shut.

Before the throes of sleep could claim you, a gentle caress to your conscience pulled you back.

Can I hold you?

The whispered request was nearly lost in the haze between waking and dreams, but you would always come back for that voice. Beyond words, you pushed your consent to Rhysand’s mind.

Strong arms gently slid around you, pulling your back to a hard chest. Your synced breathing within that warm embrace finally lulled you to a peaceful sleep.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

Light filtering through the window assaults your eyes, bringing with it the realities of the morning. You stretch like a cat in the sun, silken sheets sliding across your bare legs. You hadn’t slept like that in years, Cauldron, centuries even. The sweet haze lingering from your sleep washed away once you noticed the empty—albeit still warm—bedside. You quickly sat up only to be interrupted by Rhysand waltzing in through the doors, breakfast in hand.

“Good morning, darling. I hope you’re hungry—I’m loving the bedhead by the way.” He swooped over to the bed, deftly handling the large tray in hand as he settled back beside you. You swiftly patted your hair down, “Yes, good morning Rhysand.”

Your dry tone didn’t damper Rhys’s wide smirk one bit. He was glowing this morning with an air of contentment; the full night's sleep had done him well.

He gestured to the amalgamation of various foods before you, “I wasn’t sure what you would be craving, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.” The delicious smell wafted before you, your stomach grumbling without consent.

“If this is how I’m treated, I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” You popped a berry into your mouth, relishing its succulent flavour.

“Consider it a thank you,” You paused, buttered toast halfway to your mouth, at Rhysand’s words, “For giving me, perhaps, the best sleep I have had in my five centuries.”

The earnest look in his eyes prompted you to butter your toast more vigorously, hoping he would miss the rosy flush seeping across your features.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never slept better either,” You smiled gently, hoping to not sound too heartfelt in your admission, “And there is no reason to thank me, Rhys. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You held your breath at the candid confession, praying he did not understand the real meaning behind your words.

Instead, his chest swelled with emotion. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a swift kiss to your hair.

“All the more reason for me to thank you, darling.”

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The next few weeks continued much like that night; you would both lounge around in the evening and then retire to bed. Only, your inclination towards one another had become irresistible. The moment you got beneath the covers, you found yourself instinctually reaching for Rhysand’s embrace. Often, he held you close, your head poised at his soft neck. Occasionally, on the more difficult nights, you would swaddle Rhys tightly to your chest, caressing his hair as he was lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat.

However much you enjoyed your time in bed with Rhysand, you couldn’t deny the increasing difficulty with which to hide your escalating feelings. What were once mere fleeting glances, were now lingering stares; no dark circles were to be found on his handsome face, his beaming grin a drug that would surely consume you. Rather than have the moments together soothe your ache like a balm, you only craved his attention more so.

As you both fell into your usual routine for the night and settled under the covers, you finally ripped the bandage from the festering wound.

“I think I may sleep in my bed beginning tomorrow night.”

Rhysand’s body froze beneath your touch, his arms still only half around you. Quickly, you continued, “Your nightmares seem to have passed—which I am eternally grateful for—therefore I don’t see any reason why I should continue to sleep here.” With you, the words didn’t need to be spoken; they loomed in the air around you.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke, “Why not?”

You gasped as he seized you closer to his chest. His breath was heaving while he squeezed you tighter in his arms. You quashed the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, reluctant to hurt your feelings further.

You sighed, eyes closing, “Again, there is no reason–”

“I want you here. With me. That is the reason why you should stay.”

You audibly swallowed, taking his words with a grain of salt. Your voice took on a placating tone as you lightly placed your palms on his chest, “I understand that you’re worried about the nightmares–”

“Darling, you understand nothing,” You stared, dumbfounded at his earnest tone.

“The agony of lost sleep pales in comparison to the loss of your presence. There is nothing more that I desire than having you here next to me as I fall asleep and as I wake. Seeing your radiant face every morning—I feel like the luckiest male in the world. And I am greedy; for your touch, your time…” He shook his head, putting his forehead to yours, “I know I am asking much of you since—”

You surged forward and placed a passionate kiss on his lips. His lashes fluttered before he was pushing back with just as much fervour. You pressed your body tighter against his, feeling the contours of his body moulding perfectly to your own. You wanted him closer—had you been one body right now, it would not have been enough. He thought he was greedy? He had no concept of the depth of your selfish desires, only scraping the surface with this ardent kiss.

You pulled back, breathless and entirely at his mercy, “You could ask for all the stars in the night sky and I would scorch my hands to deliver them to you,” He brushed his nose against your own, your swollen lips lightly caressing, “There is no limit to what I can give you Rhysand, if only you’ll let me.”

His violet eyes shone with disbelieving wonder as if he was undeserving of your affections. Rhys kissed you gently; this kiss held a promise that the others lacked. It was a promise of love, of reverence, of total, utter devotion. Your heart soared in your chest and for once, you let it; a caged bird finally tasting freedom.

That same gentle presence filled your mind once again.

I would be honoured, darling.

The message was bundled in the gossamer enormity of his feelings for you. With your heart content, you whispered under the cover of silky night,

“The honour will always be mine.”

Final Notes: Anything for my bbg Rhys <3 (Can you tell I recently rewatched Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time?) Hope you all liked it!

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x you #rhys x you #rhysand/reader #rhys/reader #rhysand #rhys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acomaf #acowar #acosf #cherhys

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 7 days

Text

Heavy

Summary: Reader's having a depressive episode and needs some comfort from her mate

Content Warnings: Depression

Author's Note: I should be finishing my Vamp!Rhys fic but I got sad and wrote this instead

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Velaris is beautiful at night, from the glittering stars overhead, to the soft gurgle of the Sidra rushing over time worn stones beneath the city’s many intricate bridges. The music makes the whole city feel full of light and laughter, couples often dancing and humming in the streets. It’s one of your favorite places to be.

Usually.

Tonight it’s just… there. Though you stand in the heart of it, everything moves around you, never quite touching you. It’s as if you’re suddenly a stranger in the place you love the most, the emotional distance between you palpable.

You jam your hands in your pockets and keep walking, though you’re not really sure where you’re going, your body moving on autopilot. It’s been like that for a couple weeks now, if you’re honest, you’ll be half way through the day sometimes before you realize you’re not sure how or when you even got out of bed, or gotten dressed. Did you even eat? Kiss your mate good morning? Rhys has been working long hours in Illyria lately, most nights you’re already asleep before he’s even tumbling into bed, but, now that you’re thinking about it, that could also be because you’ve been going to sleep earlier too.

You frown at your boots as you walk, trying to remember when this happened. It’s not new, you’ve had bouts of this since you were a teenager, but they’ve been better thanks to regular sessions with Madja and some other healers. Art therapy in the Rainbow has helped too. Usually you can tell when you’re starting to slip into the darker places in your head, but it crept up on you this time.

By the time your mindless wanderings bring you back to the Townhouse, the light from your upstairs bedroom is already on, meaning Rhys somehow finished his business and beat you home. You’d only planned to grab some takeout so you wouldn’t have to cook, and yet, here you stand, hands as empty as your stomach.

The door opens before you can even reach for your key, soft light spilling out into the entryway. “There you are!” Rhys says by way of greeting, as if he’d been waiting by the door for you. Your mate leans in to place a quick peck on your lips as he guides you inside.

“Did you go to Rita’s with Mor?”

He should be able to tell you hadn’t, since you’re wearing the same sweatpants you had been for a week, but then again, he also hasn’t been home enough to know you haven’t changed out of them.

“No I…” you hate talking about this stuff, hate feeling like you’re burdening anybody with the weight you feel pressing down on your chest. “Uh, went to get dinner.”

Rhys stares down at your empty hands, eyebrows raised teasingly. “Did you forget to bring it back?”

You run a hand over your eyes. Cauldron they’re so heavy! Why is everything always so heavy? Your whole body feels like it’s made of bricks, just the effort to kick off your boots feels like it takes every single drop of energy you have left. “Sorry.” Even speaking feels like too much.

Rhys frowns, “Darling, are you ok?”

“Just tired,” you say, avoiding his eyes now.

He steps forward, placing a knuckle under your chin and tilting your face towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired,” you repeat, but your eyes are watering now.

He stills, violet eyes roaming over you, assessing for the first time tonight how you look, the dark circles under your eyes. He knows you haven’t had trouble sleeping, he’s barely been able to wake you when he comes home at night. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears falling in earnest now.

Rhys’s features soften as he lifts you into his arms, the bond flooding with warmth and understanding as he says, “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you upstairs. “I thought I was doing better… but everything just feels heavy again.”

He kisses your forehead gently as he climbs into bed and settles you down against his chest. Twisting, his wings unfurl so he can curl one around you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. “What can I do to help?”

You wrap an arm around his waist as you settle your face against his chest, his heartbeat steady and even beneath you. Madja had said once that this was helpful if you got overly anxious, the steadiness of his breathing helping yours level out, and it helps now too, gives you something to focus on. It’s grounding and you let your breathing sync up, your chest rising and falling against his own. Madja hadn’t been able to stress enough how important it was to find something to ground you in the present when you got like this, lest your thoughts start to spiral deeper and deeper into the dark.

