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#well gwyn will take control
florencemtrash · 1 month
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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eleven
Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader
Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.
Warnings: None. Gwyn and Y/n bond over books. Azriel and Y/n get even closer — this had me kicking my feet and screaming internally and externally
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist
Masterlist of Masterlists
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Rhysand’s training sessions always started with him sliding over ten objects: a book, a piece of jewelry, an article of clothing — anything he could find with meaning for you to discern.
“This one is Mor’s.” You held the red satin box in your hands. Two months ago you would have only been able to tell him who it belonged to. Maybe nothing at all. The meaning held by the object was weak. The jewelry too new. Unworn. But now you could harness your power with more precision, like you’d finally been handed an image of the puzzle you were trying to complete so you knew what to look for. “You bought it two months ago at Cizero’s as a Winter Solstice gift.” 
“And what is it exactly?” 
The box was still closed. 
You pushed your power forward, imagining light slipping in through the seam of the box. An image flashed in your mind. It was blurry, but held onto its form long enough for you to make it out. 
“Drop earrings. Rubies,” you said with a straight back before dropping the box into Rhysand’s open palm.
He smirked and clicked it open. Gold banded rubies hung from the backing like bloody tears, each drop separated by a diamond that flashed brighter than the stars in the ever darkening sky. 
You dared to smile, staring at the jewelry with a level of satisfaction you hadn’t felt since being handed top marks as an apprentice. 
“Very nicely done.” 
The box disappeared back into his desk beside a glimmering gemstone the size of your fist wrapped in tissue paper. 
It’s probably for Amren. You thought to yourself. Azriel told you she loved shiny things and hoarded her treasures like a crow. Hence why she’d yet to return from Summer with Varian. 
You moved on to the next portion of your exercises. With a feather light touch, Rhysand laid his hands on your palms, your wrists, your forearm, your shoulders. He moved up and down your body, waiting a minute for you to control yourself before touching the next flash of exposed skin. It was still difficult to completely contain your power, but you were getting better at moving it around your body. When he reached for your hands, you slid the magic up to your chest. When he reached for your knees, it moved down to your ankles. It was a delicate dance, like the curling of ocean water away from the shore or the splitting of a river around a stone. 
You did what you could to experience the touches with a clinical detachment and Rhysand did as well. He was careful. He stopped the moment you let out a gasp of surprise at the feeling of warm skin pressed against your own and there wasn’t an ounce of judgement written in his beautiful features when you trembled beneath his touch. 
“Take your time,” he said encouragingly.
For him, touch was a necessary part of life. He always had an arm slung over Cassian’s shoulders or wrapped around Feyre’s waist. He fell asleep with his mate pressed against him and he walked around the River House with Nyx on his shoulders and Velaria curled up in his arms. But there were also mornings when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, the feeling of Amarantha’s red-tipped nails dragging down his chest like she wanted to take more from him than just his body. Those were the days Feyre knew to give him his space. 
“Take all the time that you need.”
Rhys stepped away. You steadied your breath and took time to record your progress in the journal you kept close by. Although there was no true way to quantify your learning, your Day Court training never left you and you wrote down what little could be put into words — for posterity’s sake. Then maybe the next Clairvoyant the Mother willed into existence would have an easier time navigating this than you. 
Gwyn found you squirreled away in your usual reading room, back bowed over a flurry of books and note pages like a reed in the wind. You reached for the mug on the desk only to find it disappointingly empty. Unlike the River House, the Library did not fuel your caffeine addiction with reckless abandon. 
She floated over, abandoning the cart of books she’d been tasked with returning that night. Her legs were throbbing from the split squats Cassian had coached her through that evening, and she was desperate for a break. 
“Some light reading, I see?” she teased, sinking into the seat across from you. 
You looked up, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. It took a few moments for Gwyn’s shape to come into focus. 
“What?” The word slurred coming out of your mouth.
She tapped the ever growing pile of papers beside you. Your manuscript: 120 hand-written pages and counting. When the book became too frustrating to handle, you abandoned it in exchange for another productive task. Even if the 120 pages you’d reproduced were utter garbage.
You groaned, forehead slamming against the wood with a clatter. Thoughts of white blood cells, lymphatic vessels, and innate and acquired immunity knotted in your brain like the world’s worst game of cat’s cradle.
Gwyn would have found it amusing if she didn’t know just how much time you spent within the mountain. You’d effectively been adopted by the priestesses. Lurking here and there like a cat coming in from the cold. And you were just as disapproving as a stray. Gwyn would often catch you among the stacks, mumbling about the disorganization and how you couldn’t work in such paltry conditions. 
“Cauldron boil me, I’m sorry for asking.” Gwyn raised her hands in surrender. 
You let out a great, heaving sigh. “It’s not you.” 
“Oh I know it’s not me. You look like you’ve been dragged through a gutter.” 
You blinked wearily at the lovely priestess.
“A very clean, well-managed gutter.” She grinned. Her skin shone, reflecting the pale, fuzzy moonlight that filtered through the window above and doused the library in a silver sheen. 
“Thank you, Gwyn.” 
“Anytime.” She drummed her nails against the table, the beat of it almost sending you to sleep. “How long have you been here today?” she asked with concern.
“I don’t know. What time is it?”
“After midnight.” 
“Oh.” 
“How long?” Gwyn repeated and you dragged a hand down your face. 
“Seven hours? Give or take?” Your stomach growled. 
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” 
Gwyn grabbed you by the end of your robes, tugging you up several floors and down an unfamiliar hallway until you stopped in front of a teal-blue tapestry. Selkies, sirens, and water nymphs dove in and out of rippling waters highlighted by iridescent beads. She flung it to the side and pressed her hand against the bare stone. The slab sank into the wall and then slid open to reveal a cream-colored room adorned with bundles of babies' breath. 
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the neatly made bed. You swayed dangerously on your feet. 
“I’m really fine. I didn’t mean to bother you.” 
“Sit. Down.” She cut you with a lethal gaze Nesta would be proud of. 
You snapped your mouth shut, shuffled across the carpeted floor, and sank into the queen-sized bed. You played with the ties of your robe wrapping them around your finger, then unwrapping them, then wrapping them again.
King Tiberion, third of the Nachmanian line, born Aschieron Cambria Nostrus Tiberion Dalgna to Effel Taul and foreign-born…
Found dead at a young three-hundred-and-ninety-two years of age at the hands of her brother. Spell cleaver or not, Ingrid…
Something like a lock and a key. Magic that’s perfectly complementary might be afforded the unique ability to seal… and break… gods I’m tired… 
There have only been seven recorded Shadowsingers in history: Lovania Vallant born 895 in the age of Alders (see ref. 18992HBG Carstairs), Gherald Dashiv born 1459 in the age of — 
Gwyn snapped her fingers in front of you, pulling your mind out of the hurricane of thoughts. You were a strange creature. You spoke little, moved about the Library as quiet as a mouse, and you had an interesting habit of running your fingers along every book on the shelf. Back and forth, back and forth you’d run along before jerking to a stop like one of the books had caught you at the end of a fishing lure. 
“Are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” you repeated. 
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Some would say that’s a good thing. It would make me incredibly trustworthy, at least when it comes to responding to things. I’d be terrible at keeping secrets, unless I was very careful about how I went about things. You know how it is. With the things.” 
Gwyn huffed with silent laughter and opened one of the cabinets in her small, makeshift kitchen. “Eat.” She commanded again and you were too slow to catch the sleeve of biscuits she tossed in your direction. It bounced off your forehead and landed in your lap. “I’ll be right back with something more substantial.” 
The door shut with a puff of air and you were left to chew on the chocolate and orange biscuits in silence. 
Gwyn’s room faced the city and you saw the lamplights burning through the windows that had been cut into the mountain rock, mimicking the stars that twinkled overhead like salt poured onto black glass. 
Cream satin sheets caught the moonlight until it glowed and you had the sudden urge to tip back and fall into oblivion. You could work for a long while, so long as you didn’t sit still long enough for the exhaustion to catch up to you — which you were doing now. 
You shoved another biscuit in your mouth, now almost halfway through the sleeve. It helped settle the hollowness in your stomach so you could pick yourself up and move over to the bookshelf. 
Bodice ripper, bodice ripper, murder mystery, bodice ripper, romantic comedy, found family adventure, spy thriller, bod—
Your face went red. Damn.
The priestess chose that moment to return to her room carrying a tray laden with bread, orange slices, and a thick mushroom stew leftover from dinner. She froze, pale cheeks turning a dusty rose as you silently pushed the book back onto the shelf. 
“Dragon-born? Really?” You shoved a burning spoonful of stew in your mouth and drowned the stale crust of bread, waiting for it to get sufficiently soggy enough you could chew it.
Gwyn groaned and buried her face in her pillows. “It was a phase.”
“Must have been a very long phase. You have the whole series and I know it took her thirty years to write them all.” 
Her head shot up. “How do you know?” 
“I read the first book.”
You sat up straighter, back pressed up against the closet that housed her daily robes, ceremonial garb, training gear, and Valkyrie armour. 
“So how can you judge me?!” 
“It makes no anatomical sense, Gwyn!” You threw your hands up in the air. “She’s four feet shorter than him. He’d sooner tear her in half before giving her any pleasure, and I’m not talking about his claws.”
The priestess scoffed. “Have some imagination, Y/n.” 
You huffed and pulled out a notebook from your ample pockets. You both spent the next thirty minutes going through hastily drawn sketches that would have disappointed Feyre to no end testing out your imaginative capabilities. Gwyn couldn’t stop smiling at you as you moved your hands through the air with animated fervor. Half of what you said didn’t make sense, but she would blame it on your sleep deprivation. 
You had Gwyn in stitches. The female hung off the bed, red-brown hair brushing the ground as she gasped for breath. You looked like you were sitting on the ceiling, black robes pooled around your knees like shadows. 
That sobered Gwyn up a bit. It was a real shame she liked you as much as she did. It made it harder for her to stay mad at Azriel.
And as if you read her mind, you asked, “Why don’t you come around to the River House?”
“What?” She wasn’t laughing anymore. 
“Why don’t you come to the River House?” You asked again. “You’re close friends with Nesta. You’re part of the Inner Circle. You have a guest room there, but I haven’t seen you at the house.” 
“Do you even spend enough time at the River House to know?”
“Yes.” 
Gwyn sighed and straightened up, folding her legs neatly beneath her on the bed. “Some… Some things happened a couple years ago. I won’t bore you with the details and I don’t know if I even have the right to tell you everything, but it’s colored the way the Inner Circle works now.”
“The details are the most important part,” you murmured, “I wish I had more details. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger in that house.”
“You’re not a stranger,” Gwyn reassured you. “Is that why you spend so much time here?” she asked with genuine curiosity. 
“Yes and no. It feels closer to home here. Even if your lack of organization has made my job ten times more difficult. I don’t see why you haven’t adopted any kind of classification system. It’s a small library. It would be very easy to implement.” You sighed and rubbed your eyes. Gods, you were tired. The feeling came and went in waves. “I shouldn’t complain though, everyone has been incredibly kind and welcoming. Especially Azriel.” 
You wrapped your arms around yourself, fingers fluttering against your shoulders. You tucked your chin into your elbows and tried not to think about that glorious night of sleep with only Azriel and his shadows. Waking up with his chest rising and falling on the floor beside you.
You were falling for him and you knew it. Gods did you know it. Or maybe you could convince yourself you weren’t falling yet, but it was a steady march to the cliff’s edge and you weren’t stopping anytime soon.
Gwyn felt her heart stutter. “Oh? He’s usually so… quiet and… reserved.”
You thought about it for a long while. 
“I don’t think he’s nearly as quiet as everyone believes him to be,” you said thoughtfully, “I think he just speaks in his own way.” 
 You were right about Godswood and The Gallows. 
The letter arrived on your desk early in the morning. 
The Bookkeeper, Taunum Hyst, was found trying to burn books in the western greenwoods along with some texts from Argot’s. He fought back against the guards sent to retrieve him, but he didn’t know what he was doing. Even now he’s confused and adamant that the last three weeks have been a blur. There’s a daemati at work here. Someone other than Henna. Rhysand knows, if he hasn’t already told you.
I’ve sent a translated folktale in old Bauldish and Common, and another in Demnyon along with the others you asked for. They might be worth looking into to help with the book. I hope you’re enjoying your stay at the Night Court. Happy hunting and stay safe. 
~ Helion 
You were right. 
You dropped the letter, hands coming up to your mouth as you took in a deep, shaky breath. You knew Taunum Hyst. You could picture his salt-grey braids and coal-black skin. He’d helped perform the funeral rites for your mother. Hell he’d managed to make you laugh that terrible day. 
 Your stomach turned. If there truly was another daemati left in the Day Court that could help explain the killings. Either the Librarians could have died trying to keep the knowledge in their minds safe, or the daemati had made them kill themselves before moving onto their next victim. You didn’t know which was more tragic. 
The clock rang eleven bells and you hastily folded up the paper, dropping it into the box along with the rest of your father’s letters.  
“I think this might be the first time you’ve ever been late,” Rhysand said with an amused smirk. He leaned against the doorway to his office, ankles crossed over one another. Did that male ever stand normally? 
“It is the first time.”
“Of course you would know that.” 
You smirked, pushing open the door to find—
“Azriel?” 
The Shadowsinger stood with his hands neatly folded behind his back. “Y/n?”
“Cassian!” The Lord of Bloodshed leapt in front of his brother, arms spread wide. “I’m also here. Nesta couldn’t make it with Valkyrie training.” 
Feyre rolled her eyes with affection. She reached for Rhysand’s hand without thinking and he accepted with barely a glance. They were two magnets, always pulled towards one another in space.
“What’s going on?” You glanced back and forth between them all. It had always been just you and Rhysand during these lessons. 
“I thought it would be good to start practicing with other people when it comes to physical touch,” Rhysand explained. Azriel’s nostrils flared. “You’re getting comfortable with me, which I’m happy about. But I want you to get comfortable with everyone else too.” 
You told me you wanted another debrief about the Mortal Lands. Azriel was loath to admit that just the thought of touching your hand was making his heart race like a schoolboy. 
And I do. Rhysand said rather smugly, as if he already knew Azriel was freaking out inside. But I also know you wouldn’t have agreed to this if I asked you ahead of time. It’s amusing to see you like this, brother. Have you forgotten how to touch a female? His violet eyes glittered with mischief.
Azriel swallowed, eyes trained on you as you mulled over Rhysand’s comment and nodded. You wanted to be comfortable too. Comfortable in your body. Comfortable with other people touching you.   
You thought of what it might feel like to have Azriel’s hand tucked beneath your chin, not just his shadows, and shivered. 
Azriel nearly choked when you started undoing the ties of your robes. The gold embroidered fabric slipped off your shoulders in a soft hush that had Azriel going rigid. You wore traditional Night Court fashion beneath your Librarian robes — a tight black shirt revealed the gentle curves of your arms, the cut of your collarbones against your chest, the thin band of flesh around your stomach; a breezy skirt with slits cut into the sides that revealed flashes of your thighs with every movement you made. 
Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian all shared looks, nearly bursting out laughing at the way Azriel’s shadows were in flight around him. A swarm of bees buzzing and murmuring about how beautiful you looked. 
Azriel had seen many fae in his time in various states of undress. He’d seen males and females in the Court of Nightmares parade about in scraps of silk and lace. He’d taken countless lovers to bed. Bodies were something he knew well. Something he knew intimately. But he had never felt so flustered as he did looking at you like this. He thought his heart might just burst in his chest.
Cassian elbowed Azriel in the ribs when you weren’t looking and one of Azriel’s shadows looped around his ponytail and pulled. 
“Ow.” Cassian rubbed the back of his head with a grin. “Rude.”
You felt rather ridiculous standing in the center of the room with your arms and legs stretched out to the side. 
“Right arm,” Rhysand called out. 
Cassian bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, fists held loose by his sides with the lightness of a male a quarter of his size.
You squinted. Is he… is he about to punch me? 
Cassian read the alarm on your face and grinned, hitting you with a tap gentler than rainfall. 
You snorted, but felt nothing. Perfect.
You had to be grateful for Cassian’s light-heartedness. He had the worry melting off your shoulders. With every limb that Rhys called out, Cassian would do a little dance before punching you or kicking you. At one point he even faked a blow to your face, spinning up to you before leaping into the air and shooting out his right leg. You didn’t flinch as his boot swung an inch away from your face. You could smell the rubber soles of his boots. 
“You missed,” you teased. 
Cassian pouted, turning around to walk back to the wall now that he was finished with his piece. Azriel looked ready to tear his head off his body. 
You’re lucky you missed. Azriel’s eyes screamed across the room. You’d be a dead man if you hurt her.
Cassian winked and blew him a kiss.
Feyre was next. You practiced brushing against her like you would do in a crowded street complete with the obligatory fumbling of apologies. 
“Oh good heavens.” Feyre fanned her face like the old, upper-class women in her village used to do and laid on that sickly sweet accent they all had. “I’m so dreadfully sorry.” — They never were. 
She shook your hand and touched your shoulders and looped her arm around your waist. That was the part that had you worried. You slid your power away from every inch of your skin, wrapped it up like a secret, and held it deepin your chest. 
“Good.” Rhysand smiled and Cassian punched the air. 
You breathed deeply and gave a small bow like you’d just finished a performance. But there was still one person you were meant to touch today, and they made you the most nervous of all.
Azriel stepped forward, a picture of calm. Inside, he was raging like a storm. He kept his hands firmly grasped behind his back, wings pressed so tightly he felt his shoulders start to ache. 
You took a step forward as well, tilting your head back to look at him. You felt the grip on your power falter when he held out his hand palm up like he was asking you for a dance. Months ago at the Summer Solstice ball you’d been approached by a number of males hoping for a song with their hands at your waist and at your shoulder. The prospect of that kind of touch had terrified you then, and it still terrified you now but for different reasons. Because this time, you wanted it. 
You wanted him.
You gently slid your hand into his, feeling the scars roll beneath your soft skin like the mountains that surrounded Velaris. Your breath caught in your throat, but before Azriel could rip his hand away you held on and squeezed reassuringly. 
