#Vallahan

[ladyofspringcourt]

CASTLES CRUMBLING

🌻 When the Princess of Vallahan, Ingrid Aesir, was taken to Prythian as a hostage to force her father to negotiate for peace, she did not expect to return home alive.

But the Mother has other plans.

Burdened by bonds she did not want, Ingrid must claw her way out or Prince Diarmuid, her captor and the second son of the Spring Lord, will devour her alive. And she will rather die with her dignity as Princess of Vallahan in tact before she is cowed into marrying Prythian's warmongering Spring prince.

FOREWORD

The Ladies of the Ruling House of Cynara by Aurea Rosid.

IN THE WEST OF SPRING COURT, there is a small house on a cliff that overlooks the Red Sea. The people of Fionna called it the Tulip Castle, an ambitious name that caused a few laughter for those who have seen it upclose. It wasn't anything grand. Just a simple two story house with a wooden upper floor and a stone foundation, lined with a grand staircase leading to a small garden with what used to be a gilded fountain and a gazebo. It was a vacation house for the Cynara Family before the Siege of Aithne more than a millenium ago—now it lay abandoned, ivy growing on the stone walls.

However, as ancient-looking and enigmatic the castle might be, what many do not know was that the castle was only built after High Lord Diarmuid ascended the throne. Before, the cliff was a barren land. No trees grow on nor around it. The soil was dry and pale, too harsh for any form of life to thrive on. It was the only part of Spring that cannot nurture life—that small cliff overlooking the Red Sea, a bald patch of dirt that was completely useless.

For that, many saw the cliff as a sign of hope. Against the invading armada. Against the stark gray of the never-ending wars.

But legends have it that after Ingrid of Vallahan, the future Lady of Spring, bled on the barren soil while defending the borders of Spring from the Summer Armada, soul-trapping flowers grew around it.

That legend alone has fascinated the entire court for centuries. Lady Ingrid, or Princess Ingrid as she was formally styled before her marriage to the High Lord, was a foreigner with no Spring Fae blood in her veins. The people from Vallahan did no favor magic either. They are a conquering class, who wielded swords and shields a thousand times better than their Prythian counterparts.

And yet her blood gave birth to the same rare soul-trapping flowers, Spring's most scared fauna, which grew only in the gardens of Rosehall. The same flowers that can gather pillars of sunlight and sow it back into the soil. Many found it mysterious and chalked it up to her mating bond that inevitably tied her to the lands.

Evergreen trees soon grew after the battle, slowly filling the foot of the cliff until it towered over every new shrub, every new plant—until its steady shade covered the near Village of Fionna.

But now, it is a symbol of death.

They say that when the Lady Ingrid died in Rosehall Manor in the Village of Lachlan, a strange light appeared in the castle's garden, shooting into the night sky until it devoured fge moon. A solar eclipse that threatened to devour the moon entirely. Many believe that her soul was trapped in that house—and that is why the her son never visited Fionna when he became High Lord. Why he stayed far away in his Manor on the other side of the Court.

They say Lady Ingrid's haunted castle is the reason why the Beast of Spring never ventured too far west, even when the King of Hybern demanded a welcome during the Second War. She wanders in its hallowed halls like a ghost, still in her blood-stained clothes, unable to passl.

If you are a fae of Spring, you might be familiar with this story already. Lady Ingrid is famous among Spring Faeries when she was alive—for her grace and her benevolence—that the countless analects from her youth had been the topic of numerous ballads and stories up until today.

That said, I'd like to argue that everything you have read above may just be an sanitized version of a far more interesting tale.

Remember that our history, the history of Spring Court, is never formally written. Unlike the other courts of Prythian, we kept our folklores and stories alive through words of mouth; through ballads, poetries, and bedtime stories. Such recollections, which got more and more dramatized at every retelling, did not preserve the integrity of the characters and their personal history.

It never explained why Ingrid of Vallahan, of surprising mixed descent, was mated to the then most powerful of the seven High Lords. Why her blood gave life to a dead cliff. Why her closetest son, the Bronze Prince, the High Lord Tamas Lin, never visited the west of his territory in his three-hundred years of Lordship.

We made theories about it, romanticized the bits and pieces we were given until we have a mangled fairy tale in our hands.

But now, as I embark on this journey to put our history in ink, as per the order of the High Lord as part of our rebuilding efforts, let me dedicate the following chapters to the story that unfolded more than 500 years ago. The story of the promising Prince of Spring who would later become one of Prythian's tyrannts, and his mate whose name and identity I will attempt to give back.

- - - - -

Hello, Ran here!

So this is an fanfic idea that I have been playing with for a very long time (if you scroll through my profile, you'll know). Anyway, I wrote the intial draft a long time ago but decided not to publish it because Diarmuid and Ingrid have a canonically toxic relationship and I was scared that the fic will be taken the wrong way.

But you kmow what, SJM never fleshed the characters so I'll do whatever the fuck I want with them. Just remember to take the story with a grain of salt—it is afterall inspired by the Story of Kunning Palace and the Medici. Xie Wei and Lorenzo are not exactly prince charmings so...yeah, enjoy ig?

[eudociaocdump]

Yooo snippet of Forest Fires. Haven't abandoned this, life is just a lot.

Laying on my stomach, I pressed my face into the pillow and gathered my courage.

"We can't remove the others until baron is dead." I muttered quietly, glancing over to Eris. He lay flat on his back, still in his court wear, unable to gather the will to prepare for bed. I tugged the blanket up over my shoulder, "He will be taken out quick. But Eris..."

My stomach clenched, and he gave a light hum, encouraging.

"With the rest of them. I want it slow. I want them to hurt." My voice was barely a whisper, part of me didn't want him to hear.

Eris rolled to his side, propping himself up on an elbow. He didn't reach, never pushed the boundries drawn, but he tilted his head to catch my eye.

I met his gaze, fire dancing in his eyes and his sly smile a wicked thing. "They will suffer appropriately" he murmured low, a small grin showing his sharp teeth.

Warmth flooded me, a blush coating my cheeks. I turned my face back fully into the pillow and let myself relax into the bed for a moment, debating my next move.

[prythianpages]

A Field of Dandelions | Azriel

azriel x green witch reader | Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

“Please don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.”

warnings: angst but with fluff at the end, mentions of self-hate/abuse. pretty much Azriel thinking he's not worthy of a mate.

a/n: I've been re-reading the Shatter Me series and there's a scene between Aaron and Juliette that drove me to make this along with the song Dandelions by Ruth B. The dialogue above is directly from the book Unravel Me. I used them as a writing prompt along with the general gist of the scene and added my own twist to it. I just wanted to put that disclaimer out there.

The door opens before you can even knock and your dear friend and High Lady pulls you into a warm hug. She beckons you inside with a smile and your eyes dart around the various paintings adorning the walls, finding that some are new.

Surprise etches onto your features when your eyes land on the Night Court’s Spymaster. He stands at the end of one of the winding staircases with his usual stoic expression. Still as devastatingly handsome as always. You drop your gaze as quickly as you had met his and if he notices it, he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

Your ears pick up on faint crying. It grows louder and louder. Turning your head toward the source, your eyes land on Nyx. Despite being in the comfort of his father’s arms, his little features contort in pain. You greet your High Lord with a bow of your head, noticing the exhaustion on his face that mirrors Feyre’s.

“Is Mor on her way?” You ask, adjusting the strap of your bag. It’s full with all necessary tools and equipment you need for your venture.

Feyre had requested if you could make a tonic to sooth Nyx’s aches while he’s teething but your apothecary shop was unfortunately out of the main ingredient. Dandelion root. Not just any dandelion root but the ones that grow in the soil between the courts of Spring and Autumn and given the current tensions in Prythian and your status as a former Spring court inhabitant, it was not safe for you to go alone.

“Oh,” Feyre says as she takes the babe into her arms. You coo at Nyx and he blinks up at you, his crying coming to a stop. His lips tug up into a small smile and he wraps a tiny hand around your finger. “She is unfortunately caught up in Vallahan.”

“So then Cassian is to escort me today?” You ask again, looking up at your friend.

You catch the way she looks at Rhysand. They share a look and you know they’re communicating to each other through their mind. It’s Rhysand who answers you this time.

“Cassian isn’t fond of the spring, allergies and all.”

The Shadowsinger steps forward and your smile falls. You turn back to your friend, who gives you a sheepish smile in return.

“Azriel will be escorting you today.”

You almost want to say no. The thought of being alone with Azriel makes your stomach churn with unease and something else that you can’t quite discern at the moment. But Nyx begins to squirm in his mother’s arms with a pout and Feyre’s eyebrows knit in concern.

“Okay,” you sigh.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Feyre says.

“Our son’s life is in your hands.”

Feyre slaps her husband’s arm with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not dying, Rhys,” she grumbles. “He’s just in some discomfort from teething.”

She then turns to Azriel with a stern look. The corner of her lips threatened to betray her. “Be nice.”

**

Azriel’s shadows envelop you both, whisking you away to the forest of the Spring Court. It was the safest of the two courts to winnow directly to. The air in the dense woods hangs heavy with the scent of blooming blossoms and you’re thankful for the muffled sounds of nature as it provides a soothing background noise, saving you from the awkward silence between you and the impassive Shadowsinger.

Azriel walks ahead, his movements graceful and quiet. His shadows cling to him like the loyal companions they are but some hover over your boots, silencing your own steps. 

He finally breaks the silence. “You’re staring.”

You shift your gaze immediately and wonder if he can also sense the pink that dusts your slightly flustered face. “I’m just surprised you’re the one escorting me,” you answer honestly.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” he responds cryptically.

A slight tension settles between you, your heartbeat quickening as you follow him through the forest. “Right,” you say, your face growing pinker.

You shift the weight of your bag to your other shoulder and Azriel comes to a sudden stop. He turns, his hazel eyes scanning you for a moment. Without a word, he takes the bag from your arm, effortlessly hoisting it over his shoulder. 

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and a quiet "thanks" escapes your lips. “You’re being awfully nice today,” you can’t help but observe, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your tone “I think this is the most you’ve talked to me since we met.”

Azriel’s lips curve into an almost-smile. A rare sight that sends a flutter through your chest. “My High Lady told me to be nice.”

“Right,” you repeat quietly to yourself as you exhale, a futile effort to calm your fluttering nerves. It’s almost embarrassing the effect Azriel has on you and as the butterflies in your stomach stir, you hope that the rest of the day unfolds quickly.

**

Mates. Two individuals predestined to be together, brought together by unseen forces and an irresistible bond. Azriel once wondered if he had a mate but after centuries of living, he began to wonder if he was simply destined to be alone.

When his brothers found their mates and he still hadn’t found his, he started to think he was far beyond the reach of love. It was a blessing he could not have. He didn’t need a mate, so he convinced himself he didn’t want one. Romance was not part of his duties and he was starting to come to terms with the fact. 

That is, until, he met you.

Nestled right on the outskirts of the area known as the Rainbow of Velaris was a quaint shop. The wooden sign above, engraved with dark letters spelling out Nightrose Apothecary, swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. Azriel had ignored the frenzied whirlwind of his shadows as he stepped into the shop.

Shelves made of twisted vines and polished wood were neatly arranged with rows of glass jars containing colorful powders, dried herbs and exotic roots. A friendly black cat, lounging on the sunlit windowsill, blinked at him in greeting. As he stepped further into the shop, his senses became overwhelmed with the prominent scent of lavender and chamomile.

Behind a worn, wooden counter is where you stood. You hummed to yourself, immersed in the book in front of you. He found himself unable to take his eyes off of you as you skimmed over the rough edged pages, your fingertips carrying an enchanting green glow and eyes filled with darkness. 

You were a witch but it was no surprise to him. He had heard about you. You were a good friend of Feyre’s. One of the few people she could trust during her time in the Spring court. When the Spring Court fell into chaos, Feyre had brought you with her and helped you open up this shop.

His steps were silent and he’s sure you’re unaware of his presence, so he shifted, parting his mouth to speak–

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

His steps faltered, eyes widening for a fleeting moment.

When you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, his eyes locked with yours and something deep within him awakened. An exhilarating feeling like no other. He felt light. He felt alive. And he was almost afraid to blink, not wanting the feeling to end.

His shadows peeked out from behind his limbs, curious to see what had their master in a chokehold. They dispersed from his body in a thrilled dance as the darkness left your eyes, revealing their natural color. They’re beautiful and sparkling with kindness, even as his shadows disobey his silent orders and slither up your arms in a cool greeting.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself apologizing, a slight tint in his cheeks. “They usually don’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” you brushed off his worry and he felt lightheaded and bewitched at the smile you directed toward him. “What brings you here?”

Azriel can’t help but feel that you already know why he’s there. He pulled his gaze away, choosing to focus on the crystal orbs on the counter instead. “My High Lady recommended I come to you. I’ve been having trouble…sleeping.”

The green glow returned to your fingertips as you beckoned a small clear vial from one of the shelves behind you. It’s filled with a silver liquid that glistened as it moved, mirroring the twinkle of the stars that light up the night sky.

“This should help.” You told him as you held out the vial to him. “Take a sip before you’re ready for bed and it should quickly pull you into a restful slumber. Some say it even brings forth sweet dreams.”

Azriel nodded his head, taking the small vial from you with a gloved hand. He stored it carefully into the chest pocket of his leathers. His hands then dug into the pockets of his pants but you held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s on the house.”

“But–”

“Any friend of Fey–the High Lady’s is a friend of mine.”

His throat tightened as he realized it’s time for him to leave and he doesn’t want to. He’s caught in a whirlwind of emotions and finds himself torn between hope and fear. Or maybe he fears what it means to be hopeful because for once in his life, he wants something.

He wants you. His mate.

But as he thanked you for your kind gesture, he realized that the bond must have not snapped for you as it had for him. So he reluctantly went on with his day and when the sky darkened and stars awakened, he took a sip from the small vial. He had the best sleep of his life that night and dreamt about you.

The next morning he asked Rhysand and Feyre about what he had experienced because he couldn’t believe it himself. They confirmed his suspicions and they were both delighted. Feyre even more so as you were her dear friend.  

She had taken it upon herself to bring you two together. Her first attempt was a family dinner. It was going well until Elain had spotted a spider and upon the small scream she let out, Nesta had rushed to kill it for her. Your distress was impossible to turn a blind eye to and Feyre quietly asked if you were alright.

“It didn’t need to die,” is all you quietly said, your eyes lined with silver.

Witches were one with nature and given your niche with herbs and creation, Azriel realized the depth of your admiration for all life that night. Then, another harrowing one. You were so innocent, so pure. He was guilty, hands tainted and stained red. He didn’t deserve you.

The Cauldron must’ve made a mistake.

Feyre was undeterred so she gave it another attempt, despite Azriel’s protest. She arranged a night out at Rita’s for the Inner Circle and invited you. Azriel didn’t plan on going but Rhysand had made sure his schedule was clear and when Feyre had sent him an image of you in a skin tight dress, he came as quickly as he could. 

But it was too late.