“Just need you to hold me for a little while,” you say.

Rhys pulls your favorite blanket up over the two of you before wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you,” and the bond floods with more warmth than you think you deserve, but it doesn’t let up when those thoughts sneak in. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”

You place a gentle kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replies, fingers tracing shapes in your back. “No one has all good days.”

“But nothing even happened,” you protest. “I just woke up one morning and it was just so heavy to be awake.”

He kisses your temple. “We can see Madja in the morning, if you need, but you can’t beat yourself up. You have no control over it.”

You press your temple into his chest and breath in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. “I hate it.”

He places another kiss to the top of your head. You know he hates it too, hates that it’s a battle he can’t fight for you, no matter how much he wants to. “It will pass.”

Rhys is warm, his presence soothing, the darkness that seeps from his skin on the days he hasn’t had the time to expel enough of it, drifting over your body in soothing motions. This is safe and quite and peaceful. Your body starts to settle more and more as time goes on.

“Do you really believe that?” You whisper. “That it’ll pass?”

“Yes,” he says. “It has before, and it will again.” Knowing he’s had the experience himself, you’re inclined to believe he’s right.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” you admit.

Rhys holds you a little tighter, “Till all the stars fall from the sky, my love.” He holds you all night, whispering all the things he loves about you as you start to fall asleep.

You let yourself fall into it, hoping tomorrow will be better.

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #Rhys x reader fluff #rhys acotar #acotar fic #acotar fluff #my writing #my fanfic #fanfiction #Rhys fic

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echoalyssa · 6 months

Text

Amarantha’s Whore | Rhysand Night

image generated by Midjourney AI

He drops his head to that spot between your neck and shoulder. His breathing is ragged. He’s holding you like he is afraid to let go but afraid to go any further. Like if he lets you away from him for one second it might all be a dream and he was still... there.

Rhys had gotten back only a few hours ago, he’d sought you out first but before he could have you fully alone, he needed to see his brothers. The inner circle. His eyes had been wide, and you could tell that he was holding back tears. It was hard enough being away from his family and mate for fifty years, but it was another thing to not see the light of day or dark of night for the same amount of time. Once everyone had gotten their time with him, he had pulled you into the room the two of you shared before Amarantha.

You had barely moved any of his things in that room, needing it to feel like he was still there even if he wasn’t. He had looked around and around, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was back in this room.

He sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at you sadly. “While I was there...” He starts, and his voice cracks.

You already know what he’s going to explain to you. He’d been with you before...

‘Amarantha’s whore’ reverberates around your skull. You already know he was forced into doing horrible things with her. Satisfying her so that she wouldn’t think to look in the direction of Velaris. Of you.

The guilt that you knew he was feeling, even if it wasn’t warranted, about being with you after her...

“I...” He makes to try to explain the horrors into words, but you shush him and step forward, raking your hands through his sable hair.

“There is nothing for you to apologize for Rhys. I understand that you didn’t have a choice. You are a good person. Nothing that she made you do with her changes how I feel about you.”

“But you’re my mate and I... with someone else... I...”

He drops his head against your chest and lets the tears fall freely with you. There’s not much you can do to make it better for him. The sudden absence of the mountain would be a hard change for anyone.

“I need you to see. I-I need you to understand. What I did...”

You nod and let his fingers brush your forehead while simultaneously the soft stroke of a hand touches your mind. No part of you wanted to see him with Amarantha but if this is what he needed then you would be okay. For him. For Rhysand. For your high lord.

The images begin to flood your mind, Amarantha cornering him in a dark hallway. Her naked form draped over him as he stared up at the ceiling, sadness in his eyes. You see her arguing with him because he wasn’t always able to stay erect or to finish with her. The look in his eyes is haunting, and you can feel the tears coming, for everything that he had gone through. He shows you everything, no matter how graphic and you appreciate his honesty.

When the images come to an end, he can’t even look at you. His shoulders shake with silent tears. All that you can do is wrap your arms around him. He presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“I understand Rhys.” You whisper to him while stroking the back of his head. “I don’t hold any of that against you. Our mating bond? It hasn’t been affected. I love you the same as I always have. I promise you that Rhysand.”

“I am yours.” He murmurs softly. “And you are mine.”

#acotar #rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

Text

desperate

Azriel x Reader x Rhysand

Summary: Day 19, Face Fucking with Azriel and Rhys

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), face fucking, light d/s dynamics, minors dni!

kinktober masterlist

“She’s so pretty on her knees, isn’t she?” Rhys purred as you knelt at his feet. He was speaking to Azriel, who you knew was just behind you.

“Pretty little slut,” he added, his voice dark, smooth, and cold, like his shadows currently winding up your body, circling and hardening your nipples, drawing all sorts of whimpers and strangled moans from you.

“Please,” you murmured, running your hands up Rhys’s thighs. You wanted him, in your mouth, inside you, however he would take you.

“And desperate,” he pressed two fingers under your chin, tilting your gaze away from where you’d been staring at the outline of him, pressing through his pants. You pouted and he chuckled, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. You gasped as Azriel’s hand twined in your hair, pulling you back so your neck was fully exposed.

“You’ll take what we give you.” The hazel eyes bore a brand into you, and you gave as much of a nod as you could manage. Satisfied, he released his grip on you. As soon as your head was freed, Rhys’s cock pressed against your lips and your tongue darted out, licking the pre-cum off the tip, before swirling around the head - not quite taking him in your mouth yet. He let out a low snarl at your teasing, gripping your jaw to force your mouth open before pressing inside. You kept your eyes on him as you sucked, slowly bobbing your head back and forth, swallowing your cheeks.

You wanted to drive him crazy, as crazy as the both of them drove you. But, you knew it was a dangerous game you were playing, considering they have very limited patience when it comes to you.

Rhys’s attention diverted from you, his eyes glazing over for a brief moment, and Azriel’s hand pushed against the back of your head. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat, but your spluttering only seemed to push them further. They were relentless, Rhys pumping into you as Azriel would pull back, only to help shove him further down your throat, you clutched your High Lord’s thighs, nails digging in to keep yourself steady. You sucked in your cheeks, swirling your tongue as best as you could, trying your hardest to breathe through your nose. You loved this feeling, that they were using you for their pleasure. Like you belonged to them.

“Good girl,” you heard Azriel, “look how well you’re taking him.” You whimpered around Rhys, moaning as he threw his head back with a groan. A few more erratic thrusts, and his cum was hitting the back of your throat. Azriel’s grip left your hair, and his hands braced your shoulders, one scarred hand coming around to grip the base of your throat, the other holding your jaw shut after Rhys pulled out.

“Swallow,” he commanded, “all of it.” You did, still trying to catch your breath. When his hand moved away, you stuck your tongue out - showing how you’d done exactly as he told you. His mouth grazed your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Now thank him, he’s given you a gift, hasn’t he?”

“Thank you,” you gasped, your throat still sore, and it probably would be for a few days. Especially as Azriel was now pressing against your lips - a predatory gleam in his eyes.

#kinktober 2023 #azriel x reader x rhys #azriel x y/n x rhys #acotar smut #kinktober #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #acotar imagine #acotar drabble

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vanserrasswife · 1 month

Text

Labyrinth

Nesta x Reader

Summary: You have feelings for Nesta that she doesn't return to you. Loosely based on the song labyrinth by taylor swift.

A/N: i don't know what overcame me when i wrote this. this was not spell or grammar checked so just ignore any mistakes. Enjoy. :) <3

Nesta walks into your room with a smile on her face, a sight you had expected to have to force out of her tonight. “They came to training today.” She throws herself down on your bed stretching her muscles before rolling onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. “A priestess came to training today.” You smile back at her, “That’s amazing, nesta seriously.”

Nesta nods before telling you about how the rest of training was today, about someone new she had met, about all of the exercises cassian had made her do today. “Are you not sore after doing all of that?” You ask, stretching out your arms and legs as if you could feel the imaginary pain. She chuckles, “It doesn’t hurt as bad now, Cassian hasn’t pushed that hard lately.” You nod, the mood soured at the mention of Cassian, one of your closest friends but also the current apple of Nesta’s eye.

Your friend keeps talking as you try to focus on your book, attempting to stop admiring her. She’s your friend, not your girlfriend you chant over and over in your head. “You, ok?” You meet her eyes, icy blue but utterly beautiful, the prettiest shade of blue you had ever seen. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walk into Rita’s a smile on your face, tonight you would confess to Nesta. Confess to her the feelings that had gnawed at you from the moment you had met her. Nesta and the rest of your friends had decided to go to Rita’s to relax and have some fun. You spot Azriel first and then Mor and Rhys and Feyre cuddled together in the corner. No nesta and no cassian yet.

You sit yourself on the edge of the booth next to Azriel and force a smile as you greet the rest of your friends. Even the valkyries are here, Gwyn and Emerie are both stood at the bar talking to another female. Still, Nesta doesn’t seem to be here, theres no sign of her drink on the table.

