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mahalachives · 25 days ago

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Part 8: The Soul That Fled

🕊️TW: This chapter contains graphic depictions of Non-consensual sexual violence involving multiple perpetrators, assault, forced magical suppression, torture, and psychological trauma.

It also explores the emotional aftermath of these events from both the survivor's and the witness's perspectives, including dissociation, soul trauma, and survivor's guilt.

This content is extremely intense and disturbing, even in fictional context.

If these subjects are harmful or triggering for you, please skip this chapter or engage with caution.

Your well-being matters. 💛

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The poison sang through Azriel's veins.

He had known many darknesses in his long life. The pitch of dungeons where he'd spent his childhood. The velvet of night skies above battlefields. The quiet absence in the spaces between stars that he sometimes thought might be the truest reflection of his own soul.

This was different. This darkness had teeth.

He fought it with the stubbornness that had kept him alive for centuries, each heartbeat a rebellion against surrender. Five hundred years of discipline demanded resistance, even as the toxin wound its way through carefully constructed defenses, dismantling the magic that made him immortal, that made him himself.

As his consciousness began to fray at the edges, Azriel became aware of your hands moving over his wound. Gentle, despite everything. Purposeful, despite what he deserved. He had carved rejection between you with the precision of Truth-Teller, and still, you chose to heal rather than harm.

Why? he wanted to ask, but his voice belonged to the poison now.

His body grew heavy, anchored to the realm by pain alone, while something deeper, something golden and ancient, pulled him elsewhere.

The bond that he had feared, that he had rejected, now wrapped around his failing consciousness like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

How strange, he thought distantly, that the very thing he'd run from would be his salvation. How fitting, perhaps, that it would lead him not toward light but into another kind of darkness altogether.

Into memory that was not his own.

Into yours.

Time fractured as he slipped between the layers of your shared existence. The shadowsinger who had cataloged centuries of suffering, who had measured pain in careful increments, who had learned to read agony in the minute expressions of his victims... that shadowsinger found himself suddenly, terribly unprepared.

For shadows recognized shadows.

And yours were vast beyond measuring.

He had wandered the darkest corners of Prythian's history. Had memorized the architecture of cruelty across High Fae courts. Had both witnessed and delivered precise suffering when Rhysand's plans required it. Had stared unflinching into abysses that would have shattered lesser beings.

None of it, not one moment in five centuries of darkness, had prepared him for this descent into the quiet catastrophe of your past.

A flash of light—soul-light, memory-light—pierced the veil between worlds.

Azriel drifted through time like smoke through shattered glass.

His shadows, those faithful companions of five centuries, reached ahead as if tasting a forgotten sweetness. They had known darkness in all its forms: the crushing weight of dungeons, the hollow void of night skies, the cold absence between stars.

Yet this darkness was different; it held memory, it held you.

The clearing materialized like a painting rendered in firelight. Autumn in its purest form, not the bitter political machinations of Beron's court, but autumn as it was meant to be.

Leaves burning gold and crimson in their slow, beautiful death; the scent of earth preparing for slumber; sunlight filtered through a canopy of fire.

And you.

Oh, you.

Azriel had witnessed beauty across realms.

Had seen sunrise over the Sea. Had watched starfall from mountain peaks. Had observed the deadly grace of Illyrian warriors in flight.

None compared to you in this moment, fingers trailing lazy patterns in water, face upturned to dappled light, humming a melody that reached inside him and touched something he'd thought long dead.

He moved closer, drawn by an instinct older than training. His shadows flowed toward you like water finding its natural course, stretching across time to cradle what they could not touch.

What was stolen from you?

What was stolen from us?

The question formed unbidden, startling in its possessiveness. He had rejected the bond, had severed connection with cruel precision. Yet here, witnessing who you had been, something ancient and nameless stirred beneath his ribs.

Recognition. Kinship.

The terrible knowledge that you had been carved from the same wounded material as he, gentle souls forced into weapons by others' cruelty.

A deer approached through sun-dappled shadow. You stilled, becoming statue-perfect save for eyes tracking its cautious advance. Your patience spoke of understanding that trust, once broken, must be earned again through consistent gentleness.

Hadn't he learned that same lesson through centuries of careful friendship with Mor, with Cassian, with Rhys? The parallels between you struck him with physical force.

"There you are," you murmured, voice soft as ember-light. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come today."

Your smile as the deer accepted your offering...

Mother above, that smile.

It transformed features Azriel had only ever seen hardened by calculated cruelty.

He knelt before you, shadowsinger become supplicant. His scarred hand reached through time to touch what could never be touched. If only he could have known you then.