He arrived to find a high fae leaning toward you in interest and you were smiling at him. A smile Azriel wanted reserved just for him. The male had placed a hand at your waist and Azriel felt his stomach churn when you laughed at something he had said. A sound he wished to be the cause of. You seemed happy and who was he to stand in your way?

The male was everything Azriel was not. Blond, blue eyed and perfectly smooth hands–hands that were all over you and welcomed by you. He unconsciously hid his scarred hands behind his back and when your gaze met his across the room, he looked away. 

Azriel was not worthy of you. He didn’t deserve to have you as his mate. So he reminded himself that romance was not part of his duties and convinced himself that the Cauldron, had indeed, made a mistake. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of being just a friend to you. The mere idea pained him so much that he pushed you away. He didn’t return to your apothecary when he finished the vial you’d given him–not even when his nights became restless again and dark circles appeared beneath his eyes. When he’d see you walking along the streets of Velaris, he’d turn the other away and when you would visit Feyre and he was there, he’d find an excuse to leave.

But there was one thing he couldn’t shake off–the primal instinct to protect you. It was the least he could do for you as he felt indebted to you for the Cauldron’s mistake. 

So when he heard you needed an escort to the border between the Spring and Autumn courts, he was the first to volunteer, despite Mor and Cassian also offering.

**

It’s as if the ground beneath you comes to life in your presence. Birds fly over you, chirping and singing a beautiful melody. As you pass, buds blossom into beautiful flowers as if enchanted by you. Even the animals emerge from their hidden abodes. The squirrels playfully dart between branches while a family of deer gracefully emerges from the trees.

It becomes evident that nature itself is captivated by your presence. and it extends beyond nature, weaving its magic onto Azriel as well. It reaches into the very heart of the Shadowsinger, casting an enchanting spell that even he cannot escape.

A blue butterfly dances playfully around Azriel. It startles him, pulling him out of his trance and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes from you. You raise a finger and the butterfly lands on it softly.

“Hello, little one,” you coo softly. You turn to Azriel, holding out your finger to him. “Would you like to hold it?”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you scared of a butterfly?”

Azriel does not answer your question. Instead, his eyes dart around the forest that still stirs with liveliness around you. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“Sorry,” you apologize, even though it’s not your fault. The butterfly grants you one last flutter of its wings before gracefully flying away. “I can’t help but be admired by many.”

Azriel lets out a hum. You’re too distracted to pick up on the subtle resonance of agreement, your eyes widening as the meadow finally comes into view in the distance.

**

You inhale deeply, flooding your senses with the delicate fragrance surrounding you–a symphony of floral notes. Time seems to slow and your worries dissipate away as you kneel down, gently touching the soft sea of green, white and yellow. The gentle sway of the dandelions becomes a mesmerizing dance, their feathery plumes catching the morning breeze like wishes ready to be set free.

Azriel watches you and his eyes are a reflection of an adoration deeper than any meadow bloom. There’s a bittersweet ache in his chest. You close your eyes, a serene expression on your face. Strands of sunlight weave through your hair, creating a halo of warmth and Azriel finds it hard to breathe when your lips bloom into a tender smile.

Your eyes open and meet his hazel eyes and suddenly, he’s looking away. He clears his throat, eyes looking around the field. “What’s so special about this place?” He asks, a desperate attempt to reclaim the distance between desire and reality.

“All life is a delicate balance of give and take. Spring brings forth new life and beauty, new beginnings. Autumn leaves showers of gold, recognizing the temporary nature of all things. “ You answer as if it's common knowledge and upon the bewildered expression on Azriel’s face, you offer the simpler explanation:  “The soil between Spring and Autumn is very potent.” 

“These are weeds. They’ll grow anywhere.” Azriel deadpans. He regrets it immediately at the brief darkening of your eyes and the slight frown that forms at his casual dismissal.

“You may see a weed,” you begin, plucking a single dandelion from the ground as you rise to your feet. You approach the Shadowsinger. “But I see wishes.”

You extend the dandelion to him with a softness in your eyes that he’s never been on the receiving end of. “They say a single dandelion possesses the power to grant one-hundred wishes. But their beauty lies in their resilience because when they fall apart, they simply start again. A reminder to us all of boundless hope.”

Azriel hesitates, his gaze fixed on the dandelion. His gloved fingers brush against yours and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what your skin would feel like against his. The mere thought dares to send a shiver through him but he swiftly pushes the thought away. He doesn’t deserve you.

You smile at him as he carefully accepts the delicate stem from you. His shadows remain dispersed around the field but from where he stands, he can feel them vibrating in a joyful dance. Your smile is so bright, so dazzling and for the first time since he met you, it’s all for him. A sudden warmth floods through him, a sensation he never anticipated, and he finds himself utterly captivated.

“Make a wish,” you whisper to him, your voice a gentle prompt that lingers in the air like a spell waiting to be cast.

Azriel is not one to believe in things like this but he finds himself surrendering to the magic of the moment. For you.

Under the tender gaze of a field of dandelions, he closes his eyes. He lets out a silent breath, and makes a wish. A gentle breeze courses through you both in that moment. The dandelion’s wispy seeds take flight, unraveling into a delicate constellation of possibilities. 

The soft bristles of hope travel through the air and find their way to you and a laugh escapes from you in response to the tickling sensation as they caress your face. Azriel’s heart feels strangely gentle–as if the weight that often accompanies his existence has momentarily dissipated. His entire body seems to soften in the glow of your laughter and a rare smile graces his lips.

He’s stuck in a trance, mesmerized by you, failing to catch the sounds of the creatures approaching. Before he knows it, there are arrows whistling around you both. He barely has enough time to respond as one hisses by his ear and darts to you. He immediately raises his hand up, his shadows rushing to the rescue and forming a protective shield around you both.

**

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the tip of an arrow that is a couple of inches away from you. It’s coated with blood. Azriel’s blood. Your breath hitches at the sight. There's an arrow embedded into his gloved hand and if it weren’t for Azriel’s other hand at the small of your back, you would’ve fallen backwards.

“Are you alright?” His gaze is examining you carefully, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You blink at his words. “Are you alright?”

“Well, well, well.” A voice drawls followed by deep, rumbling growls from the hounds that surround you. They’re kept at bay by Azriel’s shadows. “What do we have here?”

Azriel turns around, ready to face the threat head on. His shadows remain at your side protectively. Some slither up and down your arms, their touch aimed at offering comfort and reassurance. 

“Eris.”

The red head smirks and his teeth flash when he catches the sight of the Shadowsinger’s injured and bleeding hand. “My apologies,” Eris sneers. “If I had known it was you, I would’ve aimed for the heart.”

A sound escapes from you–one you didn’t know you were capable of making and you step out from the shadows. It draws Eris’s attention to you. His amber eyes drink you in and you feel Azriel stiffen beside you. The Autumn’s male’s eyes land on the obsidian necklace around your neck and they narrow.

“What is a witch doing in my lands?” His hounds that are still surrounding let out another growl, prompted by their master’s tone of voice. They snap their teeth menacingly.

But you’re unfazed.

Perhaps, it’s Azriel’s protective shadows or the overwhelming anger set alight by Eris’s words that grant you the confidence and push you forward. Your eyes fill with darkness, resembling a night sky without any stars and Azriel can feel the energy coursing through your veins as you call upon your magic.

“Keep wasting the air with that breath of yours and I might just cur–”

A hand comes over your mouth, stopping you from saying anything else and you’re being pulled flush into Azriel’s chest. You grimace at the taste of leather and squirm only for Azriel’s arms to tighten around you.

“Cute,” Eris remarks with a hint of amusement but there’s an unmistakable fear that flashes in his eyes for a short lived moment.

 “We’re just passing through,” Azriel states, his voice void of emotion. 

Eris observes you both in contemplative silence. He must discern something in Azriel that prompts him to stand down. With a thoughtful hum, he gracefully turns away. His hounds follow suit and as he walks away, he calls over his shoulders: “Make it quick.”

You watch as Eris disappears into the forest, still wrapped tightly in Azriel’s arms. It isn’t until Eris is completely out of view that you squirm again and without thinking, you bite on his gloved hand. Hard. Azriel flinches and finally releases his grip on you.

You turn to him with a glare that he returns.

“Threatening to curse the heir to Autumn? Are you out of your mind?”

“I should curse you for stopping me!” You exclaim, crossing your arms with a scowl. Your gaze then softens as you quietly add:  “He hurt you.”

“Gods,” Azriel breathes, stepping away from you and tilting his head backwards. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“You mean besides piss you off by merely existing?” You huff as you snatch your bag away from him to get the jars you brought. “Can’t imagine it gets any worse than that.”

**

The walk to your apartment is silent and you begin to wonder if you should apologize for your outburst earlier. It was not within your nature to raise your voice at anyone…or harbor anger toward someone. But Eris had tried to hurt you, hurt Azriel and then shamelessly sneered about it.

Azriel follows you into your home, watching as you set the ingredients you collected down. He expects you to bid him farewell and kick him out but as you turn to him and your gaze falls to his injured hand, you sigh.

“Come on,” you offer, reaching out for his hand and he recoils. You frown.  “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

You know he’s lying by the way his jaw clenches and you can’t help but notice that he appears to be repelled by your touch. You almost laugh. “I promise I won’t curse you. I actually never cursed anyone before.”

Azriel’s expression remains unreadable.

“Just let me see. I can help you.”

“I’m fine.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.” You say in hopes to get him to accept your help and when it doesn’t, you cross your arms against your chest. “Do you really hate me that much? To be repulsed by my touch?”

“I don’t hate you.” Azriel confesses and his voice is much quieter, much softer when he speaks again. “I could never.”

Azriel holds your gaze in contemplation for a long moment. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see his shadows pushing him toward you so you try again. This time, when you step forward, your hand reaching for him, he doesn’t pull away. 

 “Sit,” you tell him, nodding your head at one of the chairs in your kitchen. 

With a hard swallow, he does. He is entirely still as you hold his gloved hand in yours. Even his shadows are eerily still as if holding their breath. His eyes are boring into you with an intensity that heats your skin. You bring your other hand up, a soft green glow emitting from your fingertips. With the help of your magic, you carefully take the arrow out, drawing a sharp gasp from him. 

“Sorry,” you say, turning your attention to his glove next. You use your magic to remove it as well, not wanting to cause him any more pain or discomfort.

As the green mist of your magic dissipates, revealing the scarred skin beneath, your eyes widen. The scars are extensive, streaking around his fingers and the palm of his hand and the bleeding gash in the middle is nothing compared to them. You lift your gaze to meet his only to find his eyes are dead of emotion.

“Azriel.” You breathe and it’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his name and it sounds so pretty, so beautiful but the way you’re looking at him…

“Don’t.” His throat feels tight and he starts to withdraw his hand from yours but you stop him. You want to know who hurt him this deeply. Today was a day of firsts for you–first smile from Azriel, first time you ever felt so angry, first time you growled at someone and you were more than willing to add another first to that list. Cursing someone.

But Azriel looks like he’s about to break so you push your rage aside. Realization dawns on you as you now understand why he’s always wearing gloves around you, why he avoided you at all costs before. Your heart aches.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” you say softly as you begin to heal his hand. “Your scars may forever carry their stories with them but they do not define you. Your heart does and I can see it now. It’s bright and beautiful. You’re beautiful and–”

“y/n,” he almost begs. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

The gash on his palm is now completely healed and you tighten your hold on it. “Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.” His voice drops to a pained whisper and his eyes are fluttering shut, body trembling. Shadows cling on to him, embracing him in an attempt to comfort their master. You’ve never beheld anything more heartbreaking.

“Do you think that lowly of me?” You begin, your voice quiet. “That I would be put off by your scars?”

When he doesn’t answer, your free hand reaches for his face, lifting his chin up. But his eyes are still closed and deep lines form on his forehead because your skin is so soft, so warm and he’s not worthy.

“Azriel,” you steady your breath. “You’re my mate.”

His eyes shoot open, hazel orbs glistening with tears as he looks up at you. “You know?”

“I’ve known since the moment I met you.” You confess with a pained smile. “I wanted to tell you right away but I didn’t want to scare you and when I was ready to tell you, you were avoiding me. I thought you hated me because, well, I’m a witch and not everyone is fond of them.”

“But that night at Rita’s–”

“My stupid attempt at making you jealous,” you explain to him sheepishly. “I thought it would prompt you to talk to me but it backfired immensely.”

Silence falls over you two. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

“For being your mate.” Azriel responds. “I don’t deserve you. My hands are not only scarred but stained red. I’ve tortured many. I’ve killed many. You value life but I take it.”

“I value innocent life. It’s my duty to protect nature–to protect those that cannot speak for themselves.” You clarify. “I understand that it’s your duty to protect this court. I don’t see you any different for it.”

The hand at his face drops and you use it to remove the glove from his other hand. Your hands grasp onto his larger ones and you lace your fingers with his, embracing the thickened and roughened skin. Azriel’s breath hitches.

 “This can’t be real,” he murmurs to himself, dropping his gaze. “In that field of dandelions, I wished upon every one of them. For you.”

“Magic doesn’t work that way,” you tell him with a smile as an overwhelming rush of tenderness comes over you. “It cannot create or destroy love. It can only heighten what is already there.”

Azriel’s expression softens and he looks back up at you. Half terrified. Half hopeful. “So this is real?”

You decide to show him instead by leaning down and kissing him. 

Azriel’s body relaxes and then he’s using his hands to tug you forward and onto his lap. He kisses you back. Deeply and desperately. He places his hands on your face, your neck and then they’re at your waist, slipping under your shirt. He wants to feel your skin, all of you and you welcome it, arching into him because his touch feels so good.

It stirs a light of desire in you–a desire so bright that it rivals the sun and blossoms flowers of its own. A desire to love and be loved. 

“What else did you wish for?” You gasp out when you both pull away for air. His hands are right under the curve of your chest and he leans his forehead against yours.

His breath is heavy but he smiles at you and you engrave the image into your mind because you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. You’re inclined to ask Feyre to paint it for you later.

“I only wished for you to be mine.” He says, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Done.”

And then he’s kissing you again.

Azriel has heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime–he’s seen it come to his brothers. He never thought it would come to him but he’s pretty sure that you are that love of his and he was a fool to push it away. He knows this now because when he gazes into your eyes, he can see forever in them.

here's an alternate scene, where y/n is the one who says "please don't talk to me like that" instead of az: read here

here's a scene if you're curious about feyre's reaction: read here

if you're interested in reading more about this au you can find the masterlist for this series here

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bad for Me — Cassian x Reader

Hi! I found this in my drafts and thought I’d share it while I’m finishing up the next part of Bluebird. I’m not sure why I never posted it 🤔maybe because I don’t think it’s very well written. Also, it seems I was using a prompt list for parts of dialogue in this, but I can’t for the life of me think which one it was 😅but anyway, enjoy an angsty piece with an angsty cliffhanger ending 💅🏻

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: None.

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“What the fuck is this?”

There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t shake with anger as you stormed your way into the sitting room. Anger that had built up and festered as the day had faded into night.

It was late. You’d waited up — waited for the telltale, arrogantly loud footsteps that had announced Cassian’s return. Where he’d been all day, you didn’t know nor care.