You listen to Rhys tell a story to Feyre of a time you were all here before her and her sisters had got here. Before you had become enthralled by the eldest Archeron sister. You turn to Azriel asking where Nesta and Cassian are, the shadowsinger turns to you, offering you a sad smile. He had picked up on your little crush on Nesta quite early on, often offering you a person to confide in or to seek advice from. “You just missed them, they left just before you got here.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll just see them tomorrow then.” You force a smile, laughing through gritted teeth when the two valkyries come over and start telling you a story from their training this morning. About how Nesta has finally mastered a move she had been struggling with and how cute it was when Cassian had hugged her and congratulated her afterwards.

You drink down another drink, attempting to forget about your crushand earning a few concerned glances from your friends before Azriel grabs your arm, “I’m taking you home.” You smile, giggling as you wave goodbye to your friends and grab onto Azriel as he starts flying you home.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house of wind is quiet when you and Azriel land on the balcony, “They must be sleeping.” Azriel mutters before holding the door open for you and following after you through the house. Stopping in the kitchen when you stop, laughing as you try to justify getting hungry when you get drunk.

.A groan sounds through the house, followed by a quick shh before silence. You and Azriel look at eachother dumbfounded, “It’s just the ghosts shadowsinger.” You joke and Azriel smiles leading you out of the kitchen muttering about how you will have a horrible headache in the morning. You’re about to answer, something sarcastic when there is another groan and you both turn to look at the couch. At Nesta and Cassian, Nesta on top of him. Cassian shirtless. Both red, either from embarrassment or their previous activities.

Nesta and Cassian are together. You chuckle, “I guess they’re not sleeping then.” You laugh, hoping the dark hides the silver lining your eyes. It was just a stupid crush anyways, she wouldn’t have wanted to be with you anyways. Why would she pick you over Cassian? They’ll be good for eachother. “Come on Az, lets leave them too it.” Azriel looks at you, pitifully not making any effort to move as you walk away whether he’s following or not. You didn't need his pity, this was a good thing. Now you could get over her. You could forget about her. Move on to someone new, something that had a chance of going somewhere.

The house seems to fall silent as you walk away, the only sound your footsteps against the wooden floors as you quickly walk up the stairs and into your room. Throwing yourself head first into your bed, pulling a pillow over your head. It’s better this comes out now anyways, there's no point hoping for something that won’t happen anyways.

#acotar x reader #acotar #nesta archeron #nesta x reader #nesta acotar #nesta acosf #nesta archeron x reader #nesta x you #nesta archeron x you

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

Text

Azriel x Reader | Gone for Too Long

type: angst warning(s): mature language, verbal fighting word count: 2.2k words

request: Hey can you write a fix where the reader is basically tired of loving az from far away cuz he is always off on missions? Like one day he comes home from a mission when she didn't expect it and she gives him dinner and he says smth like why don't you cook anymore and she says i do ur just never here to taste it. She is tired of seeing him only 60 out of 365 days a year and those 60 days she has with him is spent in sharing him with the inner circle and now she is just tired? Make it like really really angsty. THANK YOU SO MUCH <3

The glass splinters when it hits the bottom of the empty sink. It slipped out of your hand just like the thread of hope to repair this relationship you still have been holding onto.

Scarred hands touch your shoulders a moment later. Azriel is behind you, holding your trembling figure. “I am sorry. It was just a question,” he breathes and it is the last push you need. The last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Tears fill your eyes, your throat burning with a scream. Your heartbeat increases, the organ starting to rapidly beat against your ribcage. “Do you really think this is all about this stupid question? Honestly, if you were here in the past weeks–months actually– you would have known how often I cooked dinner. But your were never here. Not once. Not even when you promised,” you spit, cringing at the loud volume of your voice.

A shudder courses through the body of the shadowsinger behind you, his hands shaking slightly on your shoulders. His body goes rigid, his demeanour icy cold when awareness dawns on him. And gods, he really hasn’t been here a lot lately.

Just too much is going on. With Koschei. With the upcoming war. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, needs him at every chance possibly. Azriel, the loyal and eager spymaster he is, obviously agrees to every mission Rhysand sent him on in the past months–the past year. Azriel has thought about what it means to leave you behind, of course, but being so wrapped up in his work and the stress it brought along he hasn’t noticed what it really did to you.

He hears your silent sob and it breaks his heart. Carefully curling his scarred fingers around your shoulder’s Azriel turns you to him, your teary gaze only meeting his briefly.

You trembling lips part and Azriel prepares himself for another reprimand for not being here, maybe even a small angry insult. But what he is not at all prepared for is what really leaves your mouth. Those words, those words that cut so damn deep, that crack his heart open and that will decide over a future together or —the Gods forbid– forever apart.

"I cannot do this anymore…"

Azriel’s lower lip trembles, his head slowly starting shake. His fingers curl tighter around your shoulders, like he is holding on for dear life. Like he is holding onto you for dear life, never wanting to let you go, not wanting you to continue with what you started. Still he asks the questions. He needs to hear the answer from you.

"What?" he questions, voice barely above a whisper. The shadows calm around him, ascending their owner, smoothing around him. Dim clouds appear in Azriel’s empty eyes, his normally so tanned skin looking paler all of a sudden.

"I cannot love a person who is never here.”

Azriel’s thumb brushes your collar bone, but you don’t want this. You don’t want him to touch you in this moment. You feel like you’re being suffocated, having swallowed the pain and the anger for so long. Now it threatens to drown you in it. You carefully yet sternly move his hand away and take a step back, not moving to far as the counter behind you stops you.

“Y/N,” Azriel mumbles, his voice almost pleading.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I can talk to Rhys. I can—“

“It is too damn late for that. And you did not…you did not upset me. You disappointed me. You made me angry. When is the last time we have actually spent time together. Like really?”

“Two weeks ago when I returned—“ “We fucked, Azriel. That is it. You fucked me and then you slept. The next morning we had to be up early to have breakfast with your family and you left again.”

You wording has been too crude and vulgar. You didn’t want to use such wording, you didn’t want you say that to him.

You cringe when you watch Azriel flinch, stumbling backwards slightly. Azriel has never ever stumbled, he has always looked stern, calm, in full control of his body. That has changed now. He looks shaken, caught in horror and stupor.

“It is never just fucking when we…when we make love.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, biting down on your lip before your force yourself to lift your gaze to meet his. “I know. I am sorry for my wording. But it still does not change how is has been that night. We haven’t gone out for dinner in ages. Last Solstice, you got me tickets for the theater and we still haven’t been there. We haven’t even been on walk together in months. Nothing. When we spend time together it is mostly woth your family. I am so tired of this.”

Brushing the back of your hand over your cheek, you wipe away some of the dampness. It is useless anyways as more and more tears start to roll out of your eyes. “I just cannot be with someone who is never here. It breaks my heart. It breaks me, Azriel.”

A croaky, hoarse sound leaves the shadowsinger and he takes a step forward.

“You cannot do this to us,” Azriel argues, body trembling when awareness fills every fiber of his body. He has messed up. He is about to lose the one person that matters most to him. Nothing would ever make up for that. Nothing would ever repair his heart if that should be the case.

“Us?!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in despair. Azriel tries to reach for you, tries to grab your hands. But you lean back, shaking your head.

“It once used to be us. But I don’t feel like us is no longer. It is me, always me. Always just me. I am always just by myself…”

You wipe a finger under your nose, gathering the salty tears. Sniffing, you clamp your mouth shut, trying to reach for a tissue on the counter. Azriel hands it to you, his is your mate after all and has a seventh sense to know what you need. Apperently, he hasn’t had that in the past months…

“I am so sorry. If I had—“

You hold up a hand, fury burning in your veins. Your lips purse when you met his stare, glaring. “Don’t you continue that. If you had known? Really? Were you so oblivious and blind to not see what it did to me?”

Bile creeps up your throat, a cold shiver running down your spine.

Azriel is your mate, but does he really know you so little. You start questioning the bond, you start questioning your decision, how much of yourself you have given him. It burns your heart, your soul aching. The bond all of a sudden is dim, no longer brightly glowing. It has stopped glowing months ago, the flame of desire was blown out at the same time. There is nothing left but this dull, cool feeling of indifference.

Do you still love him? Or have you just been holding onto love?

Is there a chance that the bond could start glowing again? Is there a chance to revive the love between the two of you? Some mates are not made for each other for a lifetime. You have spent a great amount of time together, maybe it was just about to end? Maybe it was never how it should be.

Azriel and being mates with him has shaped your life immensely, has helped you grow and find happiness. But maybe this is all about to come to an end. You maybe have to move on. Grow on your own. Find happiness on your own.

“You are right.” Azriel’s fetches you back to the moment in the kitchen. You leave your thoughts and curl your arms around your body. It is so cold all of a sudden, so empty of life, of happiness.

“I—“ “Yes. It is my fault. Yes, I should have seen it. Yes, I should have been there. Yes, I should not have asked this idiotic questions. But please, you cannot put an end to this.”