You’d read hundreds, if not thousands, of romance novels in your time. You’d consumed them with a ravenous hunger, surviving on them when real touch felt like a hopeless dream and the loneliness became too much to bear. And in nearly every single one of them, the first touch between lovers was described as an explosion of color. A dangerous shaking of the world down to its foundations. A cataclysmic event. 
But you were surprised to find that they were wrong. They were all wrong. Azriel wasn’t destroying anything. He was mending. 
It felt like a re-centering. The shifting of a leaning tower so it stood upright again. 
A blissful silence. 
Azriel cradled your hand in his, thumbs smoothing over your knuckles. He couldn’t help what he did next, couldn’t have stopped himself even if Helion stood at his back with murder in his eyes. 
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your hand with such reverence, such tenderness, that you swore your heart was glowing in your chest.
“Why don’t you try a hug, Y/n?” Rhysand suggested when Azriel had straightened. “If you want.” 
You looked down at your feet where shadows swarmed, and then up at Azriel.
“What do you say, Y/n?” Azriel murmured softly. His words were for you and you only. “Where would you have me touch you?” His hazel eyes caught the light before scattering into a thousand brilliant colors. 
Wordlessly you ran your fingers down his arms, tracing the shape of the muscle beneath the leather. You held his hands and gently led them up to your waist, gasping when he made contact. His warm fingers brushed the exposed skin of your waist before sliding around to your back. 
You balanced on the tips of your toes, looping your arms around his neck before resting your face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. He smelled like leather and the mountains. Wind and rain and nightfall coalescing into something so uniquely him you could pick him out in a room of thousands with your eyes closed.
It started out as a loose, misshapen thing, your hands and his arms searching for the right grip to hold your bodies together. But once you found it, you were lost.
Azriel wrapped his arms around your back and waist, hands splayed out like he was absorbing you into him. And you were no better. You buried your face in his neck, lips pressed up against the curve of his throat so you could feel the rhythmic rush of blood through his veins. 
He refused to be the first to let go. The roof could cave in. The floor could drop out from beneath your feet. He would not let you go. 
Your tears started out slow, coupled by ragged, shallow breaths. 
“I’ve got you, Y/n,” Azriel whispered. “I’ve got you.”
How long had it been since you’d been held like this? A hundred years? Two hundred? You thought you’d learned to live without it, but now that it was yours you didn’t think you’d ever, ever be able to give it up. You were at the cliff’s edge now and without an ounce of hesitation you flung yourself over and into the abyss.
With Azriel, controlling your powers didn’t seem like such a difficult thing. Later that evening when you lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, you realized you hadn’t been thinking of control at all.
<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->
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Author's Note:
Y'all... THEY FINALLY TOUCHED EACH OTHER! And not only that, BUT HE KISSED HER HAND!!! And! They fucking HUGGED!!!!
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fairydustblossom · 10 months
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losing control {part 3}
azriel x reader
summary: you and azriel have been best friends for decades. giving romance a chance takes some time to figure out.
category: angst, slow-burn, friends-to-lovers (kinda)
word count: 1.8k
warnings: nudity
notes: yayy here’s part three! FINALLY i’m so sorry for the wait life got super busy,,, but grab your popcorn and get comfy cause this got angsty and dramatic real quick. let me know what you think ;) hope y’all enjoy!
{part 1} | {part 2} | {part 4} | {part 5}
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Later that night, naked limbs tangled together and shadows settled around you both, you felt calm, sated, and full again. Your chest was pressed up against Azriel’s, your body laying half on top of his, and your head tucked into the crook of his neck. One of his arms was wrapped around you, his hand resting in the intersection of your lower back, hip, and ass. His other hand was playing with the hand that was resting on his chest. Playing with the ring on your thumb and every few minutes he would give you a kiss, alternating between hand, forehead, and lips. 
Once your breaths evened out, falling into rhythm with one another, you heard a sigh come out of him. Azriel was fighting an internal battle on whether to bring up his remaining concerns from earlier. It seemed like the Gwyn situation had been worked through, and he felt reassured of your feelings for him, but he still felt like you had been holding back. You had clearly been upset about something other than Gwyn, he didn’t need his spymaster abilities to figure that out. He knew you. Could read the look in your eyes, your facial expressions, your body language. He was sure of it but he did not want to break the, what felt like, fragile peace that had settled around you. 
You lifted your head and stared at him. Noticing that he was thinking about something, on the verge of speaking. You waited and when nothing came from him you asked, “What's wrong?” 
A few more seconds of silence before he pulled your head back down to lay on him, tangling his hand in your hair. He sighed again before saying in a soft, low voice, “I still feel like you’re holding something back... what happened with Gwyn was this morning... and I think you've been avoiding me since yesterday.. Cassian said you skipped training too, which you never do… I know you said we are okay… but you weren't okay earlier.” 
The vulnerability in his voice made your resolve crumble within seconds. You always felt like you could tell Azriel everything, why would this be any different? You took a deep breath in to prepare yourself. You were ready to tell him what you wanted out of your relationship. If he didn’t want the same… well… you just didn’t know what you would do.
To avoid any form of eye contact, you scooted further into his neck and tightened your hold on him. “I guess… I guess I haven’t been okay.” His body tensed up and his grip on your waist tightened, remaining silent to give you the time needed to prepare your words.  
You were finding it hard to continue voicing your feelings. You knew Azriel would feel hurt, and maybe a little scared, but you needed to be honest. You just hoped he didn’t shut you out.
“I think I need more.” Azriel pulled away to look down at your face with furrowed brows.
“What do you mean you need more?” He asked, his voice already losing its softness reserved for you and being replaced with the hardness associated with the shadowsinger.
His tone made you feel slightly panicked. You were struggling with expressing yourself and already you felt that it was coming out wrong.
“That came out wrong,” you quickly replied, skepticism filling his eyes. “I mean I just need more from us.”
At that, he sat up putting distance between the two of you. You felt exposed as his shadows left your naked body and went over to their master. Buzzing around him and starting to hide him from you, his stony face the only part of him you could see clearly. 
“Y/N,” he said “What. does. that. mean?” 
Azriel felt sick once again. He felt fear running through his body, an icy feeling spreading. What did you mean by that? Earlier you had reassured him that everything was okay and now you wanted, no, needed more. Were you bored? Was he not enough anymore? How could you even say that after the night you just had. He knew he didn’t deserve you, and had battled a long time with that thought, but he had convinced himself he could be enough for you. He felt like a dagger had pierced his heart, a rushing noise filling his ears. Internally, he prayed to the gods that you weren’t about to end the two of you, but worked to hide every emotion on his face, falling back to his impenetrable spymaster seriousness.
He could read the panic in your eyes. Eyes wide, mouth tightly shut as you tried breathing deeply through your nose, cheeks tinted, hair disheveled. Gods, every muscle in his body itched, begged him to move closer to you, to wrap you up in his arms and caress you until you calmed down again. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. 
“I don’t want to be a secret anymore Az '' you finally said gaze drifting down to your hands. “It’s  hard just standing there when others are flirting with you, it’s hard feeling like I’m hiding such a big part of my life from our friends, our family,  it's hard to pretend we aren’t together when all I want is for everyone to know.” 
His body relaxed slightly at your admission but his unease did not fully subside.
He stayed silent, unable to think of what to say. He thought you wanted the same thing he did. He wasn’t ready to share your relationship with everyone else. He didn’t fully have an answer as to why, but he felt that things would change if everyone knew. You could be used against him, he was a hated male in many lands after all. Your friends would tease the both of you. Maybe they would try convincing you of why dating him was a bad idea. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t even know how to be in a proper relationship, not after spending all his life pinning after the wrong people. The only real romantic connections he had ever shared had been secret affairs that ended before they could even properly begin. Nothing had ever blossomed the way your romance had. 
The secrecy of your relationship was also a way to protect himself. He didn’t think he could survive a break up after having told all your friends. He doesn’t know how he would be able to carry on like normal after having lost the best thing to have ever happened to him in his 500 years. Keeping your relationship secret helped him keep these two realities separate. If you were to end, he could pretend nothing from his professional or social life had truly changed. 
Goosebumps rose along your arms at his silence. You had been scared of Azriel’s reaction, but  part of you didn’t really believe that he would reject the idea. You believed he cared for you and he reassured you with his actions everyday. So why wasn’t he responding? Did he truly not want to publicly be associated with you in a romantic way? 
“Azriel?” you asked in an attempt to get an answer out of him. His unrelenting stare making you feel small and vulnerable. You wrapped your arms around yourself to cover your bare body from him. 
A muscle in his jaw moved before he said “I don’t want that.” 
All the different scenarios of how wrong it could go were consuming his thoughts, making him unaware of the cold and distant way in which he had just spoken to you.
Your eyes welled up with tears. “But why? Why is it so bad for our friends to know? Why don’t you want to claim me the way I want to claim you?” You were becoming more agitated with every question, his refusal to meet your eyes now as he stared at the wall behind you filling you with pain and anger.
“I’m not ready for that yet” Azriel replied, hoping that would be enough of an answer for you to understand. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation with you yet. Of course, he wanted everyone to know you were his, and only his. He didn’t enjoy watching males around Velaris trying to catch your attention, but he cherished the bubble of love and happiness you were in right now. He didn’t mind putting up with other males if it meant keeping your relationship just as it was. 
“Is that all you can really say, Az?” you asked, your voice sounding weak to your ears as you tried to keep the tremble out of it.
“It should be enough of an answer” his response came with no hesitation.
The speed of his answer made the warmth that had settled around you both from earlier fully disappeared. Cold seeped into your body but before it could settle in you, you shot up out of bed, glaring at Azriel . How dare he treat you with such little regard after asking you to be honest.
“It’s not, Azriel. Not for me. Not anymore” you spat out, hoping he would put up a fight, give you a real reason as to why you were hiding from everyone. The silence you were met with made the tightness around your throat worsen. The realization that Azriel wasn’t fighting for you, or even attempting to explain himself left you feeling numb. You could see him, feel him, retreating from you. Part of you wanted to take it back, soothe him, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to. You would not let any male treat you less than what you deserved. 
Azriel calmly stood up, back facing you, wings flaring in all their majesty, shadows swarming around him to cover his exposed body. He turned his head slightly to look at you.
“Then you want more than I can give you” he murmured before winnowing away. 
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Back in his room, Azriels knees finally gave out. What the fuck had he just done? He couldn’t believe how he had treated you. He felt like a coward. Had he just ended things? How had he manage to fuck this up. How did his fear of losing you turn into a reality?
He didn’t know whether to scream or cry, angry tears welling in his eyes. He wanted to be enough for you. Gods, he wanted that more than anything but he knew you deserved better and he couldn’t help but think that this was for the best. 
He bit his inner cheeks to keep his emotions in check. To feel any other pain than the one he felt in his chest right now. He let his shadows comfort him as he forced himself to go numb, to block all his emotions. He carried himself over to bed, and fell asleep into a deep slumber, not wanting to feel or think anymore. 
taglist: @acotarxx @fall-myriad @moonlwghts @fictionalmenloversblog@kennedy-brooke@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @rebs2210
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venusin-aries · 5 months
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Well, it turns out I have more smutty Gwynriel thoughts. Again, if you don’t like Gwynriel just hushhhh and keep scrolling, the grown ups are talking, babygirl:
Sparring that starts as just that. Training. Professional. Focused. Friendly. Respectful. 
Sparring. 
That ends up turning into something else. 
She picks up each technique quickly because of course she does. She’s Gwyn. She’s a perfectionist. Even when both her and Azriel are comfortable with her skills she’ll keep trying and trying until it’s flawless. 
But once she has it down, they can’t help but pick on one another. 
A feeling starts igniting in Gwyn that concerns her. Azriel is her friend, her trainer. She should not be getting turned on by grappling with him, even during the moments it turns almost playful, like they can’t help themselves. 
Both too competitive to not take it seriously, but enjoying themselves far too much it starts to feel…different. A delighted laugh escapes Gwyn, a smirk Azriel doesn’t bother hiding away. 
It’s serious. And then it’s competitive. And then it’s playful. And then it’s…different. 
And Gwyn knows Azriel can sense a change in her in those moments. Moments were she forgets herself enough that she’s unafraid, she’s confident, and then suddenly she’s rocked back into the moment and she tells herself it’s wrong. It’s not fair to Azriel to feel this way about him. He saved her, and this is how she repays him? By having no control over her bodily reactions to him?
The moments where she manages to pin him, when her hips press against his, when her groin presses down on his lap, even briefly, feels like time freezes, feels like an eternity passes in only a few seconds. And she feels it. An itch she wants to chase. An urge to press and rub and grind. She feels the shift in the air in those moments, loses herself in it for only a second before she comes back to herself and hurries off of him before she can do anything rash.
She doesn’t know if Azriel scents the arousal in the air, thinks he’s too polite to say anything, really. But Azriel is usually in a daze by the time she hurries off of him and bids him goodbye. He’s been lagging more and more while they spar lately and while Gwyn tells herself he’s not taking it easy on her on purpose, she can tell something is different, that something is distracting him, and she only hopes she’s not making him uncomfortable by her lack of control. 
But no no no, that’s not the problem at all. He’s having fun with her, too. He feels electric when they spar. Her laughter and cheeky smile are driving him to distraction enough, she’s enjoying this physical and demanding activity. He feels breathless and reborn and like he shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he does because fuck, does he enjoy it. 
Every part of him burns when they touch and grab at each other and he’s furious with himself for his lack of control. Her smell, their smell combined, intensified from all this movement, all their sweat, is almost drugging him, he feels like he’s moving under water. He didn’t know it was possible to starve and hunger for something so much.  
Gwyn has a nice ass and long, strong legs, feeling those thighs clench around any part of him when they’re grappling is a heavenly experience and it’s driving him up the wall. He’s 500 fucking years old, a spymaster and a shadowsinger, his blood is boiling in a frenzy, his mouth won’t stop watering, all from sparring with a beautiful and strong copper haired woman. 
2. Ruined hands greedily but gently running over every inch of her they can reach, igniting an arousal so deep he doesn’t know what to do. Chest on fire and it feels so good. Has he ever let himself be touched so much or at all? Has he ever let himself feel so much, connect during these moments?
Azriel just melts on top of Gwyn. Upper body pressing against hers completely, just skin on skin on skin. It’s soothing, it’s intense, there is no hesitancy from either of them. Just total ecstasy. The minutiae rocking of his hips grinding against hers, pelvic bone rubbing her clit just right and he knows it’s driving her crazy, can tell by the way he hits it just so and her hips jerk, her head leaning back to try and catch her breath, to try and regain control, but Azriel doesn’t let up, she told him not to, every breath of hers becomes an involuntary little moan. Her face keeps turning away because it’s too much but Azriel just keeps turning her right back, mouth fused to hers because now that it’s started he can’t stop. 
A man that’s only ever used his body, his strength, his power to save her, not harm her. All of it pressed against her. Every inch of skin rubbing against hers, the friction is intoxicating, no uneasiness or telling themselves it’s something they shouldn’t be doing. Just an undeniable feeling of it being right. 
The patch of skin behind Azriel’s ear is very sensitive. Gwyn discovers this after nipping his earlobe, when she teases her teeth there. He stretches his neck into her like a cat and she’s not sure he realizes but she gently keeps her focus there. The spot below the hinge of his jaw too. His tongue lightly twining with hers before he follows with a tiny suck on the tip of it. 
3. And, of course, Pussydrunk!Azriel. Either Gwyn straddling his face or pinned on the bed, Azriel’s lean but immovable forearm holding her bucking hips down, legs over his shoulders, pussy pulled tightly to his hungry mouth, not one inch of it going unlicked or unkissed. It’s wet and it’s loud and Gwyn is kind of caught off guard by the noise but Azriel is shameless and unforgiving in his pursuit to make her drip, to make her come. 
She didn’t know how sensitive the skin on her inner thigh was until he set his mouth there and sucked and nipped until it was almost sore and she started squirming.
Both of them finding safety and comfort in submitting to each other. They’re both switches and each have moments they need to concede control. 
The dark, the shadows, it’s not repressive, it’s freeing for them.
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valkyriepegusus · 17 days
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I woke up this morning and had the unfortunate experience of seeing one of those “acotar hot takes” on my fyp (which is 98% of the time just Bat Boy propaganda, but I digress), anyways one of the slides said something like “Elain shouldn’t not choose Azriel just so she doesn’t hurt “sweet baby boy Lucien”” and I just want to talk about that for a sec…
1. Elain already didn’t choose Azriel. She returned his gift. That was SJM using literary devices to tell the readers, “she rejected his gift, she rejected him, the door is closed” if you don’t like or “agree” with that, well that’s not really anyone’s problem but your own.
2. The absolute disrespect towards Lucien to talk about him as if he’s some fragile, docile little child who couldn’t handle Elain rejecting him is beyond me. It’s actually funny because the only one who has treated anyone like a fragile docile child is AZRIEL TO ELAIN!!! I like Azriel don’t get me wrong, but the bonus chapter really just showed everyone that HE is the one not in control of his emotions (which is great setup for his soon to come book 🤭😉). Lucien has been nothing but patient, caring, understanding, and kind towards Elain and her feelings, whereas Azriel pouted and got pissed when Rhys told him he needs to stay away from another man’s mate, which is a totally reasonable thing to say on Rhys’ part and it’s actually crazy that people think Rhys was in the wrong. Again if you disagree, I literally do not care.
3. Which leads me to my third point, let’s say for one second, the door to E/riel wasn’t slammed shut, let’s say she kept the necklace or whatever else E/riels like to pretend happened. Elain should still reject Azriel and, believe it or not, it has nothing to do with Lucien!!! Azriel has explicitly stated (through his internal monologue, so we as the readers know this as fact) that he has literally not thought about anything more than “the fantasies he pleasured himself to” about Elain. In case any wandering e/riels stumble upon this post, this means that he has only thought about Elain in a sexual context and nothing else (NOT in a romantic OR loving way 😨😨😨). Azriel continuously undermines Elain (“there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that Elain should not be exposed to”), Azriel is still not over Mor (again we know this), Azriel told her to her face, that kissing her would be a mistake, Azriel does not credit her for killing Hybern, Azriel doesn’t understand her!!! And these are all just the things he’s said, either to Elain or other people, there are so many more reasons we could draw just from his thoughts and behaviors towards Elain.
