#tog x reader

[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Fourteen

Fenrys x f!Reader

Summary- Fenrys and Y/n take some time to themselves and cross a pivotal line in their relationship

Warnings- Possessive Fenrys, spice and smut(oral f! receiving), angst, there is conversation of Fenrys’s SA trauma, not to detailed, everyone’s healing journey is different and this may not be an accurate portrayal of how one may deal with trauma like his

Series Masterlist

Part Fourteen

      Y/n is sitting on the edge of the small bed, braiding her freshly washed hair when Fenrys finally returns. His eyes narrow in on her, on where she’s sitting, instantly, and they’re dark with that emotion she’s come to recognize as need. 

   Her body heats at the memory of his hands on her hips, on her thighs. The way he’d held her there, looking up at her like she was the moon in the sky. She could still feel that kiss he’d pressed to her shoulder, the way she’d had to force herself not to tilt her head and expose her sensitive neck to him. 

   “What took you so long?” She ignores the slight breathy tone to her voice, “Did you have to cook the poor thing yourself?”

   Fenrys chuckles and shakes his head, crossing the distance between them, “Your brother wanted to have a little chat.”

   Like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head, all the heat drains from her body. She hadn’t forgotten, the way Vaughan had held her heart in his hand and tore it apart with three words, no I wasn’t. She’d simply let herself be distracted by Fenrys and the way he could ignite her blood with a simple touch. 

   “What did he say?”

   Fenrys sits beside her, settling their plates between them. Her stomach grumbles at the smell of the spiced meat. 

   “Eat,” Fenrys says, picking up his own plate. 

   A different sort of heat lights in her veins at the order, similar to the first days of their journey, annoyance and a flash of anger.

   “What did he say,” she says, not a question anymore, a demand. 

   He looks at her, a small grin forming on his lips at the expression on her face, “I like it when you’re angry, kitten.”

   Fenrys turns to his food, tearing a large piece of meat off the bone, shoving it into his mouth. He groans at the taste, and Y/n vehemently ignores the way that makes her feel. 

   She swipes his plate from his hands, setting it on the small table beside the bed. Fenrys shouts in protest but his eyes are lit with humor and mischief. 

   “You can have that back when you tell me what my brother said,” she snaps, putting her own plate beside his so he doesn’t just steal it. 

   She shifts, sitting on the bed with her legs tucked beneath her so that she’s completely facing the male. Y/n waves him on, giving him a hard look that promises hell if he doesn’t start talking. 

   Fenrys sighs, “Oh you know, big brother stuff, stay away from my sister or I’ll kill you. Or something like that, I didn’t stay for long. I told him I had much better stuff to do with you waiting in my bed.”

   “You did not,” Y/n hisses, slapping his chest when he laughs, “Fenrys he’s going to think that we’re-“

   The words catch in her throat imagining all the things they could be doing in this bed and he winks at her when her face flushes. He made it sound like she’d be here naked, waiting for him, aching for him. Somehow it wasn’t far from the truth.

   He captures her hand as it comes back down for another blow, holding it firmly to his chest, “Let him think whatever he wants, kitten.”

   “Fenrys you don’t understand,” Y/n groans, trying and failing to pull her hand away, “He nearly killed the first male I’d been with.”

   His grip on her tightens in response, keeping her hand pressed against him, “First, I can handle your brother if he’s dumb enough to attack me. Second, is that male still breathing?”

   Y/n raises a brow at him, “What?”

   “Is he the one who stole your first kiss?”

   Stole, as if that kiss didn’t belong to the nameless male she hadn’t seen since her brother had ran him out of town. Vaughan had beaten the blacksmith near death, making him vow to never speak of her to anyone ever again. Part of that had been because he was her brother and he was insanely overprotective, and part had been because the male was a demi-fae capable of earning passage into Doranelle.

   “He didn’t steal anything,” she snaps, tugging once again at her hand that he refuses to let go, “I let him-“

   Fenrys lets out a near animalistic growl, cutting her off, “I wish your brother had killed him.”

   There’s a familiar expression on his face, she’d seen it when she’d told him of her first kiss and back in Antica. Jealous, it hits her then, Fenrys was gods damned jealous of the blacksmith like he had been of Kashin.

   “Gods you insufferable male.” Again, she pulls at her hand, again he keeps it pinned to the muscle above his heart. “You’re seriously jealous of a male I slept with nearly a century ago.”

   His growl vibrates through her, and there’s a small, dangerous voice in her head that tells her to push him. She’d ignored it the last time, when she’d felt him hard beneath her, held back by their companions sleeping only a few feet away from them. This time, she pushed. 

   “Is your ego so easily bruised?” Instead of pulling on the hand he has trapped, she shoves, finding him to be an immovable piece of stone. “First Kashin, now this. The mere idea of someone bringing me pleasure, of touching me, of fucking-“

     Suddenly he’s no longer holding her hand to his chest, but tugging her whole body against him. Fenrys moves her so fast, as if he’d used his power to rip her through time and space to place her on his lap, her thighs straddling his own. His hands are on her waist, holding her in place against him.

   “Do not finish that sentence,” he warns.

   “Does it really bother you so much?” Y/n tries to keep herself in check, to not lose this battle of wills, “That someone kissed me before you? That the same male fucked me before you?”

   His mouth collides with hers, no gentleness, only raging passion. They move against each other, both desperate to win this battle. His sharp canine drags over her bottom lip, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp, and then he’s trailing his lips across her jaw and down the side of her neck. She doesn’t fight it this time, tilting her head back, exposing the entire expanse of her neck to him. She is completely vulnerable like this, he could easily tear her throat out with his teeth, yet he only worships her with his mouth. 

   “Yes,” he says against her skin, kissing the spot on her neck that has her seeing stars, “It bothers me a lot that another male has had you like this, it shouldn’t but it does.”

   She wants to tell him that no one has ever had her like this, had her like he does, panting and writhing with need. The blacksmith had satisfied her, had quelled that ache, but it’d been nothing more. This, with Fenrys, was so much more than pleasure. But she can’t say anything, can’t draw out the words past the sighs and moans falling past her lips.

   “It bothers me,” Fenrys continues, paying that spot on her neck extra attention between words, “That I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything else, that I crave you every hour of the day, that I want to touch you and please you despite everything that has been done to me.”

   She can feel it, that last bit of darkness he’d yet to explore with her, the one that sat beneath his remaining scar, much deeper than anything else. Y/n wants to pull away, to give him the full attention he deserves, but Fenrys doesn’t let her. She can feel the sharpness of his teeth as he closes his mouth around her pulse point, drawing a whine from her as he just barely bites down, not enough to make her bleed, but enough to make her moan his name.

   He pulls away with a groan, just far enough that he can look her in the eye as he says, “It bothers me that I am scared, scared that I won’t be able to give you what you need, what you deserve, scared that I am not ready after everything she did, what she forced me to do.”

   It hits her like a sword through her gut, “Fenrys-“

   He shakes his head, lifting a hand to her cheek, “I haven’t wanted this, to touch anyone like this, not after her. And then you found me, and those eyes saw everything I am and you didn’t shy away from all the broken and bleeding parts of me. I haven’t wanted anyone the way I want you, haven’t felt that raging jealousy for anyone the way I do when your arm is around a prince’s instead of my own. So yeah, the idea of a male fucking you drives me crazy.”

   He’s back at her neck, his hands tracing over her hips and her thighs and her back and it’s all so overwhelming.

   “Fen-“ She’s gasping his name, unable to do much else but hold onto him, “I- gods.”

   “What do you need, kitten.” He pulls back to look at her again, “Tell me what you need.”

   Gods what did she need? She needs him to stop teasing her, needs to feel his skin beneath her palms and not covered by his layers of leathers, she needs him more than anything and she can’t think, can’t breathe.

   “I- slow down,” she gasps.

   He stops instantly, his hands settling on her sides, a light gentle pressure that keeps her just on the edge of dizziness. Fenrys watches her with furrowed brows and she can tell it is taking a lot of his self control to keep from moving against her. He waits for her to speak and it takes her several breaths before she can even think coherently.

   “You don’t have to,” she finally says.

   “I want to,” he groans, his hands tightening on her waist.

   She reaches for his face, cradling him between her palms, “You don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

   Y/n trails a finger over the scar above his brow, her power begging to be let out, to take that final piece of it, to heal him. But she could only take the surface level of the pain, not the darkness beneath it. The darkness she now knew, the darkness Maeve had caused. She didn’t need to know the details to know what he had been forced to do for the queen, she could connect the dots easily.

   “Please,” he whispers, letting his head fall to rest against hers, “I won’t let her take everything from me.”

   Y/n whispers, “She won’t, she can’t.”

   “I want to,” Fenrys says, his hand on her side gripping her shirt, “I want to be worthy of you.”

   She leans into him, feeling every desperate desire they held for each other, as if she could feel his right there besides hers. Y/n lifts his face to her own, kissing him, pouring every ounce of emotion into their lips until she is panting and aching.

   “You have me,” she gasps against him.

   And its like a damn is broken within him, the hands gripping her shirt pull, wrenching the fabric up her torso, exposing her skin to the chilled air around them. And she barely has the time to gasp his name before his mouth is on her, exploring her skin with his tongue and teeth, over her collarbone, down the valley of her breast. His hands exploring every inch of her, and if she thought it had felt good before, it is even better without cloth between his palms and her feverish skin. 

   She is practically purring when his mouth finally ghosts over her breast, and she cries out when his lips close over the sensitive peak, his tongue swirling around her nipple. Her hips move of their own volition, grinding down on his lap where she can feel the hard length of him pressed against her core. Fenrys groans and the vibration is nearly too much.

   “Fenrys please.” She has no idea what she’s begging for, whatever he’s willing to give her, “Gods please.”

   He knows what she needs, like he could read her mind and decipher the muddled mess of her brain. Fenrys shifts, lifting her with him effortlessly, turning to lay her back down on the small mattress and then he is kissing down her body leaving her writhing and moaning. And when he finds the seam of her pants, his hands are instantly tugging the material down her thighs, her panties with it, leaving her completely bare to him.

   “Fuck,” he groans, sitting back to just look at her, his onyx eyes so impossibly dark, “You’re so perfect.”

   Having his gaze on her, so heavy, while he was still completely clothed, had her trying to cover herself. Again, as if he understands exactly what she is feeling, his hands work open the laces of his flight leathers, tearing the material over his head, the undershirt with it. Y/n marvels at the golden brown expanse of his skin, the rigid muscle beneath. Yes she’d appreciated him shirtless before, but not like this. She reaches between them and her fingers trace each hard line of him, all the way down to the waistline of his leathers, pulling helplessly at the laces, wanting to see the length of him that is straining in the material.

   “So needy,” he laughs, taking her hands and guiding them to her sides, “I have other plans for you.”

   “Please,” she gasps, straining against his hands restraining her own, “I want to touch you.”

   “You will,” he says, and there’s an edge to his tone like he wants to give into her, “I’ve been imagining this for to long now, I’m going to take my time with you.”

   The ache between her thighs is nearly painful at that point and she doesn’t care what he does as long as he touches her there. Her body moves on its own, her legs falling open as she stares up at him, waiting to see his reaction to her vulnerability. The way his eyes fall to her center, drinking her in, almost has her coming undone right then without him even touching her.

   “Beautiful, kitten,” Fenrys says, his voice low and breathy, “So fucking beautiful.”

   He leans down to press his lips against her naval, trailing those fiery kisses further and further down, going right past where she wants him to the soft skin of her thigh. Her hips chase him and he pins her beneath a single strong arm, his other pushing her thighs further apart so he can settle between them, his mouth so close to her that she can feel each heavy breath leave his lips. She’s on fire, burning so hot as if she were a living flame stoked to life by him, and when he finally leans in, tasting her for the first time, she nearly combusts.

   “Fenrys,” she gasps, her hands finding the golden strands of his hair, needing to hold onto something to keep her from falling into oblivion.

   He is lost in her, groaning as he licks her from her entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves above. Fenrys closes his lips around her and it’s the most intense wave of pleasure she has ever felt. Not even her own fingers had felt like this, he knows exactly how to press his tongue against her to draw out the moans and screams that surely leak through the door and into the aerie beyond. She doesn’t care who hears her, she can’t think of anything beyond him.

   Each stroke of his tongue brings her closer and closer to the peak of her pleasure. Her hands grip his hair, pulling as if she could get him closer, have more of him, and he groans against her, the feeling is so intense that she does it again. The hand on her leg comes between them and she cries out when his fingers swipe through her arousal, she screams when a single finger dips into her and curls against a spot inside of her she hadn’t even known about.

   “Fuck,” she cries out, feeling herself go higher and higher, so close to that breaking point, “Please, gods, I’m so- fuck.”

   She can’t form the words to tell him but he knows, can feel her tightening around him, every muscle in her body going taut in desperation. Fenrys is relentless in his pace, his mouth and his fingers expertly working her until it snaps, that coil in her belly releasing in a brilliant wave of pleasure. Y/n cries his name as she falls from that peak, her body writhing and shaking with the power of it, and Fenrys is right there to catch her, letting her ride out each aftershock until she falls completely limp beneath him. Only then does he pull away, looking up at her with dark onyx eyes full of pride and desire, his lips shining as they pull up into a satisfied grin.

   “You taste better than I’d dreamed,” Fenrys says, and her core tightens when he licks his lips, as if she had been a grand feast gifted to a starving male.

   Y/n can barely draw words to her lips, “You’ve dreamed of me?”

   Fenrys nods, crawling over her whispering the words against her lips, “I’ve been dreaming of you since that first night in Antica, dreaming of you in that little towel, dreaming of licking the beads of water off of your thighs.”

   Despite her exhaustion, the words have her clenching her thighs to relieve some of the ache. Fenrys captures her lips in a slow sensual kiss, she can taste herself on his tongue and she moans into his mouth. He takes the sound greedily like he can’t get enough of her, she knows because she feels the same. She needs all of him, her still shaking legs wrap around is hips, pulling so his weight settles on top of her and she can feel him against her core, still covered by his flight leathers.

   “Take them off,” she orders.

   Fenrys chuckles against her lips, but he doesn’t argue. He shifts back, her legs falling apart to let him, and he sits on his heels. Fenrys watches her as he slowly tackles the laces, pulling them apart one by one until she is whining, begging him to hurry up before she loses her mind and rips the material off of him.

   And just when she thinks he is going to put her out of her misery, someone is pounding on their door, hard enough that she thinks the wood may shatter beneath their fist.

   Fenrys growls at the noise, taking the blanket from the bed to cover her. And the answering growl on the other side of the door has her completely frozen in place, clutching the fabric to her chest.

   “You have five seconds to remove yourself from my sister, Moonbeam,” Vaughan shouts through the door, “And then I am going to kill you.”

Tag list -

@emma-andrea1 @mgchaser @anxious-study @lees-chaotic-brain @girl-math-aint-mathing @mali22 @nikt-wazny-y @theworthlessqueen @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lethargicluv @hannzoaks @batboygirlie @foxysouls @kiarathace @jesskidding3 @raginghellfire 

[dreamdragonkadia]

Feeling a little burnt out lately, but I couldn't resist doing one more post with my favorite poly couple. They just have my whole heart. Rowaelin x reader

This was going to be your thirteenth reason —the final, undeniable proof— that you were absolutely, one hundred percent justified in considering throwing yourself off the battlements next time Aelin or Rowan so much as breathed too loudly in your direction.

It had started that morning. A sniffle. A slight ache behind your eyes. Maybe a little nausea. Minor. Manageable. Nothing worth worrying about, let alone worth the King of Terrasen turning into a hulking, overbearing, mother-hen of a male who hadn't let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes.

And gods, if Rowan's pacing didn't drive you mad first, Aelin's dramatics were sure to finish the job.

"Go away," you rasped from the center of the massive bed you were currently buried under, your voice coming out more of a pathetic wheeze than the fierce snarl you'd intended. You coughed once, squeezing your eyes shut as if that alone would ward them off. "I'm fine."

"You’re not fine," Rowan said without even looking at you. His tone was pure command, flat and emotionless to the untrained ear, but you knew him too well. The steel in it was only a thin veil over the worry thrumming through every inch of him.

Before you could summon the strength to argue, another voice chimed in, light and wickedly amused.

"Yeah, maybe we want to get sick too, just so we can stay in bed with you," Aelin drawled from across the room, where she had just abandoned her chair and the book she’d been half-heartedly pretending to read.

You barely cracked an eye open in time to see her grin. That wicked, golden grin that could unravel kingdoms. You didn’t even have the energy to be properly suspicious of it as she crossed the floor toward you with far too much intent for someone claiming casual concern.

Your brow lifted weakly as Aelin, without so much as asking, climbed up onto the bed and crawled over the covers until she flopped dramatically at your side. Her hair fanned across the pillows, a gleaming river of gold that seemed to catch every beam of light from the window.

"You’re going to get sick," you said flatly, though your heart wasn’t in it. Your body was already sagging toward hers instinctively, seeking the warmth you knew she’d give without question.

"If I get sick, I fully expect royal treatment," Aelin sniffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a theatrical air that would have made any courtier weep in envy. "Breakfast in bed. Daily foot rubs. A personal bard singing me to sleep. The works."

You let out a weak laugh, your chest rattling slightly with the effort, and shook your head. "You’re the worst patient in the world."

"And you love me for it," she said smugly, resting her head lightly against your shoulder. Her hand found yours under the blankets, fingers twining with easy familiarity. You thought you might’ve had a clever retort when the bed dipped again on your other side, and the mattress shifted with a heavier weight.

There was the faint scent of pine and snow—Rowan. Large, calloused hands, so careful for all their strength, brushed over your forehead. Checking for fever. Again. You grumbled weakly and batted at him, your effort about as effective as a leaf fighting the wind.

"I’m not a fledgling," you muttered, glaring up at him.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. He simply pressed the back of his hand to your cheek again, his face carved into that same hard, merciless mask he wore on the battlefield, but the worry slipped through the cracks.

"You’re warm," he said quietly, the words rough against the otherwise soft hush of the room. "Warmer than this morning."

"I’m fine," you repeated stubbornly, though it was clear none of them believed you.

"And stubborn," Aelin added brightly, squeezing your hand for emphasis.

You rolled your eyes, or you tried. Everything felt heavy. Hot. You hated feeling weak. Hated that you couldn’t just will yourself better and put an end to the worried looks being traded above your head.

"You’re both idiots," you grumbled hoarsely, burrowing deeper into the blankets despite yourself.

"And you’re ours," she said, softer this time. She pressed a kiss to your temple, feather-light, the scent of lavender clinging to her hair.

Rowan shifted closer too, pulling the covers higher up your body, tucking them in tightly around you with infuriating tenderness. His hand lingered against the crown of your head, his thumb stroking once, a quiet touch.

"Rest," he murmured, his voice little more than a breath against your burning skin. "We’re not going anywhere."

It was easier to let yourself sink with them there. To surrender to the pull of sleep.

Maybe later, when you weren’t feeling like death warmed over, you’d yell at them for being ridiculous. For hovering like your mere breathing was something fragile and precious.

But for now, you let yourself drift, knowing that if the world dared so much as breathe wrong in your direction, Rowan and Aelin would burn it down before it ever touched you.

[surielstea]

Teeth Marks

Kinktober day 6: Biting + Tender

Pairing: Rowan Whitethorn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rowan canonically has a biting kink and I think about it once a week so, I thought I might share with the class 🫶

Warnings: Smut | Minors dni | 18+ | biting kink | oral (f receiving) | p in v | territorial fae bastard | brief fingering | praise | Rowan’s feral for her

Dawn had yet to break over the horizon but I've been awake for at least an hour. I had spent that time silently laying in bed, listening to the sound of Rowan's soft heartbeat, steady and slow beneath my ear, a rhythm I had grown fond of and had slowly become the most comforting sound I had ever heard.

Once my stomach got the best of me—and was grumbling so loud I honestly thought it might wake the silver-haired fae beside me, I slipped from the bed, tip-toeing as I got dressed and despite my mates heightened senses, he didn't stir as I left our bedroom.

I padded into the dimly lit kitchen and fixed myself a simple meal as quietly as I could, making a plate of leftovers from dinner, not bothering to heat them up due to the fact that the smell and clattering of utensils would most likely wake Rowan.

He wasn't a light sleeper by any means, the male slept like a damned log, and I was certain he could pass out anywhere, but, to his core, he was a worrier.

And when I wasn't beside him, he was as anxious as a mother hen. Which meant a rough sleep.

I hadn't known what prompted me to wake up earlier than usual, and I'd most likely be in eager need of a nap in a few hours, but once I was awake, there was no returning to sleep.

So I sighed, stuffing a cold potato into my mouth, quietly eating as I stretched my limbs out, sore from sleep and training yesterday.

A warm breeze twirled around me and I knew it wasn't the wind blowing in from the windows that kissed my face.

I wasn't surprised when a pair of large, muscled arms lazily wrapped around my torso, pulling me back into a bare chest.

"It's too early," Rowan murmured, his voice groggy as he spoke into my hair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," I lift a hand up, running it through his trimmed, silver locks.

"Then come back to bed," He grumbles and I smile, leaning into his warm and toned chest.

"You used to train from dawn to nightfall right outside my window, where'd that Rowan go?" I tease, raising a brow despite the fact that he couldn't see it, rolling another potato over with my fork.

"Mm, he died from a heart attack when a pretty girl dragged him into her rooms when he was supposed to be training," He explained and I smiled at the memory, still raking my hand through his hair.

"I miss your long hair," I changed the subject and he groaned, stuffing his nose into the crook of my neck.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm growing it out, just for you?" He huffs and I beam brightly. "I still can't believe you cut it without asking me," I sighed in disbelief as if that day was such a tragedy.

"My gods woman," He hoisted me up into his arms and I squealed. "And I still can't believe you left our bed without asking me," He retorted and I giggled.

"Those are two very different things," I argue while he carries me back to our bedroom, leaving my cold food on the counter, deserted.

He threw me down onto our bed and crawled in beside me. I gripped him by the tops of his shoulders, lugging him upward so he was laying atop me, and he would have been crushing me if his hips weren't positioned between my legs, his head stuffed in the junction of my shoulder and neck.

"I missed you," He sighs and I roll my eyes.

"For the ten minutes I wasn't in bed?" I scoffed and he growled softly, nipping at my collarbone. "Ow!" I yelp, shoving him away but he only looks at me with a feral grin and an amused look in his eyes.

"I love doing that," He hums and I deadpan at him.

"What? Inflicting pain onto your mate?" I suggest and he frowns.

"No, biting you," He explained and I gave him an incredulous look, as if they were not one and the same.

"You have a biting kink," I reiterate and he brushes me off.

"I do not." He huffs while stuffing his head back into my shoulder.

He danced his lips along my collarbone, kissing softly until he found the small expanse of skin that made me tense.

I felt him grin at his realization. His elongated canines brushed over the area just below my pulse point. He ran his nose up the area, entirely drunk on the scent and feel of me beneath him.

He kissed the spot, soft, gentle, something he did every time before marking me. "Rowan," I warn in a stern voice.

"Hm?" He inquires, all too innocently.

"If you leave a mark I'm going to kill you," I warn.

"Is that right, love?" He drawls against the column of my throat and my stomach twists in both arousal and anxiety.

"Yes. We have a meeting with the lords of Doranelle today and I'd prefer it if they didn't know how much you love to claim your territory," I reason but he remains at the area on my neck, taunting the flesh.

"But the looks on their faces," He drawls. "They'll know you're all mine," He grins at the idea and I roll my eyes.

"They already do, remember? When we had a wedding and all of Wendlyn was invited?" I reason but he simply shakes his head.

"Not just Wendlyn, everyone, I want everyone to know," He goes on and I release a long sigh, his grin broadening because he knows he's won.

"Okay, but only if you admit you have a biting kink," I bargain and he chuckles, but he doesn't say it rather than shows it.