Sure enough, you found him in his usual chair by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey rested on the arm and his eyes closed. His fingers rubbed circles into his forehead — a positive sign that he was sporting a particularly gruelling headache.

Good. You would yell into his ear until he launched himself off one of the verandas and flew far, far away.

“What is this?” You repeated, chucking the item you held straight onto his lap.

His eyes slowly opened, and he glanced down impassively. “That’s a piece of paper. It’s useful for writing, or drawing, or—”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

It had surprised you, to say the least, to wake up to the folded note on your bedside table — in Cassian’s rough scrawl.

Find yourself a pretty little dress. Don’t make any plans for Friday next. We’re going dancing. Cassian.

“Explain.” You demanded, your tone clipped. Brash.

You didn’t want to go dancing with Cassian. Or walking, or running, or…anything.

It was bad enough living under the same roof as him. Working in the same circle as him. Bad enough having to be civil in the name of a unified front.

But you were professional. You could pretend to get along in front of people.

That didn’t mean you had to socialise with him, though.

With a sigh, he sat up straighter, brushing his hair back. “Rhys is having me play courtier again.”

Your head cocked to the side. “But you’re so terrible at it.”

The minuscule pause and tick of his jaw told you you’d landed a sure blow. A nervy spot, for Cassian, was certainly his abilities off the battlefield. Why Rhys insisted on sending the General on certain courtier expeditions was beyond your comprehension. And beyond Cassian’s, too, judging by how much he hated it.

You took no small amount of pleasure in that fact. A little payback for all the ways he’d torn you down over the years.

“Hilarious.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Whatever. Rhys is having me represent him at a fucking ball in the Hewn City and I need a plus-one, so — you’re coming.”

Your shoulders tensed. “Absolutely not. Ask somebody else.”

“There’s no way I’m putting Mor through that. And she’s in Vallahan, anyway.”

“So take Amren with you.”

“Be real, Y/N.”

You stared at him, clenching your jaw. You hated him. Hated him so, so much — loathed him — that you swore your veins turned to ice around him. Ever since you’d met him, and you’d taken one look at him and thought he was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen. 

You’d sworn never to fall in love again, when you’d joined Rhysand’s Inner Circle — and seeing Cassian go through flings like you went through books only solidified that decision.

Hate was a good thing. Hate was something you could pour all your anger into and throw at the person that seeped into your thoughts a little too often.

And dish that hate out you may, but gods Cassian gave it back just as fiercely.

“Ask one of your many lovers.” You spat. “You have your cock in a different female every week. I can’t imagine you’re short on admirers.”

Cassian stretched his arms over his head. “And how many admirers do you have, Y/N?”

You tried your best not to flinch. To let him see the effect his words had on you was as bad as him thrusting a dagger into your gut. You willed yourself to give nothing away.

“Just find somebody else.” You said. “There’s not a fucking chance I’m going anywhere with you, of all people.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You turned on your feet and stalked from the room, leaving the note on his lap and your barbed words hanging heavy in the air.

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Three nights later, your bedroom door burst open so abruptly that you dropped your book on your face.

“Pause your masturbation for five minutes.” Cassian’s deep, arrogant voice filled the room. “I have your dress.”

You sat up, your entire body tensing the way it always did in his presence. “What.”

He kicked the door shut behind him, and even in your considerably-sized bedroom, his domineering figure seemed to take up most of the space. He strode to the foot of your bed — and paused, just for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of your nightgown, your unbound hair.

You didn’t have a chance to remark before he straightened himself out and launched a flash of pale pink fabric at you.

“For the ball.” He said. “I checked your size and asked the shopkeeper to pick it out, so…if you don’t like it, I don’t really give a fuck.”

Your eyes fell down to the dress in your lap. Undeniably pretty, with its rosy hue and flaring skirt, thin straps and tiny, beaded jewels. A dress you would probably choose for yourself, if the occasion called for it.

You’d always loved clothes; dresses in particular. The intricacies of certain garments fascinated you, and the thought of creating your own made your heart skip a beat.

You thought you’d feel pretty in this dress; prettier than you usually felt, in your leathers or shirts and breeches. It wasn’t all that often that you had an occasion to dress up for.

But even this gown wouldn’t convince you to accept Cassian’s invitation. Or, rather, his order.

You pushed the dress away from you, though your fingers lingered within the soft fabric. “You’re absolutely fucking insane if you think I’m going to that ball with you.”

Cassian’s eyes fell to where your hands stroked the skirts, before climbing back up to meet yours. The bastard knew what you were feeling. He fucking knew.

“Oh, you so want to.” He smirked. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “So it’s a nice dress. I’m sure one of your many sexual escapades would appreciate it.”

The General’s head tilted, a few strands ripping from the loose knot his hair was tied into. “What is it about my sex life that bothers you so much?”

That you’re free to even have such a sex life without judgement. That you will never know what it’s like to be ostracised just for exploring such things. That you can fuck who you like with no repercussions. That it isn’t me you’re—

“Don’t mistake me for someone who gives a shit about anything you do.” You bit. “I just wouldn’t want such a nice dress to be wasted.”

“It won’t be. Because you’ll be wearing it to the ball on Friday.”

“No.” You threw the dress back at him. Picked your book back up. “I will not.”

“I’m going to hang it on the door.”

“Don’t bother.”

He ignored you, of course. The dress was hung. “We’ll be leaving at seven.”

“No we won’t.”

“We will.”

He pulled your bedroom door open, slipping out.

“Cassian?” You called, and there was a strong pause.

He poked his head back in. “What?”

“I’m not going to that damned ball with you.”

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You were going to that damned ball with him.

High Lord’s orders, your ass. You’d kill Rhys for this.

The dress was a perfect fit, clinging to you like a second skin. And as you stared yourself down in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the fabric, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this pretty.

A long, long time ago. A night of passion. A night that would ultimately ruin your life.

You shook the past from your thoughts, straightening yourself out. It was imperative that you wore an unbreakable mask to the Hewn City. One that was steeled and sharp and revealed nothing of the person that lay beneath.

A thump fell on your bedroom door. “We’re going to be late.” Cassian barked.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from the mirror. The beads of your dress swished as you moved, and you focused on that, rather than the oaf that was currently trying to break into your room.

Just a few hours, and this would all be over.

“Simmer down, General.” You pulled the door open, stepping out. “I’m ready.”

Cassian stepped back. And stopped.

His hazel eyes slowly traced the length of your body. And despite the fact that he’d griped about being late, he took his sweet time drinking you in.

You waited for the snide remarks. For whatever fault he would surely find with your appearance. But when his eyes landed on your face again, you couldn’t puzzle out his expression.

“Good.” Was all he commented. “Let’s go.”

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“Can you quit your fidgeting?”

Cassian scowled beside you, rolling his shoulders. “The collar on this thing is too tight.”

Your eyes travelled the sculpted length of his body — not for the first time — before you forced them away. He looked…undeniably breathtaking.

His comfort, you knew, was in leathers and body armour. Only on rare occasions like Starfall or Solstice did he swap his usual attire for more casual clothing like button-up shirts and trousers. You couldn’t recall a time you’d actually seen him decked in a tailored suit.

Until now.

The material was of deepest burgundy, outlining — accentuating — every last muscle it possibly could. There was something thrilling about the thought of so many deadly weapons hiding within that dashing attire. Something thrilling about knowing the Lord of Bloodshed walked beside you.

Right now, though, he was the fucking Lord of Complaining and Whining. You rolled your eyes, turning to him.

“What are you doing?” He watched as you pushed up onto the tips of your toes.

“Shutting you up.” You adjusted his collar, ignoring the feel of the backs of your fingers brushing his neck. “Better?”

“Suppose so.” He rolled those shoulders again. He wouldn’t be content until the suit was off him completely.

“Then let’s go.” You currently stood outside the towering gates of the Hewn City, the air always unpleasantly cold in these parts. You took a step forward, your dress swishing along the ground—

A warm, rough hand landed on your arm. Stopped you.

“What?” You glanced at Cassian over your shoulder.

“Rhys is expecting us to represent him.” He said, his hazel eyes strangely fierce. He always got that look when there was a task at hand. “I know we hate each other. And that’s more than fine. But just for tonight, can we pretend that we…don’t?”

You stared back at him pensively. A petty part of you wanted to shrug him off and scoff. To tell him that the unpleasantness with which he’d always approached you had long laid any potential alliance to waste.

But he was right — Rhys was counting on you both. And Rhys had done a lot for you since you’d turned up on his doorstep with barely a coin to your name. For him…for him, you would pretend to enjoy Cassian’s company.

“Whatever.” You shrugged the General’s touch off, turning back around. “Fine.”

It wasn’t going to be easy, though.

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You made sure, in your life, that you never had to spend any extended amount of time with Cassian. You tolerated him when you had to, and avoided him the rest of the time.

But you’d been for nights out in the same group, of course. And you’d forgotten how many females tended to flock to his side and fawn over him.

This ball was a sure reminder of that.

You’d barely stepped into the room and grabbed yourselves a drink before groups of females were glancing over and chatting excitedly, shrill giggles floating over to you. It was a mere five minutes before one of them mustered the nerve to ask him to dance, leaving you standing on your own.

It was during that first dance that you decided — you weren’t just going to be civil with Cassian.

You were going to be so sickeningly over the top that he’d have no chance of skulking off with any of those females and leaving you by yourself while he got his cock sucked. Not a chance. If they thought he’d been claimed by another member of Rhys’s Inner Circle, they’d back off; if a little begrudgingly.

So you watched. Waited for that dance to end. Rhys hadn’t given you any specific orders, besides attending on his behalf and keeping an ear out for any gossip. You drank your wine and enjoyed the music, and the second Cassian had an empty space before him, you dipped in before anybody else could.

It seemed to surprise him. He blinked at you, before straightening himself out. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you.” You grabbed his hand, fastening it on your waist.

“Rhys never said we had to dance together.”

“You want us to get along, Cassian?” The music began, tugging you into movement. “Then let’s get along.”

With the other couples beginning to dance around you, it left no other option than to follow suit and avoid causing a scene. Cassian’s jaw ticked, but he grabbed for your other hand and began to pull you around the dance floor with him. He was no seasoned dancer, by any means, but he displayed more skill than you’d expected.

Another thing you loved — dancing. Feeling like your feet were floating. Once you started dancing, you wanted to keep going and going into you fell off the world and tumbled into a blissful beyond. Nothing else mattered besides the music, the moves.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” Cassian commented, echoing the thoughts you’d had about him.

You shrugged, not misstepping once. “I was forced to take lessons as a girl.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

“Why would you know? It’s not as though we like each other.”

He spun you around. Dipped you in his arms. “And why is that?”

Laughable, that he was the one to ask that question. “You tell me. You never tried.”

“Is that how it went?”

“It is.”

He stared at you, expression unreadable. No other words were exchanged as one dance came to its end, and the music flowed into the next piece. But you didn’t need words to carry out your plan.

The second you caught a glimpse of hopeful, waiting females in your periphery, you pulled Cassian closer to you once more, your bodies flush against each other.

You may have felt a teensy bit ridiculous as you slipped your fingers into the strands of his hair and brushed it out of his face.

“I like your hair like this.” The words were heavy on your tongue. Not untrue, but…painful to say out loud.

Cass stared at you. “…thank you.”

But his thanks was lost in your satisfaction as the awaiting female disappeared from the corner of your eye, skulking off to sulk, no doubt. It was an effort not to smirk. Still, you righted yourself and continued with your plan.

You made certain that yours and Cassian’s bodies met in all the right places. Very close. Very dangerous.

Perfect — because there were still hopeful, simpering females watching. Waiting for you to walk away.

“Dance with me again.” Your breathy tone wasn’t entirely for show — nor was the hand you trailed down his arm for emphasis.

But Cassian frowned at you. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Your eyes glittered. “Nothing at all.”

He kept his gaze on you, following you into your second dance. You could have sworn you saw the slumping of many shoulders as you spun around the floor, Cassian’s hands like a burning brand on your skin.

You weren’t even really paying attention to him, simply following the steps mindlessly, until he spoke again.

“That isn’t how it went.” He said.

Your brow furrowed as you spun around. “What?”

In one swift move, he was pulling you against him, pressing your fronts together. “You said I never tried to know you. I refute that.”

You shrugged. “You treated me with the same contempt as the bastards I ran away from.”

“You treated me like I was dirt beneath your shoe and I didn’t deserve the time of day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. That simply was not true. He had always been cocky, and arrogant, and difficult. He acted as though mud wouldn’t stick to him, as though he could do what he liked, when he liked.

Suddenly, you didn’t want to be dancing with him anymore. Didn’t want his hands on you, simpering females or no.

He could go to hell.

“I never thought you didn’t deserve the time of day.” You contested tersely. “I—”

“I know.” He interrupted. Spun you around again. “I worked it out eventually.”

“Excuse me?”

“What your problem is.” Another dip.

You didn’t like this conversation — it’s direction. It would be easier to run away, to avoid it.

Easier, but cowardly.

“Pray, tell, General, what do you believe my problem is?” You stared at him.

He leaned down, just as the music faded. Poised his lips at your ear. “Jealousy.” He murmured, the word seeming deafeningly loud. “Sometimes the way you look at me makes me think that perhaps you don’t hate me that much.”

You knew your body stiffened between you. And as he pulled back and smirked, you also knew that he knew he’d won.

Whatever it was that glittered in his eyes was…knowledge. Knowing. An understanding. And that couldn’t mean anything good for you.

“Cassian?”

The two of you looked up upon the intrusion, only realising then that the music had stopped, and the dancing with it. A doe-eyed girl stared at the General with bright, sparkling hope in her eyes.

“I was hoping I might have the next dance.” She said.

You didn’t care anymore. You barely spared either of them a glance as you let go of Cassian and pushed out of his arms.

“He’s all yours.” You said.

And then you went to find some fresh air.

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“I’ll be sure to tell Rhys that you spent the evening skulking around on your own whilst I did all the posturing.”

You glanced at Cassian out of the corner of your eye. You weren’t interested in a verbal sparring match right now. The night air was pleasant on your skin, and you allowed it to cool your face, your neck. Allowed it to wash away the tension permanently coiled within your veins, if only for a few stolen moments.

“Go ahead”, was the only reply you offered.

Eyes pierced into you as you bathed yourself in the moonlight. Even with your own shut, you could sense Cassian watching, waiting. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anything beyond vague acknowledgement. Not now.

That seemed to fucking torture him.

“What—no smartass response?” He quipped.

“No, Cassian,” you sighed quietly. “No smartass response.”

He paused — seemed genuinely knocked silent for a moment — before he scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a second. Even in silence, I know you’re up to something. That scheming brain of yours—”

“This scheming brain of mine is exhausted.”

As your eyes flew open, you caught the way he faltered, a slight misstep, the barest ruffling of his wings. For all he was the General of War, the Lord of Bloodshed, you’d also observed him to be a profoundly emotional person. And that emotion sometimes won as he fought to hide it.

This emotion…it was ire. Gone was the sharp-edged teasing. He found issue with your words, and his jaw gave a telltale tick.