I want to make it very clear that I very much like Elain, Azriel, Lucien, and Gwyn as characters. I genuinely enjoy reading about them and I’m very excited for all of their books, anything I post is not me shitting on ANY of them at all. But I won’t pretend these characters don’t have flaws. Azriel is a deeply flawed character which will undoubtedly be explored in his book. Elain has many issues that she needs to work out, which will be explored in her book. There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that these characters are not perfect and I in no way mean to make it seem like I dislike ANY of them, because I don’t.
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daevastanner · 8 days
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Halfbreeds - Chapter 2
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r h y s a n d 
two and a half years later
The doors to Rhysand’s study in the river house flew open and Gwyneth Berdara came staggering in.
He sat up in his high back chair, immediately taking note of her frantic eyes and ragged breaths. 
“Gwyn?” Rhys said, rising from his seat.
She strode across the carpet, rounding his desk to come stand before him. 
Gripping the High Lord by his shoulders, Gwyn breathed, “He knows.”
Rhysand blinked once before the sentence registered, before he understood her mortified expression. Azriel knew. He knew Gwyn was his mate.
“How?” he asked, bending his head to better meet Gwyn’s eyes.
“We were on our date at Rita’s,” she began, hands falling slack at her sides, “and he left to get us m-more drinks. Then this man came over and he asked if I was lonely.”
Rhys felt his lips pull down in a frown.
“I told him I was waiting on my date, b-but then he reached for my hand on the table and-and said that he would have me back before my date noticed I was gone.” Her breath hitched again. “He tried to pull me out of my chair, but Azriel came over in a flash and just-just started b-beating him. He wouldn’t stop and-and Rita had to get security to pull him off the male.”
Swearing under his breath, Rhys made a mental note to check with Rita and try and identify whatever male had attempted to ruin his brother and Gwyn’s first date. Rhys had never seen the shadowsinger more nervous than when he’d planned to ask the Valkyrie out. It had taken an impressive amount of self-control for the High Lord not to confess to the former-priestess that she would soon be on the receiving end of Azriel’s full romantic attention. 
“They took him out and I followed but… but when I met Azriel on the street he just started staring at me,” Gwyn continued. Her throat slid. “And then… then he just said it. He said I was his mate.”
Mother… The bond had finally snapped for his brother. It had been two and a half years since Sangravah, six months since Azriel had begun to know Gwyn more intimately, going so far as to dance with her at Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony just three months ago. And now he finally knew that they were mates.
“What’d you say?” Rhys asked gently.
“I couldn’t lie.” Tears spilled from Gwyn’s eyes. “I said… that I knew.” 
“And?” 
Gwyn’s lower lip wobbled. “He-he asked if I was waiting until I thought he was worthy to know the truth. If I didn’t see him as a suitable mate. I–I ran. Evaded him in the crowd and–and came here. He’s… Rhysand, he was wild.” A hopeless sniffle. “He said he didn’t care about bonds anymore. I thought he–”
“He’s not thinking straight,” Rhys said, trying to keep his voice even for her sake. “He meant what he said to you about the bond not making a difference, alright? I know because he’s said as much to me and Feyre as well.”
“Then why were the first words out of his mouth–”
“Because he’s overwhelmed.  You may not remember because of everything else that happened that night, but the bond snapping is overwhelming. Especially for males.” He lowered his voice, “Especially for a male who has spent five centuries convinced he would never have one because he was unworthy.” 
Gwyn’s gaze darted about the room uncertainly before landing on Rhys once more. “I’m not ready, Rhys. I wanted to court him before we discussed the bond.”
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, thumb stroking a soothing circle on her bicep as he grimaced. “In my experience the bond has little regard for your plans. You’re going to have to adapt.” 
Her stare was pleading. “I need time, Rhys. And I need him to calm down before I can even begin to consider–”
Rhys pulled her to his chest, enfolding her in an embrace. She accepted immediately, face buried in the dark material of his jacket, fingers bunching in the fabric beneath his shoulder-blades. 
The High Lord rested his chin atop her head. “Leave it to me.” 
“What?” she asked, voice muffled by his chest. 
Feyre, Rhys shut his eyes and reached out to his mate’s mind. If you look out the parlor window is there a very determined looking shadowsinger stalking across the grounds?
A pause.
It would appear so, Feyre whispered into his mind, shall I stall him?
Read the rest on Ao3
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The New Dusk Court (Az x Reader)
Chapter 1
word count: 1,051
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It had been three days. And once again, the IC had met up at the River House, this time in the dining room, as they all sat in their respective chairs, and they all kept their eyes upon a single open book in the middle of the table. 
Nesta had found this book within the depths of the House of Wind with a little help from Gwyn. Next to it, a single, small map with singed pages laid–and replacing “The Prison” was “Dusk Court”. It was barely legible, but there nonetheless. The entire book was half-destroyed, but through the damage, one could slightly read stories of lush land, beautiful sunsets, and a secret that laid in a mountain within the island. A secret that only the High Lord of Dusk Court knew of, really, until what the IC can really only imagine was a war that left Dusk Court in ashes, and Morrigan’s family lineage no longer in control of Night Court, either. A time where there was still conflict over who could take advantage of Dusk Courts native animals, or who would have rights to the land once the High Lord died as he had no children. 
“You’ve read it all, Nesta?” Rhysand asked, his eyes remaining on the main attraction in front of him on the table.
“I’ve read it all. And that is all I could make out from the pages.” She answered. 
“This is still a lot of information, is it not?” Cassian looked to Rhys. He sat right beside Nesta, elbows crossed and propped up on the table as he leaned over it. 
“It is, I suppose. Mor, what can you tell us about the visit with Helion?” 
“Helion is doing well. He was very interested in what I was researching,” Morrigan swiped her blonde hair over a shoulder, “I told him I was looking for something to keep me celibate and he left me be. But I found some things that would definitely answer some questions.” 
Mor told the story of the book she’d read, how legend had it that the High Lord of Dusk was a shadowsinger. When the words left her lips, Azriel’s face paled slightly, as his suspicions were slowly being confirmed by the day. Manipulating shadows and darkness, as dusk would cast the longest shadows. It only made sense. But Azriel was gifted these powers, not born with them, and he constantly found himself asking, why? Azriel knew he was as strong as Rhys. Knew he was as powerful and quick as him, too, and he quickly realized what this all meant. 
“Azriel,” Az’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his brother’s voice. Hazel eyes met violet-blue ones, and Rhys spoke once again, “You are…” His voice trailed off, and Azriel could feel a familiar tapping on his mind as he slowly lifted his shields. 
How did I never notice before? Rhys sounded almost amused. My own brother… equal to me in power, heir to a court that I hardly knew existed. 
Azriel’s brows furrowed as he stayed in his own head. 
Why do you doubt yourself, Az? You’re smart and powerful enough… 
I don’t know the first step to becoming a High Lord of a dead court, Rhys. I’m not doing it. Azriel thought. Rhys’ low chuckle echoed in Azriel’s mind. 
There’s a first time for everything, brother. The Cauldron works in mysterious ways. The Prison sings to you things that I can’t even hear. Your shadows respond to the calling of the island. I’m not sure you have much of a choice. It’ll be tough losing my best spy. Azriel closed his shields. Rhysand wasn’t wrong, Azriel was feeling more drawn to the land as the weeks went by, and he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. His fear and insecurity was taking the reins more than anything. 
He couldn’t keep his head quiet. His shadows would speak, their becks and calls overlapping every night for a whole week, and Azriel’s face showed it. The Prison, the shadows, the dusk. A world, a woman, a love. A High Lord and Lady of Dusk. He’d attempt his late night walks through the city to quiet his mind. When that didn’t work he’d spend hours in the training ring until he’d noticed the sun was shining over the steppes. He’d lay in bed for hours staring into the dark, watching the stars and the moon. Wherever his eyes wandered, his shadows quickly followed, each one with a different request. 
Azriel stood in Rhysand’s office, staring at the different planets Rhys kept in his solar system model. He wouldn’t dare tell his brother that his eyes burned and he hadn’t slept in days, but Rhys would already know just by looking at him. Rhys sat as his desk, working through the piles of documents that lay there while he waited for Azriel to speak.
“I feel a pull to go there, Rhys.” Azriel finally muttered. 
“It’s supposed to be your court, Az. You’ll feel that.” Rhysand replied coolly. 
“I’m not talking about The Prison.” 
Rhys looked up from the papers he was working on. “A different world?” 
Azriel nodded. 
“I can figure out how to get you there,” Rhys started, but Azriel quickly interrupted. 
“No. I don’t want to raise any suspicion. I can figure it out myself.” 
Rhys sat back in his chair and shrugged. 
“If you can figure out how to get there, go.” 
---------------------------------
Days… weeks went by of studying and practicing how the Hel Azriel could leave this planet in favor of another one. He’d eventually made it there, with nothing but a single soul tie, diminished by the magic the world he’d stepped into seemed to lack. After lots of trial and error of how to function in this new world… Azriel found himself pulling up to a bookstore. He’d had a feeling that he’d need some kind of entertainment while he’d waited to magically appear upon his mate, so he’d set up the GPS on his phone, and took himself to a bookstore. 
He’d eventually wandered into a fantasy isle when he’d stopped in his tracks, because standing there was you, stood in front of a bookshelf with your phone and a coffee in one hand, and a thick romance book in another. 
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paperstorm · 2 months
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“My mom sent me to rehab. There’s plenty of good places in New York but she sent me to the other side of the country because she decided that one was better. My dad dragged me to Austin. Picked my therapist for me, made me live in his guest room like a teenager. And both of those things were the right choice in the end so I guess it’s not fair to be mad at them either, but neither of them asked me what I wanted, first. Or what I needed. They both just put me where they wanted me to be, and then expected me to be thankful for it.”
Love your new Missing Moments but this made me want to strangle TK. The spoiled brat should be thankful! If Gwyn had asked him what he wanted at that time he would have gone back to his little drug den and probably be dead. If Owen had asked him what he wanted before moving to Texas he very likely would have ended up back on drugs again and would probably be dead. I love TK to pieces, but you can't ask a drug addict what they want because a lot of times they're not strong enough to say that they want or need help.
Well first, in a way that is fantastic, because something I love playing with in these stories is an unreliable narrator who is giving voice to his own perspective and perception of events even if the reader isn't going to agree with what he's saying.
But second, as a recovering addict (who does not speak for everyone who suffers from this disability but can give at least some form of a voice to it) every case is different because every person is different. There are cases for sure where without forced medical intervention, a person will probably die. There are schools of thought that forced medical intervention is unethical even in these cases – the idea that forcibly removing someone's bodily autonomy in any situation where they are not an immediate physical danger to other people is not an ethical move even if it results in that person killing themselves. There are other schools of thought that believe things along the lines of what you said. I think I personally fall somewhere in the middle.
But choice and autonomy and agency are important, regardless of where someone falls on that debate. It's important to addicts because they are, first and foremost, human beings. And no human being likes to feel as if their loved ones are not respecting their autonomy or are forcibly removing their agency, even or perhaps especially if it's done under the banner of this is for your own good. TK, as I had him state in the dialogue, is very aware that his parents’ interventions likely saved his life. He is, as he says in a later paragraph after the one you quoted, grateful for that. But that doesn't mean he isn't also resentful of the fact that they never bothered to ask what he thought he needed.
Often addicts are very crystal clear about what they need. Often what's standing in their way is the fact that they can't get what they need, not that they don't know what it is. An addiction like TK's, in which he was still able to manage a full-time and incredibly difficult and demanding job, means he was not so far gone that he was incapable of rational thought 24/7. He wasn’t legally incapacitated, he would have been capable of participating in the conversation had his parents wanted to include him in that.
Even giving an addict a small amount of agency over their own decisions can be instrumental in their recovery, because it allows them to retain some semblance of control and to feel good about the fact that they are making the decision to get better. As an example, Owen could have let him pick his own therapist. Gwyn could have said "going to rehab is non-negotiable. Here are three I have done some research on, you can pick which one you go to." (As a side note, this is exactly why I think it's so important that in 3x08 she walked away at the airport and let TK go on his own. Because if TK had gotten into that car and said “Take me to a bar”, the driver legally would have had to do so or else it would be kidnapping. TK could also have just stood there for 10 minutes and then booked a flight back to New York. It’s so important that at the very end, Gwyn let it be TK’s decision to go to the clinic. For the rest of his life he can look back and hang his hat on that. That his mom gave him a push, but in the end he chose recovery. That he did it for himself.)
Sometimes, you’re right, there are situations where people’s loved ones are right to step in and take over. I don’t blame Owen or Gwyn for doing it in either of these moments, that’s their son and he was killing himself and what loving parent wouldn’t do what they did? But two things can be true. The fact that they made the right choice (and again, my TK knows that they made the right choice) doesn’t erase the fact that part of him is resentful that he feels like they didn’t value his opinion or his needs – or even know what his needs were, since they didn’t ask. And that lingering resentment flared up again when it felt to him like Carlos was now another person not caring about his opinion or needs. Those feelings I think are valid, even if they aren’t perfectly fair.
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hlizr50 · 9 months
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Men pay a lot of money to get their name into Gwyn's exclusive black book - enough that, with careful planning, she's putting herself through law school debt-free. Once she's graduated, she can retire the high heels and little black dresses and get to work in the pursuit of justice that she and her sister never received.
Azriel Singer's profile intrigues her, with a smile that never shines in his eyes and a delectable body. But will his attitude get in the way of any future potential?
Welcome to the ACOTAR Writing Circle!!!
This is part 1! Part 2 will be posted in 2 weeks, and Part 3 in two weeks after that! I can't wait to see where this story goes!
Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organizing this event yet again! And thanks to @headcanonheadcase and @mystical-blaise for your feedback!
Now, without further ado, here is part one of a new Gwynriel AU:
I Choose Who. I Choose You.
Read on AO3 or read the chapter below!
Gwyn squinted at her computer screen before rubbing her eyes to see if that would help the blurry words come into focus. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep - not since her shitty roommate had weaseled away the cash they’d set aside for rent. She’d had to work later and longer than she was used to over the previous week to make sure she still had a roof over her head. And now that she was occupying the small apartment solo, she would have to adjust her scheduling.
The copper-haired law student mentally ticked through the list again: twice as much for rent, internet, electric, water. She’d already nixed the cable, mourning the loss of SVU and Grey’s, but she would just have to cope. For the past year or so, she’d been able to get away with reserving Friday and Saturday nights for her work. Now she was going to have to expand that to Thursday or Sunday – maybe both. She’d just have to see how business was.
Only three more semesters. She could hang up her thigh-high boots and tiny dresses and insane push-up bras after that.
In spite of the judgment from society at large, Gwyn wasn’t ashamed of being an escort. When she’d been attacked, sex had been used as a weapon against her. It had consumed her; filling her with pain and guilt and shame. After she took control of her body again, there was only power. When she performed sex acts by her own free will, it was liberating. And nothing was more empowering than using it all to put herself through college and law school, after which she could exact the justice that she and her sister never received.
She chose who. She chose when. She chose how much. 
If she didn’t want to fuck, she didn’t. If she didn’t get a good feeling from a guy, she wouldn’t even go meet him. She ruthlessly investigated the men looking to make it into her little black book, and only a few made the cut each week.
Gwyn worried her bottom lip as she read the same line of text about patent law for what had to be the seventh time. More work meant more internet sleuthing and social media stalking, which would take up time during the days that she would like to keep reserved with her schoolwork.
It was going to be a grind, but it would be better than a thieving roommate and her skeevy hookups. And the rent was still cheaper than anything else she’d find in the city.
With a muttered curse she snapped her laptop closed, choosing to abandon schoolwork when it was obvious that she would not be retaining any knowledge. Instead, she plopped down on the well-loved sofa with her cell phone and her tablet, determined to be at least somewhat productive. As soon as she tapped the button that would lead to what she called her ‘dashboard’, a familiar ding notified her of a text. She set the tablet down and grabbed the phone, eyeing the message bubble.
Nesta: Come out tonight?
Gwyn groaned, relieved that her best friend wasn’t there to hear and, therefore, admonish her for the reaction. She knew Nesta meant well, and that she wanted Gwyn to go out and enjoy all the things the buzzing city life had to offer a mid-to-upper twenty-something woman like herself. And the law student would admit that she always had a good time when she obliged Nesta and Emerie.
But, in spite of what she did for a living, being out in the unpredictable night made her nervous. She was always vigilant, to the point where it had to grate on the people around her, not to mention any of the service staff who had the unfortunate luck of dealing with her idiosyncrasies.
At least she was a generous tipper.
And now, with the rise in her expenses, Gwyn found herself yet another excuse to keep herself cloistered and safe behind the locked door of her apartment.
Gwyn: Can’t tonight. School stuff. 
Okay, so a little white lie here and there wasn’t the worst thing she could do.
Nesta: BOO
Gwyn laughed as she thumbed her response.
Gwyn: Text me when you get home. Gwyn: Or a photo of the sorry sap you’re going home with and an address. Gwyn: And then text me when you get THERE. Gwyn: And then text me in the morning. Nesta: YES, MOM
She played into the bit, sending her a kissy emoji along with a message to “make good choices”, before turning her attention back to her tablet. If school wasn’t happening, then she’d use this valuable time for recon on her newest submissions.
And the photos that greeted her were, on the whole, quite impressive.
Tamlin Green. Tarquin Summers. Jaxon Vanserra.
She didn’t even open the Vanserra file. Instead her nose crinkled as she grimaced and immediately declined. Even if he wasn’t directly related, Nesta’s sister Feyre was close to a Lucien Vanserra who had the same fiery hair. Lucien was on-again/off-again with Nesta’s other sister, Elain. That potential connection was just too close, the prospect of meeting awkwardly at a holiday a little more likely than Gwyn cared to accept.
Tarquin Summers looked delectably exotic, with a brilliant smile that promised trouble. It was exactly that kind of vow that sent the law student digging into the profile he’d created, and she was not disappointed.
Summers was pretty young to own a company, the result of the passing of his father, whose private jet had crashed a few years prior. His leadership must still be solid, in spite of his age, because the hydro-power startup was thriving, and winning the hearts of environmentalists everywhere. Gwyn found his focus on the climate quite attractive.