His sharp canines brush over my neck, then slowly sink into my porcelain skin, the feeling sending shockwaves of both pain and pleasure throughout my entire body. I melted into his touch as he groaned softly the moment my blood hit his tongue. He bit harder, making sure a mark was left while he pressed his hips into mine, his hard cock straining against his pants but through my thin nightgown there was practically nothing between us.

Rowan's tongue glided over the wound, savoring the taste of my blood as the wound closed. His lips pressed against my neck in a silent apology, though there was no need for one. The bite sent shivers through my body, the sharp sensation of pain melting into the pleasure that followed in its wake. I threaded my fingers through his silver hair, holding him close, feeling the heat of his body radiated through my thin gown.

"You've made your point," I said softly, my voice still teasing, though breathless from the intensity of his bite. "Everyone will know I'm yours."

Rowan's chuckle was low, vibrating against my skin. He lifted his head, meeting my gaze with eyes that were both playful and full of desire. "I'm not quite done proving it," he murmured.

Before I could respond, Rowan shifted, his hands sliding down my body in a way that had my pulse quickening all over again. His fingers trailed over my hips, tugging my gown up higher, exposing more of my skin to the cool morning air. His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing soft kisses to my collarbone, down my sternum, until he reached the delicate curve of my waist.

His mouth was warm, his breath hot against my skin as he continued to descend, leaving a trail of kisses that made me arch into his touch. His lips lingered at the edge of my inner thigh, just before he bit down—not hard, not yet—just enough to tease me, to make my breath hitch.

"Rowan," I breathed, my hand tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to let him know how desperate I was becoming.

He lifted his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he met my gaze, pine-green eyes full of lust and devotion. "Tell me what you want, love."

My voice trembled, but the words came easily. "Touch me."

His grin widened, but he didn't rush. Instead, his lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my thigh again, his teeth grazing lightly before he sank them in just enough to leave a mark, making me gasp. The combination of his bites and his soft kisses left my skin tingling with anticipation.

Rowan's hands moved to my thighs, parting them gently as he positioned himself between my legs. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles along my skin, a deliberate contrast to the sharp bites he'd left behind. He didn't say anything—he didn't need to. His lips descended again, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh, so close to where I ached for him, yet not quite enough.

I let out a soft whimper, and he hummed against my skin, clearly pleased with my reaction. He kissed me there once more, softer this time, before his tongue finally darted out, teasing me, tasting me. The sensation was electric, sending a wave of pleasure crashing over me, and I moaned, my back arching off the bed.

Rowan's grip tightened on my thighs as he held me steady, his tongue moving with agonizing precision. His lips, his teeth—everything about him was calculated to drive me wild, to bring me to the edge and hold me there. He alternated between soft kisses and firm, lingering licks, his teeth occasionally nipping the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, leaving marks that would remind me of this moment long after.

My hands fisted the sheets, my breath ragged as I tried to keep control, even if I wanted nothing more than that sweet release. Rowan's pace didn't relent. If anything, the pressure of his mouth increased, his bites becoming bolder, leaving me trembling beneath him.

The tension in my body built, winding tighter and tighter until I was nearly coming undone. Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, he withdrew, his lips brushing over my skin once more, this time moving up my body again.

His eyes were dark with desire as he hovered over me, his lips glistening from tasting me. He kissed me then, slow and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. "You're mine," he murmured against my lips, the possessiveness in his voice making my pulse race again.

"And you're mine," I teased, though my voice was barely a whisper now.

Rowan grinned, his teeth grazing my bottom lip. "All yours," he rasped before capturing my lips again, the kiss full of a promise—one that said he wasn't done with me yet.

His kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my toes curl. The heat between my legs only intensified, my entire body buzzing with need as he pressed himself against me, his hard length unmistakable even through the fabric of his pants. I arched into him, desperate for the friction, desperate for him.

His hands moved with a confidence that only came from knowing me intimately, sliding down my body and pushing my gown further up until he pulled it over my head and discarded it onto the floor. I shivered as his fingers skimmed over the bare skin of my waist, his touch both tender and possessive. He shifted his weight, his hands making quick work of his pants, and I felt him—hot, hard, and ready—pressing against me.

Rowan paused for a moment, his eyes dark as they locked onto mine. "You sure baby?" he murmured, his voice low and thick with need, though there was a tenderness there, too. He always made sure, always wanted me to be in control, even in moments like these.

My response was immediate, my voice breathless as I nodded. "Yes, Rowan. Please."

That was all he needed.

His hand slid between my legs, his fingers finding my slick heat and teasing me with gentle strokes, preparing me for him. I gasped at the contact, my body arching into his touch, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

Rowan grinned, clearly enjoying how desperate I was for him, but he didn't make me wait much longer. He lined himself up with my entrance, his gaze never leaving mine as he slowly pushed into me, stretching me in a way that was both delicious and overwhelming.

I felt him everywhere, I needed him everywhere. It was indescribable the pleasure I was enduring, how he knew exactly how to make me feel good, exactly how much I could take— then pushing me past that mark.

I never got used to the size of him, even after decades of being his mate— he had me satisfied halfway in. “Ro—” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as I arch off the bed.

“I know baby, almost there.” He leans down and presses a tender kiss to my lips, his arms on either side of my head. “You’re doing so well,” He praises, pulling out and then thrusting in once more, his hips finally meeting mine.

I gasped, my nails now dragging down his muscled back as he filled me completely, his body flush against mine. For a moment, neither of us moved, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected. His forehead pressed against mine, and his breath came out in a ragged exhale.

"Gods," he groaned softly, his voice a low rumble against my skin. "You feel, so perfect."

My response was a guttural moan, the pleasure of having him inside me stealing my words. Slowly, he began to move, pulling back just enough before pushing back into me, his pace measured, and deliberate. He wanted to make this last, wanted to draw out every bit of pleasure he could give me.

The friction built steadily, a delicious tension coiling in my core as Rowan's hips moved against mine, slow but powerful. He kissed me again, his lips moving languidly over mine, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts, teasing and tasting me.

Every time he filled me, a wave of pleasure rippled through me, my body tightening around him as the tension built higher and higher. His name fell from my lips in a breathless whisper, and I felt him shudder against me, his control slipping as he gave in to the primal need to claim me.

Rowan's thrusts quickened, his hands gripping my hips to pull me closer, deeper. The sound of skin against skin, of his low, rumbling groans, filled the room, mingling with my own moans. He leaned down, his mouth returning to my neck, and before I could protest, his sharp teeth sank into my skin once more, right where my pulse thrummed wildly.

The bite sent a sharp jolt of pleasure and pain through my body, and my inner walls clenched around him as my climax rushed toward me. I cried out, my body arching off the bed as the intense waves of pleasure crashed over me, my release shuddering through every nerve.

Rowan groaned into my neck as my body tightened around him, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. He thrust into me one final time, his body tensing as he spilled into me, his grip on my hips tightening as he rode out the last of his pleasure.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy panting of our breaths, the two of us tangled together in a haze of post-orgasm bliss. Rowan's weight settled over me, his head dropping to rest against my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin.

I sighed contentedly, my hand threading through his hair once more. "Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you," I murmured with a lazy smile.

Rowan chuckled softly, his lips brushing over the bite mark on my neck in a tender kiss. "Because you love me," he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. "And because I'm great at making all my mistakes up to you."

I rolled my eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Making it up to me? You mean making me mad then charming you way out of it?"

Rowan grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he nuzzled into my neck. "It's called balance, love." He says against my heated skin.

I roll my eyes, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him impossibly closer as I mutter, "You're ridiculous."

He stayed pressed against me for a few more moments, his breath still coming out in slow, deep pants. He placed a soft kiss on the bite mark he'd left on my neck, then slowly pulled out of me, the sensation making us both shiver. As much as I wanted to stay tangled up in each other, I knew the meeting was looming.

"I've ruined our schedule, haven't I?" Rowan's voice was low, though I could hear the lazy smile in his tone.

I gave a soft laugh, shifting beneath him. "A little. But I suppose I can forgive you this once."

Rowan chuckled, rolling off of me and onto his side. His arm draped over my waist as he reached up, brushing a lock of hair from my face, his thumb gently grazing my cheek. "You're too kind," he teased, his pine-green eyes warm with affection.

"Only because I'm still basking in the afterglow," I shot back with a smirk, earning another low laugh from him.

But Rowan wasn't one to linger too long in the haze of pleasure, especially when it came to taking care of me afterward. His touch was immediately gentle and purposeful, slipping out of bed to grab a cloth from the basin near the window. I watched him move with that easy grace he always had, even half-dressed and tousled from bed. He dipped the cloth in the water, wringing it out before returning to my side.

"Stay still, love," Rowan murmured as he knelt beside me on the bed. His hands were warm and gentle as he ran a damp cloth between my legs, cleaning me with the same tender care he always did after moments like this.

I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillow, the coolness of the cloth soothing the lingering heat in my skin. "You're too good at this," I mused, my voice soft with a mixture of contentment and exhaustion.

He smiled, his eyes glinting with humor. "I've had plenty of practice."

"You say that like I'm high maintenance," I teased, though I couldn't help the soft sigh that escaped me as he finished cleaning me up.

He raised a brow, wiping his hands before setting the cloth aside. "You? Never," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though the way he looked at me—like I was the most precious thing in the world—softened the words. He pulled the blankets back over me, making sure I was comfortable before leaning in and pressing a kiss to my temple.

I rolled my eyes, reaching up to poke him in the chest. "I don't remember you complaining last night."

Rowan grinned, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "I'm not complaining now, either."

With a satisfied smile, he moved to retrieve my clothes. He picked out the gown I had set aside for the meeting, holding it up with an appraising look. "This one will show off all your marks perfectly I think."

I laughed, sitting up in bed, feeling pleasantly sore. "Well, I wasn't planning on needing armor for the meeting, but after this morning's antics, maybe I should rethink that."

Rowan tossed the gown to me with a smirk. "I told you, love. I'm making sure everyone knows you're mine."

I caught the gown and shook my head in mock exasperation. "You are impossible."

"And yet, you married me," he said with a wink, starting to dress himself, pulling on his pants and shirt with practiced ease.

I stood, slipping into my undergarments before working my way into the gown. The fabric was soft against my skin, and Rowan moved to my side, his fingers deftly helping fasten the back without me needing to say a word.

As his hands worked, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "You know, I could help you out of this dress far faster than you got into it," he murmured against my hair, his tone teasing but affectionate.

I elbowed him lightly in the ribs, though the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. "I swear your mind stays in one place and one place only."

Once the gown was fastened, Rowan turned me around, his fingers brushing over the bite mark on my neck, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "I really outdid myself with this one." He admires the mark like an art piece.

I snorted, smoothing down the front of my dress as I met his gaze in the mirror. "If you leave any more marks like this, the lords are going to think you're trying to start some sort of territorial war."

His expression turned mock-serious. "I mean, can you blame me? You're worth fighting for."

I rolled my eyes for what felt like the nth time, though the flush in my cheeks betrayed how much his words affected me. "Just behave yourself during the meeting."

Rowan's grin was utterly unrepentant as he reached for his sword, fastening it at his waist. "I always behave, love."

I raised a brow at him. "Uh-huh. And how many times have we been late to meetings because of your 'good behavior'?"

His gaze darkened with amusement. "If you keep talking like that, we might be late again today."

I gave him a playful shove toward the door. "Out. I need to make sure I don't look like I've been ravaged by my mate all morning."

He chuckled, stepping aside but not before leaning in to steal another kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. "You look perfect," he murmured as he pulled back, his eyes lingering on me with a warmth that made my heart flutter.

I gave him a small, exasperated shake of my head, though my heart skipped a beat at his words. "Flattery won't save you if we're late."

Rowan's grin only widened as he opened the door, slipping out of it— then peaking his head back in to say, "I'll take my chances." With a snarky grin.

Gods, help me, this male was hopeless.

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[shadowdaddies]

Anywhere

Fenrys x Reader fluff

A/N: dipping my toe back into writing to see if I can still do it before I try to conquer requests

Soft wisps of clouds drifted lazily across the vibrant blue skies of Terrasen, the gentle breeze that blew along with them granting a cool contrast to the sun on your skin. 

Pushing your arms above your head, toes pointed as you stretched the muscles throughout your body, a gentle yawn following along with your satisfied smile. 

“Beautiful,” Fenrys whispered next to you, watching as you hummed in agreement. 

Your hands twined in the blades of grass beneath them as you savored the feeling of the emerald earth against your skin. “It is a beautiful day,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut as you moved your arms to fold behind your head.

The feeling of warmth from the sun gave way to a different, familiar warmth as Fenrys’s body turned into your own, a broad hand sliding across your waist. “I wasn’t talking about the weather,” he murmured, voice rough and low from where his mouth settled at your throat.

Heat rose to your cheeks, breath drawing shallow at the feeling of his knowing grin spreading across the sensitive skin, canines dragging lightly down to rest on your collarbone. Faster than you could process, Fenrys pulled away, onyx eyes taking in your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks and chest heavy with want.

“Fenrys,” you half-scolded, half-pleaded as your hand reached to brush golden curls from his face. With a low laugh, your mate, caught your hand with his, eyes still locked on yours as he pressed a tender kiss to your palm. 

“Care to join me for a swim?” he questioned, eyebrow arched as he glanced between you and the sparkling lake that lay just down the hill. Unsure if it was the clouds that had slowly disappeared from the sky, or the way Fenrys was looking at you, a wave of heat coursed through your veins. 

You nodded swiftly, allowing Fenrys to draw you to your feet just to throw you over his shoulder as he began bounding towards the lake. Your weak, laughter-filled protests had no effect on the warrior, setting you back on your feet when he’d reached the water’s edge. 

Stripping off his shirt, your mate flashed you a lopsided grin as his hands reached for the ties of his pants. “Are you going to join me, or do you prefer to watch?” he teased, nodding at the dress still covering your body.

Rolling your eyes, you smiled up at him. “Of course, I’ll join you anywhere,” you promised, pushing up onto your toes as he met you for a kiss. 

“Then allow me,” he murmured against your lips, his mouth trailing down your jaw and lower, towards where his hands deftly undid the laces of your dress. The warm sun bore its heat upon your newly exposed skin for only a moment before Fenrys’s hands found your backside, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist while he carried you into the cool lake.

“I love you,” you whispered, arms locked around his neck, head laid against his chest where you listened to his heartbeat. 

Lips pressed against the top of your head, and lingered there. “And I love you.” Lowering you to where you stood in the water, chests pressed against one another, Fenrys’s arms wound around you once more, a cocoon of solace into which you gratefully relaxed. 

You simply stood there for awhile - enjoying the closeness of one another, the oneness with your mate and with nature - before finally stepping out of the water. As Fenrys helped redo the last ties on your dress, his dark eyes grew soft - a look that you knew all too well at this point. 

His gaze shone with sincerity, with the same devotion he’d shown as he spoke his vows on your wedding day. Dark eyes grew soft, his hands winding through your hair to tilt your gaze to his. “Thank you, for just being with me,” he smiled softly.

Returning his smile, you brought your hands to his cheeks. “Every day, I don’t know how I could love you any more than I already do. Yet every day, I fall for you a little more. There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side. On the best days, on the worst days, on these quiet days. I’ll go anywhere with you.”

[witchlinggirlie]

Rowan Whitethorn X Aelin Galathynius X Reader

POV: You discover you’re pregnant with Rowan and Aelin as mates

Little bit of fluff with Rowaelin :) Warnings: Pregnancy, mentioning of feeling sick

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Rowan is the first to notice your scent change one morning when you're all laid in bed together. You are snoozing between him and Aelin, and he feels the slight change in you, usually, you smell of fresh strawberries with hints of lime and berries, but now there is a new scent intertwining with your own. It's soft and new, like fresh cotton. He thinks nothing of it as he shifts in bed, rising earlier than you and Aelin after agreeing to a morning run with Aedion and Fenrys. He notices there is a new glow to you, and you seem to be in a deeper slumber than usual, but with him being short on time, he gives you both a light kiss and is out the door. Something nudging at the back of his mind but not quite registering what this meant.

You and Aelin rise a little later, deciding on a slow breakfast with both your schedules being clear for once. You're in the dining hall, Lysandra having just arrived as you stare at all the food laid out so beautifully. Aelin has the biggest sweet tooth you've ever known so mounds of pancakes fill the table, with jugs of chocolate syrup, blueberry muffins stacked in dishes, whilst a selection of the freshest fruits sit to your side. Lysandra moans into her bites of a muffin, unashamedly dipping into the chocolate sauce.

"I swear I only come here for the breakfasts," she says between bites, as Aelin laughs. "How rude you are Lysandra, surely we have more to offer than our delicacies," you giggle as you stare at the table. Usually, your appetite in the morning is as large as Aelins but this morning you can't shake a nauseous feeling creeping up on you. You try to pass it off but the swirling motion Lynsandra makes with the chocolate makes you feel more than green.

"Are you okay my love, you look a little pale?" Aelin frets over you as you shake your head, passing off the feeling and reaching for a glass of water. "I'm okay, please-"

"Well, this truly is the only reason to come here isn't it?" Aedion shouts as he barges into the dining hall, Rowan and Fenrys following behind.

"I mean look at all this food, and what is everyone else having Aelin?" Aedion teases his cousin, eyeing Aelin's 8 pancake stack.

"Har har Aedion, ruling a kingdom is tiresome work and builds up an appetite," Aelin says as she pats at her belly. "You might know about it if you stop stealing my mate for runs and rule that army of yours" Aelin tutts, throwing a berry his way. Aedion catches the berry in his mouth and grins, taking a seat next to Lysandra whilst stacking his own plate full.

Rowan gives Aelin a kiss on the lips before coming to sit next to you, noticing your pale complexion he pulls his chair a little closer. "You look green sweetheart, what's wrong?" Rowan asks quietly to not disrupt the rest of the table as Fenrys also begins to throw berries Aedions way.

You sip on your water giving Rowan a smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes. The smell of the food now sitting heavy in your stomach, maybe you just need some fresh air. Your hands feel clammy and Rowan takes a hand to your forehead, staring intently, almost trying to read your body to find the problem so he can fix it at once.

"I'm okay Ro, really I just feel a bit queasy. I'll be fine in a second. " You say as you take his hand guiding it to rest on your waist, his chair pulled close to yours. Rowan's hand grazes your stomach, his thumb stroking slowly and then he feels a slight swell and it dawns on him, his entire body goes stiff at once as everyone at the table seems to notice the interaction. You shift into Rowan, not realising his stiffness until you look up to see all the eyes on you both, and Aelin looking very worried. Aelin and Rowan have a silent conversation in their head, with Aelins eyes turning watery. You pale even further not understanding what is happening.

Aelin then turns to the three guests and says "I need some alone time with my mates, I'll see you all in the gardens shortly." as her gaze never leaves you. "Faes and their needs.." Lysandra mutters as everyone starts to leave and Aedion makes a quip about finishing his breakfast this time. Having it not been the first time Aelin has announced everyone should leave to have alone time with you and Rowan. But this was for an entirely different reason..

The water now long forgotten, you look between Aelin and Rowan as feel yourself get warm. If Aelin wanted you right now, it was terrible timing as you felt you may just vomit all over the beautiful breakfast. Aelin grabbed your hand as Rowan pulled you closer his hand now resting fully on your belly. "My love, you have no idea do you?" Aelin smiled, a small laugh parting her lips as tears welled in her eyes.

"What is going on, please tell me," You begged, confusion setting upon your own face as you looked to Rowan. Rowan simply smiled and looked down to the hand over your belly, and it began to click within you. “I thought your breasts looked bigger, I was beginning to get jealous.” Aelin clicked as her gaze fell to Rowans.

Your hand moved to rest on top of Rowans, you wasn’t sure he’d even let out a breath in the last 5 minutes. “A babe..” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder. It dawned on you then, you were pregnant.. Tears welled in your own eyes now as you looked down, imagining the invisible bump that would soon grow.

“Are you okay?” Aelin asked Rowan, understanding how big this was for all three of you but another layer of emotion sat with Rowan after the loss of his unborn child.

Rowan nodded his head and cleared his throat, the wave of emotions catching the usually stoic fae off guard. He pulled you into his lap and grabbed Aelins hand as you all slowly grinned at each other.

A new stage of your lives was about to begin, and you all couldn't wait.

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This has been sat in my drafts for awhile as I've been unsure to post, so hope you like this. I'm working on a lil smut with these two as well for Rowans birthday hehe

[pookalicious-hq]

a foreigner's god... 1 - skybound

library | navi | next part

synopsis: with the presence of a shadow, light isn't far behind. through two worlds you live within a balance of waiting and living. memories, faith and lovers all lost at once. tags/tws: a court of thorns and roses/throne of glass crossover!, azriel x fem!reader, so much fluff then so much angst sorry, meantion of blood, war and fighting, suggestive scenes, swearing, meantions of torture word count: 11.5k

You could never truly hide from the sun. Even with your eyes shut, even in the deepest shadows, she would find you—because she was never meant to be hidden from. Her touch, warm and gentle as a mother’s caress, reached through every barrier, slipping past closed lids to paint the darkness gold. Her light kissed bare skin, seeped into bones, and whispered secrets only the heavens could understand.

She was everywhere, in the glow of dawn spilling over the horizon, in the golden dust that clung to skin, in the lingering warmth on stone long after she had set. Others might shrink from her at times, shielding themselves from her intensity, but to you, the sun was not something to be feared. She was a promise, a constant presence, a piece of yourself reflected in the sky.

You loved the sun.

And she loved you as well—so deeply, so fiercely, that even before your first breath, the whispers of your existence had already begun. They did not start with you; they had been there long before, woven into the fabric of myths and half-forgotten prayers.

The stories claimed that once, long ago, the sun had not merely bathed the world in her light—she had given life. That in a moment of divine will, she had poured herself into the earth, searing it with something more than warmth, something more than fire. And from that touch, from that sacred moment, you had been born.

A child of light. A daughter of the sun. The first Seraphim.

But the sun had not let you walk the world just yet. Instead, she cradled you in her golden embrace, hid you away in the sky or beneath the earth—no one could say for sure. Only that you slept, untouched by time, waiting.

And then, two hundred years ago, you awoke.

You emerged into a world that had nearly forgotten you, into a court that had never expected to witness the return of something so celestial, so impossible. The Day Court took you in, for where else could you belong but in the lands that worshipped the light? The people called you goddess, miracle, salvation. Some knelt before you. Some feared you.

But the sun only watched. She only smiled.

And wherever you walked, she followed, not in fleeting rays or stolen moments of warmth, but in the knowledge that if there were shadows, there must be light, an eternal tether. She bent to you, wrapped herself around you like a second skin, a friend, a mother, a guardian, all at once.

The people of the Day Court saw this, and they whispered. A goddess, they called you, murmuring in reverence as you passed. They spoke of the sun’s favorite child, of the one who wielded light as if it had been crafted for her alone. They spoke of you with awe, with devotion, with a kind of fear reserved only for things beyond common understanding.

But to him, you were not a goddess.

You were an angel.

Azriel had never believed in myths.

He had spent centuries lurking in the dark, learning that gods the mortals prayed to did not answer. No divine hand reached down to save those who suffered. If there were gods, they were cruel things, detached and uncaring, watching from above as blood soaked the earth.

The idea of godly intervention was a lie, and yet, mortals still whispered of them. Some tales spoke of winged messengers who soared through the skies before vanishing into legend. Of celestial beings not born of flesh, but of stardust and sunfire. Of the Seraphim, holy creatures that had once walked among the Fae before they were wiped from history, nothing more than a fever dream of the past.

Azriel had dismissed them as nothing more than stories meant to lull children to sleep. Until now.

The rumors had spread like wildfire. A creature of light. A goddess in mortal flesh. The Sun’s Daughter.

He had not believed them. But as he moved through the Day Court’s gardens, bathed in molten gold and soft summer winds, he thought—perhaps, just this once—he had found something holy.

You stood at the heart of the garden, sunlight pooling around you as if you had been sculpted from it. Your hair shimmered, flecked with gold that caught the light like a halo. Your eyes—strange, radiant, endless—were the color of burnished honey. But it was your wings that truly unraveled him.