Tears stream down the spymaster’s face when shadows gather behind his shoulders. His large wings hang lifelessly behind his back, dragging over the floor. Not once has he ever done that in his life. For an Illyrian their wings are holy. He has always cared about them. Until now. Now he cares about nothing but you. Only you. As it should have been those past months. You should have been his priority always. Why the hell was he so stupid? Azriel asks himself.

“But I cannot continue likes this.” You blow your nose and then tab the tissue under your eyes. “I cannot be with you when you are never here. I wanted a bond with you because I wanted to be with you. And I understand that you work a lot and that you cannot be here always. But I cannot love someone who is never here.”

Azriel swallows a shuddering sob, his knees wobbly and then…

Then his legs give in. His whole body weight comes crashing down when he falls to his knees in front of you, big, scarred hands braced on the ground right next to your feet.

And gods, your heart cracks open fully. Azriel, he…he looks like a fallen warrior. “Az,” you breathe when you slowly lower yourself to the ground as well.

You carefully, gently place your palms on his cheek, making him look at you. “Az…” “I am sorry. I apologise a million times for the pain I caused you. For my absence. For all this stupid shit I did. I should have been here, I know. But you leaving me…I don’t know how to survive this. You are the most important person in my life. My priority and I have no idea why I was so foolish to forget this in the past months. It should have been you first, always.”

Azriel’s scarred hands close over yours. He leans forward and you do, too. Your forehead presses against his, you breathe in the same air. Your eyes close, you draw in a deep breath.

“Never again. Azriel, never leave again for so long. You have spies that work for you. They can go on missions as well. And Rhys is your brother, you can talk to him.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, his chin dips slowly. Azriel inhales a ragged breath, squeezing your hands tightly in his. “Forgive me? Can…can you forgive me? One last time?” he rasps, his eyes slowly opening. All life has vanished from his eyes, leaving a dull, brown, grey-ish, tone behind.

“If I mess it all up again, send me to hell, but please give me one last time.”

He leans into your touch, turning his head slightly and softly brushing his lips over your palm.

One last chance. Because, even if you thought about moving on and trying to grow on your own, Azriel is your mate. You need him just as much as he needs you. You have the mating bond and now, in this very moment, you think that Azriel truly means it this time. Maybe he has really been oblivious and blind.

A shadow leaves his body, moving over to you and softly caresses your skin. A small smile blooms on your lips when you bow your head. You need Azriel in your life and in this very moment you know it. He would be here more often from now on. He understands how much you need him here and what it did to you that he was gone for so long.

“One last chance,” you whisper against his lips.

“One last chance.” Azriel lips softly peck yours, his body relaxing just the slightest bit.

You would still need to talk about it again, make plans on how exactly the future should look like, but for now, he has a chance. A chance to make up. To make things better.

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag): @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbitxh @cityofidek @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen

#azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acosf

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honeybeefae · 1 year

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Hi lovely,

Congrats on 2K, so happy for you!!!! I really loved the Eris starfall prompt you did a while back, woudl you consider writing another Eris starfall piece (not picky about what's in it, go wild <3)?

love,

anon

(p.s. this is health issues anon, I've fully recovered thanks to bedrest and the magical medicine of Dr. Ben and Jerry, and thank you for giving me the fanfiction to rebinge ever since I joined the ACOTAR fandom you were one of my first favourites and it's stayed)

(This was so cute to write and I literally was kicking my feet and giggling the entire time. I hope you enjoy it and I am SO happy to hear you are recovered fully and I'm kicking my feet again about me being one of your favorites thank you sm that means so much <3 <3)

Starfall Wishes (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

WARNINGS: None, pure fluff :)

“Stop moving, I’m almost done!” You chastise the little girl in front of you as she wiggles from side to side. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as you pin the last emeralds into her hair, making sure everything was in its place before you turned her around to face the mirror.

“Wow…” She gasped, standing up on the chair to admire the way her dress shimmered and shined. “I look just like you, mama!”

“I think you are far more beautiful, Scarlett.” You smile lovingly, helping her off the chair. “I think your daddy will think so too.”

“I can’t wait to see him! He promised me a dance!” She said gleefully, bounding out of the bedroom and towards the door. “I can’t believe I finally get to come with you! And I get to see Nyx and Valerie!”

“It’s going to be a big night.” You nod along as she continued raving about the party, barely stopping to take a breath. “Are you sure you can handle staying up this late? Our ride was long this morning.”

“I’m fine, I’m not a baby,” Scarlett said with a huff, crossing her arms and pouting. “Can we go now? I don’t want to be late!”

“You need to learn patience, my love. We are a few feet from the party so I doubt we can be late.” You point out while fixing your lipstick, sighing when she starts tugging on your skirts.

“I can hear Nyx and Valerie playing already!” She whined, already on the verge of a meltdown as you rolled your eyes and slid on your heels. The sun had already dipped past the horizon and you realized that Eris was still nowhere to be seen.

“Do you know where your father is?” You asked her, rubbing your temple when she shrugged her shoulders and opened the door. “I suppose he will be late once more.”

The trip to the balcony was short and you barely had enough time to open the door before Scarlett ran past you and into the arms of her two friends. Nyx was growing up as handsome as his father with the kindness of his mother, his little smile making you wanna pinch his cheek as he gave you a wave.

Valerie was a spitfire all on her own. She had Cassian’s wings but the rest of her, save for the curly dark hair, was pure Nesta. She was the ringleader of the three musketeers as you called them. You gave her a nod as she passed you by, offering you the same as the trio immediately went to the food.

“I think they have the right idea.” Feyre chuckled as she wrapped you in a tight hug, your large belly bumping against her own. It had been quite a shock for both of you to find out you were pregnant again so soon, especially simultaneously, but it seemed to have brought you closer.

“Right? I swear I’m carrying twin boys with the way I’ve been eating.” You grinned, smiling at Rhys as he came up behind Feyre and pulled her into his body. “I see your belly hasn’t gotten in the way of you two.”

“It could never,” Rhys smirked, kissing her ear and making her giggle. “I see your mate is not around. Is the High Lord going to skip out on you once again?”

You frowned and looked towards the door. “He wouldn’t miss Scarlett’s first Starfall. It’s all she’s been talking about for months.”

“Of course, of course.” He assured, though you could hear the tension in his voice. “I’m glad they all have each other to grow up with. Nyx adores Scarlett.”

“Scarlett feels the same.” You say while turning your attention back to your daughter. “She’s recently asked if he and Valerie can come on a hunting trip with us.”

“I don’t know if I trust the lot of them with weapons just yet,” Cassian said, coming out of nowhere with Nesta by his side. “Valerie has been eyeing our blades for a while and I cannot lie, I’m slightly afraid of that.”

“I seem to recall you having the same reaction when I train with you, though I think it’s because you get knocked on your ass every time.” Nesta snickered, her eyes warm as Cassian rolled his eyes at her dig.

“Like mother like daughter.” He replied with a smile, red siphons glowing as the sky grew darker. “Is Eris not coming?”

“He is.” You said a little too quickly, placing a hand atop your bump as you tried not to stress. “He must have gotten caught up with something.”

“Do you want us to go look for him?” Rhysand asked, noting your anxious stance. “I’m sure he’s fine but we can find him with ease.”

Your mouth twists upwards in contemplation, looking around the party once more before shaking your head. “I don’t want you to miss it. He knows where he is supposed to be.”

“Right by your side, as always.” Eris’s smooth voice purrs into your ear, making you jump in surprise. You turn to face him and lightly slap him on his arm, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“You are late, sir.” You say through your teeth, nodding towards Scarlett. “You almost missed her first Starfall. She even picked out a dress to match mine.”

Scarlett turned when she heard him, her face lightening up in happiness as she abandoned whatever game they were playing to leap into her father's arms.

“Daddy, daddy!” She squealed as he swung her around once, hugging his neck as tight as she could. “Look at my dress! It’s just like Mama’s!”

“You look beautiful, my little fireheart.” Eris cooed, kissing her cheek and setting her down. “As beautiful as Mama.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks as he pulled you to his side, Scarlett running back to Nyx and Valerie. You closed your eyes as he kissed you softly, his hand on the small of your back.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had to stop and get a gift for you.” He smirked, dodging another playful slap.

“We said no gifts, Eris!” You huffed. “I didn’t get you anything because I thought we were in agreement.”

“You’ve gotten me two of the best gifts I could ever want, besides you of course.” He replied while rubbing your belly, his gaze turning tender as he went from the baby in your stomach to Scarlett. “You’ve gifted me something I can never repay.”

A brief flash of light had a hush falling over the crowd, everyone turning to look out into the sky. You reached out your hand to Scarlett and she happily took it, giggling when Eris lifted her onto his shoulders so she could get a better view.

The flash was soon followed by more until the entire sky was raining stars. It never got old as you stared in wonder, one of Eris’s arms wrapping around you so he could kiss your temple.

“This is amazing,” Scarlett whispered above the two of you, her amber eyes wide with disbelief. “Daddy, could you get one for me?”

“Anything for my girl.” He immediately replied, patting her knee as he winked at you. If someone had told you years ago when you had first met Eris, that he would be a fun-loving, smiling father you would’ve laughed in their face.