“What could you possibly be exhausted by?” he scoffed. “You need only turn up looking like a fucking goddess and people respect you. You’re not some lowly, bastard-born brute. You don’t get sneered at simply for breathing—”

“You believe people respect me?”

“Of course they do!”

“You don’t.”

He stumbled — actually stumbled — and it was only that which alerted you to the way he’d been inching towards you. But his steps faltered, and he gaped at you like your revelation was entirely out of pocket. Like you had no reason to feel that.

“You have never respected me.” You held firm on your point, even if your voice was a tad quieter. “I fled a fucking viper’s den and ran to Rhysand’s court, hoping to find a sense of…of belonging. But you…” A soft, rueful chuckle shuddered out of you. “You have made it your mission to ensure that would not be the case.”

Slowly, Cassian’s brow pinched. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seeming to search for the right words. “That…isn’t how it went…”

“It is,” you shrugged. “You said I treated you like dirt — perhaps, unintentionally, I did. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism, because I never expected to flee absolute hell and come face-to-face with a male that I immediately wanted.”

There they were — the words out in the open. The truth wedged itself between you like a glaring, unmissable sign. You had never hated Cassian. Quite the opposite.

“I thought that I would never want another male in that way again.” You revealed hoarsely. “I thought I would live a life content with just…being me. With friends and nothing more. But that first day I met you, I walked in and I…I knew. I felt it.”

Cassian blinked, slowly shaking his head. “What…”

“And then you were so hostile, and I thought that maybe that was a good thing. That it would discourage me from feeling things. But I must be a fucking glutton for punishment, because no matter how cold you were towards me, my feelings only grew. And I tried…I tried so hard to shift them into hate, but I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to. I simply…can’t.”

The way he stared at you…so hardened, so severe…you couldn’t get a read on the reaction. But then…had you ever really been able to get a read on him?

“You were right…what you said about me being jealous,” you swallowed. “I was. I am—”

“That was…just a joke…I was just being a dick—”

“No,” you shook your head. “You were right. I was jealous in there, and I’m always jealous when people flirt with you. When I see you smile at them and joke with them and I shouldn’t wish it was me but I do. These feelings are constant. And that, Cassian…that is why I am exhausted. It’s exhausting for me to know you.”

Silence.

It should have been a relief, to have finally shifted such heavy feelings from your shoulders. But they were like tangible beings, fogging the air around you, wrapping you and Cassian up in a situation that was complicated and ugly and not at all ideal.

You knew he would do nothing with your feelings…except maybe sneer at them, laugh at them, throw them back in your face. You expected nothing from him. And the longer the silence went on, the more you began to wish that you could steal your confessions back. Shove them deep back into that narrow part of your heart that was still capable, somehow, of feeling such things.

You cleared your throat, tweaking the pretty, delicate gloves that covered your hands and forearms. “We should…head back inside.”

You breezed past him, suddenly desperate for the mindless chaos of the throne room. But you’d only managed a few steps forward before Cassian was gripping onto your arm and yanking you back.

Your dress fanned out as he spun you around, and a breath pushed out of you as he slammed you against the nearest wall, the cold brick biting into the fabric of your dress.

Before you could say anything, he was dipping down, his mouth sliding over yours.

Cassian kissed you deeply, punishingly, his lips moulding to yours perfectly. You gasped against him, and his tongue slid into your mouth to dance with yours, his rough, rugged taste invading you.

You’d thought about this moment a ludicrous amount. You’d imagined what the weight of his lips might be like, how perfectly his tongue might duel with yours. Nothing — no amount of imagining — could prepare you for the reality. The sense of rightness as his hand coasted up to clasp the back of your head, his fingers sinking into your hair. He gave a gentle tug, and you moaned in immediate response.

Air, it seemed, was not important. Not as you kissed him back feverishly, gripping at his shirt in an attempt to pull him as close against you as he could possibly get. The press of his hard body against yours was pleasure in itself. You nipped his lip, desperate for more, more, more, and he groaned in response.

This — this could very well spiral out of control, and you would welcome it. You wanted him to tear your clothes off and take you against this wall. You wanted him to make you feel like he wanted you, like it wasn’t exhausting to know him—

But there was suddenly emptiness and coldness. And it took your mind a moment to catch up and realise that he had pulled away.

Not far. Just enough to stare down at you, his deep hazel eyes flaring and furious. His panting breaths sawed out of him, landing directly on your lips and making you desperate for another taste. You tilted your head up—

He shook his head. Stepped back.

“No,” he murmured, voice gruff. “No. You…you are very bad for me.”

Your entire body turned cold at the words. Words that sliced at you, reminiscent of ones you’d heard before. “What?”

“You’re bad for me,” he repeated. “And I am very bad for you.”

“Cassian—”

“Don’t—don’t even say my name.”

With a swiftness that sent a gust of wind rustling the skirts of your dress, he turned, wings flaring and launching him into the star-speckled sky above you. You gaped at his retreating figure, flying off into the night, leaving you alone not only in that courtyard, but in the fucking Court of Nightmares.

Your mouth had turned dry, your skin cold. You lingered out there long after Cassian had flown off, waiting to see if he would come back. Pathetically hoping he would.

He did not.

And as you conceded, slipping your courtier mask back into place and turning to retreat back inside, his words rang like a deafening klaxon in your head.

You are very bad for me.

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Prologue

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

Y/n’s powers are inspired by Scarlet Witch from Marvel. She is a sorceress living in Vallahan, with her family hailing from the night court. 

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, but nothing particularly graphic

Azriel stood off to the side, quietly observing the cozy scene in the House of Wind's living room. There was Feyre, nestled comfortably on Rhys's lap, her giggles echoing softly as she leaned in to catch his whispered words. In the corner, Amren made an art out of lounging, a smirk playing on her lips as she peered over her wine glass. Cassian had wrapped an arm around Nesta, her head bent together with Gwen and Emerie, engrossed in a lively discussion about their latest read. The ambient buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses filled with Rhys's impressive wine, created a backdrop of contented harmony.

Azriel tried his best to shove aside the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him, watching his brothers and their bliss. He didn't want to feel like just an onlooker, basking in the warmth of their happiness, yet here he was. His mind wandered to Elain, who had opted for an early night. Would her presence have allowed him to drift away from this feeling, to find solace in her gentle smiles and tender gazes? It seemed chasing fae after fae with hearts as bright as the sun was his lot in life. Yearning for a sliver of light in his shadowed existence, a beacon like Elain, or Mor, someone to take him out—that's when he noticed it—his shadows, usually so still, began to stir anxiously around him.

In danger, in danger, they whispered, urgency threading through their murmurs.

In pain. Falling, falling, the ones closest murmured, their voices escalating into a desperate shout.

Springing to his feet, Azriel scanned the room, brushing off the puzzled glances thrown his way. Then, a sharp thud echoed, quickly followed by a cry that cut through the relaxed chatter. In a heartbeat, he was dashing towards the balcony, with Rhys and Cassian hot on his heels, all three propelled by the sudden urgency to uncover the source of the disturbance that had just intruded upon their peaceful evening.

Bursting through the balcony doors, Azriel was met with a scene that defied all expectations. Chaotic runes smeared across the floor in hasty, overlapping strokes forming an intricate magical circle. At its heart lay two figures: a faerie kneeling, her skin so pale it shimmered with almost ethereal light, ebony locks sprawling untidily about her. Her eyes, aglow with an intense crimson, matching the runes surrounding her, pierced through the night. Dark stains marred her robes—wounds, he realized, still seeping blood from her arm and leg. She cradled Mor’s head in her lap, their gazes locking in a moment so profound, that Azriel felt the world around him come to a standstill. He swore he felt his heart stutter, a memory long forgotten trying to urge its way out. Mor, his attention snapped to, was equally pale, her lips tinged a sickly shade of blue.

“What did you do to–” Just as Azriel began, he saw the female look behind him, exclaiming, “Rhys! 

“Y/n?” Rhys ran to her, his hands frantic, unsure of whether to hold her or lean for Mor. 

“Rhys” She began again, her breaths coming out in spurts. She grabbed his hand as he leaned down to hold her, “Poison…she’s been poisoned, needs tonic–”

Barely finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, Rhys’s hands halting her from hitting the floor. 

“Call for Madja” Rhy yelled. “Mor’s been poisoned and perhaps Y/n as well.”

Before Azriel could react, Cassian stepped up, carefully lifting Mor, while Rhys carried Y/n, both moving swiftly back into the sanctuary of the house.

They found a bedroom with two twin beds, laying one on each. 

Madja, a whirlwind of expertise, raced around both, focusing her skills on stabilizing Mor's precarious state. Meanwhile, Rhys was tasked with a grim duty, pressing down on Y/n's wounds, which despite the salves and a plethora of cloths, continued bleeding relentlessly.

"It's the runes," Amren interjected, her voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. All eyes, save for Madja's, who momentarily lessened the fervor of her tonic mixing, turned to her.

"She utilized ancient magic," Amren stated, her declaration hanging in the air, dense with implications, yet devoid of further explanation, prompting Rhys to press for clarity.

"And that means?" 

The urgency lacing Rhys's voice caught Azriel off-guard. Who was this female, who seemed so familiar and why was she so important to Rhys? He felt a spark of anger at the way Rhys held her, despite knowing Rhys's heart belonged to Feyre.

"It means she offered her blood as a sacrifice. Likely to transport herself and Mor here. Inspect Mor for runes," Amren directed without pause.

Before Amren's words could fully settle, Madja cut through the sleeves of Mor’s dress, revealing an arm ensnared by crimson runes, mirroring those that marred the balcony. 

It was then that Azriel's senses sharpened, recognizing the scent that pervaded the air—a metallic tang he had initially overlooked in the chaos. Blood. Those runes, those symbols, all wrought from blood. Recollections of the massive circles they had traversed to enter this scene played back in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. It was reflected in Feyre's gasp as she rushed to aid Y/n, while Rhys was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

The room, already tense with fear and uncertainty, was engulfed in a silent horror as Madja's voice, though trembling, broke through the silence. "She's correct. The blood serves as an anchor for Morrigan's soul. The runes must bind Morrigan to..."

"Y/n's," Rhys provided, his voice steady in the thick silence.

"Yes, to Y/n's very essence," Madja concluded. "This means Y/n will continue to suffer, to bleed, until Morrigan shows signs of recovery. In exchange.”

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of Madja grinding her herbs, as the gravity of their situation unfolded.

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Author's note: Hi everyone! I’ve been a lurker in the acotar fandom for ages, this is my first time writing, so do let me know what you think. I'm not totally sure how far I want to take this series, but I do have longer chapters planned ahead.

[elainemg97]

🌸Elriel Month Day 14: Choice 🌸

For this prompt, I drew Elain and Azriel finally giving in to desires in Vallahan. I have a theory that Elain will be invited to go with Mor to Vallahan to try to convince the King and Queen of Vallahan to sign the peace treaty. As a “former human” emissary, Elain would be the perfect person to go on behalf of the humans, especially since she’s lived in wealth and poverty.

Azriel, as the spymaster, could potentially go as well. As it is on the continent, it would be useful to spy on the neighboring kingdoms and learn more about Koschei’s movements.

Feyre states that Rhys and her Daemati powers don’t work across the sea. So, I believe it is a perfect place to establish a forbidden relationship, away from their daily responsibilities and “real life.”

My headcanon would be Elain and Azriel sneaking into each other’s rooms at night to be together.

For the background, I drew snow-covered mountains as Vallahan is a cold kingdom. I also drew the castle made of stone and put medieval-style chandeliers. Finally, I included a fur blanket because I felt like it matched well.

Hope you guys like it! 🥰

[violetasteracademic]

I just finished cc3 and I’m worried the next book will be about nesta. Why do you think the next book is still about elain?

Hello my darling anon! Congrats on finishing CC3, you have sent this to a rare bird in the wild who actually enjoyed the hell out of it despite the flaws. So I hope you had a good time!

I'm a bit nervous to show you guys this side of me. Well, I suppose I've been showing it, but to compile it in such a way is quite another ordeal. That being said, I have toooons of links and resources to share why, for me personally, it is so clear that Nesta's story is *not* over, and Elain's book is undoubtedly next. Both of these things are true, but it has everything to do with the direction of the multiverse, which is very tightly woven, and *not* ACOTAR 5/6, which has been in the works for near a decade. Save this. Come back to it. Take your time working through it. I'm giving you everything, anon!

We have two parts at play: ACOTAR and the new series, which I have no doubt in my mind is Twilight of the Gods (more on that later) so lets start with facts before we move on to theory.

I am positive Elain's book is next because Sarah's messaging has remained 100% consistent since signing on the ACOTOR spinoffs in 2016. Moving forward from ACOWAR, she wrote ACOFAS as a novella to "bridge the gap" between ACOWAR and the spinoffs, and set up the future of ACOTAR. That was completely true for ACOSF, where everything that was set up has come to pass or been expanded on so far. The introduction of the Blood Rite, Nesta's mental health struggles, Morrigan being assigned to Vallahan, and the continued escalation of Elain's relationship with Azriel and Lucien's with the Band of Exiles. We meet Emerie, we learn more about the struggles of the patriarchy in Illyria, so on and so forth.

Then, we have ACOSF. The first dual POV romance of ACOTAR. This was only the beginning of a long term plan of dual POV romances coming to fruition. Here is youtube video from early on in the process describing the spinoffs as standalones that feature a different romantic pairing each book, but form a backbone when united.

By 2020, after ACOSF was announced, Sarah reiterated again that the new spinoff series features a new couple each book, with their own miniature plot and romance resolving within the overarching story of ACOTAR. Here she also shares that she plans to write a *lot* more than what she is contracted for, and has a ton of different ships to choose from. You can watch that here.

And now we move to 2021, after ACOSF was released, and Sarah confirms she always planned to write a book about Elain here.

This is actually a great interview and one of my favorites. You can watch the whole thing here. Eva Chen is a real one.

As far as ACOTAR goes, Sarah has continued to confirm in multiple interviews that her initial plans regarding the spinoffs have not changed, and still largely follow that initial outline she pitched back in 2016. And it was always going to be Nesta and Elain.

I will reiterate, ACOTAR is its own series with its own structure. Every ACOTAR book will feature a new couple with their own romance story. ACOTAR will continue to be exclusively a romance series from here on out. A lot of people speculate a lot of things on the future of ACOTAR. That we'll get a big finale with a multi-pov, that the story will end after Koschei, that we'll have a Kingdom of Ash style book. None of this is true. Sarah is going to keep contracting ACOTAR books until she runs out of couples. If you think this sounds odd, keep in mind that SJM herself is a fan of and grew up on Nalini Singh, who has series that started in 2006/2009 and are still going, featuring a new couple each book:

So, this is not strange behavior for the genre, and I think SJM is excited to have an ongoing fantasy romance series like this. And I'm excited for us to read it!

So, no KoA multi-pov finale. No second Nesta book. ACOTAR is an ongoing romance series with an "unspecified number of books remaining."