Feathered. Vast. White tinged with gold, as though the sun had kissed each individual plume. They twitched slightly, unconsciously graceful, and when you turned, your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Azriel was not a man who faltered. He had faced High Lords and warlords, had battled creatures that haunted nightmares, had stood before beasts and not flinched.

But that smile—soft, warm, unafraid—knocked the breath from his lungs.

He should have left. Should have remembered his mission, the scroll tucked into his leathers, the fact that he did not belong in this place. But for the first time in centuries, Azriel did not move.

He only watched as you stood in the garden, tilted your head, as if trying to place him in the shifting light.

And then, as if you already knew him, as if you had been waiting—

You spoke, "Come into the sunlight."

He winnowed back to the townhouse before you finished your breath.

But he did not flee.

At least, that was what Azriel told himself as he winnowed straight into the townhouse, shadows curling tight around him like a second skin. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs, an unfamiliar thing—a foreign rhythm he had not felt in centuries.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind back into order. It was a trick. A game played by Day Court illusions. That was the only explanation.

And yet, even as he reached for logic, your voice still echoed in his ears.

Come into the sunlight.

Azriel cursed, dragging a hand down his face. He did not want to think about you, but the vision of your wings, your golden eyes, the way the sunlight bent for you, refused to leave his mind.

He needed answers.

It began as a flicker of curiosity, the faintest whisper of doubt at the edge of his thoughts. But the more Azriel tried to suppress it, the louder the question became. There was something about you—something he could not place, something right about you being here, in this place where the sun never left, yet he could not shake the feeling that this world didn’t deserve you.

Azriel turned to the one thing he knew best: shadows. He had spent centuries learning how to listen to the whispers they carried. And so, he sought out the tendrils of darkness, letting them twist and curl around his fingers, using them to search for any trace of what you were.

The answer had come back as a murmur—a single word.

Seraphim.

Azriel had scoffed. He had thought the Seraphim were nothing more than myths, forgotten tales from ancient history. He was no fool; he knew better than to put stock in such things. And yet, as he dug deeper, his shadows pulled him toward the stories, the scattered remnants of their existence.

It was not a mere legend. The Seraphim were real—or, at least, they had been.

Weeks passed, and Azriel’s frustration mounted. The more he searched, the more the answers slipped through his fingers, like fine sand caught in the wind. Even his shadows struggled to find anything concrete, as though the very nature of the Seraphim was designed to be hidden from view.

He tried the library, hoping for something more tangible, but all he found was dust and silence. Rhysand, ever perceptive, had begun to question his unusual research habits, asking with subtle curiosity why Azriel was spending his days between ancient scrolls and forgotten tomes.

Azriel, ever the master of evasion, had not answered.

After a week of dead ends and unanswered questions, he had exhausted every option. And so, with no other recourse, he found himself standing in Amren’s study, the heavy scent of bloodred wine lingering in the air as the ancient female regarded him with a knowing look.

“Why the blank face?” she asked dryly, swirling her glass lazily.

Azriel did not rise to the bait. “Tell me about the Seraphim.”

The name seemed to catch her attention. Amren set down her glass, the flicker of candlelight dancing off her silver eyes, which narrowed as she studied him. “Seraphim?” Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Now that is an old name.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed with irritation, but he kept his tone level. “I don’t have time for riddles.”

“You never do, you and your Truth Teller,” Amren muttered, her finger tracing the rim of her glass in a slow arc. “But why the sudden interest? The Seraphim have been gone for eons. Not a single trace of them remains.”

Azriel hesitated. He hated admitting vulnerability, especially to Amren, but the frustration gnawed at him. “What if they weren’t gone?”

A long, pregnant silence hung in the air before Amren’s lips parted in a quiet, amused chuckle. “Ah,” she said, reaching for her glass again, her fingers long and graceful as they grasped the stem. “So you’ve met her.”

His brow creased just the slightest. His pulse quickened. “Who?”

Amren’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time in their long acquaintance, Azriel felt a flicker of something other then danger in her eyes. “The Sun’s Daughter,” she said softly, as if the name alone was enough to unravel everything. “She is the first of them.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat, the word Seraphim now taking on an entirely different meaning. But before he could ask more, Amren raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t bother asking me questions you’re not ready for, Azriel,” she warned. “The answers will find you—whether you want them to or not.”

The finality of her words hung in the air, but as Azriel left her study, the weight of her words settling on his shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder how much he truly wanted to know.

And whether, by seeking the truth, he would be prepared for what it would reveal.

Azriel stood at the foot of the palace stairs, his gaze wandering over the grand expanse of the Day Court's grounds. The sunlight filtered through the trees, their branches heavy with blooms of pink and gold, casting dappled shadows across the courtyard. Yet, amidst all the beauty, his attention was fixed on a single spot.

You.

There, at the edge of the garden, you stood like a figure of light itself, as if the golden rays of the sun bent down to meet you. Your wings, large and ethereal, caught the sunlight, radiating warmth and brilliance. Azriel’s heart skipped a beat as he stared, unable to pull his eyes away. The Seraphim. The Sun’s Daughter. His thoughts flitted through the fragments of stories he'd heard—myths, whispers, half-truths about a figure lost to time. But seeing you in person, bathed in sunlight, felt like a living impossibility.

A rush of confusion and curiosity gripped him. He’d never been the kind to be distracted, to let his gaze wander, but there was something about you that called to him, something undeniable.

“Azriel?” Rhysand’s voice snapped him out of his trance, sharp and knowing. “You planning to stare at the garden all day, or are we going inside for this meeting?”

Azriel blinked, taking one last look at the figure bathed in sunlight before nodding stiffly. “Right,” he murmured, forcing himself to turn away.

The walk inside was as grand as the courtyard outside. Tall marble columns, gilded with gold, stretched to the high, vaulted ceilings. The scent of roses and citrus hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint, calming scent of freshly polished wood. The palace radiated warmth, like sunlight turned into a physical space. But despite all its beauty, Azriel couldn’t shake the image of you.

Inside, Helion, as radiant as ever, stood in the center of the room, waiting for them. His smile was warm, genuine, and his eyes gleamed with intelligence that Azriel had always respected. The room was bathed in soft light, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, filling the space with a gentle glow.

Helion greeted the group with his usual charm, his voice smooth as honey. “Welcome, I trust your journey was pleasant?”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, as politics often did, but Azriel found himself unable to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, to the way the light seemed to swirl around you like an aura, to the impossible reality of your presence. His gaze flicked toward the windows, barely catching glimpses of the garden, his mind wandering back to the figure he had left behind outside.

It wasn’t like him to lose focus—his job was to watch, to listen, to be ever-present and ever-aware. Yet, as the meeting continued, Azriel found his attention waning. His eyes darted once more toward the garden, searching, even though he knew you weren’t there anymore. He could feel the burn of curiosity creeping up his spine, pulling him away from the conversation that he should have been fully engaged in.

Helion, ever perceptive, finally caught on. His smile never wavered, but there was an amused glint in his eye as he shifted his gaze to Azriel. The room seemed to pause for a moment, the conversation carrying on without him, and yet Azriel’s mind was elsewhere.

“Spymaster,” Helion’s voice broke through the murmur of the room, teasing but not unkind. “Looking for something? Or should I say… someone?”

The words landed in the room like a ripple, drawing the attention of the others. Rhysand’s brow arched slightly, Cassian’s eyes narrowed with curiosity, and Mor’s lips quirked into a smirk, clearly intrigued. Azriel’s throat tightened as he realized they had all noticed.

He didn’t answer. His gaze flickered once more toward the window, unable to contain it, before returning to the table.

Helion chuckled, his voice light but warm. “I see. You’ve spotted her, haven’t you?”

Azriel clenched his jaw but remained silent. He couldn’t form a proper response. His mind was filled with too many questions, too many pieces that didn’t fit together.

And then, like something out of a dream, you appeared.

The sun seemed to bend to your will as you swept into the room, your wings gliding gracefully behind you. The sunlight haloed around you, casting a soft glow on everything it touched. It was like you carried the very essence of light within you, and Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you move. His mind, already in a whirl from the earlier tension, faltered in its attempts to regain focus.

Helion let out a soft laugh, clearly delighted by the situation. “Ah, here she is, the one you’ve all been hearing rumors about.”

You landed with ease beside Helion, your wings folding gently behind you. You glanced around the room with calm interest, but when your gaze met Azriel’s, your smile grew—soft, knowing, almost like you had been expecting him all along. You tilted your head slightly, as though regarding him with quiet curiosity.

“Yes, Father?” Your voice was light, playful, and the way you spoke the word Father seemed so natural, as if you had always known him—an unspoken bond, centuries old.

Helion’s laughter echoed around the room, rich with affection and a bit of amusement. It was clear there was a deep connection between you two, one woven through years, if not lifetimes, of shared history. But there was something else there, too—a familiarity that Azriel couldn’t place, something beyond the surface of simple familial ties.

Azriel’s chest tightened. He couldn’t stop looking at you, feeling the warmth radiating from you. Your golden eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and for a moment, it felt like you could see everything about him—the things he kept buried deep.

Helion, with his characteristic ease, broke the moment. “This is my ‘adopted daughter’,” he announced with a grin, “the Sun’s Daughter, as we in the Day Court call her.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, the energy shifting as everyone processed the revelation. Azriel’s heart raced, his thoughts scattered. You had a title, a legacy. And yet, there was something about the way you stood there, serene yet undeniably powerful, that made it feel like you were more than just a title.

You turned your gaze toward Azriel again, a small smile playing on your lips. Despite the golden light around you, there was a coolness to your stare, like you were studying him just as intently as he was studying you. There was something in your eyes that hinted at secrets—things too complex to be understood at a glance.

“A pleasure,” you said softly, your voice carrying a quiet authority. Your tone was polite, yes, but there was a depth beneath it—an underlying strength that Azriel couldn’t quite grasp.

Helion leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “I would assume Amren has already told you about her, though I must say, I’m grateful for your silence on the matter, Ancient One.”

Amren, who had been sitting in a quiet corner, raised an eyebrow and gave a wry smile. “I’m good at keeping secrets, Helion. You should be grateful.” There was a sharpness in her voice that Azriel knew all too well—one that indicated she wasn’t giving away anything she didn’t want to.

Your eyes met Amren’s then, and the connection between you two was unmistakable. The slight curve of your lips in a smile, the way Amren’s posture shifted just a bit more relaxed in response—it was clear you two shared something. A bond that transcended mere acquaintance. Despite the vast differences in your temperaments, Amren tolerated you, even enjoyed your company in her own way. And in return, you didn’t seem to push her boundaries, always respecting the ancient secrets she carried with her.

The conversation shifted toward political matters, but Azriel’s mind wasn’t in the room anymore. Every glance he stole toward you was filled with questions—rumors he’d heard, but never fully understood. What are you? He wondered, his pulse quickening every time his gaze met yours. You felt like something… ancient, almost too much for him to comprehend.

As the meeting came to a close, the Inner Circle stood, moving toward the door. Azriel’s mind was still tangled in confusion and curiosity, his eyes following you as you made your way toward the exit. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more about you—something he needed to figure out. But as the last of the conversation died down, he realized there was one person he could never get an answer from.

Amren.

Cassian’s voice broke through his thoughts as he threw his hands up in disbelief. “What the hell was that about?” he asked, his voice louder than usual. “Who is she?”

Rhysand’s gaze lingered on the door where you had just disappeared. “What’s her deal, Azriel?” His voice was low, measured, but there was an edge of concern. “Why does she feel so… different?”

Mor, who had been quiet until now, added her thoughts in a softer tone. “She didn’t just look like a goddess, Azriel. She felt like something else entirely.” Her words were filled with apprehension, and Azriel could hear the unspoken question behind them.

The group turned toward Amren, who had barely acknowledged them since the introduction, her gaze distant. But it was clear that whatever was going on with you, Amren wasn’t going to provide any clarity. She knew more than she was letting on, and they all knew it.

“What’s she hiding, Amren?” Cassian asked, his voice casual, though his eyes burned with the same curiosity as the rest of them.

Amren’s lips twitched into a half-smile, the kind that spoke of knowledge and power. “Nothing that concerns you, Cassian,” she replied cryptically. “But perhaps he will explain it one day.”

Her gaze flicked to Azriel for a brief moment, as if she were passing the torch to him. The others followed her glance, and Azriel felt their eyes on him, all their questions suddenly becoming his responsibility. He met their stares, his chest tightening with the weight of the unknown.

They all knew they wouldn’t get anything out of Amren, not now, not ever. The question of who you were and why you felt so different hung in the air, unanswered.

Azriel stared at the door, lost in thought, his mind racing with questions. For once, he didn’t have the answers.

"I was wrong."

Something most conscious beings had a hard time accepting. Azriel was wrong. He shouldn’t have left the comfort of the townhouse to find you.

It had been two weeks since the meeting, two weeks since Helion introduced you with that quiet, almost serene confidence. Two weeks since the unknown and inexplicable pull toward you had woven itself into his every thought. He needed to understand what it was about you. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly: Who were you? Why did you feel so different? What was this pull?

He had never been the one to chase after something—or someone—for answers. It was not in his nature, not with his shadows constantly whispering to him. But this time, this time had been different.

As he entered the gardens of the Day Court, the sun beat down in the way it always did, warm and soft. He moved through the orchards, the tall flowers brushing against his arms, the scent of petals and herbs surrounding him in a blanket of calming sweetness. But the air felt heavy, filled with something more than just the fragrance of blooming flowers. It felt like the garden itself was watching him, as if it knew the reason he was here.

And yet, you weren’t there.

The familiar stillness of the garden set a subtle unease in his chest. Normally, you were here, somewhere, basking in the sunlight, just as the rumors said the Sun’s Daughter always did. But not today.

He moved deeper into the garden, weaving between the trees and flowers, his steps quickening, impatience building with each turn. The further he walked, the more the path opened before him, as if the garden itself was guiding him, leading him toward a place he didn’t want to go but couldn’t seem to avoid. It felt like the landscape itself was conspiring against him.

Then, there you were.

In the distance, beneath the golden rays that seemed to crown you with an ethereal glow, you stood, as though waiting for him. Your wings unfurled slightly, catching the light, and in that moment, everything around him seemed to pause.

He shouldn’t be here. This was pointless. Why was he so attracted to you? It wasn’t in the way he found you attractive—no, that was not it. It was deeper, more insistent, like his very being was drawn to yours, like there were answers in you that he was meant to uncover.

But this was a bad idea. Why hadn’t he thought this through?

He had no plan. No questions. He hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say when he saw you. He had just followed the impulse, the need to understand. To learn.

And now, here he was.

A part of him wanted to turn around, walk away before you noticed him. But his feet were rooted to the ground, his shadows clinging to the grass, unwilling to let him go.

As he approached, you turned, your gaze meeting his with that same calm, knowing expression. It was like you had been expecting him all along.

You said nothing at first, simply studying him with those golden eyes that shimmered like the sun itself. It was maddening, how effortlessly you seemed to see through him, how everything about you felt like a riddle he couldn’t solve. And yet, it wasn’t just the curiosity gnawing at him—it was something more. Something inexplicable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to understand you. That you were important.

The questions—the endless swirl of them—tumbled from his mind, and for a moment, he could hardly remember why he had come. Instead, his chest tightened with the overwhelming presence of you. You stood there like the sun itself, casting light on everything in the garden. You absorbed it, drank it in, until it seemed like the very air around you glowed, like the golden light was woven into your skin, your wings, your very soul.

"Hello, Spymaster," you said softly, as if you knew exactly who he was, even without the title. There was a weight to your voice that caught him off guard, pulling him into the moment, forcing him to face the reality of why he was here. "I didn’t expect you to come looking for me. How do you find my garden?"

His pulse quickened, throat tight, as the words threatened to spill from him—but no, they remained stuck, caught somewhere between his chest and his lips. What was he supposed to say to you? How could he possibly ask the questions that had been burning inside him for weeks? Why did he feel like he was unraveling the moment he tried to approach it?

"It’s beautiful…" Azriel finally muttered, but the words didn’t satisfy him. They weren’t enough, not when the weight of everything he wanted to know pressed on his shoulders. Not when the pull to understand you felt like an invisible thread wrapped around his chest, tightening with each passing second.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile, and Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that you saw straight through him, down to the very core of his thoughts. "You don’t need to explain yourself, Azriel," you said, your voice threading through his mind like a whisper, cutting through the confusion. "Not to me."

Your eyes, still shimmering with that quiet power, seemed to study him for a moment, as though weighing something unsaid. Then, with a trace of amusement, you added, "You’re not the first to come looking for answers. And you won’t be the last."

Azriel stood there, his mind whirling as your words settled in the space between them. Who else had come looking for you? What did you mean by that? But even more pressing, why did it feel like you knew everything about him already, like your presence was somehow… familiar?

"I didn’t think this through," Azriel admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He was standing here, in front of you, and his mind was a mess. He had no plan, no strategy. The questions he’d come with—he could barely even remember them now.

You tilted your head slightly, regarding him with a faint smile. "Most don’t," you said simply, as though it was something you’d seen countless times before. "You don’t have to ask all your questions right away. Some things need to come in their own time."

Azriel was left standing there, feeling as though everything about you had just unraveled him. The way the sun seemed to bend toward you. The way you drank it in, effortlessly glowing in its embrace. The pull he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried.

Finally, the question broke through his fog, desperate to be asked. "Who was the first?" He could barely keep the curiosity out of his voice.

You smiled again, and the air seemed to shift with it, like something old and powerful stirred beneath the surface. "I was."

And in that moment, Azriel’s world narrowed to that single response, the weight of it pressing down on him like a storm on the horizon. It made everything else feel irrelevant, insignificant. Because the first was you, and in some way, he knew now that he had already lost himself in you.

The game had changed, and he had no idea how to play it.

Ethereal was the only word closest enough to capture your essence within the confines of a single meaning. But even that seemed inadequate. You were more than just light, more than the sun’s rays casting their warmth on the earth. You were the embodiment of it, every movement you made bending the air, shifting the very atmosphere around you in a way that felt both surreal and magnetic.

Azriel could never have predicted it—how someone so... untouchable would invade his thoughts. He was used to the shadows, the quiet, the things that lurked in the dark. But you, with your golden eyes and that calm, knowing presence, made the very air feel like it was alive with energy.

He remembered the first time he had truly seen you—your wings unfurling like rays of sunlight, your form glowing, bathing the world in warmth. That was when the curiosity had first taken root. But now, two weeks later, it was more than just curiosity.

It was obsession. A quiet, relentless pull that kept him coming back.

He told himself it was nothing. That it was just a fleeting fascination. You were a powerful force, a being unlike anything he had ever encountered. That was all. But the more time he spent with you, the harder it was to keep up the façade. It wasn’t just your power. It wasn’t just your beauty. It was the way you made him feel, the way you seemed to see through him with that knowing smile, the way the light itself seemed to respond to your very presence.

As the weeks turned into months, Azriel found himself returning to the Day Court again and again. At first, he told himself it was just to understand you better, to unravel the mystery that surrounded your presence. But somewhere along the way, it became something else. It wasn’t the questions anymore. It was you.

He found comfort in your company, a strange sense of belonging he didn’t know he was searching for. You didn’t just listen to him—you saw him, in ways that no one ever had before. His silence didn’t frighten you; it seemed to give you space to talk, to share pieces of your life, your memories. You talked about the light, about the way it shaped everything in your life, and the way you could feel it in ways others couldn’t. You shared stories of the plants you cared for, the ones that seemed to thrive under your touch, and how you could coax them into bloom by simply being with them.

Azriel became so enmeshed in your world that he couldn’t remember when it happened, but he found himself looking forward to these visits. What began as a way to pass the time between missions, a fleeting curiosity, grew into something deeper—a friendship he didn’t know he needed. He didn’t need to be anyone else around you. He didn’t need to be the spymaster, the shadow that everyone feared. He could just be yours, and that was enough.

One day, during one of his visits, he finally asked you, hesitantly, “Your light, how does it work? I can only imagine, but I know I don’t do it justice in my head.”

There was a flicker of amusement in your eyes, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Azriel. You’ve earned that.”

He followed you into a secluded part of the garden, where the sunlight bathed everything in a golden glow, and the air was thick with the scent of flowers in bloom. You stepped into the open space, your wings unfurling slowly, catching the light as though they were made of sunbeams themselves. Azriel’s breath hitched. It wasn’t just the way the light seemed to bend around you; it was the power of it, the sheer beauty.

You closed your eyes for a moment, your entire being becoming attuned to the world around you. Then, with a sudden movement, you raised your hands, and the air around you shimmered.

Azriel watched in awe as the light seemed to dance, twisting around you like an ethereal storm. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. It wasn’t just power—it was life, it was energy, it was pure light. It moved and swirled in intricate patterns, forming shapes and colors he couldn’t even begin to describe. The glow around you intensified, casting long, stretching shadows across the ground, yet it never touched you. It was like the light belonged to you, and the world had to bend to your will.

Azriel was entranced, standing there in silence, utterly captivated. He hadn’t realized just how deeply he had become drawn to you, but in that moment, it was impossible to deny. The way your eyes shimmered with the power you controlled, the way your expression softened as you weaved the light into something tangible—it was mesmerizing.

When you finished, the light slowly faded, but the lingering energy remained in the air, like a hum. Azriel was still standing there, speechless, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent.

You smiled, an expression that was both soft and knowing. “Most people don’t get to see it. Only those who truly understand the light can appreciate it in its purest form.”

Azriel finally found his voice, his gaze still locked on you. “I don’t think I ever will truly understand it,” he admitted quietly. “But what I do know... is that I’ll never forget what I just saw.”

There was a warmth in your eyes, a glint of something deeper—something that made his chest tighten. You didn’t need to say anything more. The moment was enough. Your friendship had always been grounded in an unspoken understanding, but in that moment, there was a shift—a deeper connection that neither of you could ignore.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden light across the garden, Azriel found himself wanting to stay with you. More than anything, he wanted to stay, to let the moments stretch on forever. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had come to depend on your presence, how much he needed this—needed you.

Soon, he realized love was a fickle thing. It wasn’t something that could ever hurt, he came to realize. Others would advise him otherwise, with love came loss just as much as with light, there was dark. But as he spent more time with you, as he allowed himself to fall deeper into the connection they shared, Azriel understood—this love didn’t hold the loss others talked about. It was the moments in between, the small exchanges of trust and tenderness, and the quiet understanding that bound them together.

The longer he stayed by your side, the more he saw how others were wrong about love. It wasn’t a fragile thing that shattered with the weight of pain—it was a force that could build, that could sustain and hold even when the world around them trembled. He hadn’t expected that, not from someone like you, not from someone who shone with such brightness that it seemed impossible to reach. Yet here he was, every day becoming more tethered to you, to the light you offered without hesitation.

And yet, still—he was afraid.

He had grown close to you, closer than he ever thought possible, and with each passing day, the pull between them deepened. You were no longer just the Sun’s Daughter, a mystery he was desperate to understand. You were his, in ways that neither of them had fully acknowledged. But even then, there was that flicker of doubt.

What if it was too much? What if, in the end, there was nothing left after all of this, after the years, after the feelings? Love was something he had seen destroy—so much loss, so much darkness that followed the light.

Azriel had never been one to confront his own vulnerabilities. His shadows were a far safer companion than the raw ache of affection that had begun to reside in his chest. Still, the more time they spent together, the clearer it became: he could no longer deny that he loved you.

But that wasn’t enough. Love had never been enough, not when it could be taken away in the blink of an eye.

The sky was painted in strokes of gold and amber, the last remnants of the sun bleeding into soft pinks and purples that stretched endlessly across the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of ripe citrus and jasmine, the warmth of the day lingering on the grass, on the petals of every flower swaying in the gentle breeze.

Azriel lay stretched across your lap, his wings tucked close to his body, his head resting against your legs as though this had always been his place. And maybe it had. Maybe he had been meant to find you, to end up here, beneath the golden glow of the setting sun, his shadows quiet for once as the world bathed in your light.

It should have been like every other evening. Another quiet moment stolen in the hush of the Day Court gardens. But tonight, something was different.