His life had shaped him into someone who was hard to understand, someone who rarely showed affection outside of you, but starting this family with him had completely changed him in the best way possible.

“Could you get me one too?” You smiled, gazing up at him in utter devotion and love.

Eris looked down at you, taking in the curve of your lips and the color of your eyes. Your beauty constantly took his breath away and tonight was no different. He never thought he could have this, have a family with you.

“Anything for my girl.” He repeated, resting his chin on your forehead as you wrapped your arms around his stomach and laid your head on his chest as the stars danced around your little family.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #eris vanserra #eris imagine #eris x reader #eris fic #eris x reader acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #starfall #acotar fic #acotar imagine #acotar reader #acotar reader imagine #acotar reader fic #acosf #acofas

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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 14

Azriel x Third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: small note because it’s a bit confusing, but az’s pov and reader’s pov are 24 hours apart—az is on the third day of her absence while reader is on the fourth :)

Word Count: 7,296

-Part 13- -🎇🎆- -Part 15-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

He knows he can withstand pressure. It makes no difference whether the weight comes from time ticking on, or the tension that coils beneath the icy bite of steel—he has withstood it all. But it’s been three days, and she hasn’t returned to her lonely room in the House. No light has flickered beneath the door’s frame, no soft taps of cotton-wrapped feet padding quietly through the halls, the corridors smelling blandly of wood and pine, lacking the sweetness he’s become accustomed to.

Maybe she’d run scared.

He should have kept a closer eye on her, especially after the fortnight had passed. Would it really have been so bad, he has to wonder. Hadn’t the years in Prythian shown her how wonderful magic could be? Why shy from it? The potential brimming from her fingertips, cauldron-gifted magic ripe and ready for use. He wonders how she sees it. It’s clearly something less appealing, if she’d taken to hiding.

Azriel stretches out, wings splaying taut at his back as sturdy muscle shudders with relief, shaking out the tightness of his shoulders, getting to his feet. He glances once more over the report Cassian had written from Day, still no closer to what they were looking for. Restlessness threads through his bones, jittery and in need of preoccupying. It’s only a matter of time before the tingling static sparks. The others may be managing on their own, but after everything that’s happened in such a condensed span of time, now with a baby to worry about—Rhys doesn’t need this too. None of them do. They may hide it well, but they all can sense that crackling undercurrent, hushed snicks of a second hand ticking down.

And now he’s scared her off, too.

For the third time in as many days, he makes the pathway to her door, spelled to keep sound trapped within, but also preventing it from seeping out. He’s no longer able to hear soft, even breaths when his shadows pass by, not even the crisp rasp of pages turning, nor the rustle of clothing as it’s moved about. He knocks thrice on the door, not bothering with calling out—the wards prevent that. He wonders not for the first time if she can even hear the knocks, he does’t know where the magic lies—if it cuts out the thud of wood. So, as usual, he slides the note under the door.

He has no idea if she’s so much as peeked at the others, has no idea if she’s even actually inside. With the noise cancelling of the wards, and the magic nature of the House, she could very well be remaining curled up in the room, eating what the House gives her, flipping through pages in her own world. He doubts it—he surely would know if she occupied the space behind the door, but remains unsure to the extent of the magic lining the dimensions of the room. It feels too quiet.

Scarred fingers raise to the handle, turning it with ease, and the door opens, left unlocked. He hears no words of protest after announcing he would be coming in, so opens it wider, revealing what he expected: she isn’t here.

The room is emptier without her sat at her desk, without the clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor and bed, without the stacks of book normally set beside her mattress—everything left neat and tidy. Hazel eyes flick to the desk, noting the absence of the bound volume, instead spotting a piece of parchment abandoned where the book would lay. He walks over but leaves it upon the surface, untouched, simply scanning the sparse note.

At Bas’.

I’ll be back shortly.

His brows narrow, at last raising the paper from the desk, inhaling lightly. The faint scent of gardenias clings to the edges, likely where her skin had brushed over the parchment, but it’s already fading. She probably wrote it that night, three days ago.

Azriel sighs, discarding the paper and turning for the door, scanning one last time over the room before leaving. They catch on the dusty red box, untouched and sealed, ribbon still wrapped surprisingly neatly over the rectangular box of the jigsaw puzzle, poking out from beneath her bed. He pauses then, eyes wandering over its form, thoughts passing idly. Then they’re shifting with purpose, glancing again to the desk, this time marking the purple and silver bookmark set aside at the edge, beside the ink pot. It’s been placed facing down. A small painting of starfall rendered in blues, yellows, and oranges in place of the irradiated greens and iridescent golds, positioned adjacent. The pendant he knows his brother chose—admittedly with a little guidance from Nesta, but no less meaningful—laying atop the bookmark. He hasn’t seen her without it since before she had it.

Some dried flowers lay separately.

His eyes shift warily to the singular shelf that’s normally holding borrowed books from the library, now only keeping the weight of one—a short romance, one he’s seen Nesta reading multiple times over. She must have returned them all before leaving to Bas’—but she would have no need to.

Turning to the closet, he pulls open one of the doors that holds a full-length mirror, smudge marks near the edges, and he notes the couple of crudely drawn smiley faces. A curved line and two dots, drawn with the tip of her finger. Inside the cupboard are the neatly folded clothes, all set tidily, and he marks the small bottle of crimson nail polish, still sealed. Beside it is the bright pink lipstick, and his shadows wrap around it, removing the lid. It looks like it’s been used a few times, though he’s never seen her wearing it. He closes the door heavily, returning the gift to its place.

That would leave only his and Elain’s presents unaccounted for, but this time he moves toward her bedside table, shadows once again in use as they lift the lid from the box, successfully locating the glimmering metal of the orrery she’d fawned over. Covered to keep it safe from dust. All signs pointing to her being gone for more than a little while.

Hazel eyes return to the underside of her bed, dipping down in search for the blue box they’d come in. The coloured ribbon that had been suggested, and remained unaltered. Instead he finds brown paper bags, and like almost everything else, they seem untouched. Left to themselves, as if trying to be forgotten. Shadows spool through the handles, neatly lifting them from the floor and carrying them out. Inside are some books, and a short glance at the first page reveals they’re owned, not borrowed. His lips push into a thin line—things from her trips with Mor.

Still no sign of that small, blue box.

He wouldn’t blame her if she’d found a way to return them. It would be better if she had, than if she’d chosen to hold onto them. To hold them dear. His jaw works, returning the bags to their selected place, standing to his full height, once again sweeping the room.

He hopes that she doesn’t treasure them. She doesn’t deserve that indignity.

Gloves lay atop her pillow, and he picks them up, once again inhaling incase they hold a more recent scent. Instead he pulls them away sharply.

The sweetness of flora soured by the damning scent of copper.

The metallic tang that’s impossible for him to forget, so soaked into his skin.

Something sharp tightens in his gut, instincts recoiling and he makes the walk to the windows, opening them to clear the stuffiness from the room. Clearing the smell, starting afresh. Right now, his next task is seeking her out, luring her from whatever burrow she’s found for herself, likely with the male she’d mentioned in the note.

Whatever happens, he tells himself she’ll have to return with him. What’s at stake is too important to risk, he’ll have to handle it delicately.

Make sure she doesn’t run at the first sense of him.

————

The silver bands gleam beneath the crisp afternoon light, crisp breeze fluttering through the free strands of hair at your cheek.

Twenty minutes, he’d given you. Glancing up at the clock tower, you can see you have closer to fifteen left, but it should be enough to at least look. You hardly understand what you’d been thinking, coming here on your own. Possessed by a abrupt urge to walk, and to move. To remind yourself of your ability to chose, the autonomy you have over your body.

Eyes run over the rings, a wonderful display of craftsmanship, intricate little designs human eyes might struggle to pick out. One band has tiny wings welded to the sides, feathers brushed with pearl wrapped around the ring. Another is encrusted with gems that glimmer beneath the watery sunlight, winking and swirling as people move at your back.

Your attention shifts to a new section of the jewellery, rings with raised platforms, holding small engravings on their perfectly smooth surface. Soft creatures bundled together, initials carved into the metal, icons carefully indented upon the ring’s canvas. Almost instinctively, as if guided, your eyes find those of a fox’s, its long fur blowing elegantly in a light breeze, snout raised to the air as it takes in what are likely the last few rays of sun for the day. It’s eyes are closed in concentration and pleasure, leaning into the wind as it wraps about the animal, tall grass swaying with the airways.

“It’s a precious one, that,” the welder says, breaking you from your examination. “Aside from its beauty?” You ask, meeting their gaze—heavy and tired. A faint smile gleams in his eyes, twinkling at the reply, nodding. “Did you make all of these yourself?” You question, re-examining each piece briefly. Again he nods, and you blink. “All of them?” You repeat, watching with furrowed brows. His features drop to displeasure, thick arms folding over a robust chest. “Think I stole some?” He retorts gruffly. “These are all mine. Not a single one you’ll find elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly, “I didn’t mean to…” But he’s already waving his hand dismissively, “I didn’t think you did. Not the type to.”