Okay! Now let's talk about Nesta! Bone Carver voice: Nestaaaaaaa

I'm going to do something just for you, Anon. And whoever catches this in the next week or so. I left titkok as far as booktok/content making and whatnot and privatized all my videos with my face on them (for a variety of reasons. Some fandom/bullying related, some not) but I did a massive breakdown of SJM's publishing contracts and all of the lore for Twilight of the Gods build up. I did get some of my screenshots from other Tumblr accounts, and linked my sources in the caption! Give this a watch (it's long) and pop back over.

Obviously if you spend some time in the comments section, mostly the questions at large are regarding timeline. I'm happy to chat theory, but focusing on Nesta, it is incredibly important and specific that she had her role in CC3 and that she connected The Valkyrie to Midgard, aka Middle Earth in Norse mythology which is where Twilight of the Gods, aka Ragnarok takes place. We have seen Midgard, Hel, and I have no doubt we will see Asgard.

But take a look at the difference between Nesta and Azriel's journey in CC3. Nesta had a deep emotional arc with Bryce. She developed trust and a relationship with her that Azriel didn't. In the HoFaS bonus chapter, Nesta forged a bond and a relationship with Bryce's mom, Ember. Nesta and Bryce's development is what is important here: Nesta has now created the bridge between the Valkyrie and Midgard. Valkyrie are the chosen fighters of Odin in Twilight of the Gods- the war at Ragnarok.

Twilight of the Gods is coming, fam. Crescent City three also revealed that The Mother, Urd, and Wyrd are all the same entity. The Goddess of all creation and fate. She oversees all worlds, and another important but oft overlooked element in the CC3 crossover is the frequency of the conversations about the Gods:

So yes, Nesta still has a huge arc coming up baby! She is not done. No one is done. But the Valkyrie are gearing up to play a major role in TotG, not the next ACOTAR. I believe this also grounds the continuation of the tension between Nesta and Rhys, and these two powers at odds when it comes to making decisions. Rhys will protect Prythian first. Nesta is building the bridges to other worlds, and is willing to fight alongside them. Rhys has no relationship with Bryce and Midgard. Nesta does. And lets not forget the Pegasi!

CC3 was not about Nesta. It was about Bryce and Nesta. Giving the Starsword back to Nesta is simply because that is who Bryce had a relationship with, and will continue to have a relationship with in the multiverse, not because Nesta is getting another book. Honestly- who else was she supposed to give the sword, Mask, and Truth-Teller back to? Twilight of the Gods will feature characters from all worlds. Sarah confirmed it will be emotional to write because of the old faces we'll see pop up in her Today Show interview here. This interview was thoroughly structured and planned, and released on the same day as HoFaS.

Speaking of the Starsword, let's talk Azriel and his role in CC3. Azriel is now the only person we have seen carry both the Starsword (likely Gwydion from here on out) and Truth-Teller. Light and dark. The power that combined to unleash the magic on Avallen, otherwise known as the Prison/Dusk Court in Prythian. Nesta has her own sword, Ataraxia. We have not seen Nesta touch, wield, or use Gwydion. Only Azriel has.

There is only one other character at home in Prythian who has also wielded and used the full power of one half of that pair of weapons: Elain.

Nesta used Truth-Teller to cut off the kings head, yes, but Elain used Truth-Teller to travel through the shadows across a battlefield with no experience and no training. She held that blade, and it worked to her will, tapping into its magic.

Azriel also learned about the corruption of the Cauldron. This was his primary experience in the crossover- discovering that the Asteri, who force mates and curate bloodlines to create powerful offspring which they then churn through a soul meat grinder for food warped the Cauldron to enact their will. Azriel did not form a relationship with Bryce, or Ember, or form any sort of additional connections to Midgard the way Nesta did. His part of the story revealed the problems at home. His (likely) love interest is the only person who has used his blade there, while Azriel is the only person who has used Gwydion. Bryce notes that Azriel must have some Starborn blood in him. Silene confirms that the Dusk Court can only be nurtured and looked after by Starborn heirs.

So while Nesta's compass in the crossover pointed to Midgard and her developing relationship with Bryce, as well as her clear willingness to work with her, Azriel's compass pointed home. It pointed to his lineage, to the corrupted Cauldron, to being one half of Gwydion and Truth-Teller combining, the Dusk Court. All of which points us to...

Yup. Elain.

If this STILL isn't enough for you, I have made a few additional posts regarding The Glass Coffin (aka Sleeping Beauty, which Bryce plays for Azriel in the HoFaS bonus chapter) and some, but not all of the little Elain coded details in HoFaS. You can find those posts here and here.

I could keep going forever. I can reiterate that there was not one but two ACOSF bonus chapters, and both were about Elain. I can talk about about the fact that SJM always planned to write a book about each sister, and ACOFAS was about- duh- each sister. But this is already so long and full of so many links and resources. The wrap up is this- ACOTAR is now an ongoing dual POV romance series. Until she tells us that is no longer true, it is true. A new couple each book. Nesta and the Valkyrie are key players in Twilight of the Gods. Sarah confirmed she was writing Crescent City and Twilight of the Gods at the same time. The multiverse is happening, and it just takes a little bit of exploration to understand where the characters are likely headed.

I'll end on this note. Azriel and Elain are light and dark. This belongs to them. The bridge of connection between them- Truth-Teller:

Now look at how the combination of the Starsword and Truth-Teller is described in HoFaS, and tell me if it looks familiar to you:

And now alllll together again, fam! Who are the only two characters who have properly wielded and/or tapped into the power of the Starsword and Truth-Teller in Prythian?

Azriel and Elain.

I think that's everything. I hope this comforts you. I genuinely don't ever feel worried or confused. It is all so clear to me how Sarah wove this together, and I think it's absolutely brilliant. Eep! I just get so excited! So take a little bit of my excitement and release the fear. Half of the people making content on this blatantly hate one half of the next book and they willfully ignore that she has had one of the most beautiful, breathtaking, well foreshadowed and woven storylines in the history of SJM's writing. Of course that is only my opinion, but honestly, how could you NOT be impressed and excited?!

I can't wait. I just can't heckin' wait.

If you got through all of this, wow. You're the real MVP.

[azrielwingspan]

THE CHOICES WE MAKE (AZRIEL X READER)

Summary : An unexpected turn of events puts Azriel and you to the test.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of kissing, fluff if you squint.

(The River House, Velaris)

"The Book of Breathings sets us a few steps ahead of our enemies. Do you understand the extent of magic the book contains? The power that could be wielded?" Amren says, eyes widening with astonishment and wonder.

"In the wrong hands...it could be the end of everything." Nesta fixes her gaze upon Amren, eyes stalking her like a predator. "It should be locked away."

"I'm sure we can find ways to utilise it and keep it a secret. None of us in this room will ever speak of it." you say firmly, casting a look at everyone in the room. The inner circle had gathered in the River House for a meeting. A meeting which had turned too dark too fast.

"Nesta is right." Rhys spoke up, surprise flickering through you at his agreement. You couldn't remember the last time the both of them had agreed on something. "It's too big of a risk to use it. Even if we do, the magic is so strong, someone will track it to us."

"Someone is always going to be looking for it though. Keeping it within our court is a risk in itself." Feyre adds and you agree with her. Azriel and Cassian had already voiced their opinions earlier. They'd suggested locking it away in the court of nightmares under a ward of spells.

"A show of hands then." Mor sighs. "All for using the book?"

You, Feyre and Amren are the only ones to raise up your hands. Letting out an irritated sigh, you drop your hand as Mor takes the book to be locked away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Later in your room)

Strong hands wrap around your waist from behind, a warm body pressed against yours. Letting his scent invade your senses, you relax your tense body allowing yourself to find comfort in his presence.

"Still annoyed?" Azriels voice rumbles through his chest. Not bothering to respond, you let your thoughts drift once more. A defeated exhale slips out his mouth as he drops his head to your shoulder.

"It's for the good Y/N." he mumbles against your skin, lips dropping a soft kiss.

"The good of whom Azriel?" you say calmly, your voice quite flat. "The good of whom, tell me? The good for the people or for us? Us...the people who are meant to protect and help those around."

You turn around in his grasp, placing your hands on his forearms for stability. "We have the power to help people. We have the power to change lives. Yet we choose to lock it away like an artifact?"

Azriel looked down at you warily as a strange look appeared in your eyes. He had never seen you this worked up before, it was quite disconcerting. "Don't we deserve happiness and peace as well, Y/N? Don't we deserve a break? There are other ways to help."

Cupping your face in his hands, he leaned down to touch his forehead to yours. "I want to spend my life with you without having to look over my shoulder for threats. I want to wake up to you by my side. Not in a war camp. In a home. OUR. HOME. Is that too much to ask for?"

Guilt smashed through your irritation, giving you a whiplash. He was right. Of course he was. The hope in his eyes snuffed out the remaining bits of anger that had accumulated over the past few hours. He was standing so still, waiting for a reaction, a reply, anything to indicate your agreement. Placing a peck on his lips, you mumbled "I got carried away, sorry."

"Don't apologize. You weren't wrong either. It shows how much you care and that's what I love about you." Azriel responds, going in for a longer kiss. You wrap your hands around his neck as he takes his time to ravish your lips.

The both of you had gotten together three years ago , a few months after you met at a council meeting in Vallahan. He was everything you had hoped for and more. You weren't mates but you were hoping that the bond would click into place one day.

"I love you..." you breathe onto his lips earning a beautiful grin from him.

"Let me show you how much I love you." you yelp as he lifts you off of your feet and carries you towards the bed, his laughter music to your ears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Vallahan council chambers)

"The situation at the borders is getting out of hand, my lady. We've sent one unit to monitor, but nothing has been reported so far." councilman Freda states.

A headache starts to set in and you rub your temples to ease the pain. “I’d say it’s progressing too fast , wouldn’t you councilman ?”

“Uh yes …my Lady. I guess we could say that.” He shuffles.

“Then kindly tell me why we haven’t relocated the people. I’ve given the orders last month. Do we have a problem ?” your voice rose in intensity along with you anger.

“N-No my lady we…” he took in a deep breath before explaining “the people of the other towns and cities won’t accept them because they think the border fae are cursed due to the recent …situation.”

“So they’ve decided amongst themselves that it’s a curse then ?” your mind starts sprinting thinking of different solutions and possibilities.

“If I may say so my lady, I do think it’s a curse. A spell of some sorts.” Your attention snapped back to focus upon hearing his words.

“Explain.”

“There have been rumours of a death lord…Koschei living on Prythian. They say that he might have been the one to place the spell.”

“Who is this ‘they’ ?”

“Me and a few other councilmen , my lady.” He has the decency to look a bit apologetic but you knew it was a good possibility.

“Hmm… I’ll go pay a visit tomorrow. The last time I went it was just starting to breach the forest line.”

Councilman Freda steps forward in surprise “ I do not think it is such a wise idea. It’s quite dangerous…”

“There are people living there everyday. I’m sure I’ll be fine for a couple of hours. Thankyou for your time.” Understanding the dismissal , the councilman simply nodded and left .

——————————————————————————

(At the border village of Vallahan)

“I’m glad you asked me to come along.” Azriel said casting a cautious glance at the black rot that had taken root. “I can feel the magic permeating the air. This is dangerous magic Y/N. I don’t want you near it.”

“I need to find a solution in the new two days Az. This is spreading faster than I had expected it to.” You hands trembled at the sight before you , but clenching them into fists you forced yourself to push the fear down. Now was not the time.

“I’ll speak to Rhys. See if there’s anything he can do about this.” Turning to face you, he let you see the nervousness in his eyes “There’s a bog in Prythian ..that dark creatures have made their home. I get the same feeling here…it’s far too sinister.”

The fear in his eyes and the warning in his tone made a shudder rush through you. The shadow singer of the night court was scared. Azriel was never scared and yet here right now, he was almost terrified.

Letting out a shaky exhale, you intertwined your hand with his leading him away from the rot.

——————————————————————————

(Your chambers in Vallahan)

“Azriel wasn’t exaggerating. It is dangerously similar to Koscheis magic.” Rhys stated , running a hand over his face.

“What do you suggest I do ?” You ask twirling the glass of wine in your hands.

“I can ask Helion for a spell that could keep the curse at bay for sometime but it’ll only be a temporary solution.”

“For how long ? I need to fix it before it gets worse Rhys.”

“I know I know. Atleast we can give ourselves more time to think.”

You did think. You’d spent the last two sleepless nights thinking and worrying and planning. You had an idea but weren’t sure if Rhys would be happy with it. Nevertheless , you finally decided to bring it up.

Leaning forward in your chair you blurted out “What about the book of breathings ? Do you think—“

“I know what you’re going to say. Yes I’ve thought about it but I think it should be the last option.” he said firmly , maintaining eye contact with you , challenging you to say something against him.

You held back a scoff and shook your head in disapproval. “It’s getting a bit tiring don’t you think Rhysand? Having the solution and yet not willing to recognise it?”

“Enough.” The high lord of the night court commanded , standing up from his seat. “We’ve had this conversation before. You know why. Get some sleep Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alone in your chambers, you let the silence engulf you, the sound of blood rushing through your ears fill your head.

——————————————————————————

(The River House, Velaris)

“It’s Koschei. No doubt.” Nesta stated flatly, her eyes burning in anger. Rhys and Cassian had taken her to the Vallahan village earlier to confirm their suspicions.

“I can feel the darkness and the depth of the magic. It feels cold and…like death.”

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his shadows moving agitatedly around him. The last few days had been tough on him as well. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fear and the worry in your face. Couldn’t stop the guilt and disgust that enveloped him when he realised how useless he was in the situation.

“It’s a trap for sure.” Nesta continued “he knows we have the Book. I don’t know how , but he knows.”

Rhys hummed in agreement while Cassians face morphed into that of the General of the Night Court. He was already planning, strategising.

“So if we were to use the book to find a spell, he would track it down immediately.” Cassian confirmed.

“Yes. He knows it’s with us but he wants to lure it out. Somewhere far from us. Somewhere he can overpower us. Somewhere where we don’t have the upper hand.” A flicker of anger lit in Rhysands eyes.

“We should tell Y/N.” Azriel spoke up.

“No.” Rhys and Nesta spoke at the same time, Azriel looking at them in shock.

“What do you mean no? It’s her territory. She deserves to know.”

“Az…she’s been acting strange lately.” Rhys said steadily trying not to anger the shadow singer. “It might be the stress but it’s a huge risk to our court and Prythian.”

“She’s OUR FRIEND. Someone we can TRUST.” The coldness in Azriels voice made Cass step forward in reflex.

“Easy, Az.” Cass muttered softly.

“She wants to save her people.” Az ignored Cassian.

“And we have to save ours.” Nesta said firmly. The words felt like a cold shower to Azriel. He finally realised the position he was in.

Help his court or the woman he loves?

PART-2 COMING SOON.

Tag: @lilah-asteria @anuttellaa

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

The Princess & the Spy

Warnings: angst, death

A/N: Hello everyone, I’m back! It’s been a couple of years. I wrote this at 3 a.m, so bare with me.

Summary: Y/n is the princess of Vallahan. Her father joins the king of Hybern during the war and Azriel is sent there to spy. He meets y/n and uses her for information. When she finds out, she’s angry, heartbroken and decides to join the war with her father.