He had watched you a thousand times before, but tonight, with the sunset casting you in molten gold, you looked like something from a dream. A painting of the divine, bathed in warmth, kissed by the light itself. And the worst part—the part that made his heart clench painfully—was that you didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t realize how the fading sun bent to you, how the light curled around your wings like it was drawn to something greater, something more.

His gaze drifted to the sky, watching birds weave intricate patterns overhead, their wings slicing through the painted clouds with effortless grace. The soft rustle of the leaves, the distant hum of the fountains—it all blurred into the background, fading beneath the quiet sound of your breathing, the warmth of your fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair.

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sensation, on the way you touched him so easily, so gently, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps, by now, it was. He had grown accustomed to your warmth, to the way you leaned into him without hesitation, without fear. It had been a year of knowing you, and yet, every day, you unraveled him further.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to find you already looking down at him, your expression soft, knowing. The sunset burned behind you, turning the strands of your hair into liquid gold, your golden eyes catching the light in a way that made it impossible to look away.

You were the sun itself. And he—he was just a fool who had spent too long pretending he didn’t need its warmth.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of,” you said, voice barely above a murmur, yet carrying the weight of something ancient, something undeniable.

Azriel’s heart stuttered. You always saw too much, always slipped past his defenses like light spilling through the cracks. And now, now you were here, looking at him like you already knew the answer.

Still, the words were difficult to admit. They felt heavy, lodged in his throat. But when he finally spoke, it was quiet, raw, barely audible beneath the soft rustling of the garden.

“That you’ll fly away,” he confessed, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, as if that alone would keep you here. “That you’ll go somewhere I can’t reach. I can’t bear to be apart from you.”

Your lips curved, and for a moment, you said nothing. Just reached down, your fingers tracing along the sharp edge of his cheekbone, soft and grounding, the kind of touch that settled deep in his chest and took root.

“It’s a good thing you have wings as well, I suppose,” you murmured, thumb brushing lightly over his scar. “I’ll never be somewhere you can’t find me.”

And as your fingers trailed lower, as the warmth of the setting sun melted into the warmth of your touch, Azriel realized—he had never stood a chance. He had already fallen.

The golden light clung to you, illuminating every delicate curve of your face, every feather of your wings, as if the sun itself refused to let you go. And him—he was the shadows creeping at the edges, the night patiently waiting its turn. He had spent a lifetime shrouded in darkness, wrapped in silence, yet somehow, here you were, standing at the seam where day met night, and instead of turning away from him, you reached out.

Azriel closed his eyes at your touch, his breath shaky. The weight of his fears, the shadows of loss and pain, suddenly felt so insignificant under your soft guidance. He had been running for so long, afraid to let anyone too close, afraid to truly let himself love. But now, here with you, he understood.

The light you gave him wasn’t just about warmth—it was about trust. It was about letting go.

When he opened his eyes, the sky had deepened into a watercolor of indigo and violet, the last streaks of sunlight retreating below the horizon. Yet, even in the growing dusk, you still shone. Soft, unwavering. The sun may have set, but its glow still lingered on your skin, as if refusing to leave you entirely.

Azriel lifted a hand, hesitating only for a second before brushing his knuckles against your cheek. It was a silent acknowledgment, a wordless confession of everything he had yet to say.

“I don’t want to tether you down,” he whispered, voice rough with something fragile, something afraid. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll make myself worthy to follow after you.”

Your expression didn’t change—not in the way he expected, at least. No surprise, no hesitation. Only quiet understanding, only that same steady warmth he had come to crave like a man starved of sunlight.

The wind stirred between you, ruffling your feathers, tugging at his shadows. Day and night, converging in this in-between moment.

You smiled, the kind of smile that was not just an answer but a promise. Your hand covered his, pressing his palm flat against your cheek, grounding him in the warmth of you.

“You were always worthy, Azriel,” you murmured. “You only needed to see it.”

And as the night settled in, as the stars blinked into existence overhead, Azriel knew, deep in his soul, that this was no longer about keeping himself safe. It was about taking that step forward, even into the unknown. He loved you. And for the first time, he was willing to believe that love could heal, not hurt.

The darkness of his past still lingered, and it always would—but now, beside you, he could finally see past the night.

Four hundred and fifty years, and you’d never set foot outside of the Day Court. Why would you?

The sun had always been your home, its warmth woven into your very essence. The golden sands, the vast orchards, the shimmering lakes that reflected the endless sky—you had everything you needed. The light had never failed you, never given you a reason to leave.

Until now. Until him.

Azriel stood beside you at the edge of a balcony, his figure a dark silhouette against the glow of the Velaris skyline. The city stretched below, vibrant and alive, its lanterns twinkling like stars, the soft hum of the Sidra echoing in the distance. He had asked you—gently, as he always did when it came to things that mattered—to come with him. Just for a little while. Just to see what existed beyond the eternal sun. And for the first time in four and a half centuries, you had said yes.

The moment you stepped into Velaris, the change was immediate.

The air was cool, crisp, and laced with the scent of rain on stone, the scent of something not quite like the sun-warmed earth you were used to. The sky, painted in deep purples and indigos, stretched above a city that glowed—not with sunlight, but with the soft flicker of lanterns and the warm golden light spilling from windows. It was a softness you weren’t used to, a stark contrast to the harsh brightness of your own world.

It was so different.

You inhaled sharply, your body reacting before your mind could process it. You instinctively curled inward, your wings flicking out slightly as though trying to shield you from the unfamiliar cold. But before you could say a word, something warm and heavy settled over your shoulders.

Azriel’s cloak.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, his voice laced with a quiet amusement, though there was something deeper behind it—a tenderness, something protective. Something he had only shown to you.

You turned your head to look at him, meeting his steady gaze, and saw him watching you, his dark eyes tracing every emotion that flickered across your face. There was something magnetic about the way he studied you—like he saw all of you, even the parts you had never shown anyone else. You exhaled, shaking your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“You don’t feel it?” you asked, your voice quiet and almost uncertain.

“The cold?” Azriel asked, his wings shifting slightly as he adjusted his stance. “Not like you do.”

You hummed thoughtfully, adjusting the cloak around you, letting its warmth seep into your skin. “You should have feathers, then.”

Azriel blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment. Then, a soft laugh escaped him. “I should, huh?”

You nodded, your gaze shifting from him to your own wings. The contrast between you was so apparent now—his wings like midnight shadows, smooth and leathery, while yours shimmered in the dim light, golden feathers catching the glow of the city.

“You’d look ridiculous with them,” you mused, a playful glint in your eye.

Azriel tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you teased back.

His smirk deepened, and the playful challenge in his eyes made your heart flutter. With a slow, deliberate motion, Azriel extended a hand toward you, his silent invitation hanging between you. It was a promise, a quiet assurance that, just as you had guided him in the Day Court, he would now guide you through this strange new world.

Before you had even set foot in Velaris, Azriel had come to Rhysand with the request to let you into the city. The High Lord, ever the schemer with a knowing glint in his eyes, had agreed without hesitation. He trusted you. The Inner Circle trusted you. And though Rhysand’s approval had been granted, it was Azriel’s belief in you that mattered most.

Despite the unfamiliar chill of Velaris, despite the strangeness of the city and the night around you, you took his hand without hesitation. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, his presence a grounding force in the whirlwind of everything new.

And you followed.

Every step you took with him brought you deeper into the heart of Velaris, into his home. Even as the city wrapped around you with its soft, vibrant glow, there was something about Azriel’s steady, unwavering presence that made the unfamiliar feel more like home.

As you walked through the streets of Velaris, everything seemed so different from what you had been told. For centuries, the whispers had painted the Night Court in dark, ominous tones, a place filled with shadow and secrecy. But standing here, beneath the dusky sky lit with a thousand twinkling stars, you knew that everything you’d heard was nothing more than the distortions of fear.

The streets were alive. Laughter and chatter filled the air, the sound of children running playfully through the cobblestone streets, their energy infectious. The buildings that lined the streets were bathed in the soft, golden glow of lanterns, and the Sidra rippled peacefully in the distance, its waters reflecting the stars. It was a city of life, not darkness, and it filled your heart with warmth.

You had never seen such joy—such pure, unrestrained happiness. It was a far cry from the serenity of the Day Court. The children, wild and free, played without care. Some of them waved at Azriel as you passed, their faces lighting up in recognition, while others simply stared at you, wide-eyed.. Your presence felt... different here, as though you didn’t just walk through the streets but shone through them. Golden light flickered along your skin as if the stars themselves had taken up residence in your being.

Azriel, ever the protector, noticed the way the children watched you—eyes wide with awe, captivated by the sheer brilliance of your presence. His wings twitched slightly, the familiar feeling of protectiveness stirring in him, but there was something else this time. There was pride, too. Pride that they could see, even for just a moment, how magnificent you were. That they could witness what he had come to know so intimately—the light that radiated from you, the beauty that filled every space you entered.

He said nothing as they stared, as some of the children whispered excitedly to each other, their faces lighting up in wonder. He simply kept walking beside you, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the city air, the pride in his heart unwavering. You were his, and everyone here, in this place he called home, would learn to see what he had known for years: that you were meant to shine.

When you finally arrived at the townhouse, a wave of relief washed over you. It felt like him. As Azriel closed the door behind you both, you moved toward him, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pulling him into an embrace. His body stiffened for a brief moment before melting into your touch, his own arms coming up to encircle you. You felt his chest rise and fall with a shaky breath, and in that moment, everything felt perfect. He fit so naturally in your arms.

Azriel turned in your embrace, cupping your face gently, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt, but finding none. His thumb traced the line of your jaw before his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had built together, of the years that had led to this moment. His lips tasted like home, like everything you had ever wanted and more.

When you pulled away, his hands lingered on your skin, as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I have something for you,” Azriel said, his voice low, and something in the way he said it made your heart flutter with anticipation.

Curious, you followed him to his room, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet of the townhouse. As you stepped inside, you were immediately drawn to the middle of the room, where a set of clothes and leathers lay neatly on a pair of chests. You raised an eyebrow in surprise as Azriel watched you closely, his eyes filled with a quiet excitement.

The leather was deep black, almost indistinguishable from the shadows themselves, but it shimmered with intricate gold embroidery of a sun, its rays curling like tendrils across the fabric. The stitching was delicate but purposeful, capturing the essence of light in a way that left you breathless. You could feel the weight of the craftsmanship, the care that had gone into making them.

He watched as you knelt down to touch the fabric, your fingers brushing over the soft leather. When you checked the inside, you realized it was insulated—perfect for the chill of Velaris. He had thought of everything.

“You know me too well,” you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“Don’t forget this,” Azriel continued, moving to the side of the room, where a velvet dress hung. It was a deep, rich gold, the fabric so soft it almost seemed to shimmer in the light. Black accents adorned it—lace at the collar, delicate patterns embroidered across the hem. The contrast between the gold and black was striking, and you could already imagine how it would feel against your skin.

Azriel stepped closer, a soft smile playing at his lips. “ I knew you’d get cold. Don’t want you finding warmth within anyone except you and I.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room, and with a quick motion, you reached up to kiss him. But before he could react, you pushed him back onto the bed, your playful grin spreading across your face.

Azriel let out a startled huff, his body falling back onto the soft sheets. He reached out, grabbing for you, but you were already slipping away, your eyes filled with mischief. The softness of the moment lingered between you as you stood above him, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your shared laughter.

In that moment, nothing else existed. It was just you, him, and a love that felt as if it had always been meant to be.

...

Over the years, Azriel had noticed that you seemed to be fond of Velaris. Perhaps it was because you’d lived in the Day Court your entire long life, or maybe it was because Velaris made you feel more free. Sure, you had Helion in the Day Court, who had always been more like an uncle than a father, and the fact that you were technically older than him never ceased to amuse you both. But here, in Velaris, in the townhouse, you felt like you had the chance to be part of a real family.

The hum of warmth from the fire in the hearth was a constant presence as you spent your days with the Inner Circle. The dinners around the large table in the dining room had become something you looked forward to—a place where laughter flowed freely and the light of the flames flickered in the faces of those you now considered family. The smell of freshly cooked meals—Rhysand’s endless experiments with new flavors and Amren’s refined touch in the smallest of details—had become familiar. It was a home, the scent of food and wine mixing with the sounds of their voices filling every room.

After a week of sparring with Cassian and Azriel, learning the rhythm of their moves, your body had begun to adjust to the new style of fighting. Cassian’s encouragement, Azriel’s patient corrections—both had become staples of your daily routine. Yet, it was the moments spent with Amren that you cherished most. The quiet afternoons where you two would sit in companionable silence, the fire casting shadows on the walls, and Amren’s stories about the ancient times of the Fae were enough to make you feel as though you had known this family for lifetimes.

And still, even in the midst of all the joy and the softness of it all, the pull of the Day Court remained—a place where the gardens and the sun’s warmth always beckoned. But now, Velaris had a piece of you. And tonight, you had prepared something special for them.

The room was filled with the delicious scent of your cooking—a blend of spices and herbs that had been carefully chosen, much like the way you’d been welcomed into this home. As the table was set, the warmth from the candles reflected in everyone’s eyes, the flickering light creating an almost magical atmosphere.

And yet, there was something else, too. You could feel the lingering hum in your chest, the familiar pull of your powers, quietly waiting beneath the surface. You’d been so content, so at ease here with them, that it was almost as though your abilities were waiting for the right moment to make themselves known.

Cassian, ever the troublemaker, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You know,” he said, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass, “we’ve never seen your powers. When we first met you, Azriel almost pissed his pants just being in the same room as you.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, and he shot a glare at Cassian, his shadows curling like tendrils of smoke, responding to the shift in the air. “I don’t remember it exactly like that,” Azriel grumbled, though his voice was laced with fondness, as he sent a quick, playful poke of his shadows toward Cassian, causing the general to flinch.

You smiled at the banter, letting the lightness of it all fill you. It was familiar, comforting, in a way that was entirely new.

“Well,” you said, standing up and stretching, “if you’re all so curious, I’d love to show you.”

The room grew still for a moment, as if the space itself held its breath. The flickering of the fire and the candlelight seemed to dim, the shadows stretching and bending at the edges. You could feel the pull of your power, the warmth of it coiling within you like the golden threads of sunlight, drawing you into the very air.

The temperature in the room shifted, growing warmer, the light beginning to ripple and pulse as you let it rise from within. You felt it now—like an old friend—coursing through your veins, filling the room with the soft, golden glow of the sun.

The warmth spread across your skin, illuminating everything in its path. Your wings fluttered lightly, the gold and amber of your feathers glinting in the light, casting ripples of color around the room like the dance of sunlight on water. Tendrils of light moved with purpose, curling through the air in slow, graceful patterns, as if the sun had woven itself around your body. It was as if the room itself was caught in the embrace of your energy, the shadows retreating as the warmth enveloped everything.

The Inner Circle watched in stunned silence. Cassian’s teasing grin faltered, his eyes wide, and even Rhysand, usually so composed, allowed a flicker of surprise to show on his face. Amren, ever the silent observer, gave a low whistle, her sharp eyes gleaming with approval.

But it was Mor who spoke first, her voice soft with awe. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathed, her eyes reflecting the golden light that surrounded you.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at the compliment. But Cassian, ever the joker, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Careful, Mor. Az might think you’re trying to get with his girl.”

Azriel’s shadows immediately shot toward Cassian, as if to scold him for his teasing. But you could see the slight tightening of his jaw, the possessiveness that he tried to mask. Azriel’s gaze flickered to you, and in that moment, you could see the silent question in his eyes. Would you ever leave him?

You chuckled, the golden glow around you flickering in amusement. “Relax, Cassian,” you said, voice light and teasing. “Mor’s just admiring my power. I can hardly blame her.”

Mor winked at you, a playful glint in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said, her gaze never leaving you. “You’ve got an incredible gift.”

Azriel relaxed slightly at your words, but his gaze never left you. You were surrounded by warmth, not just from your own light, but from the acceptance and admiration of the people who had become family.

You took a deep breath, letting the light recede slowly, the warmth still radiating gently from you. The room returned to its natural warmth, but there was a lingering glow, like the fading warmth of the sun after it sets.

Cassian, still recovering from the display, shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Okay, that was something else.”

Rhysand chuckled, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. “You’ve been holding out on us, haven’t you?”

Amren rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small, knowing smile. “She’s still holding out. I’ve seen her do much more.”

You laughed softly, the glow around you flickering with amusement as you winked at Amren. “I figured it was about time. Besides,” you added, glancing at Azriel, “I don’t think anyone should be in the dark about something this beautiful.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and for a long moment, everything felt still. He crossed the room in two steps, reaching for you, his fingers gently brushing your cheek before cupping your face. His touch was grounding, a quiet reassurance, and you melted into it. His lips met yours softly, lingering for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

And in that moment, you knew: this was where you belonged—here, with them, with Azriel. The power you had, the love you shared—it was all part of you now, woven into the tapestry of this new family you had found.

Azriel had just returned from a long, arduous mission—one that had taken him deep into the shadows of distant courts, gathering whatever whispers and rumors he could about the general named Amarantha. She was said to be a force to be reckoned with, a weapon whose power could rival the might of the Fae themselves. But every spy and informant he’d spoken to had told him the same thing: while the rumors were growing, the war wasn’t going to erupt for some time. It was all just talk, whispers in the dark. Nothing imminent.

For once, Azriel allowed himself to breathe easy. After weeks of travel, research, and the constant pressure of worrying that the worst was right around the corner, he had finally returned to Velaris.

He hadn’t come back to the Inner Circle’s townhouse immediately; instead, he’d allowed himself a small gift of quiet. A walk through the streets of the city, just the two of you. He could already feel the tightness in his chest slowly unraveling as you laughed at something ridiculous he’d said, your presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. It felt good—so good—to just be here, walking in the sunlight with you, far from the tension and bloodshed he’d left behind.

You, with your golden wings fluttering lightly behind you, basked in the warmth of the sun, and Azriel couldn’t help but stare at you. The world around you seemed to glow brighter when you were close, the golden strands of your hair catching the light in such a way that it almost looked as though you were glowing from within. Your smile was easy, carefree, and for the first time in a long while, Azriel allowed himself to enjoy this.

He thought about the information he had gathered. About the war that was brewing between the courts. About Amarantha, whose name sent shivers through the shadows that clung to Azriel’s very soul. He had returned with knowledge that could change everything—but for now, he pushed it aside. No need to think about it yet.

For now, he was home.

The two of you walked together, your laughter mixing with the sounds of Velaris—children playing in the streets, merchants calling out their wares, the gentle hum of the Sidra River winding through the city. Azriel’s dark wings rested comfortably behind him, their usual tension gone for the moment. The weight on his shoulders, the responsibility that always pressed down on him, had lessened.

It was easy, almost too easy, to forget the storm clouds that loomed just out of sight. But for once, Azriel allowed himself to be fully present in the moment, enjoying your company, letting go of the constant vigilance he had lived with for so long. He’d been with you through so many battles, but today, he didn’t have to worry about anything except you.

But then, the shift came. It was subtle at first—an almost imperceptible change in the air. But Azriel, ever the shadow, felt it before anything else. His muscles tensed, and his steps slowed as he glanced toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly. The warmth of the day seemed to drain from the air, replaced with something cold, something heavy. The world felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

And then you felt it too.

The soft breeze carrying the sweet smells of Velaris began to still. The warm sun above you turned cold—an eerie chill crawling across your skin. The cobblestones beneath your feet seemed to lose their warmth, and the air around you thickened, pressing in from all sides. It was the same kind of weight you felt before a storm, only this time, there was no storm in sight. Only an unsettling silence.

Your heart started to race. You tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick, too heavy to fill your lungs.

Azriel stopped walking beside you, his body going rigid. The playful, easy tension between you both evaporated, replaced by something much darker. His wings shifted behind him, stretching as if sensing something dangerous in the air. The small, almost imperceptible pull at the base of your chest—like the world itself was trying to drag you away from this moment—grew stronger. You instinctively took a step back, your feet grounding you, but your wings fluttered, restless and agitated.

Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his gaze locking with yours, the intensity of his stare making your stomach twist. "Did you…" His voice was low, tight, as if he was trying to keep his own fear at bay. His hand reached for yours instinctively, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you, if only for a moment.

Before you could answer, you felt it—a powerful shift in the air, like a ripple in the fabric of reality itself. It wasn’t just the city, the world around you—it was something far deeper, something ancient.

You froze, feeling the tug deep inside you, a pull toward the Day Court. Your pulse quickened, fear sparking in your veins as the connection to the Court grew stronger, darker.

Azriel’s face paled, his breath catching. "Something’s wrong" he breathed again, his voice a mix of disbelief and fear.

“I feel it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your wings twitched, restless, desperate to take flight. “Something’s happening. I need to go.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his face a mask of determination and concern. “No. Stay here, with me. Velaris is safe,” his voice was pleading as he spoke your name in a rush, “I can protect you. Please.”

But you could already feel the distance growing between you and him, the pull toward the Day Court too strong, too urgent to ignore. You tried to steady yourself, to focus, but the instinct to leave, to move toward whatever danger was awaiting you, was overpowering.

You cupped his face in your hands, grounding him in the moment, in the unspoken promise you had made to always be there for him. His eyes softened for the briefest moment, but they still carried the weight of his fear for you, for everything that could happen.

“Angel, please.” His voice broke as he searched your gaze, his shadows swirling beneath his words like the storm in his mind.

You pressed your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your chest. "Azriel… I will always be somewhere you can reach," you whispered, your voice firm, despite the dread gnawing at your insides. "But I can’t stay here."

His eyes flickered with a pain so raw it made your chest ache. "Please…"

With a final, lingering kiss, your lips brushed his one last time. The air around you felt electric, charged with the intensity of the moment, of everything unsaid between you.

You pulled away from him slowly, your wings unfurling behind you, catching the last rays of sunlight. Without another word, you took off, your body soaring into the sky, the wind rushing around you, carrying you away from the only place that had ever felt like home. The city of Velaris disappeared beneath you, its golden glow now a distant memory.

Azriel stood motionless, his heart pounding, his hands still trembling with the weight of the moment. He closed his eyes, the image of you—flying away, just out of reach—burned into his mind.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Rhysand’s voice crashed into his mind, urgent and sharp.

“Az. Find Cassian. Protect Velaris.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He had to move, had to act. His wings snapped open as he winnowed away, his mind racing, but all he could think about, all that lingered in his chest, was how much he wished he had kept you with him, how much he wished you had never left.

a/n: AHHHHH WHY DID I START SUCH A HARD FIC PROJECT, gonna hate myself in a month cuz of this. lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part!! this is totally just my brain child i have a solid plot but i might be too lazy to write all of it. i haven't really seen meany tog/acotar crossover x readers so that's what this is hope you like it pookies <33

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hii I love your writing <333

can i request a fenrys x oc mate . Maybe where they don’t get along - either cause of aelin or something else and the oc is struggling to accept the bond due to trauma in her past

Thank you :))

Thank you for reading, darling. 🤍

warning: past trauma from forced ownership

Give it time

“Well what do you want me to fucking do?”, Fenrys growled fed up with the argument that had sparked over nothing once again. That had been happening awfully a lot now that the bind had snapped for you too. “Start by getting the fuck away from me”, you reached for the table knife before pointing it at him. “Kids, come on now”, Gavriel finally cut in, standing up from his seat to stand between you both. “Young love, how entertaining”, Lorcan chuckled crossing one foot over the other. “I’ll cut you next”, “Leave her the fuck alone”, you and Fenrys echoed in unison before turning your glares upon each other once more.

“Yn, give me the knife, mhm”, Gavriel mused stepping closer. “Tell him to stop sleeping outside my door”, you whined. “I am bonded to you, I can’t help it”, Fenrys growled, pulling at his hair. “I don’t want to be linked with you, I don’t want to be linked with anyone”, your eyes met Gavriel, who had been a fatherly figure to you for years now. “Sweetheart, hand the knife over and we will talk about this, find a way to make you more comfortable”, he softly reached out, seizing your wrist.