Not the type to?

“I…thank you.” He nods his head sharply, roughly, and you wait to see if he’ll say more. When he doesn’t, you awkwardly return your attention to the ring, wondering how he managed to capture the moment so perfectly. How much time he must spend simply observing to be able to recreate it with its own sense of life—how he’s managed to contain that energy in cold silver.

“I’m sorry, but are we…I mean, can I…can I look more at it? Pick it up?” You ask the welder, anxiously tiptoeing. Again with a gruff nod. “Guards’ll be on you before you clear the yard, so no running,” he warns. “Fae have lost fingers over these pieces.” You blanch, and he chuckles at the expression, making you unsure of the claim’s truth. You have no idea whether he’s lying or not.

Either way, you swallow, plucking the flat-surfaced ring from the display, wondering. It slides down easily over your knuckles, hanging loosely from the base of your middle finger. Hopefully large enough.

“Bit big for you.”

You fumble, nearly dropping the ring as you remove it from your finger. “Careful,” the welder remarks, eyeing you warily. Blood pumps through your chest, skin warming as you hold the band carefully in your palm. “How…how much is it?” You ask, nerves squirming beneath your flesh, aware of how your throat is sticking together. “3,800 gold marks,” he responds, and your heart drops. “Oh,” you mumble, crestfallen. You guess it’s out of the question, then. “I’m just pulling your leg,” he chuckles gruffly, “it’s only 500.”

“Oh,” you laugh faintly, forcing the smile. It’s still far too much than you could possibly afford. What had you been thinking?

Your eyes drop to the carving, the fox, free in its lands. Wild and beautiful. At peace.

“I…” You lick your lips, setting the ring on the table to show you won’t steal it. “I don’t suppose…I mean, do you trade?” You manage, words bumbling out clumsily, heart stumbling in your chest, breathing a little jagged. The welder pins you with a hard look, bushy brows narrowing in inspection. “What about those rings of your own?” He asks, pointing a meaty finger to you.

You blink, gloved hands wringing together. “What…rings…?” You ask, unsure of what he means. The welder gives an impatient look, and your shoulders tense at the expression. “The rings on your ears. Those look valuable.” You blink, lips slightly parted as you thumb gently over the gold and pearl slotted into the lobes. “Would these work?” You question, a shade quietly.

The welder opens his palm, beckoning. “Let me have a look.” You swallow, but manage to unhook one from your ear without tearing, keeping the trembles to a minimum as you set it in his palm. He raises it to the light, examining it carefully, performing a series of some unknown tests. “Hand over both, and it’s yours,” he offers clearly, the gruffness faded, all business now, returning the earring.

You take it, peering at the tear-drop pearl that you’d treasured. Teeth pull at the inside of your lip, glancing at the flat-topped ring. It’s about time you made some choices of your own, even if they might be bad ones.

“Okay,” you say, a little breathlessly, mostly to yourself. “Both of them. That sounds perfect.” You unhook the other earring, pressing both into his palm a little shakily, heart pounding with exhilaration and uncertainty. But it’s done now.

The welder nods his head in confirmation. “It’s all yours then. Good doing business with you,” he says, scribbling on a small piece of card before handing it over. The title of the piece, the price, and the craftsman’s name inked upon it. A nervous smile makes its way onto your lips, and you take the ring. “Thank you, good doing business with you too,” you say, “have a nice day.”

And with that you pocket the ring and card, giving one last smile to the welder before turning back the way you came, heading over the neat cobbles. Feeling a little lighter than before, breathing easier as you make for the agreed meeting spot.

A strange feeling of pleasure tingling in your chest. Something like satisfaction; pride, and the smile stays with you for a little longer.

————

He knocks thrice on the door he knows belongs to the male, looming before it as he waits.

A latch clicks, and golden eyes pierce out from the relative darkness, marking who’s darkening his doorstep, pupils tightening warily. He opens the door a little wider, shoulder leaning into the thick, wooden frame, ankles crossed, propping his weight on one leg, foot keeping the door from opening any further—also preventing him from barging in. Deceptively casual while remaining cautious, defensive.

“I need to speak with her,” Azriel says, straight to the point, shadows peeking in through the lower windows from the garden. “She’s preoccupied,” Bas informs, unblinking as he takes in the Shadowsinger’s menacing silhouette, great wings towering at his back, capable of shattering bone with a single hit, if stood too close. “It’s important,” Azriel counters smoothly, “family business.”

“I can’t help. She’ll be ready by the end of the week, no sooner.”

Shadows sneak up the vines that have crawled over the light brick walls, but his curtains have been drawn so Azriel has no way of finding her or even catching a glimpse of her condition. “I said it’s important,” he repeats calmly, lowly, eyes flicking over his shoulder to the rest of the house—or what he can see. Bas tilts his foot, not-so-subtly bringing the door to a tighter close, blocking out the view. Bastard.

“And she’s still busy,” Bas repeats, unfaltering. “If it’s so important then I can pass on a message, but she’s staying until the end of the week. You can come back then, if it’s that serious.” Displeasure has his lips pressing together in a pejorative fashion, angling his head in a way that serves as a warning, more warrior than fae, staring down at the male despite there being a mere inch between them. “What’s keeping her busy?”

Bas keeps his expression casual, but replies with surprising adamance, “something important.”

“What?” Azriel repeats, warmth vacating his features, becoming hewn from rock. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bas remarks idly, golden eyes running with provoking analysation over the male. His mouth sharpens a little, as if finding something funny, and Azriel briefly considers the merits of roping his brother into this mess. Just by name, of course. Rhys doesn’t need the extra stress of knowing about this.

So the Shadowsinger matches the expression, cool amusement passing through cutting hazel eyes. “Would you be willing to explain her busyness to your High Lord, then?” He remarks.

Azriel doesn’t miss the tension that stitches the male’s shoulders tighter, a faint beat of pleasure echoing through his bones in response to the obvious discomfort. “It’s private,” Bas deflects, thick brows narrowing as his emotions begin to surface. “We’re her family,” Azriel reminds, “you’re an acquaintance.”

A wicked grin raises Bas’ lips, the taunt of instigation gleaming in his golden eyes. “Very well acquainted,” he drawls, peering at the Shadowsinger provocatively.

It’s enough to have Azriel pausing, considering the male before him, examining him. And then stepping forward, intruding into personal space.

Bas doesn’t yield an inch, and it has the Spymaster considering what a brawl with the male would look like. Whether blood would spray as easily as it did the last time he saw the golden-eyed male.

Bas stiffens beneath the look, pushing up from the door frame into a more secure stance. He doesn’t like the look in the warrior’s gaze, how he’s being sized up.

“Tell me why she’s busy,” Azriel commands softly, lower than a whisper and sweeter than silk, yet it has the hairs at the nape of Bas’ neck rising, warning him against something even fae eyesight is unable to detect. Instinct calling for him to back away from the fight.

The Shadowsinger marks the roll of the male’s throat keenly, attention cutting him down to size.

“She’s on her cycle,” Bas bites out at last, after a resentful glare directed his way. “So she’ll be staying here until she feels good enough to move again.”

“Do not,” Azriel whispers, “lie to me.” He steps forward, leather boots pressing hardly even an inch over the threshold, but he knows the male marks it, the blatant disrespect. The Shadowsinger’s nostrils flare delicately on instinct, as every fae’s do when entering upon a new area, and the scent of charcoal and freshly tilled earth enters his senses, along with the faintest hint of sweetness. A floral note hidden beneath the male’s scent.

Very well acquainted, the male had proclaimed.

Azriel’s features turn to ice, any previous amusement or satisfaction draining swiftly away, leaving deadly neutrality. “Find her. I need to speak with her.” Cold hazel runs over the male’s frame. “Promptly.”

“She doesn’t want to speak with you,” Bas replies sharply. “Whatever it is can wait until she’s ready. By the end of the week.”

“And I’ve told you it’s important, so either bring her down here or move aside.”

The very air crackles sharply, a pulse of magic thumping across the landscape, felt in the skies as it shocks through the land.

Gold and hazel blink at the same time, having both felt the shift, skin tingling faintly, like their limbs had fallen asleep. Pressure splitting as ears pop, feeling briefly disorientated.

Bas swallows, eyes returning to the Shadowsinger’s. “I think the fact alone she’s chosen to come here over staying with her family is enough. And I will tell my High Lord the same if you bring him.” Neither of them address the odd shift in atmosphere. “She’s come here, to my house, because it’s where she feels safe. Not with you, yeah?”

“She hasn’t spoken about you,” Azriel states coolly, staring down at the male. “So I have to wonder how honest you’re being.”

“That says more about you than it does about me,” Bas replies lowly. “Because she’s told me a lot about you.” The way he says it makes it clear exactly what he thinks of what he’s heard—and he is not impressed.

Hazel eyes narrow down on the male, pupils tightening with focus. “You’re meddling in Court affairs,” he says lowly, ice hardening his features, “bigger than you could understand. So I will ask you one more time to bring her down here.”

Rhys would have bitten into him then and there had he heard the command in his voice.