Word count: 1.58K

In recent days, escalating tension caused by the inevitable war the king of Hybern planned against the mortal realm spread. The king of Vallahan was rumored to have aligned with Hybern. Despite the growing support for this alliance within Vallahan, princess Y/n remained against it. She actively tried to swat her father but to no avail. Reluctantly, she attended the war strategy meetings at her father’s behest, though she always sought a means to evade them. One night, as she slipped away from yet another meeting, she encountered a mysterious figure lurking in the shadows. As she moved closer, she was met with a handsome male, who was taken aback the minute she laid eyes on him.

“Are you new here? I have never seen you before” she inquired, her lips curving into a tentative smile.

“I- I am… kind of” the male stammered.

“I rarely have the opportunity to meet new people. I’m Y/n” she introduced herself, extending her hand.

“Your highness” he bowed respectfully “I’m Azriel”.

“I see you’ve heard of me. I had hoped otherwise” Y/n remarked, a tinge of disappointment in her tone.

“Of course, you are the princess of Vallahan. Why is it that you don’t want to be recognized?” Azriel inquired with genuine curiosity.

Y/n sighed softly “Because the moment people find out who I am, they start treating me with formality and- and distance”.

“I see” a gentle smile appeared on his face “May I ask a favor of you?”

“Depends”.

“If you keep our encounter a secret, I promise to return and engage with you on a more casual level” he offered.

“Alright. Your secret is safe with me” her eyes sparked with excitement, but little did she know that her trust just made Azriel’s mission a lot easier.

As days and weeks passed, Azriel would come and start a conversation with her , gradually coaxing Y/n to confide in him about the war discussions she detested attending. Unbeknownst to her, she began to harbor feelings for him, while Azriel, in turn, found himself unexpectedly drawn to her. However, their affection took a tragic turn one night when Y/n failed to appear at their customary location. Concerned for her well-being, Azriel , being a shadowsinger, inquired about her whereabouts and teleported to her chambers, only to find her in tears.

“Y/n?” He spoke softly.

“A-Az?” she was startled by his sudden presence.

“What’s wrong?” seeing tears in her eyes, made him feel something he didn’t wish to.

“How did you get in here?” She quickly wiped away her tears.

“That’s not important right now. Who hurt you?” He asked, stepping closer with concern.

“No one. It’s just… I am a fool. I thought that somehow my father would not join this war. Despite knowing his nature, I had little hope. I just- I don’t understand. I’m just tired and I don’t wish to talk about this today” she rubbed her face wearily.

“It’s alright. You are not a fool. You simply see the best in everyone” he hesitated before sitting at the corner of her bed.

“And look where that got me”.

Unsure if he should proceed, knowing that he’s also not as good as she thinks he, he decided to speak up “Y/n, there’s something I need to tell you”.

She turned to face him, curiosity all over her face “what is it?”.

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you?”.

She chuckled softly “You know I can’t. I have a responsibility towards my people”.

“But with the war looming, doesn’t that change things?” He hoped she’d agre, that she’d be out of harm’s way when the war started. When they had to fight her father, her people. He had hoped that he’d be able to protect her, to spare her, but deep down he knew. He knew that was not going to happen, especially since he’s been lying to her, manipulating and deceiving her all this time, she’d never accept once she found out the truth.

“There was a time when I wanted to run away, to go very far away and never look back. To be free, but I cannot, Az” she responded.

“Please” he pleaded.

“Why do I sense there’s something you’re not telling me? Why the sudden talk about leaving?” she moved closer, placing her hands atop his.

He took a deep breath before speaking again “because I’m leaving tonight. I’m returning home-“.

“Well, you can always come back” she interrupted.

“No, you don’t understand. My home is not here, it’s far away and I won’t be returning, at least not in the same manner” he clarified.

“Not in the same manner? Az, you’re not making any sense. If your home is far away, why were you here?” She withdrew her hands, but he held onto hers.

“I am sorry for what I am about to tell you and know that I truly am sorry for everything. It was not supposed to end like this. I initially came here to spy on your father and report back to my high lord. When you caught me and I realized who you are, I saw an opportunity and I took it. I know it was wrong, and I apologize. If I could take it all back, I would, but I can’t. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but you deserve the truth. When the war starts, we’ll find ourselves on opposite sides and I- I wanted to get you out of here. You’re not like th-“.

“Do not finish that sentence” she shook her head, trying to hold the tears from falling “I was a fool. I should’ve known. You- you… All this time I’ve been working for the enemy without knowing it, how am I supposed to face my people now? Get out! I never want to see you again” she declared, feeling something inside her fracture.

“Y/n, please. I-“.

“Leave. NOW! I don’t want to hear anything that comes out of your mouth. Leave before I call the guards” she shut her eyes, not knowing what she was hoping for: for him to stay or for him to do as she says and leave forever.

He was about to say something, but seeing how much pain he had caused her, he chose to comply. When she reopened her eyes, he had vanished, as though he had never been there. All the memories, the joy he had brought her, it was all a lie. Her heart broke into a million tiny little pieces that night. He left her the night she needed him the most. That night made her choice to join the war easier.

—-

On the battlefield she had hoped to encounter him. She didn’t know the extent of his power, she had only heard rumors about what he could do in the past two days. Yet, today, she decided she’s going to fight him. From a distance, she could spot two warriors that were distinct from the rest, and she knew one of them was Azriel. She fought her way to him and the minute she reached him, her heart sank. She still loved him, but she couldn’t back down now. She owed her people for what she had done. All that blood was on her hand. She gave him all the information he needed to attack and slaughter them. Even if she can’t defeat him, she’ll at least die with her people. As she reached him, he froze as his eyes met her. Azriel always knew what to do, but at the moment he was lost and he was afraid. She saw his hesitation and took that to her advantage and attacked him. He easily blocked her attack, but she kept swinging her sword at him. He kept in a defensive position, not wanting to hurt her by mistake, he has already done enough damage. Y/n was getting frustrated, trying harder and harder to land a blow on Azriel, determined to defeat him. He moved with precision, effortlessly blocking each blow she aimed at him, his movements a silent plea for her to stand down, but she would not yield, her determination fueled by rage and hurt. That rage was controlling her, blinding her, making her vulnerable. With a swift motion, Azriel disarmed her, his blade halting just short of her chest as he held her at bay “this doesn’t have to end this way” he urged, barely able to speak, his heart aching at the sight of what she had become. In that instant, she realized she could never defeat him or erase him from her heart. He had won twice, and she refused to let him win again. With that, she knew the only way out…she moved forward, letting the blade pierce her heart.

“NO!” Azriel screamed, retracting the blade immediately. Blood filled her lungs and covered her chest. As she began to fall, he caught her, his hands soaked with her blood “why would you do that?” He whispered, cradling her in his arms.

“It was the only way. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop loving you. I couldn’t let you win” she caressed his cheek.

“Stay with me” he pleaded, holding her tighter.

“It’s alright. I-I for-give-you” she uttered with her dying breath, her hand slipping from his face.

“I’m sorry” he repeated, bringing her lifeless body closer to his chest, his forehead resting against hers

[elrielffs]

Things I’m excited for in Elriel’s book that is not about Elriel:

all Elain’s thoughts and feelings and her pov. SJM has kept her in the basement and I’m just so excited to see the inner depths.

same vein—I want to hear Elain’s thought process about gardening, sorta similar to how Feyre talks about painting.

Elain cooking!

what it was actually like for her to go into the cauldron—Elain was the first to be put in and had no idea what would happen

Elain’s powers—-how they manifest, what they can do—I really hope it goes the creepy route.

the Troves! Which one will Elain utilize?

Nuala and Cerridwen — I really want to know the friendship between the 3 and more about the twins themselves

Elain being trained as a spy and watching her work that element!!

same vein—spying requires traveling to other courts so we might be seeing other courts or Vallahan! Interested in how fae are outside of the Courts.

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain scenes! Them having fun and still repairing their relationships to each other

Nyx and his parents and aunties!

how Elain will conquer her mountain aka The Prison

Azriel learning more about Truth Teller and his heritage

seeing Azriel’s mom and cute mother son scenes!!

Azriel singing! Does he only sing when he’s alone? When he feels something? What does he sing?

more about Koschei and his plot. He’s a very vague threat atm and I would like to a little bit more about what’s going on with the whole thing cause it feels tacked on at this point

Will there be more crossover?? ( I lowkey hope not but I think it would be interesting to have Elain and Azriel go to Lunathion than the other way around)

These are all off the top of my head and I know nothing is concrete, just things I would reallllllly like to see.

[comeonladiesitstime2yearn]

The setting possibilities for an Elucien book get me so excited because there are SO MANY.

Obviously the Night Court, most likely in the beginning at least

The Human Lands, helping Jurian and Vassa and a possible Graysen confrontation

Spring Court, where Lucien is currently stationed to keep Tamlin in check

Autumn Court, possibly on a rescue mission for LOA or getting caught up in Eris' shenanigans

The Continent, traveling to Koschei's lake, possibly stopping in Rask, Vallahan, Montesere (v interested into what the Fae are like there and how they differ from Prythian)

Day Court, the only court we have never had a POV from someone physically in it, maybe to study Elain's abilities and learn of Lucien's heritage

It's giving Poptropica like where we droppin boys

[eudociaocdump]

Okay I have been devouring everything I can on Eris Vanserra because I love him and here is the result of my time spent thinking of his relationship with my oc Vallahan. I try to write her in a way that she could look however the reader would imagine, and I have avoided discussing her family for the same reason. Despite this, she does have motivations, desires, fears, and plans for her life.

I think my headcannons for Eris are common: he is incredibly reserved and endlessly patient. He would do anything for his family, but he is very specific in his actions. The only reason Beron is alive is because of the pieces that need taken out at the same time Beron dies. Eris can't go off and kill him because there are guards on his mother at all times, and Beron has loyalty from powerful Autumn Court head soldiers (who will be named later).

So he is waiting and gathering loyaltily of his own and trying to fit in this new piece: his wife. This female that used to be human, who faces down his father, his brothers, the depth of the Autumnal forest. She slips on a mask of the pretty quiet fearful wife then sneaks out to train with Ghirdelli. She is learning as much about the courts as she can, asking Eris questions, challenging him. They are bettering each other in small ways that make deep impacts.

Vallahan wants to trust someone. She wants to understand and be understood on a level that she has never had access to. As a human, as a fey (until her and Eris truly trust one another), her mind runs faster than anyone else. She loves finding patterns, which is partly why Eris pulls her in so much. He dances. It is a pattern of lies and manipulations he has been playing for years and she picks up on it so quick. He picks up in her. He sees how badly she wants to chase and be chased. How thoroughly the forest calls to her with its depths of knowledge in its roots.

[bright-side20]

Idk why , but I've always had a headcanon that Valhalla has a Crown Prince who will be down so bad for Elain when she tries to convince the King and Queen of Vallahan to sign the peace treaty. He'll end up asking her to marry him during a ball in Hewn City. Rhysand won't say anything because, well, politics, and Azriel will be madly jealous. Kind of parallel with Nesta’s scene.

[shadowdaddies]

Ouu, wb Amren x a reader who speaks a different language and very little Prythian(idk, whatever they speak) and struggles trying to get across what she wants from Amren(in bed) but eventually they work it out and it's all smutty 🤭😏

I love your mind omg

Foreign Tongues

Amren x f!Reader

warnings: laborious faerie political ramblings above the cut, smut below the cut, breath play, slight blood play? (it is Amren, after all), tribbing, oral f!receiving

The moon had risen high in the night sky by the time Rhysand decided to call the meeting to an end. Your eyesight was blurred, vision struggling to stay focused on the heavy texts you’d pored over for the better part of the day. 

You’d been in the Night Court for several days now, working officially on behalf of Vallahan to discuss trade relations, but your king and queen did not know of the spy in their midst. 

When Morrigan had come to Vallahan to seek aid in the war against Hybern, you’d seen both the cruelty of your people towards humans, and your own opportunity to give Prythian the advantage to leverage an agreement that banned slavery from your lands.

The issue laid in your lack of time - you were only given four days in Prythian to devise a plan with the right amount of leverage to achieve both countries’ goals - and the language barrier. Vallahan had spent so long secluded from negotiations with the other territories that the dialect had changed greatly, and you knew little of Prythian’s language as well.

Mor spoke enough of each tongue to work as translator, allowing you to work with her and Rhysand - along with Rhys’s second in command, Amren - in your research and deliberations. 

From the moment Amren had introduced herself, steely silver gaze meeting yours with an unwavering confidence, you desired her. Her low, smooth voice as foreign words rolled off her tongue and the intelligence with which she quickly picked up on your language was as arousing as the glances she would flash in your direction when she thought you weren’t looking, the slight flush of her skin when you would notice.

It was as Rhys nodded to you in farewell, Mor standing to follow him toward the door that you caught one of those looks - but this time, Amren didn’t look away. Instead, her eyes seemed to glow like molten silver, bottom lip tugging between her teeth as her scent of black cherry and merlot grew darker.

It was your skin that grew flush this time, eyes darkening at the silent understanding that passed between the two of you. Looking over your shoulder, you realized that Rhys and Mor had already left, and the air grew thick with tension as Amren stood from her seat across the table, hands spreading on the wooden surface as she leaned closer.

As though a magnetic force were drawing you to her, you matched her movement, mere inches separating your mingled breaths. A delicate finger tucked underneath your chin, dragging slowly up to run over your lower lip as her brow arched in question. 

“Yes?” she asked in your language, eyes searching eagerly for permission, the leash on her restraint growing taut. 

“Yes.”

No sooner had your broken attempt at her language left your lips than she swallowed the sound with her mouth, hand moving to your jaw in a firm grip as she slipped her tongue through your lips. 

A lewd moan escaped you as she caressed the roof of your mouth, your lips sucking on her tongue in response as you pulled away to see her wild expression. “Here,” she murmured, pointing to her side of the table before urging you to crawl over the furniture towards her.

Perching on the edge of the table, your hands found purchase in her silky black hair, legs winding around her trim waist to pull her as close as possible. Soft hands slid up your thighs, squeezing the flesh of your ass as Amren’s head dipped to your neck.

A harsh bite pierced the flesh there, her tongue flicking out against the quickly-healing wound as she sucked hard enough to mark you as her own. Teeth and tongue taunted your skin in a symphony of pain and pleasure as she worked her way further down your body.

Fingers softly trailed from your ass, tracing light patterns up your body to draw sharp nails down your sternum, around your breasts to rest at the top of your pants. Lips left your skin when you tugged on Amren’s hair, her gaze lifting to yours in question once more as she snapped the waistband of the fabric.

You couldn’t have found words of any language in that moment, breath catching in your lungs as your need grew into a frenzy. You granted her a frantic nod, your own hands fumbling with the fabric of her top as you hastily undressed each other.

Eyes roved hungrily over your body for a brief moment before you wrapped your legs around her waist once more, one of your legs dropping to the ground so you could lean against the table’s edge. 

Amren’s lips found yours once more, the kiss tantalizingly slow as your hand dipped to her thigh, hoisting it over your hip to pull her body fully against yours. A high-pitched whine left her lips as you wound your hips against her own, the crack in her smooth facade making you smile.