What was also quite attractive was the way the man wore a three-piece suit. With his white-blonde braids pulled back from his face and his chocolate skin an incredible contrast against his crisp white collar and tan vest, with matching pants that were tailored to perfection and definitely highlighted that he had… a lot to work with downstairs.
That picture of a shirtless Tarquin Summers at the gym was quite a selling point, as well.
Gwyn returned to her home screen and opened another app, quickly transferring his information into it and submitting the background check. If everything came back on the up and up, she might just get to trace those washboard abs with her tongue.
With a satisfied hum, she returned to her dashboard and opened the file for Tamlin Green, even though the long, golden hair and too-perfect face screamed frat-boy with daddy’s money and nary a consequence in the world. Green was a looker, and he obviously knew it. He was older than Summers, his emerald eyes colder and more calculating, and Gwyn knew it wasn’t just because Tamlin simply had more experience with the real world and the hell that it could be.
Tamlin Green was the heir of an oil tycoon. Old money. Ruthless money. Where Tarquin was an industry upstart with a passion for conservation and paying fair and livable wages, Tamlin had been groomed by a long legacy of greed and profit at any cost.
Against her better judgment, Gwyn typed the first and last name into her search engine. She knew the background check for Tamlin would likely come back as pristine as his Crest-commercial smile. For serial troublemakers like him – with rich, influential fathers – Gwyn would stoop to scrolling through social media and internet news and gossip sites. Unfortunately, more often than not, those salacious stories were closest to the truth.
It took longer than she expected to find the questionable stuff – props to his family’s public relations staff – but when her finger fell on the article link, she didn’t need to read beyond the headline.
GREEN OIL, FORMER EMPLOYEES REACH SETTLEMENT Twelve women who accused Green golden boy of sexual harassment and stalking receive $125 million
The copper-haired student gave a disapproving tsk as she closed her browser and declined Tamlin Green’s application. While she was smug that the women who brought the lawsuit had come away with a significant sum for their trouble, to men like Tamlin $125 million was merely pocket change; a minor inconvenience for them to keep behaving badly.
A contented sigh escaped between Gwyn’s lips. Tarquin seemed promising, and tomorrow she would reach out to schedule a meeting to discuss wants and needs and expectations and compensation. But until then, perhaps she could–
Another face appeared before she could close the app, and she was met with the intense hazel stare of what could quite possibly be the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. Even though it was just an uploaded photo, Gwyn felt like he was peering straight into her soul.
“Azriel Singer,” she tested the name in her mouth and found that she quite liked the way it fell from her lips. With hair that was somehow both perfect and disheveled and heavy dark ink peeking out from the unbuttoned collar of the navy henley he wore, this man screamed sex appeal. His grin was lopsided, and didn’t reach his eyes, but that didn’t make him any less tempting.
Brooding and mysterious? Sinfully sexy with a tormented past? Laughing to herself, she opened his profile and application. Gwyn was making him the main character in her own romance book before she knew anything about him at all.
Azriel Singer was a tech genius, specializing in cybersecurity, and was responsible for protecting the assets of Velaris, Inc. He also contracted his security services to other big name companies, and his programming prowess and talent for layered protection strategies made him worth every penny he invoiced. Unlike Summers and Green, Azriel Singer didn’t appear to be one for the public eye, and when he did venture out into the city, it was in the company of his two fraternity brothers.
When he did venture out into the city, he looked sexy as fuck.
Azriel was tall and muscular, but a little leaner than Tarquin. The attached gym photos weren’t shirtless, but they didn’t have to be with the way that the tank was practically painted onto his skin. The tattoos ran over his chest and shoulders, tapering off like tendrils of smoke as they snaked down his arms and up his neck, and for a moment Gwyn wondered if they signified anything.
She also wanted to touch them.
With her fingertips and her lips and her tongue and… 
The redhead shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She was never like this – drooling after a man she’d never met. She was supposed to be the stoic one, the hard-to-get one. She had the power. These men were panting after her, not the other way around.
But there was something about the way that his eyes seemed dark and never glinted with mirth that made her want to know more. It made her want to understand whatever he might have suffered and help him shoulder the burden. Perhaps it was that younger, broken version of herself that felt so pulled to someone else who was cracked and imperfect underneath the veneer of beauty and wealth.
And even though she had Tarquin, with his mischievous grin and laughing eyes and perfect physique, in her queue, it was Azriel Singer who received her invitation.
Good evening, Azriel Thank you for reaching out. I would like to meet with you to further discuss what you’re looking for. Could we meet at Sevenda’s on Main on Saturday afternoon? I’m available between 2pm and 5pm. Looking forward to meeting you. Gwyneth
She had only just opened her reading app when she received a reply.
2pm at Sevenda’s works for me. See you there. A. Singer
~~~
Azriel Singer was… quiet.
And, if she were honest, a bit of an ass.
He sat across from her, arms folded across his broad chest, wearing a frown. And for the life of her, Gwyn couldn’t figure it out. She knew she was attractive, and he had been the one to submit an application and agree to meet. So what was his problem?
“Listen, I don’t know if you were put up to this or have had a change of heart. But you clearly don’t want to be here, so maybe we should just part ways and call it a good try.” She shrugged as she hit him with some truth. It never bothered her if compatibility turned out to be an issue – that’s why they had these meetings. Might as well be as upfront as possible and get it over with.
The tall, unfairly handsome man across the table snorted. “Didn’t think I’d ever find an escort turning down money.” Annoyance flared to life, spiking her pulse, but she kept it cool and let her grin curve into something feline.
“You’re not the only man in my book, Azriel Singer,” she purred. His eyes grew cold. Calculating and hard.
“Of course not. How many men do you have on the docket tonight? Or is there a corner you prefer?”
Gwyn cocked an eyebrow, her ire simmering just below the surface. “That seems particularly judgmental considering you’re the one who requested my services.”
“My brothers suggested I try something to get a girl out of my system. A one-time thing. What’s your excuse?” he seethed.
In one surprisingly graceful move, she looped her arm through the handle of her purse and rose from the table. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Mr. Singer, but I’m going to humor you,” she explained curtly, stepping around her chair and pushing it in. She waved down a waiter and handed him her card before turning her burning gaze back on the man whose eyes flickered back. “I chose this profession, because I did not always have that choice. I choose who. I choose when. Nobody else. And that is power.” The server returned, and Gwyn furiously signed her name on the dotted line and gave him a radiant smile and a thank you.
“Have a lovely evening, Mr. Singer,” she hissed, “and you’re welcome for the drinks.”
And with that she stalked off, intent on messaging Tarquin Summers as soon as she returned to her apartment.
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jmoonjones · 10 months
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OK, so this story really ballooned in my mind and it started to become clear that drawing it all out would be a pretty big undertaking, especially since much of it is exposition.
I made the pivot to writing most of it out because as a dyslexic person, it does me good to practice writing (I tried for the style of a history book? Maybe?). Prior warning on any typos, just roll with it. 
In post-war Illyria, the land finds itself ensnared in a web of adversity. A dwindling population hampers agricultural endeavors, while power struggles over vacant leadership positions sow discontent among the people. Whispers circulate, advocating for Illyria's right to select its own leader from someone who lives within their own borders. 
This chosen person would safeguard the interests of Illyria and its inhabitants from being used as a military power but ignored in times of peace. Progression is overdue, trade is being stunted, and the now-largely female population (due to the losses during the war) is eager for equality. 
And thus enters Emerie, a Carynthian and a Valkyrie, as well as a small-business proprietor. Practical and resolute, Emerie begins to garner support from the predominantly female populace, with her Carynthian status creating male allies as well. She envisions a future of thriving trade, using her own experience running her shop, and dreams of Illyria never being lacking in spices and salt. 
She envisions cultivating an economy based on tourism, enticing other courts to partake in Illyria's small shops and enterprises, and this will help build new businesses like hotels and guided tours.
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As the movement gains traction, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place: Devlon. Possessing the wisdom of age and name recognition she lacks, Devlon bridges the divide between the disparate camp factions and gives her 'legitimacy' to the wary males by standing as Emerie's second-in-command. 
Devlon wants independence for Illyria and is smart enough to see that getting on board with Emerie and her group would give the movement more traction and more likelihood of success. 
(It helps that Nesta, ever vigilant, casts an ominous witchy glance at Devlon whenever he looks to be up to no good. He will eventually establish himself as a trusted confidant to Emerie and her government. )
In a collaborative effort with their loyal companions, Emerie and Devlon meticulously pen a declaration of independence so thorough and thoughtful that even Rhys, the High Lord of the Night Court, accedes to its terms. Acknowledging that the most advantageous course of action for Illyria is to empower it, Rhys pledges financial aid as seed capital while the newly independent nation gets on its feet. A special bond endures between Illyria and the Night Court, now operating as sovereign entities with far less strain than before.
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Emerie becomes the Prime, with Devlon as her Second-in-Command. There's an initial forum with citizens to share their worries, followed by a celebratory party DJ-ed by Nesta's ipod-egg and featuring singing by Gwyn. 
Rhysand employs this secession as a catalyst to deepen his involvement in the Hewn City, but this time with benevolent intentions. Bereft of the Illyrian army, he endeavors to gain control over the Darkbringers and seeks to enhance the quality of life therein, offering the possibility of migration to Velaris for those who desire it.
With Nesta and Cassian at the helm of two formidable armies—the Valkyries and the Illyrians, respectively—Illyria solidifies its status as a force to be reckoned with in Prythian. This commands immediate respect from the other courts, who are intrigued at this new country for them to trade and visit (but not dare to take on in battle). 
Oh, and did I mention that our trailblazer Emerie secures a seat at the High Lord table being the first female and elected leader to sit there? Because she does. 
Gwyn, bravely venturing forth from the confines of the library, champions the cause of non-High Fae rights. As a part-nymph, she has personally encountered bigotry, which resonates with the plight of other marginalized fae and Illyrians. (Remember all that 'lesser fae' bs from ACOTAR?)
Gwyn assumes the mantle of their advocate, bolstered by Nesta, who desires a future where her part-Illyrian child will never experience such animosity. Several priestesses get involved and their 'safe haven library' mission expands to other courts (becoming a quasi-embassy) run by a priestess-ambassador. Helion and Meallan are invaluable as transportation while they get set up. 
In this shared mission, Nesta stands as Gwyn's steadfast second, while Gwyn reciprocates as Nesta's second within the Valkyrie army. Together, they dedicate their efforts to train any woman who aspires to be empowered and thrive.
Emerie bestows a position of authority upon one of her close friends in Windhaven; a fellow small-business owner, who becomes the Chief of Trade. She begins by establishing a robust import framework, laying the groundwork for future exports and imports. Initially targeting the Night Court as a trade partner, their aspirations eventually extend to encompass all of Prythian.
Azriel becomes both emissary for the Night Court and shared spymaster. This mutually beneficial alliance allows Illyria and the Night Court to share confidential intelligence. By being more involved in Illyria, Azriel begins to reconcile his own long-held prejudices to his people and heritage. He splits his time evenly between the two courts (when he's not spying). 
Nesta and Cassian live in Illyria full-time, training their armies and raising their family. Nesta also dedicates time to creating a night life by helping establish several clubs/bars with dancing and music for all to enjoy. Eventually talented Illyrians will form schools dedicated to the arts. Speaking of school...
Devlon's cause is education. Too proud to ever admit he's wrong, he realizes he needs to be right more often than not to make that work. He sets up schools in each camp, many of which also serve as boarding schools for the orphans. He claims it because it's because he doesn't want to deal with wild children running about, but he becomes very invested in education and it gets really dusty in here whenever a child hugs his leg. 
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This emancipation advances Illyria and the relationship with the Night Court is forever made more solid now that there's mutual respect and admiration between the two. 
Are you still reading? Oh my goodness, thank you. As you can see, this idea would have been tricky to draw out since most of it is exposition. 
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sirendeepity · 25 days
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[ Nessynriel one-shot ]
A/N: Those ship names are getting out of control, but anyway. I DID IT! 2+2 IS OUT ON 22/2! *animalistic sounds* And yes, Olivia Rodrigo's sad songs worked like a charm because I didn't have any hiccups while writing this (I was in public and the poker face was poker face-ing).
Also, don't ask me anything because I know nothing.
T/W: -
W/C: 1.9k
Their friends often joked about how Gwyn was the “keeper of the brain cell” shared between her, Nesta, and Emerie, being the smarter of the three. But what they didn’t know was how little she actually used said brain cell. For instance, Gwyn had not used it when she had watched Nesta dip two fingers into the icing of the multi-layered cake in front of them and then brought those fingers to her lips, sticking out her tongue and smearing white frosting over it. That was sign number four that Nesta was on her way out of the tipsy zone. And so was Gwyn. That was the only reason why, she would later try to convince herself, Gwyn stood from her chair and reached over the table, grabbing Nesta by the neck, placing her fingers right under the female’s sharp jawline as she licked the cream right off her tongue. Howls and whistles rose around them, but Gwyn didn’t miss the way Nesta’s pupils expanded, leaving little of the blue-gray of her eyes. She just grinned and pretended the warmth pooling in her lower belly was just the alcohol playing tricks on her, and not how Nesta Archeron had tasted on her tongue. Because that wasn’t her, it was the vanilla cream of Helion’s lavish cake—nothing to worry about.
[ *** ]
Nesta was staring at the bottom of her empty glass. The fourth of the night.
She had made the terrible mistake of ordering a cherry-flavored drink on the third round and realized too late it tasted like the lipstick her tongue had accidentally grazed, so she had to order something stronger to wash away her aroma. And possibly her memory, too.
Nesta would give herself a few minutes before going for the next one, and maybe she would steal a couple of sips from Cassian’s drink while she was at it. She really, really needed it, Nesta reassured herself. Before she could even turn around to look for him, Cassian’s raspy voice came from beside her.
“Should I start wearing the same lipstick?”
Nesta wished there was still something left in the glass she held in her hands, if only to distract herself from the misery. “What?”
Cassian grinned at her. Gotcha, his eyes seemed to say. “The lipstick. Gwyn’s. Should I wear it too?”
“Why would you ever do that?”
“Because your panties are in a twist, literally, and not thanks to me,” he leaned closer, taking a sip from his own drink. He was well and truly gone, too. “Or maybe it was not the lipstick, was it, Nes?”
“Stop it,” Nesta said through gritted teeth. She was feeling both guilty and turned on as it was, she didn’t need Cassian’s help in making it worse.
The bastard just laughed, earning himself a glare.
“It’s okay, Nes,” he whispered against her ear. His hot breath sent a chill down her spine, and Nesta had to fight the shivers as he aligned himself behind her, hips pressing against the curve of her ass. “I can help you ease all this tension,” he went on, taunting her with his lips on her neck, close to her skin but not quite close enough. She wanted to close her eyes and let him take care of her needs, let him melt that knot in her spine with those expert fingers of his, but she knew she couldn’t, not with so many people still around them, partying and drinking and dancing. “Maybe Gwyn could help, too.”
And that was it. The push that sent her over the edge. There was no coming back as she slipped and fell down the rabbit hole.
[ *** ]
Gwyn could’ve kissed Azriel for that don’t-freak-out question. She did kiss him, actually, and then agreed to his proposition. Which was Cassian’s—well, it all came down to Nesta, but who cared about he said, she said.
And now here she was, standing in a dark bedroom while the party was still in full swing just a floor below. Not that it was a surprise—Helion’s parties tended to stretch on well into the night.
But Gwyn was not thinking about the party. Had stopped caring about any of that after she had kissed Nesta Archeron. She hadn’t, technically, so there was nothing to be obsessing over, right?
Wrong.
She loved her mate, could not imagine her life without him—didn’t want to—but oh, how sweet that sin had tasted. What a dream it had been. Gwyn hadn’t been able to get that scent of jasmine and lavender out of her nostrils for the rest of the night, despite the tang of spilled drinks and too many bodies permeating the air.
Now she breathed it in, welcomed it as it filled her lungs.
Nesta was standing in front of her—watching, waiting—, Cassian only a step behind, mirroring Azriel. Gwyn had the vague feeling the males were not new to any of this and had a tacit understanding of what the rules were, what they could do, and what they should not. Nesta seemed to be thinking the same, and that kicked her into motion.
Two steps and her palms pressed on both of Gwyn’s cheeks, pulling her body flush against hers as their lips met, parted, and then met again. Gwyn opened up to her, and her tongue swept in, tasting thoroughly.
She heard movement, and then the Illyrians were at their backs, caging them inside two sets of wings. From then it was only lips on tongues on skin. Cassian helped Nesta out of her dress, not wasting time and grabbing her full breasts in his hands. They fit perfectly against his palms. Nesta let out a soft moan, her head falling back and exposing her neck. Gwyn sized it, biting into her soft flesh as Azriel’s scarred hand found the slit of her skirt, sneaking between the fine layers of silk to cup her, his thumb pressing lightly on her clit. He growled against her shoulder as his fingers grazed her entrance above the drenched material of her panties. Gwyn’s dress was the next to go. Once both of them stood in nothing but their skin, Nesta pushed her backward until they reached the bed between a kiss and the next, leaving the males to undress.
Gwyn fell on the bed, red hair fanning the silky sheets, and let her gaze travel over Nesta’s naked body. She had always thought her friend to be beautiful, but just then she realized how maddening it was to see her with swollen lips and flushed skin and that desperate, wanting need in her eyes. Gwyn rose on her forearms, meeting Nesta halfway, but the female only pushed her back against the bed, straddling her.
Nesta’s lips hovered above the hollow of her neck, her collarbones, then traveled over her freckled chest, leaving a trail of kisses before closing around one nipple. Gwyn gasped at the warmth of her mouth, that swirling tongue of hers.
She opened her eyes when she felt the mattress dip, and saw Azriel, in all his naked glory, kneeling beside her, a fist wrapped around his erection. Gwyn placed a hand above his, pumping him in tandem with Nesta’s sucking on her nipples. Cassian was grinding against his mate, and Gwyn could see the tip of his cock pushing between Nesta’s raised ass. His large hand came down on it, the crisp sound of flesh against flesh filling the air as he slapped her ass once more.
“Fuck,” Nesta murmured against her tits.