Fortunately, Rhys doesn’t have to know how his morals took a sharp turn around the time of the first war. Fortunately, Rhys believes them to still be mostly intact, not half disintegrated and little more than dust upon the cold, dark, cell-stones of his mind. There’s too much at stake for him to waste time with smooth words and idle talk, too much pressure gathering in the skies, a storm on the way at a pace none of them are able to gauge. He doesn’t need this inconvenience—not when his very life might depend on handling her correctly. As if she isn’t a clock ticking down to detonation.

The visions don’t lie, and he has heard what Elain saw, straight from the seer’s mouth. About that flash of vibrant, pale green light, then his body bleeding out on the floor. Fate exists, and there must be a reason for her magic to only now be making an appearance. There must be a reason for his death.

(There must be.)

And yet, as usual, it doesn’t feel like there’s enough time.

“Come back with someone else to verify that, and I’ll consider it,” Bas snaps lowly, hand resting on the side of the door, poised to shut it in the Shadowsinger’s face. “Until then, you keep your hands off her.”

The door shuts, and Azriel’s forced to take a step back, caught off guard. Had she told him about what happened in the library so long ago? Was that a comment about his warped palms?

Frustration burns through his blood but he knows how to temper it, attempting to calm himself despite the hurried tick of his heart. There isn’t time for this, every second is precious. He should be sending a message back to Cassian, discussing these new events with Rhys, filling the rest of them in on the vision and her magic.

Gods, he shouldn’t have allowed her those two weeks on her own. He should have put his foot down then and forced to tell her sisters at the very least. Fuck, he should have done it himself. But he’d let himself be swayed by her emotions, the deep-rooted fear he doubted she was even aware was in her eyes, shifting her scent. But it had been his own shitty way of trying to apologise, allowing her the time she needed, time Elain had insisted she needed.

He sighs roughly, hands flexing at his sides as he turns from the home, already instinctively making his way to the River House. He can’t wait until the end of the week, there’s already enough he has to deal with between her abrupt absence and having to keep monitoring everything, within other courts as well as his own.

He shouldn’t have been so lenient.

He should have pushed more.

Then she would have been able to see there’s nothing to fear.

Then there would have been more time.

————

“Like this?”

“Try it.”

Your brows furrow, but you reach forward, fingers hardly even brushing the rope before his hand is roughly gripping the nape of your cloak, yanking you back hard enough that you choke as something whistles through the air. You gasp, running your palm over where the material had dug in, oesophagus feeling swollen and large within your neck.

“Do you have a death wish?” He snarls, fingers still painfully digging into the material, inadvertently having gotten your hair tangled in his fist, making you wince, eyes prickling with heat. “Eris, ease up,” you grit out, wincing, “you’re going to strangle me.”

He releases you roughly, not missing the sharp tug he gives beforehand. “I should strangle you for being so stupid,” he mutters harshly, stepping back to let you get to your feet, take in what just happened.

You blink, heart pounding from the abrupt turn in attitude, breathing a little faster than before as you turn to peer at the ground a few steps away from the snare he’d shown you how to set—the arrow that’s lodged firmly in the soil.

“You said to try it,” you accuse, aghast at how close the projectile had come to slicing you open, spearing into your flesh. It might’ve gone straight through bone, piercing your skull.

“With a stick,” he snaps, “using a stick. Not your bare hands.” Flame blazes in his eyes, brows slightly narrowed, lips pursed in a terse, pissed-off line. “I thought you were pretending when you said your youngest sister did all the hunting,” he mutters, shaking his head lightly as his groups his long fingers over the bridge of his nose. “I can see why. You’d have likely shot her through.”

Your lips part in slight shock, a look of hurt and dismay marring your features. “Maybe if you were a better teacher that wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, getting to your feet, briskly brushing off the dirt that’s gotten stuck to the back of your cloak. “I didn’t know it would fire automatically.”

“It’s a weapon made to do exactly that,” he snaps, beginning to calm himself, though you can still make out the irritation in his gaze. “You aren’t stupid, despite what your actions suggest. It’s common sense to use a stick.”

“I didn’t know!” You reply sharply, feeling unfairly judged, walking over to where the arrow is lodged in the dirt, pulling it out with some difficulty. “Just because I wasn’t raised to kill…” you mutter.

Keeping your back to him, you pretend to examine the arrow as you wait for his reply, wondering if the comment will have gotten under his skin. But instead you’re met with silence.

“It’s common sense to use a stick,” he repeats lowly, intonation shifting. “Why didn’t you?”

You scowl at him, gripping the arrow as you fold your cloak tighter against the chill breeze. “I’ve never hunted before,” you remind him, sharply, “I didn’t even know it was called a crossbow until today.”

His gaze slices into you, feeling more invasive than usual. Like he’s discovered an opening you’d somehow missed, carefully concealed yet revealed in a subconscious lapse.

Eris stands straighter, angling his head. Cutting amber eyes pierce into you with a weight that’s unsettling, hairs rising at the nape of your neck. He’s made it easy to forget he’s as much as a warrior as the others are. As deadly.

“Do you have a death wish?” He asks quietly.

You snort, rolling your eyes, returning to the crossbow, making to reset it like he’d shown you.

The silence stretches, and you blink, spinning to face him. “Of course not,” you exclaim disbelievingly, staring at him with slight horror. “What on earth would I get out of that?” You mutter, returning to the bow, trying to remember where to fit each part, what lines up where.

“You’ve never thought it would be easier?” He says from nearer by, still in that slightly hushed tone. You frown, peering up at him sidelong. “What would be easier? Engineering my own death?” You ask humorously.

“Yes.”

You blink, hesitating. Fingers pause on the crossbow, attention shifting elsewhere.

“I suppose absence would be easier,” you murmur idly. “But the effort of ending myself would ruin things. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”

“About what?” He asks, moving to the other side of the bow, clicking back a part, allowing it to stretch, able to fit the arrow. “About how to do it the right way, I suppose,” you answer, slotting the small projectile in with a satisfying click. “How to keep it clean, or keep it painless. Probably trying to minimise the horror of whoever finds you—if you pass in place you’d be able to be found.”

“Sounds like you’ve given it some thought,” Eris remarks. “I’m giving you a comprehensive answer,” you retort, meeting his gaze. “Do you want me to take you seriously or not?”

“You need to close that up,” he says, nodding to the latch that will secure the arrow in pace. “Here?” You ask, clicking it down and pulling it back, tension rigid across the bow. “There,” he says, and you watch how he ties the rope to the trigger, setting it so the slightest tug will set the arrow free.

Eris steps back, and you peer at him. “What should I aim for this time?” You ask. He thinks for a moment, before a creature made of small flames appears above the rope, hovering—it looks like a deer.

“Anywhere on the main body would do, though the heart or the throat would be best. Equally through the skull, but that’s a smaller target,” he answers, and you grimace. “The legs would suffice this time, since the snare would keep it place. Though without it you’d have to go to the effort of tracking it down, which if you’re having to resort to a crossbow, I don’t imagine you’d want to waste time over.”

“So I just have to hit it?” You ask dryly, giving him an unimpressed look.

His eyes gleam, corners of his mouth sharpening, “if you can.”

————

“Would an arrow have worked on the…” you fumble, not sure what to call it, wrapping your cloak tighter to keep out the autumn chill. “On the creature…? Two days ago?”

“You’re not serious,” Eris muses from your side, piercing amber eyes darting from stall to stall, walking out through the market to get to the main shopping district. “A no would have sufficed,” you reply, laughing a little. “You don’t have to always put things in their coldest form, you know.”

“I thought I’d make you aware of what an idiotic question it was,” he remarks, pausing to glance at a table, lovely silks draped over various racks and hangers. “Weird how I don’t know about something I know nothing about,” you huff, pulling the fabric tighter. “It’s almost as if I’ve never hunted before.”

Eris rolls his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your mouth at the open show of irritation. “Have they not even taught you how to fight?” He asks disapprovingly, tracing his fingers over the stitched hem of a scarf. “Why would I need to know how to fight?” You reply earnestly. “The war’s over.”

His fingers pause, and he glances at you sidelong. A beat stretching between you as he quietly stitches things together. “Indeed it is,” he says at last, gaze sliding back to the stall, though his attention doesn’t fully shift.

Your brow furrows at the odd exchange, before glancing elsewhere, wondering if you’d be able to spot the welder’s table from here. You peer about but don’t recognise anything, instead gorging your eyes on gleaming jewels and dazzling finery. Is this all second-nature to him? Does any of it amaze him, or will everything inevitably lose its potency when digested continuously? Would even perfectly soft beds, and heated slippers become part of the relentless drag of life?

You can’t imagine ever being unhappy with warm slippers, though. Maybe it’s a poor comparison.

“Take your hood down,” Eris instructs.

You blink, reluctantly lowering the fabric, shivering as a cool breeze bites at your collar bones; the tops of your shoulders. He pushes the scarf into your hands, already in motion as you start to keep in step. “Now put that on and stop looking so feeble,” he mutters. “Something as simple as the cold shouldn’t be bothering you so visibly.”