“I just got it back”, you whispered, “Please”, you whined, grabbing onto his arm. “I can’t alter fate, sweet girl”, Gavriel spoke softly, “Finding a mate is the biggest joy. Most don’t experience it ever”. “I don’t want to belong to anyone”, you growled through gritted teeth. “You’re making it sound like I’m about to chain you to myself”, Fenrys gritted his teeth. Your face fell. Growing pale right in front of his eyes. “Fenrys”, Gavriel snapped back.

“Rowan why don’t you take Y/n on a walk, get some fresh air”, Gavriel threw a glance that spoke volumes to his friend. “I didn’t…”, Fenrys started but Gavriel simply lifted his hand to silence him. “I’ll tag along”, Lorcan leaned forward, “Remember the waterfall I told you about?”, stepping forward he pinched your cheek, “Why don’t we check it out?”.

Fenrys watched his cadre brothers, letting you out the door. “You need to have more patience with her, Fenrys”, Gavriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “She snapped at me. I’m trying to have…”, “She was a slave for a long time. Chained to her keeper. Thrown around like a rag-doll”, Gavriel cut in. Fenrys felt his hands turning into fists. Anger bubbled inside him. “I took care of them”, Gavriel clapped his shoulder, “All I’m asking is that you give her breathing space”, “I don’t mean harm to her”, Fenrys argued. “I know that boyo, she will learn that too, you just got to give her the lead here”.

[imsandra]

A Little Interruption

Pairing: Lorcan Salvaterre x Female Reader

Summary: Even the shadows know how to find the light of day.

Warning: Fluff

Word Count: 1239

Notes: I hope you enjoy this story by Lorcan. As always, let me know your comments, suggestions, everything is welcome as long as it is with the motivation to teach and with respect.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar issues.

Original story, I wrote it myself. Please do not copy or plagiarize my story.

I appreciate the comments, reblogs, and likes I receive.

Happy reading!

Master list

The cool breeze and afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows of Orynth's castle.

The grand hall was filled with serious conversations, military strategies, and tactical discussions.

Aelin sat at the end of the long wooden table, with her characteristic regal bearing. Next to her, Rowan remained silent, as always, vigilant and attentive. Gavriel, Aedion, Fenrys, and other members of the queen’s inner circle were in their designated seats at the table, discussing details of recent missions and alternate routes for upcoming journeys. The atmosphere was comfortable, almost familiar, despite the seriousness of the topic.

Lorcan remained in his usual spot, arms crossed, his expression tense as always. He was focused on the conversation until he heard a light knock at the door. He barely paid attention at first, thinking it was a servant. But when the door opened slightly, and a small head peeked in, he knew his peace had come to an end.

With light steps, his small daughter, with dark hair and bright eyes, entered the room, holding a little cookie in her hands. Her blue dress swayed around her as she ran towards Lorcan, completely oblivious to the seriousness of the environment.

“Daddy,” she said with her little voice, drawing the attention of everyone present, “I brought you a cookie.”

Lorcan sighed, but his expression softened the moment his eyes met his daughter’s. He stretched out his hand and took the cookie she offered with a shy smile.

“Thank you, little one,” he murmured, whispering something only she could hear, as he patted her head.

“Aww, how cute!” Fenrys teased, never missing the chance to enjoy the spectacle.

Aedion smirked, exchanging an amused glance with Rowan. Aelin, sitting across the table, hid a smile behind her fingers.

“Daddy’s busy now, sweetheart,” Lorcan said gently. “Go to your mom, alright?”

Rosella nodded eagerly and, with a giggle, left the room again. It wasn’t long before the door opened once more, and the same little figure ran towards Lorcan again. This time, she held a slightly battered flower that she had plucked from one of the gardens.

“Daddy, this is for you.”

Lorcan blinked, and this time, a murmur of laughter rippled through the table. Fenrys couldn’t contain a chuckle.

“A flower? Well, Lorcan, it seems you’ve won over the ladies,” he said with a mocking grin.

Aelin let out a giggle, and Rowan gave her a knowing look. Lorcan, with his usual limited patience, carefully took the flower and placed it on the table.

“Thank you, honey,” he said, almost resigned. “But I need you to go to your mom now.”

Once again, the little girl left, but not five minutes passed before the door opened again, this time without even a knock. The little one burst in, a wide smile on her face and a folded handkerchief in her hands.

“Daddy, I found this. Is it yours?”

Lorcan dropped his head back, visibly testing his patience while the others struggled to contain their laughter. This time, even Gavriel, usually the most serious, couldn’t help but smile at the child’s persistence.

“Daddy, it’s your handkerchief,” she said, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Lorcan took the handkerchief and tucked it into his cloak, while the little one stood firmly beside him, not moving.

“Thank you, my girl,” he said softly, before trying again: “Now, go to your mom.”

Before the little one could leave, the door opened once more. This time, it was Y/N who appeared at the doorway, a playful smile on her face.

“Am I interrupting something important?” she asked, her voice soft but clearly amused as she looked at Lorcan with a glint in her eyes. “It seems someone can’t be away from their father for long.”

The girl ran towards her mother, but before reaching her, she spun on her heels and ran back to hug Lorcan’s legs.

“I don’t want to go!” she said firmly, clinging to her father as if her life depended on it.

Aelin, completely amused by the situation, decided to seize the moment.

“Oh no, let her stay,” she said, grinning mischievously. “It’s adorable to see Lorcan’s softer side, isn’t it, boys?”

Fenrys burst out laughing.

“I never thought I’d see the day Lorcan Salvaterre would be tamed by a five-year-old girl,” Fenrys shot Lorcan a mocking grin. “You’re completely done for, brother.”

Lorcan shot a murderous glare at Fenrys, though it was hard to intimidate anyone when a small child was clinging to his legs, insisting on staying with her “daddy.”

“If you keep talking, Fenrys,” Lorcan said in a low, threatening voice, “you’re going to wish you hadn’t when I’m done with you on the training field.”

Fenrys leaned back, feigning fear as the others laughed.

“And here I thought I’d seen everything,” Aedion added, leaning against the table as he looked at the little girl. “Maybe we should take her to the next battle. She clearly has power over you that none of us have.”

Y/N smiled as she watched the scene, crossing her arms with a satisfied expression. She knew Lorcan would never admit how much he had changed since their daughter came into their lives. He was still the relentless warrior everyone knew, but with them, with his family, he had found a kind of peace that no bloodiest battle could ever offer.

Rose, ignoring the buzz around her, leaned against her father’s knee and, with a sweetness that would melt the hardest heart, bent to kiss his cheek. Lorcan remained still for a moment, completely bewildered, while a slight blush crossed his face. The others could barely contain their amusement.

“Now,” the little one whispered, snuggling into Lorcan’s neck, and with a deep sigh, let exhaustion take over.

Lorcan glanced sideways at her, completely unable to stay impassive. As gently as possible, he shifted his daughter in his arms, settling her against his chest. The little girl sank against him, her breathing slow and calm, and Lorcan let out a soft sigh, resigned to the situation.

The momentary silence was broken by Fenrys, who leaned forward with a mischievous smile on his face.

“If I weren’t seeing it, I’d never believe it,” he muttered, while the others exchanged amused glances.

Lorcan didn’t respond. His attention was entirely focused on the small figure asleep in his arms, his demeanor now relaxed, with a softness he almost never showed. He leaned down, pressing his lips to his daughter’s forehead in a delicate kiss.

“Looks like you’re no longer the scariest person in the room, Lorcan,” Rowan teased, though his voice also held a note of admiration.

Lorcan simply rolled his eyes and threw a quick glance at her, who had now moved closer to him. She smiled, gently touching their daughter’s arm before leaning down to kiss Lorcan’s forehead.

“I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” Y/N whispered.

He returned her look, a glint of affection in his eyes.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though the slight smile on his face betrayed his words.

With the little Rosella soundly asleep on his chest and Y/N’s warm presence by his side, Lorcan let the rest of the meeting continue around him, though he couldn’t help but notice the knowing glances everyone was casting his way.

For the first time in his life, perhaps, he didn’t mind.

*divider by @cafekitsune , thank you <33

A/N: I had baby fever these past few weeks so I made Lorcan a dad, I hope you enjoyed it. It's probably not necessary for a 5 year old to speak extremely well or maybe it is, I rarely hang out with kids so I'm not sure lol

I love you guys 💛.

tags: @sidthedollface2 Sorry it took me so long and I hope you enjoyed it, kisses 😚.

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Six

Series Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - mentions of pain, mentions of death, mentions of torture, angstttt, sadness, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

It had taken 17 hours for y/n to stir.

17 hours of Azriel sat at her bedside hating himself for allowing her to venture from the cabin alone and picturing himself grabbing her hand at the last second to stop her from leaving him.

17 hours of verbal beatings which would have been physical if it weren’t for his refusal to leave her side.

Aelin was furious, her wildfire blazing as blue as her eyes across each one of her limbs.

Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word, but his eyes didn’t leave Azriel for one moment, and he hadn’t unclenched his fists from the moment he had stepped foot into Prythian and scented the direness of the situation at hand.

Lorcan and Aedion also refused to move from the room, being her bloodsworn they had a duty to protect and serve her, and they felt as if they had failed in a sense.

Then there was Manon, the gold eyed witch queen with talons so sharp that they had drawn blood from Azriel’s arms when they coiled around him and demanded to know what had happened with a voice so venomous that he was sure she would drink his blood if she could.

In short, everyone despised him, and even Rhys was reluctant to offer a safe hand to his brother. Azriel understood, Rhys had only just gotten his sister back, and was feeling like a failure in his own way for sending her in the first place. Rhys was so ashamed of his request that he had allowed Aelin to preside over y/n’s care with Yrene, as well as the scouting missions she had ordered Rowan and Manon to embark upon to ensure that no attack would befall the city whilst y/n was injured and vulnerable.

The last 17 hours hadn’t been kind to y/n. Black poison poured from the bandages secured around her chest and abdomen, which meant that Yrene had to change them more often, and a fever so damning had taken over her body, causing the Queen of the Erilean Fae to sweat and shake uncontrollably whilst her body fought an internal war to win back her life. It was horrible to watch, and it all could have been avoided if Azriel had been there, flying below her and ensuring no one could pick them out of the skies, or if Rhys hadn’t sent them to begin with.

Azriel could picture it. A fond and vivid image of y/n flying above him. The rain would cause her raven black hair to stick to her skin, but it was the thin wisps of baby hair that stuck to her forehead that made the faintest of smiles to appear on Azriel's lips. Y/N seemed so unbothered up there, so... at home. Much like he found solace in the shadows, she found songs in the storms. A peace that could never be tainted.

That's what he willed himself to see when he looked upon her pallid, fever-stricken face. He willed himself to see the version of her that she would have wished. One where she was happy. One where she was plagued by serenity.

None of them could pinpoint how Hybern had known that y/n was in Prythian, or how they knew that she even existed in order to create the only poison that could be used to weaken and fatally harm her. Even Yrene had uttered that the ingredients were sparse even within Erilea. It meant that someone had spent valuable time collecting and crafting in order to inflict the pain onto y/n. Azriel swore to himself that whoever it was would die for it in the most curdling manner his mind could fathom.

It was within the thirty second minute that she stirred, her kaleidoscope orbs appearing beneath her fluttering lids and a small groan of torturous pain emitting from her lips. Azriel moved from the chair beside her to the mattress in a matter of seconds, disturbing the peace by shouting into the void for Lorcan and Aedion to call for Yrene, and the healer came quickly at their demands barrelling down the halls.

Yrene was closely followed by Aelin and Manon, the latter of which growled once she spied Azriel’s marred flesh tainting the purity of her queen. The red cloak of Manon swept against the stone beneath her feet, her claws were retracted but her teeth were poised to rip the throat out of anyone who got too close, Azriel included. Not wasting a moment, Yrene crossed the room whilst fastening her apron at her back, reaching out to lay her hand on y/n’s forehead and stealing it back with a hiss and the scent of burning flesh. “How are you holding her?” Yrene asked, perplexed, holding her burnt hand to her chest.

To Azriel, y/n felt hot, but not searing, not burning. From the beads of sweat that teared down her pallid cheeks, he knew that she was struggling to fight off the poison and the infection that came with it.

The Shadowsinger didn’t answer.

Instead, he kept his hazel eyes upon her face, tracing the slow beat of her eyelids and the quaking of her gasping lips as she attempted to form a word. “Y/N,” Azriel cooed gently, causing y/n to stop trembling for a moment, “To me,” he told her, pulling her darting eyes from the ceiling and to his face, “You need to save your energy and rest. Close your eyes and sleep. Let Yrene heal you.”

It wasn’t as much as a command as it was a plead, but she listened, shakily nodding her head and shivering into slumber, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

He felt the golden eyes of the witch queen on the side of his face, Manon couldn’t understand how y/n hadn’t noticed her at her side, she couldn’t understand how y/n’s eyes found Azriel instantly over her own. Azriel moved his gaze to meet those orbs of gold and speckled black, refusing the back down even if he did find her terrifying. “She needs Doranelle,” Manon spoke, not to Azriel despite him being in her eye line, but to Aelin who stood behind her, and to Rowan who was propped against the doorway.

“We’re stuck here,” Aelin reminded her, making it clear that she had already thought the same but knew it was impossible without y/n’s power to rip open the fabric of space and time to take them there. Aelin dropped to her knees beside y/n, the fire coursing through y/n’s veins battling against her own, and she ran her fingers down the side of her face, worry clear and fear prominent. “This King,” Aelin spat, “Knows what he has done. Your war will be coming sooner than you think, and he’ll seek to destroy her along with it.”

“I won’t let him,” Azriel growled, tone low and threatening, and eyes peeking through the thickness of his lashes whilst his hand kept entwined with y/n’s like he was her link back to the land of the living.

Aelin honed in on Azriel, drinking in the dark possessiveness in his eyes and the way his shadows flitted over the skin of her dearest friend, almost as if they were trying to shield her from the world.

It wasn’t like Aelin truly blamed the Shadowsinger for what happened to y/n, she knew first hand just how difficult she could be when it came to anything she felt determined to do. In all honesty, Aelin blamed Rhys the most and had told him plenty of times of the fact. Y/N was Rhys’ sister, he knew how important she was to other worlds let alone his own, and he willingly put her in danger. Such motions threatened the survival of Prythian, and by extension, Erilea.

The feelings of Aelin were probably why Rhys had stayed away, waiting for the rest of them to leave for the evening before spending the night at her side, reading and telling her stories of their father and sister to then only leave at the break of dawn when Lorcan and Aedion would arrive. Azriel was the only one who stayed every minute of every hour, refusing to be anywhere else, out of guilt or desperation Aelin would never truly know, but part of her was thankful for it.

Do you see it?

Aelin craned her head over her shoulder to find Rowan’s orbs fixated on the pallid body of his friend and former princess, a woman he had spent centuries protecting and training. His sight pulled from her to Aelin and he nodded, eyes flickering to Azriel who had turned all of his attention back to y/n.

Yes.

The yawning of Aedion who was sprawled across a chair in the far corner halted Aelin from probing Rowan further. The unimpressed guise of the chamber fell upon him, “Tired, Cousin?”

Aedion shrugged, motioning to Lorcan with a wave of his hand, “She’s funnelling our energy through the bond. Forgive us for feeling a little lethargic, Aelin.”

“What do you mean? She’s funnelling your energy?” Azriel asked, brows furrowed and trying to grasp the meaning in his mind.

Sighing, Aelin explained, “Y/N is incredibly powerful,” she smiled upon y/n sadly, “There are aspects of her power that she refuses to use, abilities of the darkness that she inherited from her mother, Maeve. She can absorb strength from those sworn to her and from those who offer their power to her,” Aelin nodded toward Aedion and Lorcan with her eyes softening, “Y/N is absorbing the strength and energy from Aedion and Lorcan, they are her bloodsworn, and her body is in such a bad way that it seems the dark spots of her power are grasping onto anything they can to keep her alive.”

“It’s happened before?”

Aelin smiled thinly, trying to offer some comfort to Azriel who was beginning to understand the pain inflicted upon the woman before his eyes, but before Aelin could reply, Manon’s voice echoed between them. “Once. She was in a much worse state after she destroyed Maeve, her power was drained for the first time in her life, and she was severely injured from what Maeve did before the battle. All of that put her into a state of comatosis. It took her weeks to wake.” From the heaviness of Manon’s recount, Azriel knew just how close they were, all of them, so he understood why they blamed him, hated him.

“I’m sorry that I let her leave the cabin. I’m sorry,” Azriel spoke, staring right into Manon and trying to decipher whatever emotion lay within those cold golden orbs.

Rising to his feet, Aedion crossed the room, nudging a lingering Rowan on the way, “It’s fine. Y/N is a stubborn thing, she’s pulled the wool over all of our eyes at some point.”

“Like when she sacrificed herself to secure my freedom?” Aelin asked with a smile, leaning to run her fingers along y/n’s arm.

“Or when she trailed the ilken following Elide and I and slaughtered them all without us even realising it?” Lorcan huffed with amusement, creeping closer to the bed with humour in his eyes and his arms firmly folded over his chest.

“Then there’s Skull’s Bay,” Rowan almost sang, the words being the first noise he had made since he had arrived in Velaris and the room hummed in fond remembrance.

“And we won’t ever forget how she took possession of that burst dam and swallowed Maeve along with it. She saved us all that day, even when she was barely alive,” Manon spoke softly, a speckle of humanity shining through her soul shrouded in stone, “She’s family,” was all the witch queen said, an olive branch of sorts, an explanation as to why she had been so difficult.

Noting the concern in Azriel’s eyes, Aelin lay a hand upon his shoulder, gentle but unyielding, “She’s survived worse, Shadowsinger. Don’t underestimate her, you won’t survive the humiliation.”

Silenced followed after that, well, silence for Azriel at least. Whilst he traced the contours of her face, the rest of the room spent some time reminiscing, talking fondly of Erilea which Azriel somewhat listened to but didn’t engage with. All he could really wonder was what place could be so worthy of someone so perfect, and part of him wanted to walk the streets of Doranelle for a moment so that he would be able to understand it.

Only when Yrene would periodically swim by would Azriel lift his eyes to give her a thankful smile that she would return with an unspoken warmth. It seemed as though y/n had a family of her own, just like he did, a family not of blood, but of unbroken bonds and unyielding wrathful friendship. They’d all die for one another, it was something Azriel could resonate with.

After an hour, the doors to the chamber opened and Feyre stepped in, fumbling with her fingers and eyes floating through the room until they landed on Azriel and Y/N, and she found her heart fluttering at the way he looked at her, it reminding her of how Rhys’ gaze embedded itself into her at all times.

The expectant void of words caused Feyre to float back into the room, “Rhys would like a meeting. We should discuss next steps in this war and in y/n’s recovery. Yrene can stay with her, it won’t take long.” Aelin rolled her eyes but stood, muttering something about a false king under her breath which caused Rowan to chortle a laugh as they passed by Feyre. “You too, Az.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Yrene told him softly once she realised the reluctance in his eyes and the way his fingers curled tighter around her hand, “If anything happens, I’ll call for you. I promise.”

Stiffly nodding, Azriel stood from his seat that was imprinted with his frame, he pressed his lips tenderly to the pallid and slightly bruised knuckles of y/n before laying her hand softly upon the mattress and following after Feyre, stealing one last look at the fussing Yrene as her glowing hands floated over y/n’s torso yet again.

Azriel trailed behind the group, lingering at the side of his High Lady as they all sauntered through the halls of the House of Wind. Whilst pacing through the fortress, Azriel couldn't help but allow his gaze to float between each one of the other-worldly beings. Beginning with Aelin and tracking how her arm slid around Rowan's waist, to Rowan who placed a tender kiss upon her brow, to Aedion and Lorcan who were bustling shoulder to shoulder, clearly being too large for the width of the halls, and then there was Manon, red cloak swaying at her back and moon-white hair braided over her shoulder whilst her eyes darted past every doorway like she could see beyond them.

Yes, Azriel was very sure of y/n's safety being almost a guarantee.

With all of his watching and observing, he didn't notice the eyes of Feyre drifting over his face with a quirked smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, "You don't leave her side. Why?" Feyre asked quietly, catching how his eyes thinned slightly as he searched his mind for an answer that would appease her.

"I feel guilty," he tried to say, but the heaviness of his voice betrayed his words.

Feyre gently slipped her arm around his, resting her fingers on the indent of his elbow and pulling him into her side softly. "No. I don't think that's why," she gave him a pointed look, one loaded with knowing, "You feel something for her, despite only knowing her for a few days. What draws you to her?"

A more adequate question would be what didn't draw Azriel to y/n?

"I wasn't sure at first. If you had asked me why I couldn't concentrate at the High Lord's Meeting then I would have told you the truth. It was because of her. Not because she was new, or because I thought she was a threat..." Azriel trailed off, his voice softening and shoulders falling lax, like all tension had floated away, "It was because looking at her made me feel like I was finally home. There is a warmth within her, and a darkness that mirrors my own. She is fierce and tortured, but gentle in ways no one would ever be able to begin to understand. Y/N has spent her life fighting, being used for what she can offer but not being appreciated for who she is, and I think that I understand that."

"So, you seek to protect her?"

"No," Azriel sighed, looking to Feyre with a sparkle in his eyes that she'd never though she would ever get to witness, "Well, yes. But I seek to give her a life free of torment. A life of love and one void of the restraints of her station. I seek to be her freedom, Feyre."

The High Lady of the Night Court found herself blushing from sheer excitement. Feyre had noticed it the moment y/n had waltzed into their lives, limbs exposed and hair flowing, eyes glowing with the light of a thousand storms; she had seen something spark, a cog falling into place after so long tumbling around without purpose.

"Does it help that she is the most beautiful thing to walk the universe?"

Azriel scoffed, "Her beauty is incomparable to what lies beneath it," he told Feyre, glancing sidelong with a smirk, "But I suppose she isn't half bad to look at."

Feyre tried to conceal her chuckle behind her hand as they both entered the dining room that Rhys had converted into a meeting room for the sake of convenience.

It was clear that sleep had escaped him, and what was even more pristine was the fact that Aelin could not have cared less about it as she took her place at the head of the table, further solidifying her position as leader of their little merged group. Rhys didn't contest, instead he simply moved to the opposing end, motioning for Azriel and Feyre to take a place either side of him.

A usually convivial dining table now swimming with discontent from two sides.

Aelin assumed her usual position. Legs propped against the tabletop. Arms folded over her chest. Dagger gleaming in the pale lights and reflecting upon the ceiling. A warning. A dare.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Aelin's head curled to meet Rhys' sight, "Have you figured out how this world knew of her and the only thing that can weaken her?"

Silence consumed the room like thick onyx poison, drowning and dimming all forms of barely there happiness. Rhys shuffled in his seat. He had to send himself on such a mission since he knew that Azriel refused to leave his sisters side, and he had come up empty handed.

The location of y/n's downfall had been left void of any traces of armies and magic, the only sign of this incident occurring being the blood soaked earth where Rhys had stood for an hour cursing himself for even thinking about sending her away when he had only just gotten her back.

If he could, he would go back and rip the order from his mouth. He'd carve out his own tongue to keep her hidden.

"No," Rhys spoke roughly with a throat that hadn't been quenched by water in what felt to him like days. "I assure you that such knowledge has never reached Prythian. I sent word to Helion and Thesan, enquiring if such a poison were in any of their libraries. There isn't."

Lorcan scoffed and glanced to Rowan who had his lip curled upward into a snarl from his place beside Aelin, "And you believe them?"

Sprinkles of magic littered the air, casting a faint shimmer that filled the spaces of the open arched windows whilst the faint sound of laughter from the mouths of little ones echoed upward to the House of Wind.

"I do," Rhys gulped. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a hand down his face that was soaked with exhaustion. "Helion and Thesan aren't only High Lords of Prythian. They are friends of the Night Court, and their lives have been dedicated to research and healing. They would never withhold such information."