Gwyn smirked. “We should do that,” she said as she turned her head and wrapped her lips around Azriel’s head. She licked over the slit, the salty taste of his precum filling her mouth. Azriel tilted his head back, and his satisfied groan was inviting enough that Gwyn took inch after blissful inch with every bob of her head, using her hand to cover what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She gagged every time he hit the back of her throat, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn’t stop—couldn’t stop—until he came. Because seeing the Shadowsinger lose control, and knowing she was the cause of his unraveling, made Gwyn feel untouchable. Her plan changed when Nesta adjusted above her, their limbs now tangled, and rolled her hips, rubbing their clits against one another.
[ *** ]
Nesta kept moving, working both Cassian behind her and Gwyn under her, the wet sliding of their cunts filling the room, along with whimpers and moans.
“Her pussy feels good, doesn’t it, Nes?” Cassian murmured against her neck, a battlefield of bruises and love bites. He kept kneading at her breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples to the point of pain. Nesta picked up her pace, echoing Gwyn’s quickening breaths. The priestess’ hand, now replacing her mouth, went up and down the Shadowinger’s length in fast movements, wrist twisting at the top.
“Don’t make her come,” Azriel ordered, a shadow wrapping around Gwyn’s neck.
Cassian gripped her hips, halting her, and Nesta grunted at the sudden stillness, the denial.
“I need to-”
“I said not yet.”
Nesta whimpered at the command, the dominance in Azriel’s voice. It also pissed her off. So she gripped one of Cassian’s wrists and guided his hand between hers and Gwyn’s bodies, placing it where she needed him most.
Cassian chuckled, biting her lobe, “Troublemaker.”
Still, he circled her clit once, twice, before slipping through her folds. Nesta cried out, barely able to catch her breath as Cassian’s thick fingers curled inside of her, filling her, stretching her. Nesta felt her release closer with every pump, but Cassian kept avoiding the spot he knew would push her over. She needed more, needed—
“What was that, Gwyn?”
“Please,” Gwyn might have been whimpering, might have been crying. “Please, Azriel, let me come.”
Nesta could only watch as a dark curl caressed her freckled cheek, grazed the corner of her lips, and Gwyn opened for him, sticking out her tongue.
“Such a good girl,” Azriel murmured, then spit in her mouth. “Now you can come.”
Cassian removed his hand from inside Nesta, pressing her down on Gwyn’s core, guiding her hips. After two strokes, Gwyn’s back arched off the bed, and Azriel watched his mate orgasm with rapt attention. On the third, Cassian covered Nesta’s mouth with his hand, cutting off her scream as Nesta came so hard she saw stars.
Grunts joined their heavy breaths soon after.
Nesta felt something warm and sticky slide down the small of her back. She only had to twist her head to the side to see the white-knuckled grip Cassian had around his cock, still twitching against her ass. Nesta pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue.
When she turned again, she saw Azriel pumping himself one last time, hissing. Gwyn, cheeks flushed red and a satisfied grin stretching her lips, basked on the feeling of his release coating her chest. The last thing she saw was the redhead wrap her arms around her mate’s neck as he claimed her lips, then Nesta closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the feeling of Cassian’s wandering hands.
His kisses were a balm for her senses. “I’ll take care of you.”
He knew, of course he knew, that as good as it had felt, it was not enough for Nesta. That she needed to be fucked raw and then some more, until her tears soaked the pillows and his seeds soaked her.
Nesta chuckled despite the throbbing between her legs, asking for attention once more. “I know.”
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acourtofthought · 3 months
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About Az and his sexual perversions.
I always imagined that I liked one or two different things, nothing much.
And Gwyn has her past, but it doesn't and shouldn't dictate the kind of sex she should have and can't have X because she can only do everything gently.
And the fact that Elain did her first time with her ex-fiancé doesn't make her too experienced or tempted by kinky sex, nor does it say that Az doesn't need to be gentle with her.
For me, Elain and Gwyn can move on from being nice to whatever they want to do with their partners when they feel ready.
They are characters from a book but this thing about She can't because she needs this and that and so on...
Sarah won't match anyone with anyone if they don't match and there's one in the other's way.
I confess that this speech about Az and his sex life and how people treat it makes me want Elain and Gwyn far away from him.
Giving the impression that he can't be kind to anyone and can only be with someone who doesn't even need kindness at any time and has to have a thousand sexual experiences.
I don't even know if you understand, but that's it.
I also think people are making assumptions about what him being a freak in bed means. We have no idea what SJM considers a freak in bed. She could simply mean he uses his shadows in the similar way Dorian used his magic on Manon and really, that's not that freaky. Maybe Az likes to be tied up and that leaves him at Gwyn's mercy. Maybe he's into toes. It's amusing that some automatically jump to Az being the Christian Grey of the ACOTAR series complete with his own red room of pain especially when that would be completely out of character for him in terms of how he treats women. When around Elain he speaks "softly, gently" and "carefully" takes her hand in his own. He was bothered by the treatment his mother received. Yet they assume he's going to get Elain behind closed doors and leave welts on her ass from his flogger? Also, I think some fail to realize that when you break it down, Gwyn and Elain's experiences somewhat parallel one another. Rape is a crime of violence, control and power. Elain was first kidnapped then thrown into the Cauldron: Kidnapping is described as a violent crime of taking away someone against their will, and normally involves holding them in false imprisonment or confining them against their will. Do you know what Cassian said of Nesta being thrown into the Cauldron? "I don't blame her," Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. "She was - violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her." Then she was kidnapped a second time (both times had her gagged and bound). Both Elain and Gwyn are victims of being held against their will and having their bodies violated. I realize that some don't relate to Elain's trauma because there is no cauldron in real life but there is kidnapping and having something done to you (regardless of there being a cauldron or not) that is against your will is a violation to your body. Gwyn's trauma was a sexual violation but it's still a violation to her person just as Elain's was. So I'm not sure why some E/riels are convinced that Elain would be fine being held down by someone when that could very well stir up memories of being held down then forced into the Cauldron which led to the loss of everything she loved while being certain that Gwyn wouldn't be alright with it. At the end of the day, we have no idea what preferences any of these characters have but I can guarantee that SJM is not going to write Az as being so insanely kinky that he can't respect the needs of his partner, that he can't be gentle for someone's first time after their trauma (if that's what they desire because again, maybe that's not what THEY want). I guarantee that SJM is not going to write either female as incapable of embracing her sexuality and exploring when it's with the right partner. There's a lot of ridiculous arguments in the fandom but claiming Elain is more suited to Az in bed than Gwyn would be is one of top ones. It's also hysterical how they'll use Gwyn's SA against her, claiming she could never be right for Az while ignoring how we're told cruelty bothers Elain then pairing her off with the IC's torturer who knows how to draw out his work in a "symphony of pain".
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sunshinebingo · 1 year
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You Are Mine
- ACOTAR Writing Circle Part 1
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This is my contribution for the Acotar Writing Circle Part 1. The 2nd part will be posted by someone else on April 9th and the 3rd on April 23rd. It is my first attempt at writing a mafia au. Thank you @azrielshadowssing for providing me with an excuse to try something new and I hope you enjoy it.
Synopsis: When Gwyn awakes, she is tied up in her own house and finds out that Beron, her father's closest associate and distant cousin, has a plan to keep her by his side.
If only someone knew what was happening to her. Maybe they could help her escape.
Mafia AU
Word Count: 1.6k
Warning: some mentions of blood
Read on Ao3
Gwyn’s eyelids felt heavy and she struggled to open her eyes. She could feel every beat of her heart pounding in her head. She tried to move but couldn’t bring her body to do so. She closed her eyes again and focused on her breathing. With each inhale and exhale, she gained a little more control over her body. First she moved her fingers, then her toes. Next she adjusted her head and tried to get her loose hair out of her face. When she tried to move her hands and feet, they didn’t. She felt the rope biting into her skin every time she pulled on them.
Gwyn opened her eyes and looked at the knots. She was tied to a chair with a long piece of rope that made several turns around the middle of her body. Her feet were bound together beneath the chair, and her hands, which were also secured by the same type of rope, were resting on the table before her. She pulled harder on the bindings but all it did was scrape at her skin.
She stopped and finally looked around. The room that she was in was more than familiar to her. In fact, it was her own living room, and the chair that she was bound to was the one where her father always sat in at the head of the table. Looking at herself, she realised that the jeans and t-shirt she was wearing when she got home earlier have been swapped for a white dress. Gwyn rattled her mind for anything she could find to explain all of this.
The last thing she remembered was being handled a glass of water by one of the servants of the house. Soon after she had drunk it, everything had turned blurry before she had collapsed. She had to get out of here. Whoever had changed her clothes and tied her up must have also taken away all the weapons that she always carried on herself. Before she could decide whether to scream or risk hurting herself by pulling on the ropes, she heard the sound of several footsteps entering the room.
‘’How are you feeling Gwyneth?’’ a familiar voice drawled. Gwyn was instantly filled with a sense of dread. The man walked until he stopped behind her chair. The others, his bodyguards, moved to stand in various corners of the room. The man behind her placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down until his lips brushed her ear.
‘’Did you have a good nap sweetheart?’’ he whispered. Gwyn’s body trembled with rage.
‘’What have you done Beron,’’ she asked through gritted teeth. There was no need to ask any whys. It was always apparent to Gwyn that, even if her father and Beron had been associates since before her birth, the latter was always more greedy and bloodthirsty. Although the two distant cousins have contributed to the Vanserra quickly rising above some other mafia families, it was Beron’s cruelty that led to Gwyn’s family notoriety. Beron pulled the chair to her right and sat down.
‘’Where is my father,’’ she asked when he gave no answer to her first question. Beneath the chair, Gwyn silently tried to pull her feet apart. The rope only dug into her skin.
Beron smirked in that twisted way of his. ‘’He is probably using the last of his money to flee somewhere I won’t find him. Your father is a fool who thought he could play with my money without consequences.”
Gwyn knew well what he was doing. He was taking his time with revealing the truth, assessing her actions and reactions to know exactly when would be the worst time to tell her what really happened. Beron liked to play games and being vague was part of that. He took pleasure in acting like an animal playing with his food; giving people who were already scared of him more reasons to fear. But Gwyn would not be one of his victims.
She hated this man more than anyone in the world. She hated the way he looked at her with lust in his eyes as if they weren’t practically related. He has done so since she was a teenager. Everything about him disgusted her. When he reached a hand to touch her cheek, Gwyn turned her head to the other side. Beron brushed her hair out of her face instead and chuckled. Gwyn focused on her breathing to calm herself. She imagined all the ways in which she would delight in ending his life when she would be free of these ropes. A bullet through the heart would be too easy. Maybe she could use one her favourite knifes and cut his dick off first.
‘’You won’t resist me for much longer sweetheart. Once we are married, I will make sure of that.’’
Gwyn turned her head back to look at him. She tried to look unaffected despite the cold sweat running down her back.
‘’That’s right Gwyneth. I have arranged for us to be married today.” He said it so casually that Gwyn wanted to laugh at his insanity.
‘’Didn’t think you were the romantic type,’’ she told him nonchalantly. ‘’I thought you were only interested in taking whores.’’
Beron licked his lips. It made her want to gag. ‘’I have plenty of whores Gwyneth. But none as beautiful nor as fierce as you.’’
“And you intend to turn me into your trophy wife, is that it?” Beron answered with another smirk. Gwyn let out a sardonic laugh. “You are out of your mind if you think that will happen.”
Beron stood up from his seat. He placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned down so his face was inches apart from hers.
‘’I want to send a message to anyone who would dare lust after you,’’ he said slowly. ‘’You are mine. And any man who so much as look at you for too long is a dead man.’’
Gwyn spat in his face as soon as the last word left his mouth. His smirk instantly vanished. He wiped his face with his sleeve as he stood up. When he looked down at her, she looked straight into his cruel eyes. Few people have defied Beron and lived. But she would rather die than let this sadistic man get his way with her.
Before she even noticed that his hand was moving, Gwyn’s head was violently whipped to the side. The sound of Beron slapping her echoed around the room. She felt an intense heat creeping up on one side of her face before she started to feel the pain. Her bottom lip stung from where it had been cut by the ring on Beron’s finger. Gwyn tasted the blood on her tongue. Tears started to pool in her eyes but she tried to blink them away so he wouldn’t see. Beron snapped his fingers and one of his man walked to him.
‘’Untie her,’’ he ordered. ‘’The priest is waiting for us at the family chapel.’’
Gwyn scoffed at how ridiculous that sounded. Everyone involved in the same business as them was bathed in blood and corruption. But they all stuck to religion and traditions nonetheless. Men like Beron wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through the head of God himself to achieve their goals. Yet he had dressed her in white and was ready to exchange vows before a priest. It all sounded like a ridiculous plot fit for a movie.
The ropes binding Gwyn were cut except for the ones at her wrists. Two men pulled on her arms to make her stand. When she was up, Beron came to stand before her. He lifted a hand and swiped his thumb over the blood trickling from her lips. Gwyn watched as he brought his thumb to his mouth. His eyes did not leave hers as he tasted her blood.
‘’I’ll see you at the altar sweetheart,’’ he winked at her. Panic rose in Gwyn as the two guards started to drag her away. She tried to kick them with her feet but they pulled her harder to make her stop.
She thrashed to get out of their hold when a gunshot was heard. Blood sprayed over her swollen face as the guard on her right was killed. All the other guards in the room took out their own weapons in an instant and started shooting in the direction the killing blow had come from. When Gwyn looked to the upper level, she saw someone ducking at the railing.
‘’GET HER OUT,’’ Beron shouted as he made his way to the other exit door surrounded by three of his men. Two others remained in the room, trying to take cover while they kept shooting at the railing upstairs. The person on the second floor hit another one of Beron’s guards right as Gwyn was being dragged past him. His blood splattered on Gwyn, dotting the white dress she wore with crimson. The guard still holding Gwyn pulled hard on her arm and led her outside the room. But they were stopped as soon as they crossed the threshold.
A familiar man dressed in black from head to toe had his gun pressed to the forehead of the guard. Gwyn took in the sharp features of his face, his hazel eyes, the tattoos on his neck and the sleek black hair that was brushed back except for the unruly strand that brushed his forehead. His cold gaze flicked to her for a second before he looked back at the guard who was gripping her arm so hard it might bruise.
‘’Get your fucking hands off her,’’ Azriel ordered.
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hxneyhxrts · 2 years
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Sun Bleached || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 4)
Part 3
note: the way you guys are treating me and this fic, i’m so speechless i love you guys happy pride
warnings: explicit language, HINTS of suggestive themes
Colder Heavens
It had been a pleasant morning. Too pleasant, almost. Jake Seresin had been nothing but a complete gentleman (if not damn-near flirty) with her, and several times Gwyn found herself almost falling for her charms.
Almost.
She and Alec had wound up talking about the older man well into the morning hours after their rendezvous at the Hard Deck, until Alec’s teasing smirks and chorus of, “Awe, does somebody still have a crush on Hangman?” eventually became too much for her to bear.
They had arrived at base at the same moment as Seresin who jogged in front of them to hold open the door to the main atrium with a smile and something eerily close to wink.
Gwyn knew he must’ve had something he was plotting because, seriously, no one becomes this overbearingly nice in the span of a few hours. She briefly wondered if it had anything to do with his heated chat with Maverick that she had only caught the first part of, or if he was just manic enough to consider this normal.
Either way, she begrudgingly found herself almost enjoying his presence. Jake had immediately asked her to suit up for their outing (something she half wished he had forgotten because even though she insisted to Alec that her teeny tiny crush on the man was done away with, the thought of being in such close quarters with him made her blood hum), before stalking off to dress himself. She met him on the tarmac fifteen minutes later after several attempts at pep-talking herself in the mirror before Phoenix had walked in and interrupted her.
Jake’s helmet hung limply by his side, fingers strong and tanned. A grin erupted across his face as he spotted her, and she was torn between shying away from it and outright distaste at how uneasy it made her. Like a wolf snarling at its prey. Or a lover finding your eyes across the bar.
She didn’t know which was worse.
“Let’s do this,” he offered cheerily before helping to hoist her up into the cockpit without her asking him. The feeling of his hands grabbing at her hips made her nervous, but maybe not in the way she expected. That too, was almost enjoyable, and fuck this was making her head hurt.
She chalked it up to that old dormant string of affection from when she was young and impressionable, her first time seeing the great and powerful Jake Seresin enough to make her nearly infatuated with him. An old vacant feeling with no weight to it that was peeking its eye open at the sudden (and yes, okay, nice) change of pace with him. Pure psychology. He had been miserable to be around, so of course she was going to preen when he changed his tune, and her feelings were just being amplified by an old and long forgotten silly school girl crush. That was it.
Really, that was it.
“Canadee to control, asking for permission for take-off,” she mumbled once she and Jake had gotten situated, keenly aware of his stare on the back of her head. Despite the past few days, Gwyn was nervous to have him in her backseat. She wanted to impress him, if nothing else to land her and Alec a place on his team.
“You’re all clear, Cheek.”
And they were off. She stuck herself as close to textbook perfect as she could, keeping her hands firmly in place and double checking all of her gear as they ascended, and she vaguely remembered feeling the same kind of nervousness when she took her first flight. Jake was silent behind her and she wished he would say something just to break up the quiet and maybe make her breathe a bit easier.
“Cheating on me, G?”
Thank God for Alec Shaw.
She laughed before she could help herself, the sound filling her chest and the cockpit. “I guess I just have needs you can’t meet, sweetheart,” she snarked back and was met with the sound of masculine laughter ripping down the line. Not Alec’s.
Jake’s.
Alec’s chuckle followed closely behind, but she was still taken aback at hearing the squadron leader laugh. It was…
nice.
“What’s he got that I don’t have, darling?” The smile in Alec’s voice could be heard through the headset, and she was so thankful to have him covering her back, even from the ground.
“Couple of medals and a spot on the Top Gun plaque, for one,” she smirked, pulling down to level out across the clearing they had set aside for drills and dogfight practice.
“And he’s pretty easy on the eyes too, huh?”
Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t asked Alec to radio in.
Heat seared across her cheeks and down her chest, and her ears pricked at how distinctly silent Jake was now.
‘Say something,’ she urged herself. ‘Say literally anything.’
“Wouldn’t know, he’s behind me.”
Easy. This could be easy.