"Sister! Are you talking to animals again?"

A younger Lucien emerged between trees, whole in ways Azriel had never witnessed: unscarred, unbroken, eyes matched and innocent of horrors to come.

You mock-glared at your brother. "You scared him away."

"He'll be back tomorrow," Lucien replied, dropping beside you with easy confidence that would later be beaten into watchful wariness. "They always come back to you."

"Not if you keep blundering around the forest like a newborn bear."

Your teasing carried genuine warmth. Another revelation. Another piece of a puzzle Azriel hadn't known needed solving.

During war councils, he'd seen only calculated distance between you and your brothers. Had assumed coldness innate rather than learned. How many other assumptions had he made, about you, about himself, about the bond that connected and terrified you both?

Lucien peered at your sketchbook. "More healing herbs? Father won't be pleased."

A shadow crossed your face, swift, suppressed, significant. The spymaster in Azriel recognized that concealment. He'd performed it countless times when Rhys or Cassian ventured too near buried wounds.

"Father doesn't need to know everything."

Secretive, even then.

Hiding gifts meant for healing rather than harming. The irony struck him like a physical blow, you, practicing concealment to protect tenderness; him, practicing tenderness to conceal deadly skill. Mirror images, reversed but matching.

"Your secret's safe with me," Lucien assured, bumping your shoulder companionably. "Though I still think you should show the healers. Your knowledge could help people."

Azriel's shadows stretched toward the sketchbook, trying to preserve that evidence of your true nature. They traced illustrations with the reverence of scholars discovering ancient texts, each careful line a testament to patience, to precision, to purpose beyond pain.

"Maybe someday," you said softly, closing the book. "When the time is right."

Lucien studied you, expression uncharacteristically serious. "You know, sometimes I think you were born into the wrong court. You have fire in you, yes, but not the kind Father values."

"Careful," you warned without heat. "That's dangerously close to treason."

"It's the truth," he insisted. "Your fire heals rather than destroys. There's no shame in that."

You smiled at him, gratitude warming your eyes. "Thank you for seeing me, brother. Sometimes I think you're the only one who does."

I see you now.

Too late. Always too late.

The memory shimmered, edges dissolving into golden light. Azriel's shadows stretched desperately, trying to hold together what was already fading. He recognized approaching tragedy with the intimacy of old lovers, had cataloged its patterns across five centuries of blood and battlefields.

But this was different.

This wasn't witnessing another's pain with professional detachment.

This was feeling the approaching horror as if it were his own, perhaps because, in some cosmic way, it was.

The bond connecting you had transcended time, had brought him to this moment not as observer but as participant.

"Get out."

Your voice, your subconscious, rippled through his consciousness. Not memory but imminent confrontation.

"These aren't yours to see."

His shadows recoiled instinctively. They recognized boundaries of pain; he had taught them such restraint over centuries. Never take more than necessary. Never violate another's suffering without purpose.

"Forgive me," he whispered to the dissolving scene, to the girl you had been, to the female you had become.

But the bond pulled harder, golden thread becoming golden chain. It dragged him deeper against both your wills, into darkness shot through with winter frost. The memory of what was lost gave way to the horror of its taking.

The golden bond between them trembled violently, a dying star collapsing in on itself.

Azriel had endured five centuries of war, interrogation, and depravity, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

The bond yanked his consciousness sideways, tearing him from the Autumn Court gardens. His wings instinctively flared to catch himself, but there was no physical space to navigate.

Only the golden thread connecting your souls remained, pulsing with ancient magic no shadowsinger's training could have prepared him for.

For a breathless, eternal moment, he was neither here nor there, suspended in a liminal space where time ceased meaning. His shadows curled protectively around him like children seeking shelter, sensing danger but finding nothing tangible to fight.

The disorientation was unlike anything he'd experienced... worse than winnowing gone wrong, more violating than even Rhysand's mind-walking.

Then, with violent clarity, the memory crystallized around him.

Winter Court's delegation feast, perhaps two centuries ago.

Azriel's soul wept before his mind could comprehend why.

Some deep, primal part of him already knew what awaited, even as his conscious thoughts scrambled to make sense of this displacement.

His shadows thinned and spread, seeking purchase in a reality that wasn't quite real, their agitation mirroring the frantic beating of his heart.

The Winter Court's great hall breathed frost with each collective exhale of its occupants. Ice sculptures depicting the hunt lined the walls: predator and prey frozen in eternal pursuit. Unlike most diplomatic celebrations, the atmosphere carried an undercurrent of tension that made Azriel's centuries-honed instincts scream in alarm.