"Forgive me for not believing a word of it," Aelin muttered, fingers tracing along the hilt of the dagger on the table. "Your enemy knew that she would come. He knew she would come looking for him, and he knew exactly how to ensure her death. If it weren't for that last burst of power that brought Aedion and Lorcan to her position, she'd be gone." Aelin leant forward in her seat, feet falling flat against the ground and venom laced in her words.

"You foolish man. Sending not only your long lost sister but our queen into the belly of a beast without being able to ensure her safety. Your world isn't the only one at stake here. If she cannot recover from this then your world will perish, and our world will have lost its fiercest warrior."

Manon chuckled, pulling the attention of the room to her, and Cassian who was placed beside her leant away from the talons she was running the pads of her fingers down lazily. "In other words, if she dies here, we'll ensure that you do too. Or well, I will," Manon flashed her iron teeth at Rhys, causing Feyre to shift uncomfortably in her seat as her fingers became entwined in his own, allowing her power to ebb and flow from her essence in response to Manon's threat.

Remembering his position, Azriel's eyes manoeuvred over Manon, then Aedion and Lorcan whose fists were clenched but possessed tired eyes, before landing on Aelin and Rowan who were struggling to contain themselves. Tendrils of shadow scattered over his shoulders, dancing wildly in a brisk wind from an opened door, sauntering up and down and shaking in rhythm with a silent, reverberating thumping that was grasping at and rattling his bones.

"I think it would be wise to refrain from talking to my brother like that," the room collectively snapped its gaze to the doorway, and Aelin rose to her feet instantly.

Before them all stood a pale but healing y/n. She was grasping at her side but walked forward with a pride Aelin had never seen before, not in someone who was hours ago so close to the grave. There was something dark about her, the power itself or the contrast of her hair and eyes against her whitened skin Aelin wasn't sure. But what was clear was that she knew something, the truth and ire dancing in the dimness of her eyes. Something that could change the course of all of their fates.

Y/N's silver skirt kissed the ground as she stopped at Rhys' side, laying her hand atop his shoulder and squeezing it weakly, "I can understand being protective," y/n moved her eyes around the room, slowly raking over each one of her Erilean family, "But don't be mistaken into believing that threatening my blood is big or wise. I decided to take to those skies alone. It is my doing and mine alone."

Azriel felt his heart stop when her eyes finally found him, and he stood instantly, offering his arm and seat and feeling a sense of completeness when she accepted his touch and found comfort in the sensation of his presence behind her.

"Y/N-"

"I'm not finished," a voice of dread and death cut through the plea that fell from Aedion's lips, a voice of a ruler, a voice of one of the most deadly beings the universe would ever know. Inhaling deeply, y/n closed her eyes for a moment, as though she was preparing herself for something, and in sensing her discomfort and hesitation, Azriel lay his hand at the top of her spine, allowing every emotion and ounce of pain to wash through his veins.

Y/N visibly relaxed.

"In my sleep, the attack played in my mind over and over again, not like a nightmare, but in a way to make me see the truth. To push me to see beyond the pain," her eyes were downcast, but she moved backward into Azriel's hand, feeling a blanket of certainty and warmth coiling around her frame. "When I was flying over their camp, I felt the power of the cauldron. It was a drowning feeling, it made me feel confused almost, and I felt a certain type of dread. I was scared."

Y/N's eyes dragged down the table, settling on Rowan with eyebrows tight and fear visible within her irises. "There has only ever been one form of power that has ever made me feel like that. Maybe I was too wrapped up in what was happening to realise it."

"What are you saying, y/n?" Rowan urged, knuckles turning pale from his grip around the arms of his chair.

Without thinking about it, y/n's fingers faintly traced over the scar that had held Azriel's attention in the cabin. A morbid reminder.

"Dorian and I had a theory. That souls from our world didn't pass on into the afterlife but rather fell through the plains separating Erilea from other worlds. It had only ever really been a theory, but it was something that we couldn't stop thinking about. It haunted us in a way."

Because they had both lost a parent.

"But being here now with a poison in my veins so putrid and complex that no one from this world could have ever known of it. I realise what is happening." Aelin leaned forward, gaze flickering over the face of her friend until their eyes met. "There is only one person who knows how to make it. Only one person who would find joy in seeing me dead. Only one person who would seek to ensure the upmost pain. Only one person whose power terrifies me."

Aelin's eyes blew wide. "No," she spoke a hush above a whisper, "It can't be. She's dead. You killed her."

"What's going on?" Rhys entwined his fingers with those of his sister, feeling her fear bristling against the walls of her mind like a battering ram, splintering and wrecking the cage of her consciousness.

Realisation was floating about the room, to all those bar the Inner Circle. Rowan's head hung low, his eyes closed and nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale, and Aedion couldn't lift his eyes from the tabletop.

"Maeve is here. My mother has come to punish me by devouring your world. Only when you're all dead will she kill me, and then can she conquer Erilea for the final time. Who knows, she might even keep me alive long enough to watch Doranelle and Terrasen burn." Y/N turned to Rhys, bottom lip almost wobbling, "I'm sorry. This is happening because of what I did."

Rhys dropped to his knees before her, taking her burning face in his hands and stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones. "We'll face it. We'll face her. And may the Mother grant her some mercy when I get my hands on her." He read the depleting light in her eyes, knowing that whatever energy she had been granted was wavering. "Let's get you back to bed. We can face this tomorrow. We still have time."

The High Lord of the Night Court went to hook an arm beneath his sisters arms, but she wrenched herself away to the side, still under the touch of Azriel, and looked upward to him. It was a silent plead, the widened watering eyes and a gentle shrug that lifted her shoulders.

Azriel moved instantly, scooping y/n into his arms and hugging her tightly into his chest, propping his chin on the crown of her head as he wordlessly carried her away.

Author's Note

I know it's been ages and I'M SO SORRY

Taglist

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[berryz-writes]

Healing

Fenrys x reader

note: Basically. Fenrys deserves happiness and I thought of this and kept putting it off because I thought I should add like a whole plot before and after this but um i've decided not to partly because I'm lazy and because ik i won't post it otherwise and I like the scene how it is. Feel free to send in requests. Anyways enjoyy <33 (Reader was one of Maeves healers she kept imrprisoned)

The room was still. Still, save for the soft breeze winding in from the balcony, stirring the edge of the velvet curtains. Morning light spilled across the marble floor of the meeting chamber, warm and golden, as if trying to chase the shadows from the corners.

It didn’t quite reach us.

We stood outside on the connected balcony, just beyond the arching glass doors, the city of Orynth stretching far below. Its rooftops glinted in the sunlight, life bustling through the streets, but up here—high above the noise—it was quiet. Peaceful, in a way neither of us had truly known in years.

Fenrys leaned his forearms on the railing, the wind playing with a few unruly strands of his golden hair. His gaze was distant, unreadable, fixed somewhere beyond the horizon.

I watched him for a long moment before I joined him, resting my elbows beside his. For a while, we said nothing. We didn’t need to.

“They’re late,” I murmured eventually.

He gave a noncommittal grunt, eyes still locked on the city below. “Aelin’s version of on time is always dramatic.”

I almost smiled, but it faded as my eyes drifted across his face—his perfect, too-handsome features marred only by the deep scar that cut from the edge of his eye down his cheek. Faintly pink still, though it had healed long ago.

A cruel mark.

He caught me staring, his jaw tightening just slightly. Not from embarrassment. No, Fenrys had long since passed the point of vanity. It was something else—something bitter and raw, just beneath the surface.

I hesitated, then spoke. “I could fix it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The scar.” I reached out gently, barely brushing my fingers to his cheek, near the edge of it. “It’s a simple healing. It wouldn’t take much from me.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.

Then he pulled back, just enough to break my touch.

“No.”

His voice wasn’t harsh. Not even cold. Just quiet. Firm.

I blinked at him. “Why not?”

He looked away again, toward the mountains this time. His knuckles whitened on the balcony railing.

“Because I deserve it.”

The words struck like a blade. I stared, stunned into silence.

He exhaled through his nose, the wind ruffling his hair as he spoke again. “She gave it to me. Before her last stand...it reminds me of-” His voice caught.

He didn’t say the rest. He didn’t have to. We both knew what had happened. What Maeve had him go through. What he had to endure.

“It reminds me of my failure” he continued. “How I wasn't able to save him”

I stepped closer, letting the silence hang between us a beat longer before I said gently, “You didn’t fail, Fenrys. She took everything from you, made it impossible for you to do anything but watch”

“I should’ve fought harder,” he murmured, voice frayed. “I should’ve done something. I was his gods damned brother and I...I let her twist me into something I wasn't.”

“You survived,” I whispered. “Your still fighting. You did what you could” I knew my words wouldn't fix his broken heart but I tried. Because I hated that defeated look in his eyes.

He turned to me then, finally. The pain in his eyes was so raw it made my throat tighten. Haunted. Aching.

“I understand why you keep it,” I said quietly. “But you’re more than what she did to you.”

His eyes flicked to my wrists, to the marks that even my healing hadn’t erased. Maybe I’d left them there on purpose too. Maybe we both needed our reminders.

“I know,” he said, almost too softly to hear. “But it helps. On the days when I forget. When I feel like I don’t deserve to be here at all.”

A breath left me. I nodded, not in agreement, but in understanding.

“You do,” I said. “Even if you can’t see it yet. You do.”

He held my gaze for a long time, something unspoken moving between us like a tide neither of us could stop. Then, at last, he gave a single, slow nod.

We turned back to the city together, the silence no longer heavy, just… quiet.

The door creaked behind us. Aelin’s voice floated through, exasperated and amused “You two lovebirds planning on coming in or should we push the meeting to next week?”

Fenrys smirked faintly but didn't comment on the term Aelin used. Before we turned, his fingers brushed against mine intentionally, his lips tilting up in the slightest of smiles.

A promise.

Together.

We would do this together.

note: first time writing for him idk idkk lmk what u guys think <3

[thehighladywrites]

Throne of glass characters x reader, sending them lingerie pics

summary: you send them pics of your new lingerie

warnings: suggestiveness, mdni

amara’s note: this is my first throne of glass related post, i’m gonna start making more I hope

for my wife: @rowaelinsdaughter 💗

[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Sixteen

Fenrys x f!Reader

Summary- Fenrys and Y/n finally have the time to themselves with no interruptions

Warnings- smut(very little plot lol)

Series Masterlist

Part Sixteen

Home.

The word spins around in her head at a dizzying pace as she walks. As she gets closer and closer to their room, her brother’s words get louder in her mind, your home, and her heart seems to beat in time with the words. This room wasn’t her home, but neither was the cottage across the ocean, she didn’t know where home was anymore, but it seemed like her brother did, perhaps her heart did too.

Y/n and Vaughan had spent nearly half the night telling each other of their adventures, the ones they planned to take, and it felt like they’d gone back in time. When she would stay up for as long as she physically could to spend as much time with him as possible before he slipped away again. She’d nearly fallen over in her seat when Vaughan had insisted that she go back to bed, she only left when he swore he would still be there in the morning. Even as she walked away, she wasn’t quite convinced he would be.

The stone halls around her are dark, the riders of the clan already in their beds, the torches on the walls snuffed out. It is only due to her fae sight and this little tugging in her gut that she is able to find the door to the room at all. It was like her body knew exactly where Fenrys was, even when she could not see him.

Quietly, she slips through the door, expecting to find him snoring in the small bed and she’d have to force herself into what little space was left beside the massive male. She’d end up lying on top of him in her sleep, either by her traitor of a body moving on its own, or by the male tugging her onto his chest.

Instead, she finds Fenrys sitting up, leaning heavily against the wall behind the bed, and he’s squinting down at a book in the dim candle light. Her heart beats faster, in time with the words in her head, home, home, home.

“You’re still up?”

His gaze lifts to hers and she winces, how he was reading with one of his eyes nearly swollen shut she has no idea. Fenrys marks the page and sets the book down beside him, giving her a soft grin that pulls at the split in his lip. Y/n moves towards him, perching on the edge of the bed, reaching for him like its second nature. She cradles his face in her palms, her thumb stroking over the wounded lips that had kissed her so soundly earlier, had kissed other parts of her too. Y/n tries to push those memories to the side, ignoring the heat in her veins, but that is nearly impossible when his hands fall on her waist, a gentle pressure to keep her in place.

“I told you I’d wait for you,” he says, kissing the pad of her thumb.

“You didn’t have to,” she whispers, “It’s late.”

Fenrys shrugs, and she notices the wince he tries to hide at the motion, “This is nothing, kitten. I’ve gone days, nearly weeks without sleep before.”

“I’m sure you have,” Y/n says with a soft smile, “You’ll have to tell me all of your war stories.”

Fenrys grins and it pulls on his cut lip, “I’ll tell you whatever stories you’d like to hear.”

Her fingers trail over the edge of the bruise around his eye and the one on his jaw, her magic spooling in her chest, ready to be released. She holds it back, wrestling her magic into submission, the last time she’d used her powers on him had been an accident but it had taken to much from him against his will, she wouldn’t do that again.

“Can I?” She lightly grazes the cut on his temple, “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

There is a softness in his eyes, an understanding, as he nods once, “Do your worst, kitten.”

As if drawn in by an invisible force, she leans into him, gently kissing his temple, the cut slowly stitching together and disappearing entirely. When his eyes shut, a sigh of relief passing his lips, she trails her lips down, touching the bruised eye that shifts from black to yellow to his golden brown skin. And when he blinks up at her, seeing her clearly, his eyes are so full of emotion, and her heart is beating so rapidly, home, home, home, she kisses him, letting her magic seek and heal.

His arms are around her, pulling her into him until she is flush against his chest. She fights to keep her control, to not let his expert mouth distract her, to make her as mindless as she’d been their first kiss, when she had taken to much. She pulls back, panting, forcing her magic back down into the well it usually sat in, and when she sees that scar still intact on his brow, she sighs in relief.

Fenrys takes a deep breath, his brows no longer furrowed in pain, “You’re astonishing, kitten.”

Before she can even think to respond, his mouth is on hers again, and Fenrys shifts, twisting them so she is lying on the bed with him above her. Y/n wraps her arms around his neck, and Fenrys kisses her, slowly, lazily, taking his time to drive her absolutely wild. He is in no rush, taking all of her soft sighs and purrs, tucking them away for later. It’s almost torturous, the languid pace he sets, because all she wants is more, more of him, more of whatever this thing between them was, the aching need, the undeniable tug she could feel on her heart, as if there was this little string tied to it, and on the other side sat Fenrys and his own heart, beating in time with her own. Home, home, home.

He pulls back, just enough to whisper against her lips, “We should sleep.”

It’s the last thing she wants to do, and she knows he wants exactly what she does, the evidence of that is pressed against her thigh. She wants to wrap her legs around him and pull him closer to her, to feel him pressed against her core instead, to drive him as wild as he does her. But his massive form keeps her pinned, unable to move, to do anything but beg him to relieve some of the pressure between her thighs.

“Fenrys,” she pleads.

He kisses her again, keeping that same slow pace, before whispering, “You’re exhausted, you need to rest.”

“I need you,” she says, and she pulls him back to her lips, pouring the fire in her veins into him, “I need you more than I’ve needed anything.”

Her heart is hammering in her chest, home, home, home. Y/n can feel the word pounding against her ribs, fueling the fire in her veins, the need to drive this male over the edge of his control. She pulls his healed lip between her teeth, biting hard enough to draw a groan from deep in his chest. Her own chest tightens, and she arches into him, his hands slip beneath her back, pressing her closer and she knows she’s almost won.

“You need sleep.” He kisses her between each word, pulling back just enough to groan, “Let me be a gentleman for once in my life.”

“Fenrys,” she gasps into his mouth, and she shoves him over the edge, “Stop being so honorable and fuck me.”

And she’s won.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, kitten.”

Fenrys feels the weak hold over his control break at her request and he realizes he would do anything she asked of him, no blood oath necessary. He would walk into the burning pit in the center of this fortress if she asked, he would burn and yield everything he was and is and he would die happily. He would do whatever she wanted and if she wanted him to fuck her, gods he would.

He pulls away from her and rips his shirt over his head, throwing the fabric across the room, not caring where it lands as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling their bodies flush together. Fenrys can’t hold back his groan as she rolls her hips upwards, giving his aching hard length much needed friction. He’s falling back into her, capturing her lips in a burning kiss that leaves them both panting.

His hands rip at the cloth hiding her body from him, she can yell at him for ruining the shirt later, right now he needs to see the perfect shape of her, feel her beneath his palms. When her chest is exposed to him, he wastes no time, the soft flesh of her breast fitting perfectly into his hands as if they were made solely to touch her, to please her.

Fenrys drags his mouth away from hers, letting her moans fill the air around them as he kisses down her throat, over her collar, and between the valley of her breasts. Y/n arches into him, her legs squeezing his hips like a vice, and he can feel the promising heat of her hiding beneath her leggings. He wants nothing more than to rip the cloth from her legs and sink into that heat, and from the whimpering pleas coming from her lips, he knows that is exactly what she wants.

“Fen- please,” she gasps, her head thrown back against the pillow, “Gods I need you.”

“I know,” Fenrys groans, “Lift your hips, kitten.”

She readily does as she’s told, freeing him from the constraints of her legs around his own hips to lift hers off of the bed, allowing Fenrys to slip his fingers beneath the band of her leggings and tug them off, underwear and all. And again, she is bare beneath him, looking nothing less than a full feast only for him to see and enjoy, to devour and worship. If he wasn’t already kneeling on the bed before her, he’d have fallen onto his knees at the sight of her, he’d have crawled for her and begged her to let him have her just like this, writhing beneath him full of need.

She sits forwards, reaching for him as she hooks her fingers into the laces of his leathers. Each brush of her fingers over the strained leather sends a shock of pain and pleasure over him, if she wraps those hands around him Fenrys may just die from it.

She struggles with the tight laces and growls lowly, “Off.”

Fenrys laughs, taking her wrist in his hands, “So impatient.”

He lifts her left wrist to his lips, kissing her racing pulse before pressing both of her palms to his chest. Her touch lights him on fire, and he takes that touch and guides it across his feverish skin, lower and lower. Her nails lightly drag across the tight muscles of his stomach and Fenrys groans at the slight hurt.

He let’s go of her, leaving her hands pressed to his skin as he easily works open the laces, sighing in relief as the pressure lessens.

“What do you need?” Fenrys asks, halting his movements even if it’s the last thing he wants to do, “Tell me what you need, kitten.”

Her pupils are blown impossibly wide, full of pure lust, “I need you, Fenrys, I need you inside me, now.”

That final word, a demand that he would not fight, could not fight. He’d survived severing the blood oath, but this? This bond between them, this incessant need to have her in every way he could, was so much stronger, would demand more than just his life if he tried to break it, not that he ever would.

Fenrys doesn’t take his time ripping off his leathers, and he nearly comes undone when she moans at the sight of him. He doesn’t have the chance to hesitate, to ask her one last time if this is what she truly wants, before Y/n has her legs wrapped around him, pulling him just like she had when they’d been clothed. Now, there was nothing between them, nothing between the wet heat of her and his aching cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning over her to brace his arms on either side of her, “So ready for me aren’t you, kitten?”

“Yes,” she gasps, “Please Fen-“

She doesn’t have to beg, he cannot deny her, or himself. Fenrys shifts, using one hand to hold his weight while the other wraps around his cock to guide himself to her entrance. She’s so wet, so ready for him, that he barely has to shift his hips forward to sink into her. She wraps around him so perfectly, squeezing down on every inch of him as he slowly settles inside her. He has to grasp for whatever is left of his control to not slam his hips down, to let her adjust to the stretch, to not hurt her. He’s barely holding on by a thread with how fucking good she feels.

“Shit,” Y/n gasps, her head thrown back, her eyes screwed shut.

“Are you okay?” He says it through his teeth, taking deep breaths to steady himself, “Tell me if it hurts.”

Y/n shifts, experimentally rolling her hips, drawing a deep and desperate moan from his lips and a matching one from her own. Nothing had ever felt more perfect, felt this good, not in the one hundred and thirty years he’d been alive.

“Gods,” she gasps, rolling those perfect hips again, “Please, Fen, I need you to move.”

“Thank the fucking gods,” Fenrys groans and does exactly as she asks.

He pulls back, gently rocking back into her, still sane enough to keep his strength in check. Fenrys captures her lips, greedily taking all of the moans and whimpers that he draws from her with each roll of his hips. He also gives her his own desperate sounds, letting her have every single piece of him.

He’s content to go slow, to let her fully adjust, but when she lifts her hips to meet his next stroke, when she pulls away from his kiss to gasp, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Any shred of chivalry leaves his body, as if there was really any to begin with.

Fenrys growls as he pulls back, simply to snap his hips forward, Y/n cries out with the motion and Fenrys loves the sound of it, so he does it again, and again, and again. She is lost in the pleasure, and so is he, chasing the feeling of her warmth around him with each rough drive of his hips. Her legs clench tightly around him and her hands claw his forearms, her whole body tensing in a way that tells Fenrys she is nearing that peak of pleasure and he wants nothing more than to send her over the edge of it.

He has to pull his arm from her intense grip, not breaking his rhythm as he brings his hand between them to draw his thumb in circles around her sensitive clit.

“Fenrys!”

He grins wildly, “Come for me.”

His demand is met by a mewling whimper and her body shaking with the damn of her orgasm breaking. Fenrys curses as she clenches around him, the feeling so intense that he feels his own release building to that devastating breaking point.

She’s gasping beneath him, her body still trembling with each wave of pleasure that rolls through her in time with his hips. Fenrys is half wild, more fae than anything in that moment, the sight of her beneath him, spent and nearly overstimulated has his hips driving faster, harder. His thumb presses into her again, she jolts and shakes with each pass over the bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” she cries, “I can’t-“

“You can,” he groans, “One more, give me one more.”

He can already feel her muscles tensing again, the ones around his cock clenching almost painfully around him, bringing him closer and closer until he’s holding on by a thread. He needs her to come first, to fall with him, to feel the same intense emotion that is wrapping around his heart and pulling him down the cliffs edge into the terrifying realization that perhaps he’s already fallen.

Y/n cries out as her swift second orgasm tears through her, and Fenrys follows her, cursing as the intense pleasure rips him to shreds and remakes him all at once.

He rides out both of their pleasures, slowly bringing them down from that high until she stops shaking with it. She goes limp beneath him, her legs falling off his waist, to heavy for her to hold up anymore and Fenrys nearly collapses onto her, holding his weight off of her with the last bit of his strength. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, her hair a wild mess on the pillow around her, and she is so perfect, so devastatingly beautiful, he wants to have her like this for the rest of their lives.

Mine, his heart beats with the word, and he doesn’t want to hold it back anymore.

Fenrys leans into her, kissing her lips softly, relishing the way she sleepily kisses him back.

“Mine,” he says, claiming her with his mouth and his heart.

She moans against him, and pulls away to gasp, “Mine.”

Tag List

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[ggukgoldensoul]

out of the woods

a/n;; HI EVERYONE!!! im alive and im back with a new fic. i know i havent written ANYTHING in months but sincerely, school projects have been a pain and also i didnt have any idea for any fic, but one of my goals for this year is to write more so, here is a rowaelin fic. give it some love <3 love u guys and sorry for making you wait

WARNINGS; angst to fluff, cage

she has been trapped in a cage inside the woods for 15 years, too many years for a human, a few years for a fae, her hopes of being found are gone. now she is just a memory in the minds of all her closest friends and family… including her mates.

but she didn't forget them.

aelin, with her bright eyes, golden hair like liquid gold and her fierce and wild nature.

rowan, his silver hair like moon tears, his green eyes like precious gems and his calm nature, the opposite of aelin.

she looked at the moon like all the nights since she had been there, trapped in a cage of stone and metal, alone with the company of the moon and stars.

she awoke abruptly by the knock of the door.