Alec didn’t seem to agree.
“Damn, first flight and he’s already got you from behind?”
And seriously, fuck her. The universe wanted her dead. Gwyn’s head was swimming with embarrassment, Hangman still deadly quiet behind her.
She swallowed, still trying to salvage what little dignity she had left in this hop. “Jealous?” she shoved back, and hated how her voice cracked.
“Of you, yes.”
A sigh of relief tore from her chest as Jake broke down into a fit of laughter, the sound of it almost deafening over the comms, but she smiled nonetheless. She’d still tear into Alec later for this whole exchange, but for now, the damage was lessening. Gwyn even found herself joining in on the laughter, small tears collecting in the corners of her eyes at the outrageous volume at which Jake was practically screeching at.
Finally settling down, he addressed her for the first time since they had hit open sky. “Alright, baby, show me this engine stunt.”
She couldn't even bring herself to be annoyed at the nickname, sides still aching from laughter and cheeks beginning to ache.
“Watch your head.”
—----
Gwyn was insane, Jake had decided.
The engine maneuver was genius, but the feeling of his body launching up towards the canopy as the plane dropped beneath him once it had stalled has almost made him vomit. Gwyn had only smiled and turned the engine over again, kicking it back on and pulling up, up, up.
It was incredible. Smart and tactical. Beyond anything he had ever seen in any dogfight, drill or not.
She was insane for even thinking of it.
Gwyn had offered to show him one more time and he had politely refused, sweat still trickling down his brow and nausea rolling through his stomach.
He silently prayed she hadn’t noticed.
Jake’s eyes had been locked on the back of her head and profile for most of the flight, only looking away to watch the landscape shift underneath them as they sailed for the rock and debris below. Besides that, though, he had only watched her.
‘To watch how she handles herself out here,’ he insisted to himself.
‘Sure,’ that internal echo slid back.
He was a pilot, and a damn good one at that, and now he was squadron leader. He only watched her so closely to get a read for her flying and gauge how she would fit in with the rest of them. Now, had he extended the same offer to any of the other Top Gun students in her class? No. But still he maintained that this flight and the way his eyes zeroed in on the curls at the nape of her neck and how they brushed against her skin was all part of his professional assessment.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Gwyn was nervous having him in the plane, and where he normally would have felt pride at his effect on her, he could only feel something close to disappointment that she was most likely avoiding his eyes and conversation because of his behavior. Jake Seresin wasn’t one for level-headedness and hadn’t lived to regret it until now.
‘Just treat her like everybody else,’ echoed a voice eerily similar to Maverick’s.
Just like everybody else.
“Normally I’d take a woman to dinner before I hop into the cockpit with her,” he smirked, straining to get the words out against the discomfort practically choking him. Because this is how he joked around with his team, but somehow, the words made him nervous now. Nervous that she might lash out at him, ask him what his problem was (not that he wouldn’t deserve it), or reject him altogether.
He didn’t know what he would have preferred.
Anything would’ve been better than the disarming giggles she erupted into, head thrown back just enough for him to see a scuff along the top of her helmet. She settled into light huffs of laughter before replying, “I must be easy then, if all it took was a lemonade.”
Jake’s chest positively ached with how badly he wished he could see her face, and see the grin she was surly biting back and how it would light up her eyes.
‘To get an idea of her mood in the air,’ he forced himself to think while swallowing.
The rest of the flight passed in total silence, and Hangman wished it had been awkward and off-putting, but it wasn’t, quite the opposite actually. It was easy. It was so goddamn easy to just be quiet around her, and panic coursed through him as the weight of the situation settled in around him, absolutely suffocating.
Landing was a blur, and he almost ripped his seatbelt off in his attempt to tear out of the plane and put as much distance between them as possible. He had pulled himself out and down before Gwyn had even managed to pull her helmet off, already taking large strides towards the hangar. He vaguely registered Bradshaw calling after him as he paced down the hallway towards the rec room, thankfully finding it empty as he pushed in and basked in the quiet.
Quiet, until Bradshaw chased him down.
“I can’t do it,” Jake moaned. “I tried. I don’t know what it is about her that is so jarring, but I just can’t do it. I really did try, but I just don’t know what to do.”
Rooster clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a smile thinly lined with pity. Rooster never pitied him. “Relax man, it’s just a little crush. You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine once you settle down.”
Jake whirled on him, brow furrowed and face stern. “What the hell are you talking about?”
It was Bradley’s turn to look confused, lips pulling together. “You and Cheek?”
“What am I, fucking twelve? I don’t have a crush on Cheek.” His voice was coming out hard and fast, pushing against the burning panic rising in him. “Why would you even say something like that?”
“Well you were being kind of an ass when we first met them. I figured it was your way of pinching the pretty girl at recess. Between that and your sudden shift to charming her out of her pants, I thought it was pretty obvious.”
Jake’s hands were throbbing from where he had them curled at his sides, nails slicing into his palm. He focused on the sting instead of the other man’s words. “Maverick told me to take it easy on her.”
Rooster snorted, a mean sound considering how Jake felt like he was fracturing right in front of him. “Yeah, but when have you ever listened to Maverick?” He shrugged, as if this whole topic were completely normal, and not a car crash playing out in front of him the way it was for Jake. “I just think you’ve got a thing for her. You like her.”
Silence.
Then,
“Oh my God, I like her.”
It was all happening too fast. “Like” didn’t even seem like an adequate enough word for what slammed into him. Images of her the first time he laid eyes on her, standing in the cockpit of her plane and grinning down at her team members huddled around her wing and the sun beat down on her. The first time he heard her laugh over the receiver and how it sunk him, completely and wholly taking him down. The way her hand had stretched to shake his and how small her fingers looked grasped in his calloused ones. The grossly overwhelming disappointment when he saw Alec yank her down into his lap, and the immediate nauseating want he felt seeing her shorts slide up her thighs as she fell. The rush of sliding next to her at the bar to be alone with her, just for a moment, and how addicting the feeling was (addicting enough for him to force her into a private flight the next day). The way he had taken the “long way” back to his house after leaving the bar in favor of making sure she made it to hers okay, resulting in him adding an extra thirty minutes to his drive.
How suffocating it had been to hear her laugh with him. Christ he hadn’t cared if she laughed at him at that moment, just to hear the sound directed at him. Just for him.
Anger roared through his skull.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, glaring at Bradley as he threw his hands up and began to pace. Rooster sputtered before outright laughing.
“Because you’re a grown fucking man? And I just assumed you knew!”
This was bad. This was so, so, so bad. Jake Seresin didn’t do this stuff. Sure, hookups occasionally as he bounced from base to base was okay, expected of him by now. But watching the way someone’s eyes drank him in and losing himself in the sensation, chasing it even, was completely different.
Nevermind that she was a coworker.
“Fuck me, I can’t put her on the team,” he decided, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum as he paced. Bradshaw let him mull it over for a few moments before growing restless and stopping him with a hand to his shoulder.
“Why not? She’s the most qualified, regardless of your feelings,” he reasoned, and fucking christ was he even listening to what Jake was saying?
“Sure, but if I add her to the team, she’s going to be around. All of the time.”
“So fucking what?” Rooster cried, throwing up his arms in distress. “Hang, it’s not a big deal. You’ll probably be over it in a week or two. Or maybe you’ll find something about her that you don’t like. Or maybe you won’t, who fucking cares? It’s going to be weirder if you don’t assign her after all of this and just push her off.”
He had a point Jake supposed. It still didn’t null the queasiness he felt.
“I don’t want her finding out, though. I just can’t deal with that right now. Not when I-” he cut himself off, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I just got the chance to show Mav and Cyclone that I can do this, I can’t have all of this,” he waved his hands between them, “ruining it. I don’t want her to know.”
“Then just do what Mav said and treat her like the rest of us. Do your thing, just be Hangman,” he sighed, heading for the door. “She’s just one of us, Jake.”
One of us.
She’s one of us.
And nothing more.
The door clicking shut was the only sign Bradshaw had left.
—---------
For all the funding the US Navy got every year, you’d think a sliver of it would go towards the A/C. Even a cold shower did nothing to cool Gwyn’s burning skin, chasing her into submission as she reluctantly pulled on the only pair of shorts and an old tank top shoved into the back of her locker. Certainly not in dress code, but the day was done she supposed, and she was heading out anyway.
Alec had already stopped by with promises of seeing her later for a movie and Chinese takeout from a small place just off the highway that they had found immediately after relocating to Miramar. Nights like these were her favorite, always putting a bounce in her step as she made her way through her shower routine. Rarely did she use the showers on base, but the thought of her sweat-slick skin sticking to her car seats changed her tune rather quickly.
The day had been good, she decided. Allowing herself to think so made her head a little clearer as if her being hellbent on despising a day with Hangman had fogged her brain.
Jake’s sudden change in pace and attitude was still massively suspicious, but selfishly, she wanted to relish in it. Not that she would ever admit that out loud, but in the privacy of the damp and humid locker rooms, she could admit that yes, it had been fun being out there with him. Even if she didn’t understand where this new side was coming from. Despite her better judgment, she found herself looking past the weirdness of it all and genuinely enjoying it.
Fuck.
Gwyn wanted to reprimand herself. Months. She had spent months working her way to the top of every class, base, or job they assigned her to, just to have a shot at getting into Top Gun. She had spent more time away from her family than ever before, only having time maybe once a week to have a quick chat over the phone with her dad and siblings before they were off to school or work and she was being called on to base. Everything in life had been forcefully shoved on to the backburner so that she could make room for Top Gun.
There were nights she would stay up and come close to sobbing at the idea that she was keeping Alec from the program and holding him back, so she had dug her heels in to everyone who would listen to her, jumped into any flight that needed a pilot, so that they would see her. For Alec and for their shared dream of being the best, she had forced out everything else.
And she was going to lose sight of it all if she didn’t get a reign on whatever it was she felt when Jake Seresin smiled.
But those were thoughts she could pour over later in the comfort of her own bed as she and her cat tucked in for a long, sleepless night. For now, she had a movie night to set up, and these kinds of thoughts and confusions had no place there, in her sanctuary.
She would cross that bridge later, then.
Closing her locker with a loud ‘clang’, Gwyn strode to the door, shutting off the lights before pulling the heavy door open and finding Hangman leaning against the opposite wall.
His spine straightened at the sight of her, and his eyes trailed down her chest to her legs before snapping back up to meet hers. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks at being caught out of dress code by who she hoped to soon call “squadron leader”, but even more so, at seeing him after spending the last several minutes thinking of him.
She swallowed. “Lieutenant Seresin, hi. I was just-”
He cut her off, as if snapping back into his own head when she spoke. “I was just coming to congratulate you. After your graduation on Wednesday, you and Lieutenant Shaw will be formally invited to join my team.” He put his hand out stiffly, his eyes darting everywhere but her face. “I look forward to working with you, Gwyn,” he said in a hush.
Her hand closed around his, and she chalked up the flip in her stomach to excitement about his invitation.
And if she held on to his hand for a bit longer than necessary, who cared?
Jake’s eyes finally met hers as he pulled away, offering her a small smile before retreating down the hall.
Had Gwyn been watching him walk away, she would’ve seen the way his hand, the one that had gripped hers, flexed and curled against his side.
Part 5
taglist: @rachelccollier @my-soulmate-is-mycroft
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bearbluebooks · 4 months
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Chapter 4 - God in a Captain's Shirt
Red-headed charter guests with fire in their veins, protective Azriel and badass Gwyn. This is my favorite chapter yet, I think it shows Gwynriel dynamic well. Enjoy!
Start here or if you're all caught up read the new chapter here or under the cut.
TW: soft bdsm, sexual harrasment.
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Gwyn POV
The familiar monotone humming of the engines signaled home- at least for now. After the absolute dream of an evening last night, reality quickly set in as their next charter began- and it would be a long one. This charter was all male, which in Gwyn’s experience meant all trouble. 
Something about the sea brought out some primal sense of freedom. Nothing was off limits once land was out of vision, and the sky was the limit- no alcohol was too much, and no ass too forbidden. 
The boundary between hospitality and hostility was a fine line that Gwyn still did not know how to navigate. One last whiskey could turn into ‘just one touch’. To make matters worse, saying yes was part of her job description and how often she said the opposite, greatly affected the collective tip.
Azriel- or captain because they were on charter again- informed them beforehand what to expect. For the next three days, the Vanserra family would use their services. The main charter guest was a celebrity, especially in the yachting world. Beron Vanserra was the vice president of the biggest oil company in the country. His oldest son, Eris, was a famous politician, but the other red-headed males she didn’t recognize. 
She heard stories of the infamous Beron, the charismatic ladies’ man and devout husband. She wondered which persona she would see on this trip, she prepared for both, just in case.
The boat was filled with more red-headed people than she had seen in her life, she felt oddly at home.
The sun made its entrance in the background, as the charter guests slowly made their way toward the breakfast table. Gwyn was about to ask the guests what they would like to drink when Poppy whispered in her ear, “Chief… I made a mistake.” 
Oh no.
Gwyn quickly made a hierarchy of problems in her mind before coming up with appropriate damage control- maybe a guest went overboard, or the laundry machine broke. Maybe one of the guests already crossed the treacherous line of hospitality. Based on that last thought, she hoped it was a guest that went overboard.
“I will be right back for your orders.” She reassured the guests before she guided Poppy towards the pantry.
“I love to see you walk away, take your time.” One of the brothers said to her back. A shiver of disgust ran up her body- an impulse she quickly suppressed. Tips, tips, tips, she reminded herself.
Last night another brother, Morrin, already introduced her to his intentions when his eyes never left hers- or her ass. Lingering looks quickly evolved into words, “You are too pretty to be a stew”, she could feel his desire turn into action. Luckily, his youngest brother Lucien seemed to hold him in check, putting him in place with the occasional “watch yourself” or the even stronger “back the fuck off Morrin, leave her alone.” 
She wondered what went wrong (or right) in his upbringing, seeing as his dad seemed to have a similar obsession with her ass.
Once Poppy and Gwyn safely made it to the pantry they had the privacy needed for the conversation. The space was cramped enough to have no personal space, but it provided immediate notice of wandering eyes or ears.
“What happened?” she asked in a tone that hopefully signaled she wasn’t in trouble.
“It’s the captain’s shirt… I used the wrong temperature and now it’s-“ Tears started to form in her eyes. Poor thing was so distraught by the incident she almost cried, so she said “Poppy, don’t worry. Make sure the guests get their drinks and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Accidents happen, especially in such a chaotic, high-pressure work environment. With one last reassurance, Poppy regained some color back in her face and resumed her work.
Next stop, laundry room. Time for damage control. 
The even smaller door in the pantry led her straight to the laundry room where multiple machines were already running.
Gwyn had not missed that sound. 
When she scanned the room for the ‘mistake’, she quickly found the children-sized captain’s shirt. As soon as she held it in her hands she couldn’t contain the belly laugh that escaped her mouth before she picked up the radio and contacted the not child-sized Azriel.
“Captain, we have a slight problem” Gwyn’s voice confessed over the radio. “Could you come down to the laundry cabin?”
“Two minutes,” Azriel's baritone voice informed. How she loved that sound, she couldn’t wait to hear it in person.
With her back turned towards the door, Gwyn took up the work left behind in the laundry room. She hated sitting still.
Completely lost in the work, she did not hear the heavy footsteps, or see the imposing presence. She did feel the hands on her hips before she heard the words “If you wanted to see me you could have just asked.”
Before she could answer he added, “Was it one of the brothers? Did they do something? I will-“
She interrupted him before he could finish that threat, “No they haven’t.” 
She didn’t want to lie, never to him, so she added “Nothing I can’t handle.”
He hesitated to say “I don’t like the way they look at you.”
With a hand on his chest, she hoped to convey all the appreciation she felt. “Trust me, Azriel. I can handle them.”
She could see the wheels turning in his beautiful mind- the choice between trust, and control. “I do,” he said with some difficulty. 
The slight annoyance must have shone through her eyes, because he quickly corrected himself, “I do, Gwyn, I just don’t trustthem.”
He had a point.
“I know, me neither. But I’ve handled these kinds of people for a long time, and I will survive this time too.” A heavy feeling sank in her stomach. It sucked that this was a part of her job. Their behavior had become so normal that she hadn’t thought about it much until he brought it up.
But the world wouldn’t change in one charter, and all she had control over was this moment, so with a smirk on her face she turned around to show him the shirt. Shock colored his hazel eyes before a smile took over his face. “I know you prefer to see me naked, but I need my captain’s shirt at work.”
“I think you need to check your attitude,” she said as she hit him in the chest. One of his scarred hands embraced the sudden closeness when he placed it on top of hers to stop it from exiting his orbit.   
“Why don’t you do it for me?” he suggested.
“Make me,” She ordered as she placed her other hand on the growing bulge in his pants.
In response, one of his hands moved towards her back, where he ran his fingers lower to touch as much of her as he could in the limited time they were allowed. His mouth found hers in seconds when he placed a desperate kiss on her lips.
With two strong hands he cupped her ass and carried her towards the ironing board, “not here” she softly ordered. They would break it in seconds and that would definitely raise attention.
With hurried determination, he found a new destination- the counter. In one swift movement, he pushed all the towels off the surface before he softly deposited her on the stone expanse. A shiver ran up her body as her naked legs touched the cold material. “Are you cold?” he inquired. “Let me warm you up, love.”
With closed eyes, she felt his mouth move south toward her neck where he placed frantic kisses on every unclaimed spot. His strong hands moved to open the buttons of her dress which exposed the lace bra she wore for one pair of eyes.
Hungrily and desperately he opened the mesh confinement to reveal her already hardened nipples. No force could contain the quickness with which he took one of them in his mouth before he lavishly sucked on it and sent a shiver directly down Gwyn’s spine.
For extra strength, she wrapped her legs around his torso, and with every new stroke of his tongue, her legs tightened. A moan escaped her mouth when the sensation made her feel light-headed.
Continuing his downward path he moved towards her skirt. 
Gwyn was never unprepared, and when she saw his eyes light up as he found her next surprise- matching lace underwear- she felt a pang of pride. “Fuck” he groaned into her thigh, where he softly bit the inside in pretend anguish.
She smiled at the reaction, but her mouth quickly closed in surprise as his tongue found her already wet core. He lavishly sucked every drop before he removed the last barrier in one swift movement.