The silk is surprisingly warm beneath your fingertips in spite of its thinness, and you fumble for a second before neatly wrapping it over your shoulders, concealing the little skin that’s been left unprotected against the harsh chill of autumn.

“Thank you,” you say a touch faintly, almost scared to brush against the delicate fabric wrong, though it’s undoubtedly tough enough to hold up against your hands. As long as you don’t spark up, that is.

“I know I said I wasn’t surprised you hadn’t the foresight to think ahead, but not even a scarf?” He mutters under his breath, glancing down at you distastefully. “If you’re so easily affected by the weather you should have taken precautions. Why didn’t you bring something heavier?”

“I’m never accepting anything from you ever again,” you mutter back, tucking the end of the fabric beneath your cloak. “Especially if you’re just going to use it as an excuse to tell me everything I’ve done wrong. Surely by your logic it would be better to let me freeze as a way to learn the lesson.”

“I don’t need an excuse to tell you everything you’ve done wrong, but it’s embarrassing to have you shivering so obviously at my side,” he replies.

You stare at him for a moment, a little offended. “What do you mean, everything—”

“I mean, everything, because it’s a lot,” he says, cutting you off. “Really, had you even tried accessing your magic before coming here?”

“Of course I had,” you snap, sobering up a little as you remember the attempts. “But it’s a little hard to keep morale up when the results are so…” you trail off, subtly gesturing to your hands, ashamed to have them connected to your wrists despite the gloves you’d brought with you.

“Of course you’d bring gloves but forget a scarf,” he murmurs under his breath, making you grit your teeth against a scowl. “I didn’t forget a scarf, I don’t have any,” you snap at him. “Don’t have any?” He asks, doubt in his voice. “I find that hard to believe. Doesn’t Rhys keep you fully stocked on everything you could ever want?”

Eris marks the way you avert your eyes, head lowering a little as though there’s an invisible weight around your throat. “He does,” you reply quietly. “But none of that’s mine.”

“I’m pretty sure if he’s paid for it, and had it put in your wardrobe, that means it’s yours.”

You look up at him then, an indecipherable expression on your face. Conflicted.

“It wouldn’t be right, though,” you mumble, looking away again, shifting back to step in his footsteps. “Not when he’s done so much for us. Kindly given us a place to stay, and made our lives so much better in ways I hadn’t even dared to dream of before.” Your hands wring together, and he catches the slight flinch as you accidentally graze over what’s probably a new bruise or bump. “Especially not when he probably wouldn’t even… Not when I’ve…”

“…run straight into the enemy’s arms?” Eris finishes dryly, a wry look on his face. “Your words not mine,” you shoot back, before once again quietening. “But yes. It would be like spitting on his kindness, and I can’t…I can’t do that.”

He listens to your breathing, a little uneven. You feel quieter after that dive into your thoughts. “Good to know you’re fine if it’s my money being spent,” he remarks flatly, continuing forward. Really, you practically shrivel up and die whenever he brings any of them up. Maybe there’s a reason you’re so clueless to the larger picture.

“But I don’t owe you anything,” you murmur, hardly louder than a breath, and he’s so caught up in examining that angle he almost misses your reply. Possibly the root of all your problems. If not the foundation, then certainly the stem.

“Something tells me he won’t be charging you for every piece of gold you take up,” Eris replies, glancing back at you, slowing his paces to remind you to keep up. It’s plainly odd to have a conversation with someone trailing at your back.

“He doesn’t need to, but that doesn’t mean everything’s forgiven,” you counter, pulling the cloak closer, arms folding over your body, tucking in tight. “I can’t just accept everything he’s done—everything they’ve all done—and pretend like we’re all happy and equal. There’s a debt.” And it’s been a struggle to even keep your head above the water.

“So that’s what convinced you to come to me? So you can learn how to become useful?” He doesn’t seem particularly impressed, and something simmers in the pit of your chest. “A reason is a reason, isn’t it?” You reply lowly, brow narrowing. “Why not work with them? Save yourself the grief of having to face them when you return?” A faint smile sharpens his mouth, but it’s not of the ones you’ve become accustomed to. This one’s cold, the look in his eyes hinting at something vulpine lurking just beneath his skin. “I can’t imagine any of them being particularly pleased with your choices.”

“Is this another one of your tactics?” You ask abruptly. “Trying to make me anxious and tense so that I might lose control again and spark up?”

“We’re in the middle of a marketplace. I would hope not.”

“Then why are you bringing it up?” Again, that slow smile that has the hairs at the nape of your neck rising. The glint in his eyes as he guesses at the reaction—pleased with it. “Simply gauging the distance,” he muses, forging on ahead as you step to be at his side, pushing away from his trail of footsteps.

“Why? You’ve never show any interest in my relations before,” you point out, keeping an eye on him in your peripherals, now beyond the palace’s borders, moving for a road that will lead to the larger shopping district. “Haven’t I?” He remarks, something to his tone that makes you question yourself. Has he done any prying without you noticing? Your brows bunch a little, small worry lines creasing between them.

“You wouldn’t get anything, anyway,” you say defensively. You don’t have anything to give. “Don’t you think it’s strange how out-of-the-loop you are?” He asks, making you pause.

“No. I don’t.”

“You have no interest in the inner workings of your group?”

“I… Should I?” You ask, questioning yourself as you peer at him. Cutting amber spears into you, surprisingly intense as he pauses outside the defensive walls of the Palace.

The wind dies away, and you become aware of how still and silent the surrounding forest is, as if enchanted by something not entirely good. The world seems to slow to a eerie drag, black pupils contracting as they pierce into you, cold and experienced. You’ve never really considered any of them old, at least in the sense you’d grown up with, but now, as he’s stood before you with such horrific stillness, such an indecipherable look on his honed features, the sheer difference might have begun to dawn on you.

“Events happen in this world—it’s a condition of life. Of nature. Instinctive or otherwise, everything will naturally fall to chaos if left unchecked. Keeping yourself distanced, pulling away from the events of your life will not force them to remain a constant but instead facilitate that inevitable shift towards chaos.

“You have the potential for control yet choose to discard it, choose to avoid it. You allow things to happen to you, to sit back and put yourself at the mercy of external forces in being so complaisant. I don’t understand how anyone could be so content with inaction, and I don’t think you truly are, yet your choices suggest otherwise. You stay in your House, reading your life away, all in the pursuit of discovery, yet hardly seem to apply those interests to yourself.

“That’s not—"

“Shut up.” Pure ire blazes within his irises, and your mouth snaps shut of its own accord.

“You are idle and resigned. Too quick to accept what happens to you, and it’s pathetic.” The words smack across your skin, cracking down like a whip but he forges on. “I have told you before, and I will only tell you once more: you do not have the luxury of inaction. So don’t waste my time with a pretence of ambition when in the end you’ve already chosen to lie down and die.”

His words ring in the overwhelming silence of the forest, blaring through your world, resonating with a frequency that stirs cogs and sets wheels into motion, synapses sparking with powered charges as they snap and crackle.

“Use it,” he commands lowly, taking a step forward.

You blink, uncertain about what he means.

“Use it,” he repeats, rougher this time, gripping your wrists and holding them up. Thumbs slipping beneath the gloves, then turning them to ash.

“Eris, no— The last time—”

“Was for less than a second,” he says lowly. “Sustain it.”

“I don’t know how,” you grit out, hands bunching into fists.

“Use it or I’ll send you back.”

The fight drains from your body quicker than a millstone dropped in water. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says calmly, an intimidating ferocity underlying his words. “It’s been nearly a week, cygnet. I’m not going to parent you forever. Stand on your own two feet now.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Birds aren’t born knowing how to fly.”

You stare at him, wide eyed. Breathing shallow and stuttering. Hands shaking. But he does nothing without considering some sort of benefit. You’ve known from the beginning he’s manipulative; self-serving. Have been warned about his nature countless times.

He’s by no means foolish. Why place a bet if he thought he would lose?

You place a bet to win.

In his own way, he believes you’re capable of showing strength. Or at least harnessing it. With little to no faith in yourself, you’d never be able to make the leap, but with the trust placed in someone else, someone who has never pretended to be something he isn’t to you. It’s worth something, right?

Teeth bite together, pain creaking through your bones, groaning how furniture does when it’s on the verge of breaking. Aches sing through your palms, blossoming through your skin as pale green light flickers at your fingertips, irradiated and glowing. Gold shimmers at its edge, looking so familiar yet not. Like Starfall, but…more.

Either way, it’s enough for now. You’ve reached the bar he’d set, and can’t help but gaze in wonder at the view you’re presented with. How colour flickers and floats around your palms, glowing and waving with an unheard heartbeat.

“So you can summon it if you put your mind to it,” Eris muses, a hint of smugness to his voice that you would glare at if the cockiness wasn’t earned.

“You were trying to make me anxious,” you accuse.

“And it worked,” he counters, making you want to roll your eyes. “It seems to spark up in response to whatever imagined ending you think is coming along. An act of resistance before the fall.”

A faint glint of amusement sharpens his mouth, eyes gleaming. “Almost like a death surge.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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