“food” the door opened and a trail of food was pushed inside. with the strength left in her legs, she stood from the corner of the cage and with wobbly legs, walked to the trail, sitting on the cold floor, feeling nothing as she sat there, eating the cold food, like always. it had been one of her punishments, no warm food, no warm room, no bed, nothing, only the clothes she was wearing when everything happened. she thought about the last day she talked, she didn’t remember her voice, it was sweet? it was loud? 

she dug her fingers into the plate and touched something colder than the food, something that shouldn't be there but was. her hand grabbed the metal and her breath hitched, her heart stopped and her mind went blank. a key. it was a key. someone had placed it there so she could run from that hell of a place, run to her beloved ones… run to her home. 

she waited until night, when only the breeze could be heard and every animal and fae was asleep. she was shaking from head to toes, but she needed to calm down, she needed to be as silent as possible to not be heard. quietly, she opened the lock of the door and pushed the door slowly, when she was finally out, she swallowed a sob and bit her lip, that was freedom, she was free.

quietly as a feather, she walked through the corridors of the house, up the stairs and through more corridors, but she saw a door at the back of the house, one that led to the forest and went straight to it. when she opened the door and her feet touched the grass, she felt the trees welcomed her, the air was pure, clean, and after 15 years of hell… she was in paradise.

and ran.

ran through the forest, through the night, the trees moving and leading the way to the castle of beauty and magic. 

the sun was climbing his way to the sky when she halted at a hill and looked to the city infront of her. she was home, she made it, tears fell down her face as she hit the floor, her eyes closing and her mind echoed the same word.

home. home. home. home. home.

the large glass doors that lead to the balcony were opened. she could have sworn they were close when they left the room, but there was something strange, something was missing in the room, or rather, something had been added to it. her eyes searched the room, and she found it, her heart beating faster and faster as she looked down to the dress on the bed, a little figure made of sticks and leaves above, a sleeping figure, but she could recognize that face even with her eyes closed.

carefully not to break it, she took the figure and she felt it, the golden string that attached her to the other half of her. alive. she was alive and near them. near home.

she ran to the door and opened it, her voice loud and filled with emotion.

“rowan!! we need to go!! she's alive!!”

warm hands touched her face and body.

then cold hands.

a pair of arms lifted her from the floor, a solid and firm body that protected her.

a soft voice.

“we got you little flame. you’re home”

the room was warmer than she remembered, and the floor was smooth and soft… and her head was resting on pillows, she wasn’t in the cage, it was real, she was home. gently, she opened her eyes adjusting to the sun that entered the room. she knew that ceiling and the paints that decorated it. it was then that she noticed the two bodies near her, on either side, two arms around her waist, gripping it tightly but it was a comfort tight, something she had missed so deeply. 

she felt two pairs of eyes looking at her right side. slowly, she turned her face and met a strong face, with green eyes and silver hair. his eyes were red, dark circles under them, a new bright on those beautiful eyes. rowan lifted a hand to her face, his fingers tracing the lines of her face, her lips, her nose, her cheekbone… aelin was looking at them as she cried silently, all the emotions of the last years broked the wall of her heart. 

she turned her face to look at her mate, a soft smile, one she thought she would never make again. 15 years later, she talked again.

“hi fireheart”

aelin hugged her mate and cried. rowan hugged them both and cried.

she cried between her mates, but this time, they were happy tears.

i’m finally home.

all rights reserved to ©ggukgoldensoul no tranlations allowed. no copy theme. don not copy my work.

@throneofsapphics @danikamariewrites @shadowdaddies @whisperingmidnights

[wrinniewrites]

A Fool's Gambit | Manon Blackbeak

SUMMARY ↣ in a world with little hope, you find solace in the gold, dead eyes of manon blackbeak.

WARNINGS ↣ smut, blood, injury, mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, suicidal ideation, allusions to sa, death, and worst of all—hope.

WORD COUNT ↣ 5.6k

PAIRINGS ↣ manon blackbeak x fem!reader

“My uncle will be displeased with me should he learn it is I who takes up all of your precious time.” Elide Lochan murmurs from where she sweeps the already spotless floor beside you, a task unfit for a lady of her status. 

“Then I shall have to unleash the wrath of Adarlan upon him,” you quip, watching her intently. “Besides, who else might I conspire with.” The black haired beauty manages a faint smile at that.

“What is it that you plan this time, Princess?” The Lady of Perranth inquires, trying, and failing, to conceal her growing interest.

“Nothing grand,” you beam, eyes darting to the horde of wyverns that enter the aerie one after the other. However, your attention is fixed upon the white haired female standing amongst them, stance alone commanding respect.

Elide pales, glancing between you and the host of witches. “Please tell me this scheme of yours has nothing to do with the iron-teeth witches I fear may kill us for looking at them wrong?” She all but begs, face scrunched up, already knowing the answer upon catching your mischievous grin.

“I make no promises, Lady Lochan.”

And before she can blink, you are already sauntering toward the thirteen. She reaches for your arm in warning, but you simply brush her off. To her absolute horror, you stroll past each and every witch, paying no heed to their stares.

Instead, stopping right before the Blackbeak Elide did not dare even look at.

“What.” The white haired witch barks out, and the Lady of Perranth flinches at the sound from across the room. You, however, remain steadfast. Your friend feels her chest tighten as yet another witch appears, this one with golden hair, staring appraisingly.

Uncaring of the burnt gold eyes burning into your soul, you only tilt your head curiously, smiling a pretty smile.

“This one might be mad,” you hear one of her thirteen mutter, a grin in her voice.

The wing-leader shoots Vesta a warning glare, not bothering to glance your way, only breezing by you boredly.

It is your voice that halts her step.

“I wish to ride,” you announce, not looking back as the white haired witch turns to face you once more.

Elide almost passes out from where she stands.

Manon’s eyes narrow, following your gaze to Abraxos. She smells not an ounce of fear on you, remaining unsure whether you refer to witch or wyvern.

When you meet her gaze over your shoulder, the glint in your eyes makes her wonder if the answer might be both. The witch barely allows a smirk to grace her lips as you hold her stare before spinning on her heel without another word.

Elide dares not breathe until you are safely back at her side. Your lips bearing a wide grin as you approach

“Perhaps one day, I too shall fly.”

If Manon is surprised to find you seated at Duke Perrington’s side during her private audience, she does not show it.

It is only after his speech is at its end does he notice her gaze flicker to you.

“I suppose I should introduce you,” the man grumbles in his seat.

“Wing-leader, this is the Princess of Adarlan.” His words are dull as he offers a lazy gesture in your direction. “You may do with her as you please during your stay, so long as she remains in one piece.”

Manon notes the way your jaw tightens at his statement. So you were an unwilling guest, she deduces.

The witch does not deign him with a response, nor make the mistake glance your way again. She simply continues pressing him about the Wastes; her home. Even when she feels your curious gaze on her, she does not turn.

It will be days before the wing-leader even sees you again. But the hollow eyes of Adarlan’s Princess do not cease to haunt her.

It is late when Elide stumbles upon you in one of Morath's corridors, almost crashing into you with the force of her fear, shoulders shaky and eyes watering.

Your strong grasp holds her by the arms, keeping her steady as soft inquiries fall past your lips. Hushed whispers float through the stone castle as she speaks of her interaction with the white haired witch, your gaze hardening as she continues.

You are grateful she is too caught up in her own fear to see the tear in your dress, the bruises lining your forearms. Just as you are thankful for the distraction she provides.

With a snap of your fingers, your cousin is at your side. Ordered to guard and contain you by Duke Perrington. Though you suppose he is no longer Roland Havilliard. He does not speak as you command him to escort Elide to her rooms, and you do not watch as he mindlessly obeys.

You ignore the visions of depthless black eyes and dark collars that rise to your mind. Instead, finding yourself making the reluctant journey up the tower’s steps, muscles aching with each movement.

The wing-leader appears before you as you reach the top, likely having scented you. She does not speak as you welcome yourself into her quarters, watching you with caution.

“Do not trouble Elide with your ventures,” you begin, features impassive to your thoughts. “She is innocent in this war.” Are the only words you speak in explanation, and the witch raises an unimpressed brow.

“And you are not?” Is all she asks.

“Few are.” You answer vaguely.

Her burnt gold eyes travel your body from head to toe assessment, and you resist the urge to cross your arms over your chest.

“You know, most would not dare to speak to me as you do.” She takes a threatening step forward, eyes glinting when you do not back away.

“I am not most,” you answer grimly. Curiously, none of the excitement —hope— she found the day you gazed upon her wyvern lingered.

“No,” she agrees. “But I suspect that means you taste far better,” her iron nails shoot out. Perhaps that might get a reaction out of you. And how she did love playing with her food.

“Kill me if you wish,” your tone remains flat as she stalks toward you, “it would be a mercy.”

Manon smirks at that. “I do not wish to kill you,” her tongue darts out to swipe across her iron teeth. “Not yet, at least.” 

Your brows furrow, but you do not balk as her nails dig into your chin, tilting your head so that you may forcibly meet her gaze.

“What do you say, Princess? Do you still wish to ride?” She rasps, her lips a breath from yours.

You still for a moment, shoulders tense. “If I say yes,” you pause thoughtfully, “will you do me a favour?” Your eyes drift to her lips, and Manon knows she has you, but she still bites.

“And what might that entail?” 

“Freedom,” you speak softly, and her grip tightens.

She raises her thumb to brush over your bottom lip, “we’ll see.”

“And if I say no?” You dare to ask, leaning into her touch all the while. It had been so long since you’d found any semblance of pleasure in this cruel life.

The witch grins. “You won’t,” and in a flash her lips are pressed to yours in a bruising kiss. The hand at your jaw travelling to your neck, eliciting a gasp that parts your lips for her tongue.

She walks you backwards until your back is pressed to the cool stone wall, pinned by her hips. A whine escapes you when Manon squeezes her hand around your throat, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. It is only then that she pulls back, burnt gold eyes hooded as she tugs your bottom lip between her teeth playfully. 

You barely have a chance to catch your breath before her mouth is at your neck, tongue swiping over the blood that trickles from where her iron nails punctured your skin. She hums, pleased when you tilt your head back and a moan parts your lips.

“You do taste nice, Princess ,” Manon murmurs as her teeth scrape your neck. Hands roam your body freely, her knee parts your legs with ease, settling between them. You reach blindly for her riding leathers for support, heat pooling between your legs.

She grins at the way your eyes widen when she uses her iron claws to tear a line right down the centre of your dress. You shiver when an icy breeze caresses your bare breasts, nipples hardening. Manon makes quick work of bringing her lips to them, sucking and biting, you arch into her touch.

“You’re dripping,” she purrs, removing her fingers from your core in spite of your complaints. Instead, you watch, enamoured, as she brings them to her own lips, tongue darting out to suck them clean. Moaning at the taste, she crashes her lips into yours a second time, forcing you to taste yourself on her tongue.

She allows clumsy hands to strip her of her own leathers, finding enjoyment in watching you attempt to focus as she rakes her nails over your thighs and stomach teasingly. You are reduced to pathetic whimpers when her fingers slide between your legs and you clench around nothing.

Her eager mouth swallows your sounds greedily as her fingers return, slipping between your legs once more. Finding your bundle of nerves with ease, she circles vigorously. You are embarrassed to admit you almost came from that alone.

“Manon,” you plead when she slows her pace tantalisingly. “Please,” you beg, bucking your hips to seek friction. The witch only raises an unimpressed brow.

“Please, what?” She demands.

“Please,” you say again, hands reaching desperately for her, pulling her closer. “Please fuck me.” She smirks, and for a moment you think she’ll abandon you entirely for daring to touch her, leaving you high and dry.

Instead, a moan loud enough to echo through Morath is ripped from your lips as two fingers plunge into you. All while her thumb continues to rub at your clit. At first, her strokes are slow, gentle even, agonisingly so. But when your own nails dig into her skin with need, she thrusts into you knuckles deep, hard enough to have you falling over the edge pitifully fast.

Only she does not pull away then for she is finished with you yet. Her pace turns tortuous. And in just a few short touches you are reaching your high again, begging her to stop. And when she does not, tears glitter in your eyes. Then, and only then does the witch show mercy.

Your ears are ringing by the time she has had her way with you, chest rising and falling with each laboured breath you take. As you blink away the blurriness, you realise she is the only reason you remain on two feet, for your body is limp in her arms.

Once you are recovered enough to stand on your own, two rough hands grip your shoulders, forcing you to your knees hard enough to leave a dull ache; a reminder. Her slim fingers weave through your hair before tightening, urging you forward in a wordless command. 

“Your friend plots her escape,” Manon’s voice is tainted by exhaustion as she lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Immediately you know she refers to Elide.

You turn to face her from where you lie, bare skin covered only by a thin sheet. It is the second week you have spent in her bed. For you found yourself returning to her chambers the very day after the first, and the next, and the next.

The witch greets you with a smug smirk every time.

She does not ask after the strange bruises that litter your skin, and for that you are thankful. Though she will come to regret it one day.

“Good.” You say in response to her statement, and the witch’s brows pinch in confusion. “It means she still has hope,” you answer her wordless question.

“And you do not?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“I am beyond hoping,” you whisper sombrely before forcing a smile to your lips. “But fun is not entirely lost on me,” you lift your hand to her skin, mindlessly trailing a line on her collarbone with the tip of your finger.

Manon stiffens at your touch. You cannot help but wonder if in time she may soften. The idea is quickly lost on you, moving to retract. Only she catches your wrist in a painfully tight grip. You grimace but do not make any move to pull away. Instead you raise your brows in silent questioning when her burnt gold eyes deign to meet your own. You frown when her nostrils flare.

“You are with child,” she murmurs, surprise clear in her voice despite her face remaining stoic. “How long have you known?” She watches the way your frown deepens, biting the inside of your cheek. “You did not know,” she answers herself.

She does not ask of the who, and you almost wish she would. But deep down, you both know her mind already holds the answer.

Not another word passes your lips that night.

Pulling back the sheets grimly, you feel bile rise to your throat as you spare a glance at your stomach. You know the witch watches you keenly, but cannot bring yourself to care as tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

Instead, you opt to turn for the open window, feeling only the icy breeze and burnt gold orbs on your back as you will yourself to sleep. 

Just as the darkness threatens to consume you whole, the faintest skim of fingertips along your stomach keeps you on the cusp of sleep. The covers are then pulled up to your neck, and you allow yourself to find peace in the dreamworld.

You do not remember it the next morning.

Elide finds you in the aerie the very next day, watching the wyverns intently.

“What troubles you today, Princess?” She asks, noting your features tainted by exhaustion. But when you turn to face her she does not find the grave look she expects.

“I have been sitting here for more hours than I can count, Elide, and what I have discovered is most fascinating.” Your eyes glimmer with each word, though the smile you wear does not quite reach your eyes.

“And what is it that you have discerned?” 

“They are much like us, you know.” You report grimly. “Tortured, but hopeful creatures,” you say, carefully observing Abraxos and Narene, Asterin’s wyvern. Elide does not fully understand your statement until she follows your wavering gaze to the white haired witch at her gentle beast’s side.

“Hope is not lost on you yet, Princess?” She asks, recalling how adamant you had been in your argument only a month prior. ‘It is a doomed world we live in, and one would be a fool to even consider the prospect of change.’ You had once said.

“I fear I no longer possess the answer to that particular question.” Your brows furrow in thought, hands twirling the flower you cradle in your hands. 

“Do you think people can change, Lady Lochan?” 

The question confuses her. She first thinks of her Uncle Vernon, and finds herself frowning doubtfully. But then she tunes her mind to you, of how you had unknowingly given her a hope that had been all but lost for the last ten years.

“I would like to believe so,” is all she can offer. You nod once, twice, before rising to your feet. She does not stop you as you make your way to the witch and her wyvern.

Manon’s attention is drawn to you the second you so much as glance in her direction. No one can say whether you came to the aerie that day for her, or she for you. But the fact remains that every living being within the space could feel the tension lingering between you.

She raises her perfectly sculpted brow as you approach, eyeing the flower you hold with caution. The witch is surprised when you stroll right by her, though she does not show it.

Instead, you stop directly before her wyvern, flower outstretched in your hand. A rare laugh escapes your lips when he nudges your hand softly, sniffing. Abraxos then lets out what you can only assume is a sound of delight, nuzzling into your palm.

“I think he rather likes me,” you glance back at Manon with a grin, and she frowns in return. She does not enjoy the feeling it stirs in her chest; it is one of discomfort. 

Her gentle beast huffs at her expression, almost knowingly, and the witch rolls her eyes. “He recognises your scent,” Manon explains, not bothering to gesture to herself. And you almost allow yourself to smile at the idea of her smelling of you.

“When we first met, I asked you for a ride.” You say, running your hands over Abraxos’ scales, who hums in content. “Will you really make me ask a second time?”

“And here I thought you were talking about me.”

Your eyes brighten at her words, but then she finds her gaze drifting to your stomach and you frown. “Perhaps another day,” she excuses stiffly, and you nod solemnly.

“Perhaps another day,” you repeat.

The sun has long since fallen beyond the horizon by the time you finally hear the footsteps that belong only to Manon Blackbeak. 

You sit curled beneath the window, neck craned so that you might look upon the stars. When her pace quickens in the stairwell, a rare flicker of fear passes over you. You know then that she has figured it out.

You know not of where she was, nor how long it has been since she left, only that she was gone. 

The moment she passes the threshold her eyes dart to yours, burnt gold irises swirling with fury. Manon is at your side before you can blink, but your vision has already begun to blur. She is too late.

“What have you done?” Manon demands, iron nails digging into your arms. 

“For once, I have done as I wish.” A simple smile adorns your lips

Something brews in her burnt gold eyes as they dip to your stomach, the red staining it, something you almost mistake for worry. But you are not so foolish as to believe your own delusions.

“You are a fool,” the witch sneers.

A careless laugh bubbles from your throat. “A fool I may be, but a free one at that.”

She scowls, “not if I have anything to say about it,” hauling your limp body into her arms.

It is only then your eyes widen in a blind panic. 

“No.” you whisper, and blood spills from your lips. “No.” You say again, using the last of your strength to trash in her arms. “No, please no.” A feeble attempt to free yourself.

“You are mine,” Manon grunts as she tightens her grip. “Mine to have. Mine to dictate. And I say you will not die today, Princess, so die you shall not.”

“Please,” you beg, voice taut. 

Her gaze steels. “You are mine.” She repeats, and you feel tears pool in your eyes. A soft shake of your head in disbelief follows, freedom so close, yet so far. Perhaps if you could— you blindly reach for the gaping wound in your stomach.

“Stop.” Manon orders, reaching to grasp your wrist. Her iron claws do not dig into your skin as you expect. There is a strain in her voice, and when you look up, her eyes are filled by a wild panic. Your wrist slackens.

“Good.” Is the last word you hear before your vision fades and the world goes black.

When you wake you are in Manon’s chambers, you recognise the room even with your eyes closed.

“And so she lives,” someone speaks, but the voice is muffled, distant. It is a great effort to peel your eyes open, throat dry as you attempt to speak. A flash of flaming red hair and a cup of water is pressed to your lips.

“Thank you,” you rasp, and the witch grins in acknowledgement. Only for her back to stiffen as she shifts away from you, eyes darting for the door. A moment later, Manon steps past the threshold, Asterin hot on her tail.

Burnt gold eyes immediately dart to you, alert. “You’re awake.” Manon swallows. 

When you refuse to meet her gaze, her jaw tightens. “Out.” She orders, and with a wave of her hand Vesta is gone. Only three of you remain now.

“The babe?” You question, voice hollow as you finally raise your head. When Asterin gazes at you with sympathy you know it is done. You wish she wouldn’t, but you manage an appreciative glance no less.

It was better this way.

Your gaze then flickers to Manon, who stands tense by her second. Asterin does not need to be told to leave, offering a curt nod as she goes.

The silence only stretches between you two so long before you can no longer bear it. “Why?” You ask, doing everything in your power to keep your voice from cracking. She could ask you the same, but does not.

“Because I can,” her answer is simple; cold. 

You hang your head lowly in a cruel mix of disappointment and acceptance. But then her voice comes again, “because you asked for a favour,” she says, your brows furrowing. “And I intend to fulfil it.”

Your head shoots up, face contorted by a thousand questions resting at the tip of your tongue. “I answered your question, now you answer mine.” Just as you part your lips to speak, she raises her hand, commanding silence. “Who did this to you?” 

“I—”

“Do not lie to me.”

Pausing, you eye her pensively. “He did not exactly introduce himself,” you retort.

“He was here for me?” She questions, and you stare at her a moment, assessingly, before nodding. Her back straightens, and you can almost feel how hard she resists the iron claws threatening to shoot free.

“So why,” she breathes, “did I find you in my chambers with a blade in your stomach?”

You fight the urge to grimace. “I suppose he thought if he could not take you, taking your bed warmer might cause you harm enough to satisfy his handler.” You offer a faux smile. “He was a fool to believe so.”

She is silent, deathly so. When the words come, you do not expect them.

“I will kill him.”

“You have a visitor,” Manon announces, albeit begrudgingly. And you immediately try to rise from the thick covers, pausing when iron claws shoot out in warning. She only stands once you raise your hands in surrender, laying back with a roll of your eyes. 

Elide comes bursting into the room the second the witch opens the door, stumbling over her feet to reach you. Her eyes shine when she makes it to your side, and you lift your hand to her cheek absently, faintly aware of Manon’s lingering presence,

“You are well?” You ask, and the Lady of Perranth gapes.

The witch leaves the room with a glance over her shoulder, surprised to find your gaze on her. She does not understand the look you give her, for it is one of mixed emotions. As though you thank her for going, but plead for her to stay all the same. Manon leaves before she can think further on it.

“You are faced with death, but still ask after me?” Elide shakes her in exasperation. Suddenly overcome, she reaches for your hands. “I do not know what I would do without you, Princess.”

“You would be just fine,” you assure, but the ravenette frowns in disagreement, glancing behind her.

“I am surprised they even allowed me to see you.” When your brows furrow, she continues in a hushed whisper. “The wing-leader has been on edge ever since—” she gestures to you. “Even Perrington grows displeased with her refusal to let a soul near you.” 

“Then I suppose you, my friend, are one lucky lady,” you quip, but your mind stirs with thoughts you never allowed yourself to have in the past. Ones of hope. 

A groan passes your lips when you shift, roused from sleep by the pain it causes your stitches. When your eyes flutter open, you find burnt gold ones already on you.

“Manon?” You rasp, yawning sleepily. The witch blinks from where she lies on her side, a silent acknowledgement. You mindlessly shuffle closer, seeking warmth. Too tired to wonder why she does not turn away, you draw near enough to hear her short, sharp breaths.

“I shall take you to the skies on Abraxos,” the witch is hesitant as she lays a hand upon your hip, careful not to hurt you. “So that you may know true freedom.” Her body freezes when you press your face to her neck, hot air spilling from your lips, sending a chill down her stiff spine.

“This is enough for me,” you murmur. 

It is all so different from anything she knows. From the touch she has given you to elicit pleasure. From the same favours you have returned to her, only gentler. No, this is like nothing she has ever known.

She does not know what to make of it. Her desire for it.

And when you wake the next morning, Manon is gone. 

It is days before she returns to you, and you are finally able to move freely after the incident. “Princess?” A voice draws you from sleep, and you find the witch sitting at your side, peering down at you.

“You’re back,” you whisper into the darkness.

The Blackbeak heir hums softly, her touch oddly gentle as she reaches for your neck. You do not flinch, not when her hands only seek to caress the smooth skin thoughtfully. Instead, you wait for the words to find her.

“You do not bear the same collar they have used on your brother,” she frowns, staring at you as though you are a puzzle she cannot solve. “Why?”

You jerk upright. “Dorian wears a collar?” 

“You did not know.” Manon observes, feeling foolish for asking. Though you show no anger towards her. Saying nothing, your gaze finds the open window. It does little to hide the tears in your eyes, the moon’s dull glow illuminating your fragile features.

The witch feels an uncomfortable urge to reach out to you. But, “I asked you a question,” is all she can think to say.

When you turn back to her, your face is hardened, an unnerving calm seeping into your bones. “They enjoy it,” you mutter spitefully. “Breaking me to their will, knowing they do not need a collar to have their way with me.”

Something inside the witch hardens at that.