When she dared to look down, she saw a god in a captain’s uniform and she wondered how many people were blessed with a similar sight- a thought she quickly pushed away as possessiveness threatened to take over pleasure.
With strong arms he pulled her legs to sit at the top of the counter, giving him perfect access to his goal. With a sense of urgency and desperation, his tongue pushed inside her core. In tortuous movements, he glided in and out, in and out. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her mouth, “Azriel.”
Two of her hands moved to his hair. She needed more, she needed to feel him, to touch him. Closer. Her breath hitched as she begged “More.”
With a smile, he removed his tongue and moved it towards where she needed him most, the bundle of nerves that begged for release. Two fingers replaced his tongue, as they pushed inside her in a rhythmic movement that pushed her up that familiar hill of arousal.
“Not yet” he ordered in between strokes.
Everybody could walk in at any second, but the more pleasure she felt, the less she cared. All thoughts became dominated by a single goal- release. She moved a hand towards her mouth before she whined “Azriel, please.”
One more finger joined her already full center, as his tongue sucked even more rapidly. In a similar tempo, his tongue and fingers moved in tandem. Pushing her farther up that hill, until her release felt like a spring coiling tighter, tighter, tighter, until he said “now” and her vision faded to black as the earth shattered around her.
No other partner ever had that effect on her, she couldn’t help it when the words pushed her over the edge and his hand moved to cover her mouth as she screamed her release.
That was one of the best orgasms of her life. The sensation was so intense that shockwaves of pleasure rocked her hips, and she turned soft in his arms.
Azriel didn’t move an inch, as he sucked up all of her juices before he released her from his grip and took in exactly the effect he had on her. His eyes never left hers as he hungrily sucked all of her wetness from his fingers, when he added “I can’t get enough of your taste.”
His eyes looked at her lips when she challenged “Kiss me”. He smiled as he slowly moved closer to her, and gave her a tender kiss that didn’t match his absolute destruction of her ability to stand. She surprisingly enjoyed the taste of her arousal in his mouth and felt completely lost in the sensation before the urge to have a taste of him filled her mind.
Without words, she jumped off the counter, but she misjudged the time it would take for the feeling to return to her legs, as she fell into the strong arms that were always ready to catch her.
“Careful,” he said with a confidence that wasn’t entirely misplaced- something she wouldn’t share just yet. The male had enough ego as it was.
“I want to taste you too,” she said as her hand moved towards the belt that stood in the way of her destination.
“Tonight,” he promised. They were already on borrowed time. Given their track record, it surprised her that nobody walked in on them yet, so she begrudgingly agreed.
With one last kiss, he reminded her of what she would be craving all day, until the radio interrupted their carefully crafted peace, “Captain. You are needed in the bridge.”
With a groan, Azriel slowly backed away but didn’t leave until he gave her one last passionate kiss that took all her breath away. With closed eyes, she cherished the feeling, and accidentally didn’t see him walk away, with what she was sure was a very smug look.
--------------
Azriel POV
When he walked out of the laundry room he had to adjust his pants to accommodate the hardest cock he had in his life- he could still see her come undone under his ministrations, and he could hear her scream as she came because of his mouth. It gave him a sense of pride he had never felt before, that he was the reason she came so hard she couldn’t even stand.
It all played on repeat in his mind, which, combined with the taste of her on his tongue only made his dick grow harder.
“Are you all right, brother?” Cassian said as he bumped into him walking towards the bridge, “Where in the hell were you? You smell like…”
“None of your business”, he replied stead-fast, hoping to stop all further questions. Even though Cassian knew about their relationship, what just happened in the pantry was a huge violation of every rule he set for himself- and every rulebook on captaincy. What happened in their private time was one thing, but sex on charter was a fireable offense. He needed to be smarter about this, but whenever he saw Gwyn all thoughts made way for feelings- pure and undiluted hunger he had never felt before. 
He loved rules. Rules gave control, something to follow amid chaos, but whenever he was around Gwyn nothing else existed except for her. And he had never been happier in his life.
As they walked over to the bridge in silence, they encountered Balthazar whom he greeted with a nod.
Before he could enter the solitary peace of the bridge, he needed to cross the deck where all the guests were gathered for breakfast.
He didn’t know how but Gwyn beat him to it. Before he could smile, he saw how one of the brothers looked at her- with equal possession and desire. He wanted to punch it off his face for even thinking about it.
What happened next transcended every feeling of rage he had felt in his life, when Morran grabbed Gwyn’s ass and said “Why don’t you come to my room after breakfast.” Then he looked her up and down with condescension and desire, and added “You know where it is.”
With a step fueled by pure rage, he was ready to lose it all- his captaincy, all respect from his crew, his credibility, and his authority. He didn’t care. Nobody touched Gwyn. His Gwyn. The Gwyn that brought him so much happiness he still didn’t believe was possible. The Gwyn whose teal eyes saw straight through every defense he spent his whole life building. The Gwyn that made him believe he deserved to be loved. The Gwyn that he-
And that asshole touched her? The whole world stopped as red took over his vision, not because of their hair, but because of their words.
His fists balled on instinct, and with one more step, he would have punched that smug face with all the anger he felt taking over his body.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him from getting closer. With a strong pull, he released himself only the words “Wait. Watch,” made him pause long enough for the next moment to play out.
“Despite what you believe, not everything is for sale. And I am not included in the rental of this boat.” To which the redhead had the nerve to counter “Your services are.”
A new hand on his shoulder tightened. “I know you probably have to pay for affection”, she continued as she looked him up and down with something akin to pity, “but the sort of service you are looking for is not part of my job description.” As she started to walk away she added one final punch “I can arrange for someone to come to this boat, for affection. Just say the word.” Then she leaned down to whisper something in his ear he couldn’t quite hear, before she walked away with an extra sway in her step. As if to show him exactly what he couldn’t have.
The anger hadn’t left his body, but some space was freed in favor of the pride that blossomed in his chest. His Gwyn.
With one maneuver he freed himself from Cassian’s grip to walk after Gwyn.
She wasn’t in the pantry or the kitchen. With more desperate strides he walked towards the laundry room, which was right beside the crew bedrooms. As he neared he could hear soft cries from Gwyn and Nesta’s bedroom.
When he came closer, he saw Gwyn on the bottom bed with Nesta next to her telling her all the things he wanted to say, “He’s an asshole. I will kill him, just say the word.”
He didn’t want to interrupt but he also desperately needed to hold her in his arms. One more step revealed his presence. Tearstained eyes looked up before she jumped up from the bed and into his arms.
With one look at Nesta, he silently said Thank you for being there for her. I got it from here.
He held her as close as their bodies allowed, rubbing reassuring circles on her back. He didn’t know what to say except “I know baby. I’m sorry.” Silently he wished he could hurt everybody who ever hurt Gwyn.
Her breathing started to increase and he felt her entire body tense. With a small step back, he forced her to look into his eyes “Hey” he urged “Breathe, breathe for me baby.”
“Look at me- look at me.”
“In and out. Breathe with me?” He needed to bring her back to this world, he had his fair share of panic attacks, and breathing normally was the first step to bringing her back.
“Keep your eyes on me- just focus on me.” He tried to keep as much of his fear from his eyes. Only reassurance.
“You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. I got you.”
“I got you” he repeated as her breathing steadied. Next, he grabbed her into his arms so tightly he needed to remind himself she just got air back into her lungs.
He would do anything Gwyn needed. Anything.
When she started to talk, his breath hitched in his throat “It reminded me of what happened in… in that hotel room. When Lucky almost…”
He held her tighter as if nothing could happen as long as he held her safely in his arms. “It feels as if I always have to be aware- of my surroundings, of people. As if I can’t ever fully trust someone or they will take advantage of me.”
“As if I constantly have to create my own safety.”
“I can handle him. But I hate that I need to.”
With one hand he lightly brushed some of her hair out of her eyes as he whispered, “I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to function as a female in the industry. More money meant more privilege, and where those lines stopped often blurred at sea.
His hands itched for release, and his whole body urged him to find both males who hurt her and remind them exactly where that line was.
First, he needed Gwyn to be okay. To know that she was safe.
With one more breath, she reassured him, “I am okay. I am… I will be.”
Sadness left her voice when she added, “I’m going to check on Poppy, she has never done evening service by herself and I would hate for her to deal with them alone.”
With two of his scarred hands, he took his world in his hands, to look into her eyes one last time, her words could conceal what her eyes couldn’t. What he saw was sadness and determination- a terrible combination.
“Are you sure?”
“I am. I’ll see you tonight okay?”
“If you need anything radio me and I’ll be there in seconds.”
With a forced smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, she gave him one last kiss on his cheek before she left to join Poppy upstairs.
When he was sure she was gone, he walked towards the guest's quarters. Dinner was almost over. 
Most people had a routine, wake up, scroll on their phone, work, sleep, repeat. Charter guests were similarly predictable. He made sure to know every routine on board, including Morrin’s. With one look at his watch, he said “Jacuzzi.”
Interception was easy, especially on a boat with not many ways to go. Just as he was about to open the door to his cabin, Azriel stepped out of the shadows to put his much larger hand on his. “Touch her and I will kill you.”
Morrin was not special. No matter what his mother told him every day. He knew these sorts of guys. He grew with them. He knew exactly which thoughts floated around their disgusting brains. All the rules they thought didn’t apply to them. Which crimes their dad could buy them out of. He felt no remorse as he said “Did I stutter?”
All the time in the navy was useful for learning how to navigate the seas, and some less traditional knowledge, he wasn’t lying when he warned, “I know fifty ways to kill a man. Perhaps you haven’t noticed in your drunken haze, but we’re in the middle of the ocean. I’ll drop your worthless body overboard and I will make sure you’ll never be seen again.”
With one more step, his much larger body hovered over his pathetic excuse of existence, “I’ll repeat. Look at her the wrong way, touch her with one finger, and I. Will. Kill. You.”
“Knod if you understand, you worthless piece of shit.”
Never in his life had he uttered those words, he had thought them, but he had never cared enough to say them into reality. Something deep inside him twisted at the possibility of hurt caused to Gwyn, and he would do everything in his power to never let that happen.
With pure hatred in his eyes, he stared down the cowering male in front of him, until his shaking head showed the sign of agreement. And Azriel could turn around to not have to look at his miserable face anymore.
--------------
Gwyn POV
Getting back into the routine of working helped get some of the awful feelings out of her head. With rougher movements, she cleaned the leftover plates. 
Outside of her thoughts, there was a serene peace in the kitchen- which was a rare occurrence on the always busy ship. The kitchen was spotless, the black and white checkered floor looked brand new, and the metal countertops gleaned in the harsh light. You could eat off every surface, except for the small space at the kitchen sink she currently occupied.
A black shape moved in the corner of her eye, was that… shadow? With a smile on her face, she thought about the best male she knew, the one she always felt safe around, Azriel.
As if she summoned him by thinking of him, the cedar smell found her before his hands did. With one featherlight brush over her hand, he signaled his presence. When she turned around, desperate for a calming kiss amongst the chaos in her mind, Mor entered the cramped space just before she made a career-ending mistake.
Azriel quickly salvaged the situation by offering “Can I help you with something?” Proving once again that man had nerves of steel.
In a teasing tone Mor responded “Ohhh, you have changed. The captain is helping?”
“Do you want to head to bed or not?” he responded.
“You got me there” she smiled. With a soft grab she pulled Gwyn to the side, to ask in a soft tone “Are you okay sweetie? I heard what happened at dinner, I’m so sorry. They are assholes. Do you want me to put poison in their drinks?”
With a smile, she replied, “Let’s see how tonight goes?”
Gwyn couldn’t imagine a better crew. Situations like these were worsened or salvaged by your surroundings, and in this case, it was definitely the latter.
With a smile, she reassured her “I’m fine. Really. Go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”
“I’ll sleep like the dead, those people were ex-hau-sting,” she said as she walked down the stairs.
And then there were two.
Desire hung in the air every time he was near- she could not smell anything else, see anything else, or hear anything else.
Still, fear was mixed with desire. 
That was close. Too close. She doubted Mor would say anything, but she had to be more careful. Her ass was still on the line.
Even though her job had some less fun parts, she still loved it and didn’t want to lose it.
As soon as the door downstairs closed, Azriel came closer again, as if she was a magnet he couldn’t help but be pulled towards. He stood so close they shared a breath. His forehead rested against hers for a moment before he pulled her flush with his body into a tight embrace.
They remained like that for a while- silent and utterly content in their closeness, until he hesitantly asked, “Are you afraid of me too?”
“I am a male too, and I know-“With one finger on his mouth she stopped him from continuing, “Don’t think for one second you are anything like those guys.”
Her feelings were clear, but her brain didn’t seem to find the words to tell them. “Azriel-“
“It’s okay if-
 “There is nobody in this world I feel safer with. My heart eases when you are near. And I-“
“I feel safe with you Azriel. Always.”
With one hand on his cheek, she repeated, “Always.”
Without thinking, she kissed him with all the love she felt. In an instant, he granted her access, and with each stroke of her tongue, fear of being caught left her body.
As if she’d done it a thousand times before, she jumped into his arms, as he deposited her onto the counter. With a laugh, she paused the kiss, “I still need to finish the work.”
Which he answered, “Let’s go then.”
--------------
Quicker than should be possible, but not as fast as she wanted, they finished all the work in just under an hour. Everybody else was sound asleep, but not them, their beds would be used for other things tonight.
Standing behind her he suddenly asked, “What did you whisper to him?”
With a smile, she whispered into his ear, “That I did know where he stayed, and that I would cut off his prized possession if he ever touched me or any other stew again.”
As she removed her face from his ear, she looked into his eyes where pride replaced initial shock.
With two strong hands on her waist, he urged her to jump into his arms again. Their faces were so close they shared a breath as he said, “You continue to surprise me, Gwyneth.” He didn’t use her full name often but when he did, Gods, her entire body stood aflame.
Towering over him in his embrace, she had a vantage point to play with his hair. Normally she was too short to reach, so she took the opportunity gladly. In something that closely resembled a moan, she said “I love your hair.”
She swore she could feel a shiver run up his spine. An effect she could not discern in his voice when he asked “What else do you love about me?”
Everything. But she wasn’t quite ready to tell him that yet, she still feared rejection, instead, she said “Your voice, the way you treat your crew. Your arms aren’t bad to look at either.”
He smiled so broadly she could see his dimples, “this” she said as she touched one of them. With the same finger, she traced the black swirls slightly coming out of his white captain’s shirt “I love these.”
“The way you look at me.”
The air turned heavier, and silence filled the space. With a slow movement, she created a little bit of distance to look into his eyes where she saw fear. Did she go too far? Maybe he didn’t feel the same way and her big mouth made things too serious again.
Shit. Then she remembered. They shouldn’t be doing this. When would she learn? When she lost her job?
With hesitant moves, she started to leave the safety of his embrace for the safety of better choices, before he tightened his grasp and said with more sincerity than she ever heard in his words “Gwyn.”
“I-“
“I love you.”
“You have my whole heart if you want it.”
Instead of answering him, she kissed him with all the love she felt in her soul. Her being belonged to him. As did her heart and soul.
She had felt it that first night. That’s why it hurt so much when she thought he had left. Every part of her felt safe in his arms. In the calmness that felt like home every time he entered her space. In the way, her entire nervous system was set aflame by the way he looked at her. In the way, he looked at her like she was his entire world. Like nothing else existed outside her. She knew that look because that was how she looked at him too.
So she said “I love you too,” against his mouth.
“I am yours,” she added.
“Say that again”, he ordered or begged she couldn’t be sure. With one look into his eyes, she said “I am yours.”
“You are mine.” He almost growled in response, the sound went straight to her core.
“And you are mine” she answered.
In desperate strides he took her to the bridge, his arms never releasing her from his embrace.
As soon as she saw that door, she lowered her hand slightly to open it.
Her desperate kisses moved to his neck, where she lavishly sucked on the bare skin just below his collar, “mine” she emphasized. She made sure to suck hard enough to leave a little mark where it would be covered by his collar.
“Azriel,” she said in between kisses, “Yes, love.”
With a teasing smile, she said “I think it’s time for somebody else to be in charge tonight.” 
After everything that happened, her body craved control and she had a feeling with all the responsibility of Azriel’s daily occupation, he craved release.
The smile on his face and the hunger in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
“Lie down” she ordered. 
Without uttering a single word, he turned around so his back was to the bed with her still in his arms, when he slowly sat down on the bed.
With a slow suck on his earlobe, she was close enough to whisper “I still need to taste you.” 
A trail of goosebumps erupted from her touch.
With practiced ease, he started to remove his white shirt by carefully loosening all buttons one by one. Gwyn felt more urgency and lifted his shirt over his head in one swift pull- she was in control after all. 
In an instant, the perfect expanse of his chest was revealed. All obsidian swirls were visible for her eyes to worship, so she did what she had been wanting to do for quite some time now. “Close your eyes”, she instructed before soft strokes of her tongue traced each black piece of art.
Soft groans told her he might be enjoying it as much as she was.
When she gave every tattoo equal attention, she slowly removed herself from the bed. The first time she entered his bed chamber, she spotted the piece of rope on his desk. Part of being a crew member on a yacht was extensive knot knowledge. It was good practice to clear her head, and it didn’t hurt in the bedroom either- at least, not if you did it right.
She saw one of his eyes open slightly so she ordered “Keep them closed!” Azriel was utterly responsive to her words because he quickly closed them.
This was going to be fun.
“Move further back on the bed” she whispered into his ear. When he successfully did she gave him his next order “Move your hands to the bedpost.”
“What are you doing?” he questioned.
Even though she wasn’t going to take it too far tonight, it was good to have a safe word just in case. It would help her relax too, if she knew he had a way out would he need it.
“If you want to stop for any reason, say-“ she glanced around the room quickly “Books.”
She knew he craved control as much as she did so she added, “trust me.” It was as much a question as an order.
“I do,” he said solemnly. 
“Good.”
In one swift move, she bound both hands to separate bedposts in two perfectly made bowline knots. Every time she finished the knot, she placed a soft kiss on the area.
With one last tug, she inspected if it was tight enough to contain him, but not tight enough to hurt him.