Her clit rubbed against your own, nails raking down your back while you twisted and thrust against her. You were coated in each others’ slick, sticky warmth making a mess over your bundle of nerves as you chased your high. 

Amren’s small hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently as your eyes rolled back at the pleasure. The coil in your stomach began to tighten, legs shaking in attempt to hold yourself upright. 

Just as you felt the pleasure begin to crest, Amren pulled back, hand keeping you in place against the table as her fingers dipped into your folds. Lifting the digits against her lips, pink tongue flicked out, a wicked smirk spreading across her face at your low moan.

She never released her hold that gently pinned you to the wood as she dipped her hand between her own thighs, collecting the slick there before pressing those same fingers to your lips.

You accepted them eagerly, tongue flicking to collect your shared juices, cheeks hollowed as you aimed to suck every last drop. Amren’s chest heaved, lidded eyes shining down at you with approval.

You released her from your mouth with a pop, grin turning wild when she released your bruised neck in favor of tapping the table. 

“Here,” she directed in your language, hand sweeping flatly to indicate for you to lay down on the hard surface. Quickly sliding up onto the furniture, you laid on your back, craning your neck to see her climbing onto the table as well. 

You practically writhed under her, pussy dripping to the surface beneath you as she straddled your face, round ass perched perfectly above your mouth.

Wasting no time, Amren’s hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling them apart as her tongue licked a broad stripe against your clit. Back arching against the wood, your parted lips were soon smothered by her warmth, hole perched atop your nose as her clit nestled between your lips.

You sucked the bud on instinct, hips rolling against her mouth as the two of you pleasured each other. Fingers parted your folds, spit landing on your clit before being spread by those soft hands. 

“Amren,” you moaned, the foreign name pleasant on your tongue when her fingers dipped inside of you, stretching and curling, bringing you to your high incredibly quickly.

Spurred on by her movements, your own tongue flicked and sucked her bud, moving to thrust inside of her as you lapped at her flavor. 

“I- now,” Amren stuttered, the only words she could manage as her legs shook. 

Your name spilling from her mouth as she reached her high sent you spiraling into your own, heart pounding at the intense ecstasy rolling through your body in waves.

Sweaty limbs tangled, Amren twisting around just enough to be face-to-face with you while you caught your breaths. Thumb sweeping softly across your cheek, Amren pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, her own expression shifting into a rare, bright smile.

Biting your lip, you found it impossible to tear your gaze from her, instead finding any excuse for small touches, admiring the planes and curves of her bare body beside yours.

“And now?”

You knew what Amren was truly asking with that question - but you were set to return home tomorrow, back to a land where you were now a traitor. Nothing was sure anymore, no future could be predicted. 

All you knew was what you wanted next, so with a sheepish grin, you interlaced your fingers with hers and pulled her palm to your lips. “Now, your bed?”

Loud laughter rang out, Amren shaking her head with amusement as she muttered something in her language that you couldn’t understand. Collecting your clothes, she reached out her hand to you in invitation. “My bed,” she nodded.

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Part 5

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

WC: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of blood, self-inflicted injury, a brief moment with unhealthy thoughts about body image (this is specifically marked with 1 star (*) at the start and 2 stars (**) at the end), unhealthy thoughts about pushing oneself too far

[Prologue], [Part 1], [Part 2], [Part 3], [Part 4]

Y/n was exhausted. 

She could feel her muscles ache as she dipped deeper into the bath the house had drawn for her. The smell of tuberose and neroli drifted up from the bubbles surrounding her, the perfectly warm temperature adding to the pleasant atmosphere.

Yet she couldn’t get herself to relax a drop. Come to training, they said…it’ll be fun, they said…what liars, she thought.

Who invites an injured and recent coma patient to train, at dawn no less? Isn’t this the bloody Night Court? Y/n fumed, why do they all wake up so early now?

A glass of wine appeared by her side as if the house sensed her irritation as well. 

Sighing she picked it up, and finished it immediately, a bottle appearing once she placed the glass down. She let out a laugh, wondering if she should feel offended that the house assumed her morale was so low. As if understanding her thoughts, a bottle of whiskey appeared and disappeared next to the wine, before a series of books dropped down. Judging by the titles and bits of conversation from last night, Y/n had a feeling the house was using a…tried and tested method of comforting raging females. 

And speaking of rage, she was quickly losing the high of recusing Mor and returning to Velaris. Yes, she was exhilarated to see her family thriving, but the duties she had would quickly catch up to her. Counting down, it had been nearly 3 weeks since she disappeared from Vallahan and the magic tower must be getting frantic now. Not to mention, Demetrius, who’s sure to assign her so much work, that she’d not have a chance to leave the tower once she’d returned, or Ryder, who’s definitely praying that she’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Y/n knew she could use the investigation for the cult, the same cult she felt poisoned Mor, as her cover, but that excuse could only hold for so long. 

Ugh. Stupid Rhys and his stupid bargains. She hoped Demetrius would receive her message fast enough, the only reason she forced herself to the training ring before sunrise. Her mediation session was a chance for her to send a holo projection to Demetrius’s office. The time-consuming aspect was not bypassing the wards of the house, which she should actually speak to Rhys about strengthening, but rather condensing her…situation and what she wanted him to do, as to expel the least amount of energy. Teleportation with blood meant her magic would take a longer time to recover. Besides, the last thing she needs is someone sensing her magical signature in the tower when she's been away for so long. 

Luckily, she was able to mask her communications from the IC with her subsequent spar, which she convinced herself was necessary. It wasn’t because the moment she locked eyes with Azriel, she had this urge, this desperate desire to know what it would be like to go one-on-one with him.

No, she only offered because she knew she could last as the participant of a spar, rather than give up control for exercises or obstacles which would reveal her current weaknesses. She refused to think further on how beautifully he moved and met all her strikes, and how pretty he looked under her–No, think Vallahan, magic tower, angry masters….

Just recounting it all was giving her a headache, Y/n thought, dunking her head underneath the water. She almost wishes it could swallow her whole right there, and give her a reprieve from this. 

She came back up gasping, water sloshing onto the floor. 

*Y/n grabbed a towel, standing up and deciding that she might go too far should she stay in there any longer. She faced the mirror while drying herself off, looking closely at how prominent her collarbones were and how her ribs hit out. She looked away, trying to bury the simultaneous discomfort and pleasure she felt, the same as the morning when she changed into her leathers and needed to tighten them with her magic. 

Y/n knew that she looked unhealthy and her magic could only take her so far if she let her body fail, but a voice at the back of her mind enjoyed the visuals, a lasting validation of her struggles. With her magic usually healing her immediately, Y/n rarely got the chance to convey her struggles, always pushing forward since it seemed the pain was never there in the first place. She briefly wondered if Azriel would understand, he seemed to know that sort of darkness, of both craving and despising it. **

Feeling a bit claustrophobic, she decided to step out onto a balcony before dinner, knowing that everyone would be there after she missed lunch. Though she could already feel her appetite disappearing at the thought of facing Amren and Nesta’s piercing gazes, not to mention Mor and Rhys’s overt concern. She raised a hand to her head, trying to rub away another impending headache before halting right at the balcony entrance. 

Mother above, Y/n felt herself freeze in horror, unable to look away from the smeared and dried runes. All in blood, all in her blood. No wonder she slept for so long if she kept losing even more blood after this she thought, a cold dread settling in her bones. 

Why is it still here…The thought that Rhys might hesitate to erase them, out of fear or respect, and that Amren and Nesta might see them as a curiosity to be studied, only deepened her sense of isolation. How could they not see the horror in what those runes represented?

The world began to tilt, a disorienting spiral that made her stomach churn. The vast sky above seemed to press down on her, the air growing thick and heavy, a physical force that threatened to crush her. 

"Are you okay?" The concern in the question was palpable, but it only served to startle her further.

Cauldron boil me, Y/n thought, spinning around so quickly her knees gave way beneath her. But before she could fall, strong, calloused hands steadied her, the familiar touch of shadows wrapping around her with an almost protective embrace. She didn't need to see his face to know who it was—the shadows were a signature she'd come to recognize.

"Y/n, are you alright? You seem faint," the voice came again, soft and concerned, lifting her gently until she was forced to meet his eyes—hazel orbs filled with a depth of concern and understanding that momentarily stilled the chaos within her.

It was a connection, fragile and fleeting, but in that instant, Y/n realized she wasn't as alone as she had felt. The shadows that enveloped her, the hands that steadied her—they were a lifeline, pulling her back from the edge of her own darkness.

She swore time stopped for a moment before she felt the hands around her quiver, his gaze drifting to the runes behind before her actions caught up to her. It was then that reality snapped back into focus for Y/n, prompting her to instinctively step back and slip out of his gentle grasp.

In her quick withdrawal, an attempt to shield her sudden vulnerability, she missed the fleeting look of disappointment that crossed Azriel's features. Y/n hurriedly filled the silence that had grown between them.

"We shouldn't keep them waiting" she announced, her voice carrying a forced lightness that couldn't quite mask the disquiet lurking beneath. Her smile, tentative and fleeting, was an attempt to hide the depth of her unease from Azriel’s perceptive gaze.

Dinner was a silent affair, the burning stares and questions on Y/n waiting to reach the surface, especially after her display earlier that morning. 

Each forkful of food echoed louder than usual until Amren, with her characteristic bluntness, pierced the quiet. "Y/n, the blood magic you used before...how did you know about it? "

Cassian, unable to resist adding to the conversation, jumped in with a grin. "Yeah, the teleportation was so cool! Are you part-witch?"

Amren's sharp glance cut him short. "She's a sorceress, you oaf. Obviously, she's mastered more than a few ancient tomes."

As Nesta voiced her curiosity, "Mastering tomes? What does that mean?" Cassian overlapped with, "How did you even find Mor?" The barrage of questions seemed to only spiral from then, with several of them wanting details on her magic and her discovery of Mor. 

Amidst the several inquiries, Azriel, ever attuned to Y/n, noticed the tremble in her hands hidden under the table, a stark contrast to the calm facade she presented. His shadows stirred restlessly, a mirror to his growing concern.

Mor's complexion turned ashen as the fact dawned upon her—Y/n had ventured onto the balcony, the very place of their nightmarish ordeal. Attempts to steer the tide of questions fell on deaf ears, "Y/n, I... we didn't think..." Mor’s voice trailed off, her apologies swallowed by the growing fervor of curiosity.

Y/n took a deep breath, attempting to veil her frustration with patience, a task made increasingly difficult. They meant well, she repeated, she owed Rhys, she thought before the noise got to her. She hated being faced with curiosity and pity just as much as she hated being questioned–she had saved Mor and shown she wasn’t their enemy, wasn’t that enough?

With a huff that signaled her surrender to the inevitable, she pushed her chair back, its screech halting the interrogation, and drawing surprised glances from the table. Rising from her seat, she walked away, leaving a trail of astonishment in her wake.

Azriel reacted with swift concern, following her with a worry that mirrored the concern etched on Rhys, Mor, and even Feyre and Lucien's faces, while Cassian remained behind, a shadow of guilt tinging his features.

Y/n paused for a moment at the split between the staircase and the hallway to the balcony, debating the merits of locking herself in her room. She felt she deserved the right to scream into her pillow before rejoining them. 

But the sound of footsteps behind her reminded her of the nosey nature of her friends here. If she tried to hide, there’d be no telling the lengths they’d go, she may as well just complete it now.

Upon reaching the balcony, Y/n summoned her magic, materializing a dagger in her hand. With a steady hand, she made a precise incision along her arm, her expression unflinching as crimson blossomed against her skin. She cast a fleeting glance at Azriel, her vibrant red eyes catching the light, mesmerizing him as her blood began its descent toward the magic circle below.

His shadows twitched uneasily at the sight; the others, having followed, stumbled into a collective pause, caught in a mix of awe and horror as they watched her blood reanimate the runes. Y/n commanded the runes to levitate, dripping and spinning around before she condensed them into a single, blood-diamond-like point, which then vanished within her grasp. Turning to face them with a smirk, she downplayed the gravity of her demonstration. 

"See? Not a big deal," she stated, though her casual dismissal did little to ease the tension.

Azriel, moving with a purpose, reached for her, his shadows conjuring a cloth to softly wipe the blood, still dripping from her arm, away. The gentleness of his touch left Y/n taken aback, her heart skipping a beat at the care with which he wrapped her arm, his shadows having brought bandages as well. She couldn’t remember the last time someone else had treated her wounds, especially those so insignificant, so kindly. 

Meeting his gaze, she was confused at his crossed expression, but before words could form, Mor enveloped her in an embrace, her apologies spilling out in a hurried flurry.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I should've—" Mor's voice cracked, the weight of her remorse tangible in the air between them.

"It wasn't your fault, Mor," Y/n reassured, her arms wrapping around her friend in a firm hug. "I would do it all over again for you," she whispered a vow that drew a fresh wave of tears from Mor, her embrace tightening in response.

As they finally parted, Lucien's voice cut through the momentary silence. "I must say, your control was impressive back there."

Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes, a playful retort on her lips. "I've always been this good, Lucien. Maybe you just weren't paying attention."

His laughter echoed around them, a challenge sparking in his eyes. "Is that so? We should spar sometime then. Test out that control of yours."

Y/n pretended to be annoyed but she was grateful to him for changing the atmosphere. Lucien always knew how to put others at ease. 

"Sure if you think you can keep up. Feyre, you're welcome to join his side. He'll need all the help he can get."

Rhys chimed in with feigned indignation, "And why am I excluded? My mate should be my partner."

Y/n's laughter mingled with theirs, and her spirits momentarily lifted. "Because I've beaten you too many times, Rhys. It wouldn't be fair." She teased, earning a gasp of mock indignation from him.

Their laughter was a balm, easing the tension that had settled over the dinner.

Walking back, Y/n glanced at Lucien with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Resting her hand lightly on his shoulder, she leaned closer, her voice laden with playful intent. "Looks like we're teaming up then" she teased.

A knowing smile danced across Lucien's lips, a silent agreement forged in the span of a heartbeat. Together, they proclaimed, "We'll scatter them like leaves in a storm!" 

The statement, filled with the memory of past battles, echoed around them, their laughter a symphony of friendship and challenge.

Feyre, caught in the ripple of their amusement, couldn't help but interject with a wry smile. "Well, I guess I'm stuck with Rhys then." Her words, light and teasing, were accented with the unbreakable bond she shared with her mate, even as they prepared to face off in friendly competition.

All the while, Azriel's gaze lingered on the casual touch between Y/n and Lucien, their laughter and the seamless harmony of their declaration stirring an unfamiliar pang within him. His stare was intense and unyielding, as he watched the easy rapport they shared—a connection he found himself envying, as he stood silently on the fringes of their banter.

Azriel's desire to offer Y/n the same sense of belonging and ease was palpable, yet he chose the quiet acts that spoke volumes of his intentions. As they walked back to the dining room, he found an opportunity to express his support. With a gentle touch, he slid Y/n's chair out for her, a gesture of silent solidarity that sought to make her feel seen and valued in the way he knew best.