You seem to read the words on the tip of her tongue, the anger —the possession— burning deep within her. “I am just your bed warmer.” You remind her, remind yourself. Despite the fact she has not touched you in days, but refuses to leave your side nonetheless. 

“Do not trouble yourself with my mess.”

You rise from the sheets with a gasp, mind haunted by the depthless black eyes of your cousin, Roland. The ones that now rob the vibrant life from your own brother. Manon’s iron nails shoot out, as if sensing your distress, but she does not wake.

Quiet as the night, you slip from the bed, tip-toeing your way across the cool floors. You welcome the chill creeping up your spine, better than the eternal numbness. Finding your place by the large window, you peer out into the starry sky. You only wish it would swallow you whole, rip you from this nightmare.

A groan from the witch jerks your head to the side. Her eyes remain shut, but you know you have woken the beast. For her arm now lays outstretched; an offering, a command.

You wordlessly return to her bed; the only place you feel safe, it is a cage all the same.

When Manon tugs you into her side, so that your head may rest upon her chest, you are too tired to care of what it may mean. It is the kind of exhaustion that might creep within the cracks in your broken soul. And you no longer had the strength to fight it.

You wish to feel all and nothing at once. 

To forget the never ending storm wreaking havoc on your mind. So you absently hook your leg over the witch, moving to straddle her. Strong hands easily find your hips, burnt gold eyes flashing open.

She does not complain when your lips meet hers in a heated kiss, fingers trailing up your stomach and along your thighs. There is a hunger in her gaze when you pull away, but she remains hesitant, reluctant even. 

Impatiently, you fumble for her wrist, drawing it between your legs. Manon groans at the slick she finds, how easily riled up you are. But when she does not move, you begin to plead. “Touch me,” you urge, lips travelling from jaw to neck. The hand on your thigh squeezes in warning.

“Please,” you breathe, desperate, and the damn breaks.

Fingers weave into your locks, tugging, and then her lips are on yours again. You roll your hips, a moan ripping from your throat at the sensation. Manon bears a pleased grin when you continue to fuck yourself on her fingers.

But she cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss.

Even with your skin pressed to hers, lips locked, she has the overwhelming feeling that she has lost you entirely. 

True to her word, Manon takes you to the aerie a whole two weeks after she promised. And this time, you do not protest.

She watches for every twitch of your lips, seeming pleased with herself when you bear a grin that does not leave you from the moment you take to the skies above. When Abraxos roars, a laugh bubbles from your lips, and you cannot help but wonder if he does it for your amusement.

When you reach the clouds you know she is right. There is no truer freedom than the heavens above. “Thank you,” you murmur, unsure whether she hears. If she does, the witch does not respond, though you feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

Suddenly, Abraxos dips, and you're soaring between the clouds. A low chuckle escapes the witch when you yelp, tightening your arms around her waist. “Not so fearless after all, Princess,” she quips, voice carrying over the wind.

Rolling your eyes, you dare to pinch her side. The witch repays you with a threatening glare over her shoulder, iron teeth bared, but harmless. Your heart drops to your stomach when the wyvern lands on a mountain peak at her command, teeth snapping on impact.

She slides from his back with practiced ease, and you are almost surprised she offers a hand to aid you. A rare, true smile tugs at your lips. And Manon is confused to find it extends not only to the skies, but her as well.

However, once your feet hit the ground it is wiped from your features. As if the very step brings you back to a life never ceasing to haunt you, caging you. Her hand lingers on your own, for what purpose, she does not know, only that it feels right.

Her back straightens when it is you who slips your hand from her grasp.

A vulnerability shines in her burnt gold eyes, no longer dulled by years of familial oppression. Were you not so caught up in the winds of your past you may have noticed. Instead your back is to her, eyes clouded as you stare into the abyss below. 

“I was not always this way, you know.” The soft confession is so quiet only the breeze carries it to Manon.

When you continue, she listens. As you go on about the whims of your childhood, the fun, the hope, the love. And while she knows she is different, never has it struck her quite so hard as the words rolling from your tongue. 

“I was made to be this way, Manon.” 

There is meaning in your statement, the witch knows this much, but she is not sure she wishes to face it.

“But anything can be unmade, undone.” You say, and she refuses to acknowledge what that may mean for her. She is yet not ready.

She is even less prepared when you turn to face her once more. Tears line your cheeks, but a smile adorns your precious lips. She has never known a prettier sight.

“Thank you,” you smile. For everything.

The witch frowns. “You already said that.”

“Then I’m sorry,” you voice quietly.

“Sorry?” She takes a step forward. You take one back.

You smile wider, “that I will not be there—”

Her frown deepens, eyes flickering behind your.

“—to see you undo this cruel world.” You raise your arms, peace and longing drawn onto your delicate features. And then you lean back, giving yourself to the wind.

She is too slow. 

The last thing you see is the skies.

She does not reach you.

Abraxos roars.

She does not hear it. 

Your words echo in her mind.

“People change, Manon.” 

Your voice already fades.

“For better, or for worse.”

You wished for better.

So a better world she would give you.

Even if it was too late.

i am so sorry ya'll :(((

[shadowdaddies]

Hello!!! Can I please request a Fenrys x reader fic where they realise they’re mates during the war and all that but reader and Aedion are twins so Gavriel is also obviously her father and just how they deal with the messiness of the situation but also with lots of fluff from all sides? Thank you so much 💚💚💚

I LOVE this request; it took me a minute to figure out how to make it fluffy just because Empire of Storms is so intense but this is such a cool idea; I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it💜

Reunited

Fenrys x Reader (ft. Daddy Gavriel)

Your world flipped upside down when Adarlan conquered Terrasen. Managing to escape with your brother, Aedion, the two of you formed a plan to infiltrate the Kingdom of Adarlan, developing rebel forces for when you were reunited with your cousin, Aelin.

Aedion took over as general of the Bane, filling his ranks with those who sympathized with your cause, while you worked your way up in the palace as a servant. Your duties, ranging from cleaning rooms to becoming a handmaid to the Queen, provided great intel for Aedion that allowed the Bane to stage battles. 

When Aelin returned, you aided in her rescue of Aedion, joining her and Rowan on their journey to Skull’s Bay from that point. 

It was in Rolfe’s office when your world turned upside down. You stood alongside Rowan as Aelin pitched her deal to Rolfe to join forces against Erawan. And then the door opened, revealing two males who made your heartbeat stutter for different reasons. 

You recognized your father immediately, and he you, when your tawny eyes locked with his. He stumbled forward, a gasp leaving his lips as you stared at each other. Rowan stepped protectively in front of you, one hand on your wrist as he stared down the famous Lion, the legendary member of Maeve’s cadre, Gavriel.

“Please, let me see her,” Gavriel pleaded with Rowan, his gaze struggling to meet yours around Rowan’s hulking form. 

“Rowan, it’s fine,” you whispered. You hadn’t held the same animosity towards your father as your brother, Aedion had, as you always believed he had a reason for leaving you. This was your opportunity to learn it.

Rowan turned to you, his gaze softening at the hope in your eyes. “He is blood-sworn to Maeve. He can only deny her will to an extent, and I will not let him hurt you.”

Your eyes flicked to the other male in the room, losing your balance as you stumbled backward at the look in his eyes. Fenrys watched you, awe etched on his face as he, too, moved towards you.

Rowan growled, Aelin leaping up from Rolfe’s seat where she lounged as they moved in front of you in a protective stance.

“It’s okay,” Fenrys promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “She’s my mate.” Tears formed at your eyes, the instant connection you felt towards the striking male in front of you breaking your guard down.

“Please, Row,” you tugged against his grip, desperate to meet the two males you were sure would be the most important in your life.

Rowan looked down at you, pure fae instinct in his eyes as he turned to the members of his cadre, every bit the legendary warrior as which he was known. “What are your orders from Maeve?” he demanded.

Gavriel spoke first, his voice like something from a long-lost dream, a memory from a past life that you longed for. “We were ordered to find Lorcan and kill him. If you can help us fail in finding him, we can assist you for as long as possible. Please, Rowan, Aelin, let me meet her.”

After a long, tense moment, Rowan and Aelin nodded to each other, parting ways as you now saw clearly the two males ahead of you. Your father moved towards you first, his dark tattoos in contrast to his golden hair the first thing you noticed as you rushed towards each other. He was warm, broad, muscular arms pulling you into his lithe form as you wrapped your own around him. This is home, you thought, holding back the tears as you allowed yourself to simply feel. 

Gavriel didn’t move, waiting until you reluctantly pulled away enough to look up at him. “I have so much to explain to you. So much that I wish I could take back...”

You shook your head, a small smile gracing your lips to silence him. “We will get to all of that - later. For now, I just want to know you,” you whispered, leaning up to press a kiss to your father’s cheek before turning your gaze to the male in the corner.

Breathing was difficult as you took in the extraordinary beauty of him. Blonde curls fell around bewildered, onyx eyes that locked in on you. The world spun around the two of you as his gaze held you in place. “My mate,” you whispered, moving towards him slowly, as though your feet moved of their own accord, your body drawn towards him.

Fenrys simply nodded, swallowing as his chest moved with each deep breath. A chuckle from where Rowan and Aelin stood drew the two of you from your trance, and you turned to see the amusement written on Rowan’s face. “Fen, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so stricken,” he teased.

You turned, enjoying the blush on the handsome male’s face. Biting your lip, you dared to bring a hand to the golden-brown skin of his cheek. With a slight giggle, you joked, “it’s nice to meet you, Fenrys.” He nodded, transfixed on you.

Gavriel cleared his throat, clearly refraining from his fatherly protective instincts as he leaned backwards slightly. “I’ve never... scented a mating bond quite so strong,” he noted, lip slightly curling as his glance flicked to Rowan and Aelin. They nodded in agreement, smiling encouragingly at you as they held their hands up, covering the scent from their noses.

“A strong bond, indeed,” Fenrys spoke softly, stepping forwards towards you as his fingertip grazed your jawline. A slight shift in movement from your father drew you out of the moment, stepping back as you giggled nervously at your newfound family, and mate.

Rolfe rolled his eyes, shooing the group of you out the door as Aelin sent him a wink. “Let’s go figure this out elsewhere,” Rowan grumbled, guiding you outside. The group settled at a pub downstairs, where you sat in between Gavriel and Fenrys, a deep peace settling through you as you enjoyed the presence of two males who cared about you more than you’d ever dreamed.

[witchlinggirlie]

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn x Reader

Birthday Present..

It’s Rowans birthday, you and Aelin decide to throw him a whimsical surprise party, and torture him in the process Warnings: Smut, oral, penetration, threesome, overstimulation

I’ve had this in the drafts for awhile but was unsure about posting but I love these characters so damn much. Please enjoy ૮ . . ྀིა⁩

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It was Rowan's birthday, and celebrations were in order. Despite him being over 300 years old, Aelin had demanded a gathering set on the outskirts of the castle where a beautiful nook lay within the woods. You, Rowan and Aelin had all spent many afternoons lay in the woods where the grassy area opened into a beautiful small paradise, with a stream flowing through to the right. You and Aelin had spent days before turning the little nook into a place fit for a fae king with lanterns scattering the trees, streamers decorating the outer parts, and multiple fires built high. Ready to be enjoyed by friends and yourselves with special campfire foods and cushions scattered for comfort.

The gathering was well underway and Rowan was content, he was in awe when you both had covered his eyes and brought him through the woods to this mini heaven. Not one for showing much emotion, he displayed his gratefulness through touch. Not letting either one of you go for the rest of the night.. or that was his plan at least. But for the last couple of hours as the party had dwindled into only a few people, he had not been able to hold you both down. He would find one of you for a few minutes, and then you were gone again, into the smoky woods. Finally, as the night drew to a close and Rowan lay on a large make-shift pillow, reminiscing with Fenrys about the old days, did he see you wandering by with a drink in hand and a light smile on your face. You looked utterly desirable in the thin, flowy white dress that barely covered a thing, Aelin seemingly matching in a similar one, decorated with gold detailing across the bottom.

Rowan couldn't stand not being by you both any longer and grabbed for you, pulling you into his lap with a firm grip. Conversation with Fenrys be damned, you yellped as he pulled you down, shortly giggling into his neck after. "Well, I think that's my queue to leave..” Fenrys coughed, clearing his throat and walking away from the two of you, as Rowan pulled you in tighter.

"There you are my love, I cannot seem to pin either of my mates down tonight," Rowan whispered into your ear as he lightly nipped away at your lobe. You giggled and jerked your head at his teeth grazing your ear before restlessly shifting in his lap, turning to meet his eyes, lips a breadth away.

"Well maybe we wanted it that way, birthday boy.." You said, lowering your voice to a satiny tone, a taunting smile gracing your lips. Rowan pinched your hips in disagreement.

"Avoiding me on my birthday, after you both spent so much time on these pretty plans, and pretty outfits..." Rowan tutted as his hand moved up your thigh in a slow motion, taking you by surprise, the need for Rowan growing stronger. You felt his need in return against your ass and it made you loose all inhiabtions for a moment. You struggled with self-control, especially around your mates, but tonight you and Aelin had come up with a plan, and Rowan wasn't about to ruin it. You had both decided he deserved to be tortured a little before he received his birthday present tonight, obviously in the privacy of your shared chambers.

Rowan heard Aelin before he saw her, giggling from across the woods, both of your gazes went up to watch her. She danced with Lysandra across the woods, swaying to the music as so few people remained. Watching the way her hips swayed to the beat, she turned to face you both.. You were heavily distracted with the need for one mate holding you tight and the other all the way over there. Rowan quickly took advantage and began to leave a trail of kisses down your neck. A whine pulling from the back of your throat as you felt heat begin to pool in your core, his hand making patterns on your thighs as his other grazed a perked nipple hidden away in your dress. Your eyes closed in content, but a small part of your brain screamed for Aelin to come over before you allowed Rowan to do whatever he wished with you.

"My love, do you both have a plan I am unprivvy to.." Rowan breathed into your neck as his hand on your thigh trailed further up. "Teasing me all night in your little dresses but never getting too close.." You went to answer, but a small gasp left your lips as you felt his thick finger graze your core and then go back down to your thigh.

"Oh, Buzzard, the teasing hasn't even begun," Aelin said from above you both. You had no idea how she had gotten so close, but you let out a breath of relief at her presence. Being close to both your mates always eased you anyway, but having Aelin here to halt Rowan's ministrations before the night had really begun for the three of you was good, you thought..

But Rowan was stubborn to his core and would not be put off, just as he began to make his way down to your now very wet panties, hidden away under that too thin dress, Aelin pulled you from his lap. Her fae strength always surprised you, despite having similar strength as a fellow fae, you guess you didn't use it as much with your mates always around. Rowan growled at her, but Aelin simply laughed, pulling you into her lap as she sat where Fenrys had previously been. Picking up where Rowan had left off, Aelin brought one of your thighs over hers so Rowan had a perfect view of what Aelin intended to do with you. With so few people left, and how dark it was, no one could really see what was happening, but you still felt a warm blush rise on your cheeks.

A large damp spot now pooling on your thin satin panties, you leaned back into Aelin, legs falling wider apart. Feeling her breath on your neck and perked breasts behind your back. You felt your pussy throb, a familiar slick making its way at the contact. Fuck.

"Aelin.. this isn't part of the plan" you whined as Aelin began to lightly brush your core. "Hmhm, but look how responsive he is watching you. How long do you think it'll be before he rips our too short dresses off and takes us right here" Aelin mused as her hand dipped lower, making small circles on your clit through your panties. Your hips bucked lightly at the contact, meeting eyes with Rowan, who now had a very firm grip on the cushion arms, his arousal visible through his pants, even in the darkness. Watching you both play with each other like this was Rowans favourite passtime, but in public, where anyone could see.. Aelin knew what she was doing.

You shifted slightly on Aelin, causing your panties to move, a slight glimpse of your slick folds flashing Rowan, and he was about to prove Aelin's statement entirely true. Aelin grabbed your jaw with a tenderness that made your heart swell and kissed you over you shoulder as you moaned into the feeling. Rowan was now watching you with an intensity that made you too warm, as Aelin ended the kiss and repositioned your head with her hand to stare directly at Rowan.

And just as your high began to build, you now subtly rolling your hips to meet Aelins teasing hand, and Rowan was leaning in to see more of you both, almost at his breaking point. Aelin was pulling away, setting your dress back straight and standing you up. You whined at the loss of contact, stumbling into Rowan's arms, who balanced you immediately. His eyes burning with desire, hands settling needfully on your hips. Aelin was right, he was going to take you both right here.

"Come on let's get back to the castle, it's only a short walk and I'm so sleepy.." Aelin fake yawned as she grabbed Rowans hand and pulled him along, you straggling behind, thighs still clenching.

Soon you were all walking back to the castle, the party long left behind. Your eyes drooped as you approached the castle, and Rowan pulled you into his side. Guiding your sleepy state up to the shared chambers.

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As the door closed, Rowan already had you in his arms, pushing you against the hard wood and wrapping your legs around him. You made a yelp in shock, he was impatient tonight but he would have to wait a bit longer. You shook your head, shaking out of his hold as Aelin ran away into the room to pull an armchair towards the end of the bed.

"Clothes off, and sit," Aelin demanded as she pulled Rowan away from you by grabbing his hand and guiding him to the chair. "Fireheart.." Rowan laughed, not taking the situation seriously. But Aelin wasn't joking and merely gestured to the seat as she went back to where they had both left you by the door. "Come on my love, let's have some fun.."

Rowan's eyes bulged as you innocently nodded your head and then began to undress Aelin, her dress dropping to the floor, as you shamelessly took her in. You pushed her down onto the bed as you climbed on top of her and pulled her in for a kiss. Rowan now sat on the chair, as he had been instructed, completely naked, watching you both heavily make out. You kissed down Aelins neck, her breasts, her torso, as you made your way to where you wanted to feel her most. Her breaths were laboured, and she moaned whenever you left a light suckle on her skin. Occasionally making eye contact with a poker-faced Rowan.

He and Aelin stared each other out. Rowan decided that if you both wanted to spend the night torturing him, he could do the same. He wouldn't give you both the satisfaction of him losing it to the sight of you together, despite his body screaming at him to pump his aching shaft and take you both at once. He remained still, hands laid on both thighs in front of him, smirking at Aelin.

"Wait..," Aelin said, just as you were about to make your way to her core. You panted in lust and need for her, completely missing their internal battle. She lay on the bed, propped up by her elbows, whilst her legs spread for you.. and Rowan.

Aelin leaned over and pulled your dress off entirely, forgetting it was even still on in the moment. She smirked at Rowan, but he just smirked back. He had control.. Or he thought until she pulled your panties down, you stepping out of them and then you bent back over, ass in air so you could lower yourself to Aelins core. Rowans face faltered then, he could see how wet you were from before, your pussy practically dripping and he was so so close but not enough. And from this angle, he could still see Aelin, gods ,what would he do with you both.

As your mouth dropped to Aelins core and she moaned, Rowan brought an experimental wave of cool wind straight to your pussy and saw you twitch. Your movements faltering slightly. You shook it off, focusing on the job at hand and began to expertly lick and suck on Aelins clit. "Hmhm gods, keep going.." Aelin moaned, hips bucking as Rowans cock jerked in anticipation. How was his birthday gift, not being allowed to touch his two mates? It seemed cruel.

Rowans cock was dripping with precum and could already feel himself faltering, "Fireheart.." Rowan groaned as he felt Aelin's high grow closer. She moaned as her thighs began to tremble. Rowan couldn't help himself now, legs spread on the chair, his thick hand came down to lazily pump his slick cock.

You moaned into Aelins clit as you felt the tension grow tighter within her, your own pussy throbbing in anticipation. One more cold push of air from Rowans cruel magic and you would also be cumming.

"Fuck-k my love, yes, yes yes," Aelin cried as her orgasm came crashing down, and Rowan looked on in awe. Tears almost welling in your eyes as you shook with arousal. But you would do it again, you almost did as Aelin moaned at the overstimulation, forgetting about Rowan and wanting to pull more from her in the moment.

But before you could continue, Rowan was harshly grabbing your hips and pulling you back so you almost fell against his chest. You felt his cock at your entrance and a slight whine left your lips with anticipation, teasing be damnned now. Just as his cockhead grazed your slick folds, Aelin sat up.

"You're ruining our fun Ro.." She pouted as she made her way to you, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into her warm arms. Her fingers now working their way to your clit as you moaned in delight at the contact. You gasped as your hips bucked into Aelins. It felt good, too good, but you needed more.

Rowan moved up the bed to where both of you lounged in the middle, Aelin making lazy circles as you scrunched your eyes in pleasure. You were brought out of all teasing when Rowan cupped Aelins' jaw and kissed her with all the built-up arousal of the night. You watched them both as Aelins hand moved from in between your thighs to gently stroke Rowan's Jaw. You loved watching them both together, the love you shared was powerful enough to rock mountains and moments like these made you feel so safe, your heart incredibly full.

Finally Rowan lay down and pulled you to sit on top of him, his cock standing tall, almost as wet as you with precum. Rowan tenderly brushed some of your hair out of the way as you shyly traced his chest and he positioned your hips inline with his cock.

"I might not last long after your little show.." Rowan murmured, glaring at Aelin, who nipped at Rowan's shoulder. Too impatient for anything more, you sank down onto Rowan and moaned unashamedly. They had both been teasing you all night, and it wasn't fair.

"Fuckk" You both said at once. Instantly you were bouncing on his cock, up and down. Needing to feel all of him at once, Rowan grabbed your hips to stable himself, and little breathy moans left your mouth every time Rowan thrust upwards to meet your incessant pace.

"Gods, m-maybe slow-down, my love," Rowan almost whined as you bounced on him, Aelins wandering hands making their way to your breasts and then down to your clit. "I can-n't, I'm already-hmp-please" You moaned at both of them as Aelin was everywhere and Rowans hands too had made their way to your ass, needing at the tender flesh. This was supposed to be about him, but you couldn't stop yourself, it felt so good and had been too long.

Suddenly Rowan sat up with you still on him, stilling your movements. You continued to rock your hips slowly, but now could only do so at a more painfully slow pace. "I said Slow down," Rowan breathed into your neck. His sharp canines nipping at your jaw.

You could feel it, how close he was, how close you were, but it was Rowan's birthday after all and if he wanted to make it last. To torture you, then that's what he would get. He now controlled the pace between you both, and Aelin kissed up your jaw on the other side. "Fireheart.." You whined, trying to convince Aelin was a losing battle, but it was a last-ditch effort.

Rowan didn't give Aelin chance to respond as he began to move you both at a brutal pace, you bounced up and down as he snaked one arm up to the back of your neck, you now practically bouncing on his dick again. Aelin's hand once again moved to your clit from behind you and another one slipped down to Rowan's tigheting balls.

Your high grew closer and closer, the cord tightening until you couldn't stop, couldn't think, couldn't breath. And with a scream, you came, nearly sobbing into Rowans neck as he bit down hard on your own. Claiming you, like he had done so many times before. Aelins' sneaky hands didn't stop her ministrations, though, and this sent Rowan hurtling over the edge with you. Hips stuttering, you continued to pulse around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You tried to pull away from Aelins hand, your core far too sensitive but with Rowan still inside you, holding you tight there was no escape. And soon you were rocking on Aelins hand again, another orgasm building too fast and making you fall apart all over again on Rowan's still hard cock. He twitched and flinched at the stimulation himself but couldn't bear to tear you away. Keeping you against him, a little longer. Tears welled into your eyes as you shakily rested your head against Rowan's shoulder, and Aelin moved to pepper kisses all over your back and cheeks.

You looked up at Rowan then with round, sleepy eyes as you lovingly kissed him. "Happy birthday Ro," You sweetly whispered. "That was some birthday present, " Rowan chuckled, his cock hard once again inside you.

"Ah the fun isn't over yet.." You said and giggled as both you and Aelin looked at each other mischievously. Rowan groaned, letting his head fall back onto the pillow as you gasped at the movement and Aelin smiled at you both.

What else could you both possibly have in store for him?..

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૮ . . ྀིა⁩ Thank you for reading!