A silk navy blue shawl was part of her stew uniform, it was a nice accessory and in special circumstances a useful blindfold.
When he was completely under her power, she licked his lips asking for entrance. His shocked reaction told her the blindfold worked perfectly.
With a soft bite on his lower lip, he opened his mouth. Their tongues found each other in their shared desperation to get closer. He tasted like… home. 
With soft sweeps of her tongue, she explored everything she wanted to. The sensation awakened a part of her soul that shut out the rest of the world completely. She became lost in the pure sensation of their mouths meeting, until roving hands found her ass in seconds and gripped it tightly to pull her closer towards him.
The possessiveness in his touch sent pleasure straight to her core and brought her back to both heaven and earth. She needed more. On instinct, she rolled her hips over his groin, and in rhythmic movements, she chased to achieve the friction she desperately needed.
“Hmm… Gwyn. I need…”
He didn’t need to say it. She felt it too, the huge bulge in his pants that pushed into her core more and more with each movement of her hips.
One of her hands moved towards the place where he needed her most. With slow rubs, she teased all that was to come. Alternating between featherlight touches, and more desperate heavy strokes.
She felt it, she knew it, but she needed to hear it so she ordered “Tell me how much you want me.”
“Gwyn. I need you.”
Even better.
Without delay, she moved further back on the bed. With desperate hands, she removed his shoes before she unbuckled his belt and slid off his pants in hasty pulls. She allowed herself one moment to look at the work of art lying before her on the bed. The obscenely muscular, enormous male, wearing nothing but black briefs- completely at her mercy.
The sight left her feeling dazed. She still couldn’t believe he was hers. And she was his.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to taste him.
In preparation for later, she removed her clothes until she was only wearing her white lace bra and matching white lace slip.
With one finger she traced a path from his calve to his inner thigh. Her mouth replaced her finger when she placed soft kisses on both thighs before she traced the black streak of hair leading toward her destination. 
The sudden nearness made him buck up his hips. She responded by placing a soft kiss on his cock- as punishment or reward.
With one strong pull, she removed the last barrier between them. As soon as the fabric left his body, she could see the effect she had on him, as his huge, thick cock sprang free from its confinement. Would she ever get used to the sheer size of it?
With languid strokes, she dispersed the wetness all along his cock. She knew he liked it slightly rough, so she made sure to use a little bit of nails in her rhythmic strokes.
She desperately wanted to have his taste in her mouth again, so she quickly replaced her hands with her mouth. To give a little bit of warning she softly blew on the front of his tip before she licked from his underside to his shaft.
To make sure he knew exactly how much she liked it too, she moaned as soon as she put his huge cock in her mouth. Soft trembles of his hips told her she was doing well. 
This already went better than last time, when she could barely fit him in her mouth. She made sure to relax her gag reflex as she took him deeper and deeper. Soft gurgling noises told her she was almost there, then she felt the soft black hairs she had kissed moments ago. That meant… she had his entire cock in her mouth, and a sense of pride shot through her. With one finger she traced his upper thigh whilst she moved his cock in and out of her mouth, alternating between soft movements and more roughness by slightly using her teeth. 
He loved pain mixed with pleasure, as proven by the twitching of his cock in her mouth, he was close.
Too close. 
With one quick movement, she took him out of her mouth.
Let’s increase the pain a little bit.
With the elegance of a panther moving in on her prey, she slid her body over his to bring up his blindfold. She took up a seat just in front of his cock- which was so huge it must be aching. Without losing eye contact she moved her hand to her clit. 
The power she had over him turned her on more than she ever held possible combined with the way he looked at her with pure possession and awe, shivers travelled up her spine.
She was already close but she needed more. 
With soft flicks she played with her clit before she moved one finger inside her, pretending it was his. In and out, in and out, she was already so wet. But it wasn’t enough. 
She needed more, she needed him.
Anticipation marked his gaze. 
What would she do next?
Never leaving his eyes, she slowly moved back, just enough to-
“FUCK” he groaned as she lowered herself onto his cock.
She was still not used to his size, there was some resistance, even though she was so wet already. With soft movements, she slowly adjusted to his cock. Her breathing hitched as she finally reached the point she just had in her mouth. 
“Hmmm,” she moaned. Completely lost in the sensation. With closed eyes she rode him like her life depended on it, drowning in pleasure.
With two hands on his chest she moved her hips in circles, and to make him lose his mind she squeezed her center with every new movement. “Evil” he forced out of his mouth.
He was close too. One hand moved towards her clit to bring herself just as close, when she increased the movement of her hips to a torturously fast speed. “I’m clo-“ he was about to say when she covered his mouth with a hungry kiss.
With one more roll of her hips, all thoughts left her brain as every nerve ending lit up in pure ecstasy. All air left her lungs and all that was left was him. In her arms, in her core, in her mouth, in her soul. It was him. Only him.
He joined her seconds later when he groaned his relief into her mouth.
Still riding the high of her climax she whispered onto his mouth, “I love you”. 
Somehow those words caused a vision to appear in her mind, of him in the kitchen, playing with red-haired children as Shadow darted in between his legs and she felt at peace.
She didn’t think she could feel any better until he responded “I love you too.”
The crackling of the radio brought her back to earth. “Captain, you are needed on the bridge.”
 Both their gazes swept to the floor where the radio was deposited in a haze. “NOW” another voice boomed through the radio.
“Who is that?” Gwyn asked worriedly.
“My brother.”
“Cassian?” She could have sworn the first voice was Cassian’s.
“Rhysand.”
18 notes · View notes
bookofmirth · 2 months
Note
Anon that use to sh here. Thank you for your kind words and taking the time to respond.💜
“Also, I think that people who have never done anything like that just... will never get it. It's so foreign to them.”
I think people who’ve never self-harmed won’t understand (which is fine) how addicting it can be. It can make you feel in control and that you deserve to feel this way. I was very self-destructive and it’s crazy to think that I was acting like that at twelve years old. But, yes, I agree that Azriel probably wouldn’t even acknowledge those behaviors as being harmful.
“I see Gwyn's competitiveness and pushing herself to train as the way she is dealing with her guilt and grief over Catrin. I don't think she's self-destructive at all, but her attitude seems to be more along the lines of "never again". She's one of the characters that sjm has described as being kind and optimistic despite what she's gone through.”
I feel like Gwyn’s determination and optimism is something Azriel needs. He needs someone like Gwyn. Someone whose behavior isn’t like Nesta. No offense to Nesta, I love her and everyone’s trauma is different, but her behavior was self-destructive and I think that wouldn’t help Azriel. I could see Nesta not pulling blows with him, which is good friendship wise.
I kinda see similarities between her and Mor, if that makes sense? Gwyn, from what we have seen, is someone who is determined, optimistic, kind, open-minded, and non-judgmental. Persistent and never gives up. Gwyn has this light about her that’s not like the sun, but the moon. She embraces the shadows and darkness. She welcomes it.
Azriel needs this, but he also needs someone who won’t be afraid to put him in his place and call him out on his shit. I could see Gwyn doing this. She’s kind, but I feel like if it came down to it, she wouldn’t be afraid to get a little snappy. I like Az, but lets be honest, someone needs to call him out.
Mor doesn’t do this, she has to walk on eggshells around Az, but it’s very understandable. I’m not going to shame Mor over this. She has every right to feel this way and I’m tired of the misogyny towards her and even towards Gwyn. Random, but I would like to see Mor and Gwyn have a conversation or become somewhat friendly. I have a strong reason why that connects to ACOTAR5. It involves Rhys as well.
(original post)
No offense to Nesta, I love her and everyone’s trauma is different, but her behavior was self-destructive and I think that wouldn’t help Azriel.
Absolutely. I think this is what helped Nesta and Azriel understand one another, but that understanding doesn't allow them to help one another out of that place. It's like... two alcoholics seeing one another at a bar. You recognize something in one another, and perhaps in a way that no one else truly understands. But that's different from them being able to support and help one another. In acosf even, Nesta recognizes that Azriel is discontent, but she doesn't do anything about it? She just gives him a nod now and then to let him know he is seen. And like Mor, it is absolutely not Nesta's job to do anything, but I also don't think that she (or Mor) really could.
Gwyn has this light about her that’s not like the sun, but the moon.
I love this so much??? I cannot express how much I love it. I'm gonna show it to my friends who get commissions
I agree with everything that you said about Gwyn being able to provide not only optimism, but also being unafraid to challenge Az. And I think that in turn, he can help her regain confidence and a sense of control, to not be afraid of the world any longer. They do have a really good balance of him being grounded and practical, and Gwyn being a bit more playful and determined. They have different kinds of strength that I think each could really benefit from.
Not to make this about elucien, but I see them as being complementary as well. Lucien will push Elain out of her complacency, and she can be a stabilizing influence for him.
I've never really cared about gwynriel because Az has bothered me since acowar came out. He was a fave before that. I just sorta assumed it would happen because of their rapport, the fact that he actually treats her with respect rather than coddling her, and then the imagery associated with mating bonds. But honestly hofas might change that eeeehehehe
I have a strong reason why that connects to ACOTAR5. It involves Rhys as well.
I am very very curious what this reason is! You can dm it to me if you don't want to say publicly. Or send it to me and tell me not to post it if you don't want me to. :D
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Text
An idea for a Nessian au.
Nesta is a world-renowned prima ballerina who is being stalked by Tomas Mandray, an abusive ex-boyfriend who's turned obsessive. In her free time, she reads and takes self-defense lessons with her friends Gwyn and Emerie.
One night, she gets home and finds her door kicked in and a very vulgar/threatening note from Tomas beside a bouquet of fresh roses on the table.
For her safety, Rhys and Feyre set her up at their more remote house built into the side of a mountain, and Rhys also hires two of his friends, Cassian and Azriel, to be her bodyguards.
Cassian and Nesta obviously do not get along. Cassian tells her she needs to stop dancing for a bit as it draws too much attention, and Nesta refuses, making them take her to the studio every single day.
"I can't believe she's making us come here every day. Doesn't she realize how dangerous it is? He could be watching her right now!"
"I think it shows how brave she is. I mean, yes, she's scared, but she's also refusing to let him control her life.
"....Fine, I'll admit she's brave for going on with her life as normally as possible, but it's still really stupid that she's making us stand out in the hall like this. How are we supposed to protect her if we can't even see her?"
"Well, what did you expect, Cassian? After you spent the last two classes glaring daggers at Eris and making the entire room feel uncomfortable, I'm surprised she let you come along at all."
"Eris... I don't trust that guy. Don't like the look of him."
"You don't like the look of him, or you don't like the way he looks at her?"
"What's that supposed to mean, Az?"
"He's her dance partner, Cassian. It's perfectly natural that they have a certain level of chemistry, and if we were guarding any other woman, you'd be more than capable of making the distinction between a dance partner and an actual threat. When it comes to Nesta Archeron, you let your personal feelings get in the way and that can be dangerous..."
One night at the house, Cassian can't sleep and goes to the home gym but finds Nesta already there, warming up.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine. You?"
"I'm good, I just couldn't sleep."
"So, what? You figured a workout would help?"
"Well, I usually go for a drive, but I can't leave you."
"I don't need you to babysit me. I don't even know why Rhys hired you, I can take care of myself."
Cassian challenges her to a sparing match to test her self-defense technique, and a whole lot of tension happens. He tells her she has promise, but he can train her to be better.
A few months go by, and Nesta is preparing to dance the lead role in an upcoming performance. Cassian and Azriel are teaching her how to handle weapons, and she and Cassian have also started sleeping together.
The performance is only a day away, and Nesta is in her dressing room when a bouquet of roses gets delivered. There's been no sign of Tomas since he broke into her house months ago, so she thinks the flowers are from Cassian until she sees the note that's attached.
"I can't wait for tomorrow night. Love, Tomas."
She drops the vase, glass and water spilling everywhere, and Cassian and Azriel rush in. They immediately take her back to the house, and Cassian tells her she's not leaving again until they find Tomas. Nesta is furious, the performance is tomorrow, she can't just quit.
"Maybe we should let her dance, Cassian. I mean, if she's there, he will be too. It'd be easier to catch him that way."
"No! There's no way in hell we're using her as bait!"
"I agree with Azriel. I made a commitment to the company-"
"And I made a commitment to keep you safe!"
"I have dedicated my life to dancing, Cassian! I refuse to sacrifice that because of him!
"If you go on that stage tomorrow, you'll be risking your life!"
"And if I don't, I'll be risking my career! My passion!"
"I'd much rather my girlfriend lose her career than her life!"
Nesta stares at him for a moment, stunned that he called her his girlfriend, and then her eyes go cold.
"Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Cassian. I am not your girlfriend. I'm fucking you, I'm not with you. You can't tell me what to do!"
The next night, Nesta takes the stage, and Cassian and Azriel watch from the wings. Nesta hasn't spoken a word to Cassian since the previous night, and he's upset but also can't take his eyes off her. He's completely mesmerized by her. After the performance, Azriel goes to check the perimeter again and give Cassian a chance to talk to Nesta alone, but when Nesta sees him, she turns in the other direction and finds Gwyn and Emerie waiting for her with flowers.
Cassian decides to give her a moment alone with her friends, but Nesta uses that as an opportunity to sneak away. The girls celebrate by stopping by a late night cafe, buying all the cakes and pastries they can carry and driving a few hours away to Emerie's cabin for the weekend.
Cassian and Azriel are losing their minds trying to figure out where Nesta went, but then Cassian gets a text from a blocked number that shows a picture of Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie gagged and bound.
"If you really cared about her like I do, you never would have let her out of your sight."
Tomas followed the girls to Emerie's cabin and is now holding them hostage.
"I wanted to sweep you off your feet directly after your performance, but those two guard dogs got in the way. It all worked out, though, just as I knew it would. We were always meant to be together, Nesta."
Nesta starts cussing him out as best she can with the gag still in place. And Tomas starts laughing.
"Now don't start that up, Nesta. You'll give your friends the wrong impression of us."
He leans down and removes the gag long enough to kiss her, and she bits his lip so bad he starts bleeding. Tomas, completely unconcerned, makes a comment about how he's always loved her fire. Then says he has to go into town for a bit for extra supplies since he didn't plan on he and Nesta entertaining guests so soon.
As soon as he's gone, Gwyn jumps up, free of her restraints. This entire time, she's been slowly working herself free with a knife she always has on hand, and she immediately cuts the other girls loose.
"We have to get out of here."
"How? He took the car and our phones."
"We could walk to the town, but it's two hours away by car and even longer on foot. He'd probably find us before we got anywhere safe."
"My family's owned this cabin my entire life, I feel comfortable enough in the woods that I think we could hide out there for a while."
"OK. The woods, then. We'll be safe there until Cassian can find us."
The girls hide out in the forest for a day or two. In that time, Tomas started hunting them, and Cassian and Azriel have tracked the location from the blocked number so they show up and also take to the woods.
Gwyn hurts her leg, and Tomas is nearby.
"Oh, Nesta! Come on out, sweetheart! You know we're supposed to be together, so stop fighting it!
Nesta realizes they won't get away before he finds them, so she urges Emerie and Gwyn to go without her.
"We're not leaving you alone! That guy's psycho!"
Nesta continues to push them to leave, saying Gwyn needs a doctor and that as long as she's with them, Tomas won't stop.
"It's me he wants. You two go, get to safety. Find Cassian. I'll hold him off in the meantime."
They agree, and Gwyn hands Nesta her small knife before she and Emerie shuffle off into the trees.
Nesta waits in a nearby clearing, knife in hand, waiting for Tomas to show himself.
"I found you."
Meanwhile, Emerie and Gwyn are rushing back to the cabin as fast as they can and run into Azriel and Cassian. They explain where Nesta is in the woods and that Tomas wasn't far behind. Cassian bolts into the trees, and Azriel checks on the girls.
"...it doesn't seem like the bone is broken."
"Great! Now let's go help Nesta."
"You can barely walk."
"You and Emerie will help me. Besides, I don't need a working leg in order to punch that creep right in his creepy face!"
Cassian is running through the trees like his life depends on it, while Nesta stares down Tomas, who is circling around her like a hunting predator.
"If you touch me, I'll castrate you and shove your pathetic excuse for a dick down your throat."
"Oh, Nesta, always teasing. You know you won't do anything to me, sweetheart, you love me too much."
"I don't love you, Tomas. I never did, and I never will!"
Tomas hesitates, his eyes, previously filled with deranged affection, flash with deadly rage.
"And who do you love Nesta? That pathetic guard dog you've been screwing?"
He takes a step towards her, and she raises the knife.
"Take another step, and I will kill you."
Tomas laughs mockingly, "Do you really think that you, a sweet little ballerina, can actually hurt me?"
"Yes. Because my boyfriend taught me well."
Nesta lunges forward and stabs Tomas in the stomach right as Cassian comes bursting through the trees and screams her name.
They run to each other
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine, but Emerie and Gwyn are-"
"We're right here!"
Gwyn comes through the trees a moment later being supported on each side by Azriel and Emerie.
"What are you doing? I told you to run."
"We did run. And then we came back."
Nesta wraps her arms around herself, the shock and stress of everything finally getting to her. Cassian puts an arm around her, drawing her close, and suggests they head back to the cabin. Once their there, the girls shower, eat, and rest, then Azriel drives Gwyn into town to see a doctor. Once they return to the cabin, an ambulance is called for Tomas.
Tomas is sent to the hospital under police supervision, but it's very unlikely he'll survive considering his stab wound was left unattended for a few hours and may be infected due to someone, Emerie and Gwyn, poking it repeatedly with muddy sticks.
Azriel, Emerie, and Gwyn are asleep, but Cassian and Nesta have stayed up and are talking in front of the fire.
"You were incredibly brave today, Nesta. I'm just sorry he ever got that close to you."
"It's not your fault, Cassian. You tried to keep me home, and I wouldn't listen. Then, at the show, I snuck away and-"
"It's not your fault either. No one is to blame but him, and he's never going to bother you ever again. You made sure of that."
"Thank you, by the way, for teaching me how to wield a knife."
"You're welcome.... So, your boyfriend taught you well?"
"Shut up, Cass."
"Make me, Nes."
They kiss.
As always, if anyone wants to use this as a prompt, please feel free. I don't have the talent to write out an actual fic.
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