"Thank you," she whispered, her gratitude a soft note amidst the evening's chaos of emotions. Though her gaze briefly wandered back to Lucien, caught in a moment of quiet tension with Elain, it was Azriel's thoughtful action that anchored her.

Amren's voice drew her back. "I’m sure you created quite the spectacle, sorceress”

In response to Amren's observation, Y/n met her gaze firmly. "I don't owe anyone explanations, Amren…But out of gratitude for the welcome back," she paused, weighing her next words carefully, "I will tell you that yes, I am a sorceress. A highly ranked one, at least in Vallahan’s magic tower."

Her eyes flickered to Mor, a silent pact of trust between them. She wouldn't reveal the intricacies of their reunion—how a royal meeting had spiraled into chaos and Mor's dismissal of her warnings had nearly cost them both dearly.

"Part of my work has led me to investigate a cult revering Koschei, a dark sorcerer," Y/n continued, her voice steady despite the weight of her revelations. "It was through this that I found Mor in danger. The use of blood magic wasn't a choice made lightly. It was the only method swift and silent enough to ensure our immediate return without leaving traces of magic that could be tracked. And given Mor's poisoning, traditional portals I could open—with their elongated passage of time—weren't an option."

The table fell silent, the gravity of her words settling heavily upon them. Each member of the Inner Circle sat a little straighter, their expressions alight with a mixture of awe and deepened as she explained further about her work and magic. The dinner conversation, initially subdued, blossomed into a vibrant exchange of stories and insights.

Lucien, seizing the moment, shared his own adventures and the bond he'd formed with Vassa, expressing a hopeful desire to introduce them, perhaps as a means to unravel the curse that bound the queen.

It was then that Rhys saw an opening, his voice slicing through the conversation with a proposal for Y/n. "Y/n! This is the perfect opportunity, if you feel up to it, why don't you continue your research here?"

Before Rhys could elaborate, Mor chimed in, eager to offer the resources at their disposal. "Exactly, the House of Wind has a wealth of books that could aid in your research. I can ask the priestesses to help—"

"I can help. You." Azriel's voice, cutting through Mor's suggestion, carried an uncharacteristic nervousness. "I mean, in your research. I can help you with the research." The room fell into an unusual silence, all eyes turning to him as he attempted to clarify, "If you're conducting research, that is. I don't want to rush you, of course. You need time to recover. I'm just—uh—offering since I have experience with such investigations... not to say you need my help. I—I thought it might be... more efficient, yes..."

Azriel's voice tapered off, his gaze skirting around the table to avoid Cassian and Nesta's barely concealed smirks and Rhys's poorly disguised cough of amusement. The surprise etched on everyone else's faces spoke volumes, each one silently wondering if they had ever witnessed Azriel speak so awkwardly and at length.

"Oh, I'd appreciate the company, Azriel," Y/n finally responded, her tone warm.

"You would?" Azriel's gaze snapped to Y/n, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes, only to be momentarily dimmed by her stern look toward Rhys. "Since I'll be intruding for the foreseeable future, I might as well be productive."

"I—I wouldn't want to invade, though," Azriel hurried to add, the earnestness in his voice unmistakable.

Rhys couldn't hide a snicker, quickly masked by a sudden straightening in his chair, bouncing his right leg up. 

Azriel’s shadows whispered something about a kick, but his attention was already captured by Y/n's soft smile. "I'd welcome the help," she reassured, her simple acceptance igniting a spark of anticipation in Azriel.

A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I was traveling and then dying with studies. But the plot thickens...Are we curious about Y/n's work as a sorceress? I planned out the next scenes on my flight so I should have the next few chapters up in a faster succession.

And thank you to everyone who's liked/commented/reblogged this story -- it means so much to have you all enjoy this!

For my tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the previous parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria @naturakaashi @sillymercury @itsswritten @xlosttdreamss @kennedy-brooke @xyzmeh @lucky7rosie @copenhagenspirit @collide-with-the-music @starsinyourseyes @dianxiaxiexie @maybefoxysouls @golden-canyon @violet-potter @thisiskaylin @acphengene @katherinejess @sevikas-whore @kalulakunundrum @hibye02 @madscamp02 @willowpains @jaybarding @kalulakunundrum @sevikas-whore @katherinejess @acphengene @thisiskaylin 

[thebreakerofchains]

Lights Down Low

A/N: So, I was listening to this song, and I was hit with the thought of Nesta and well...Less than decent thoughts. So, I mused to myself "why not?" and wrote this self indulgent one-shot. Keeping in mind that while I am a pro at reading smut, I am all but a novice writer of it, at best.

Nesta Archeron x Fem!IllyrianReader

Warnings: SPICY!! DNI if you are a minor.

Cassian had woken you up that morning frantically spewing about how he wouldn’t be able to go to training – you were barely awake let alone properly hearing what he threw at you full speed at those ungodly morning hours – all you got was that it had something to do with the Illyrian camp and Devlon and that he really would appreciate if you could cover for him seeing that leaving the females with Azriel being the only instructor was as dangerous as lighting a match near gasoline. And, if you knew something about Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie it’s that do they burn and blow easily. 

So, you decided you were in a generous mood today while you dressed up in your fighting leathers and headed towards the training area at the House of Wind. He also owes you one, naturally, and you had almost the perfect idea as to what favor you’d call in for that, you think to yourself with a wicked grin. 

“Good morning, ladies.” You say with a smile to your face at their already sweaty state, considering they have been here for forty minutes at most.  

Azriel gives you a once over from where he is standing and an inquisitive look, “I didn’t know you were joining us today.” 

“Nice to see you too, Az.” You feign an expression of hurt, “Glad to know you have missed me.” You had been on a diplomatic trip with Morrigan to Vallahan for a few weeks and had only recently got back as of two nights ago, and the only people you got the chance to see were Rhysand and Feyre for the report, and Cassian this morning as he groveled at the end of your bed for you to cover him for training. 

“I am glad you two are having a great time chatting away, definitely don’t mind us.” Nesta said from where she stood in a stretching position that looked about as painful as it probably was. “Should I ask the House to bring you some biscuits and tea so you can get properly acquainted?” 

You bite the insides of your cheeks in an attempt to control your grin from growing any wider. How you missed those snide comments. Not that Mor wasn’t stimulating company during that rather boring trip, but no one could entertain you so effortlessly like Nesta Archeron. 

Rhysand says you are a different brand of masochist for enjoying the blue-gray-eyed woman as much as you do. Well, you and Cassian, who also never shied from a mostly healthy banter with her – without dramatic repercussions, at least. 

“If you gave the same attention that you do us to your stretching you would see more effective results, Archeron.” I wink at her and she eyes me with a look I do not know how to describe other than ‘I will make you eat those words’; I shiver inwardly. 

I am distracted, or rather saved, by Emerie to my side as she groans out, “This is insanity.” She moves out of position with a deep intake of breath, and I see my opening. 

“Here, let me help.” I move to her sitting on the ground, silently asking for permission as I move my hands to her arms. She nods slowly in recognition and I start adjusting her sitting stance spreading her limbs wider apart and then holding her upper members up from behind her. My chest is pressed on her back, and I move my head to the side of her ear before asking, “How does it feel?” 

“Fine.” She breathes out low and quick. 

I hum, slightly puzzled with her reaction wondering if I am somehow making her uncomfortable. I look above her shoulder and see Gwyneth’s teal eyes gazing at us, cheeks red adorning a mischievous smirk. I clear my throat and get up from my position behind Emerie, “Now, you only have to keep it up exactly like that, and you will see that as nagging as it is, it won’t be quite an unbearable pain as before.” 

I circle around the field correcting the priestesses here and there, mostly giving them verbal instructions on how to improve their stances and the whole time I could feel a much familiar fire burning on my back. I was being watched. 

The training ended on a positive note, and much to Azriel’s dismay, the priestesses all left with a thankful and hopeful murmur that I should lead the sessions more often to which I just smile shyly at. As soon as they left, I start tiding up until I hear the swish of a small blade, looking back to see who my companion is, I meet the face of Nesta and her intense eyes as she plays with a dagger. 

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, mentally cursing myself from being that affected at the sight of her in training leathers. 

“So, this is how I find out you are back home?” She runs the blade on the wooden table where the other weapons laid, slowly approaching me, closing me in a lot like a predator hunting its prey. 

“I didn’t-” I start and she pauses me raising the blade to my lips, the sharp end meeting my skin with a blazing cold touch much like Nesta’s own. 

“I don’t care.” She eyes me in a silent dare to try and explain myself again. 

I for one, get so completely lost in her eyes and the smell of her that all I do is take one of my hands up to her face where a strand of her golden-brown hair slipped from her updo and remove it from where it laid on her sweaty forehead. Nesta sharply intakes air and I lose mine altogether, as if she sucked in my very breath to her lungs, her full breasts touching my own, her nose brushing on mine. 

“Did you miss me?” She husks. 

I nod gradually. 

“Hm.” She hums out, “Is that why you were feeling up Emerie at practice earlier?” 

My eyes widen at the implication, “I would never!” 

She merely grins wickedly to me, her leg moving between my own and I feel her leather covered core press down on my thigh. I let out a gasp, and she strokes my hair gently, “I wonder if you didn’t look for me because you were too busy with Morrigan. You did spend two full months with her at Vallahan – so eager to help, volunteering yourself like that – and we both know you don’t last long being on your own, don’t we, baby?” 

She blows soft air to my face, as if it would help me cool down. “That is absurd, Nes. Morrigan doesn’t see me that way, or any other female, that we know of.” I muse out. “Well, maybe Emerie if we are being honest, but I know better than to raise the question to her.” 

She presses herself further into me in a way I didn’t even know that was possible, I see stars and my hands find her hips in a possessive grip, “Nesta...” I mean to sound warning but it comes out a tad too desperate to be anything else other than pleading.  

“Yes?” She drawls out sensually, hips moving away and right before I answer she pulls them back down deliciously deliberate and steady. A growl leaves my lips and I switch our positions, her back now touching the stone-cold rock walls. “I thought you could help me out with my stretching exercises, unless that special attention is reserved for Illyrian females only.” She draws out and I swear I hear a hint of jealousy to her tone. 

“I can always make an exception for you.” I decide to tease her back, “If I am not too busy. You high fae do bend different.” 

“Oh?” She lifts one of her perfect eyebrows at me. “Care to elaborate, professor?” 

“For example, you are much more sensitive here,” I say as I slid a hand down her ass touching her inner thigh from the back, “than most Illyrian females I taught before.” I drag my hands upwards again, purposefully grabbing her ass and she lets out a small squeal. “Or maybe, that is just you.” 

She moans out, “You are right, just me.” Enunciating the last two words roughly with intent as she pulls me for a mind-numbing kiss. My grip to her back tightens and my other hand finds its way to the mess of tangled hair that was once her braid, deepening the kiss, she gasps in surprise and I take my opportunity to slowly enter my tongue in her mouth giving her lower lip a teasing lick before sucking on her own. At this point, we are both frantically panting, all I can see, sense and smell is Nesta as her nails scratch my back until I can feel blood coming out. I draw back from the kiss and she glares at me in her dizzy state, I give her a mirthful look and she seems to understand exactly where my thoughts went to just as I rip her top apart and am met with her creamy perky breasts waiting to receive my undivided attention. 

Wasting no time, I take my mouth to her left breast as my hand that was in her head seconds ago playfully twists and teases the other one, her hips still moving, relentlessly searching for any kind of relief and contact they can find. 

“I reckon you missed me as well, Nes.” I breathe out between my ministrations as I move to the right side and suck hard on her hardened nipple. She moans out my name, “Ah, Y/N!” 

“I want to hear you say it, Nes.” 

She looks down to me, and it’s like something snaps between us. I have fucked Nesta thoroughly and often for a while now, in many occasions – and positions – but never have I felt such a feeling like the one engulfing me right now. It’s like the time we spent apart left the thing desperate, as desperate as I was when I thought of her, especially in the night when my hands drifted between my legs and I would come time and time again at the memory of her. 

I move my head to her neck and with a bite I order, “Say. It!” 

She screams in pleasure and I pull back to look at her dazed eyes while she says, “I missed you.”  

I waste no time as I take her into my arms, and fly to my room, the House apparently ever attuned to Nesta had the whole ambient ready for us. From the corner of my eyes, I could see red candles were lit all over the place. The curtains were now closed and there was a dizzying smell, but that was no one else’s credit but Nesta’s as her deep arousal hit my nostrils. 

Her hands that laid with a tight grip on my back move up to plant a feather-like touch to my wings and I shiver out a moan, “Illyrians and their wings.” She breathes out teasingly. 

With a snarl I rip her leather pants off her finding her glistening exposed sex so fucking ready for me. I ghost touch it and she arches her back trying to draw my hand closer to her center, “How long do you plan on making me wait?” She lets out petulantly. “Weren’t two months of touching myself at the thought of you enough punishment?” 

I raise my eyebrows at her, smiling wolfishly like a starved madwoman, which I am sure is the exact definition of what I am right now. I lower myself, kissing her inner thigh leisurely, and she grips my head her nails scratching on my scalp. “Y/N, please, I need you.” 

“That was fast, maybe I should go away more often, it seems you finally gained some manners while I was gone.” I say before planting a teasing kiss to her clit. 

“Baby!” She screams. 

I decide to put both of us out of our misery and draw my tongue from bottom to top before closing in my mouth on the bundle of sensitive nerves, I hungrily move up and down, circling and sucking in different points and directions before moving one finger close to her entrance. 

I look up to what is one of my favorite sights in the world, her golden-brown locks sprawled on my pillow, body glistening with sweat, her forehead creased in pleasure as she bites on her lower lip punishing the plump part before locking her gaze with mine and saying, “I need to feel you inside of me, love.” 

I suck at her clit before speaking, “Only ever me?” 

“Yes, yes, only ever you. I don’t want anybody else. Just you!” 

I groan on her pussy, a low guttural sound that has never come out of me before as I insert one finger inside her soaking wet pussy. “You are mine, Nesta Archeron.” 

“Yes, I am yours, all yours.” 

I put another finger inside her, mouth working mercilessly on her sensitive bundles as she screams chants of pleasure, and I can feel she is getting close and I am not far myself, she takes one of her hands to my wings and strokes a particularly soft spot and I moan loudly on her pussy. 

“Cum with me, baby.” She lets out breathy, mind close to succumbing. I move my fingers faster, harder and she continues stroking the spot on my wings, my climax borderline here until I feel the knot on my lower belly tighten impossibly and in a blinding flash of life I come just as her juices flow out of her and I divert my mouth lapping as much of it as I can. Licking her clean, fingers now moving slower and softer to help her ride out her high. 

I let go of her, a string of saliva between me and her intimate area, she pushes my head upwards and I meet her with a searing kiss. Her legs engulf my torso pushing me closer before she bites down on my lips strong enough to draw blood, and as the metallic tinge of it fills my tastebuds Nesta says lowly: 

“If you ever leave me for that long again, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you with my bare hands.” Her blue-gray eyes locked on mine, daring me to protest in any way. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I give her a slow kiss. 

She gives me a smile that bore nothing good, and I knew I would be in for one long, long night.