His spectral form tried to reach for Truth-Teller, muscle memory responding to perceived threat, only to grasp emptiness.

His shadows writhed in distress, seeking the familiar weight of his blade and finding nothing but memory and mist.

The opulence was obscene.

The mingling of courts created a sensory tapestry too vivid for mere recollection. This wasn't simply remembering; the bond had made him a witness to something far more intimate than memory.

Each detail assaulted his senses with precision that bordered on torture: the warm copper-gold light of Autumn Court chandeliers battling the crystalline blue radiance of Winter Court magic. Heat and frost waged their ancient war in the very air. He could taste the conflict on his tongue: cinnamon and woodsmoke overwhelmed by the sharp, cutting bite of fresh snow.

His gaze found you immediately.

Like a compass finding true north, like a dying man seeking water, like a shadow yearning for darkness. As if his entire being had been calibrated to locate you regardless of time or distance.

You stood alone.

A rush of protective fury surged through him, shocking in its intensity. His heart stuttered beneath the phantom sensation of ribs.

Isolation in court gatherings was never accidental. Never safe.

Centuries as Rhys's spymaster had taught him to recognize patterns of predation across courts. His fingers itched for Truth-Teller, his oldest companion, his most faithful tool. Helplessness clawed at him, a suffocating weight pressing on his chest.

The shadows around him whimpered, actually whimpered, a sound he'd never heard from them before.

They sensed his distress and shared it, amplified it, until the feeling threatened to drown him entirely.

The golden gown you wore was a declaration of defiance, burnished amber and molten copper in a sea of Winter Court blues and silvers.

Your hair caught torchlight and transformed it, not merely reflecting but enhancing, as if you were the source of all flame in the room.

You were beautiful. And you were in danger.

His stomach twisted with dread, primal and overwhelming.

Was this what drowning felt like?

This crushing weight on his chest, this burning in his lungs?

Azriel's shadows condensed into dark ribbons that strained toward you, as if to warn or protect, before dissolving against the immutable barrier of time. His wings flexed, the phantom sensation of battle-readiness coursing through him. Every instinct screamed a warning his conscious mind was still piecing together.

"Please," he whispered to the uncaring void of memory. "Please let me be wrong."

The pattern revealed itself with terrible clarity: your position near the high windows, too far from Autumn Court allies; the subtle shifting of Winter Court nobles creating a barrier of blue and silver bodies; the way servants had stopped offering you wine, isolating you from even that minor protection.

You had been positioned precisely like prey before a winter hunt.

Separated. Isolated. Displayed.

The male who approached moved with a predator's grace that made Azriel's shadows coil and hiss. Snow-white skin with veins of palest blue visible beneath, like cracks in ancient ice. Eyes deeper than midwinter midnight. Lips curved in a smile that held no warmth, only the promise of devastation disguised as passion.

"Lord Kieraven," the name pulled from Azriel's spectral lips before he could stop it. Knowledge that wasn't his flooded his consciousness. Distant cousin to Kallias. Not powerful enough to rule but privileged enough to remain untouchable.

Known for his particular fondness for fire magic—specifically, for extinguishing it.

Memory fragments flickered through Azriel's mind. Intelligence reports he'd filed centuries ago about Winter Court power structures, snippets about Kieraven that hadn't seemed significant then.

He recalled, with sudden clarity, dispatching the Winter lord himself during the war with Hybern. The noble's dying expression flashed in his mind—shock that the shadowsinger had chosen him specifically from the battlefield.

A fierce, vindictive satisfaction blazed through Azriel's veins. His shadows danced with savage pleasure. He hadn't known why he'd felt compelled to end that particular noble, but the bond was showing him now. Some part of him had sensed a debt needing payment. His only regret was that death had come too quickly, too mercifully, for what Kieraven had done.

"Lady of Autumn," Kieraven murmured, voice like a frozen river, smooth surface hiding killing currents beneath. "Your beauty outshines even your court's legendary fire."

Azriel's shadows thinned to razor edges, stretching toward Kieraven as if to flay him where he stood. Rage boiled through him, ancient and terrible. His carefully constructed walls of control crumbled with each passing second, shadows twisting into unrecognizable shapes that reflected his growing horror.

You replied with practiced diplomacy, your voice carrying the measured cadence of someone raised in political battlefields. "You honor me with such words, Lord Kieraven, though I suspect you offer them to all visiting diplomats."

The words themselves were forgotten the moment they left your lips as Azriel cataloged what others would miss.

The infinitesimal tightening of your fingers around your goblet, nails pressing white half-moons into your palms; the barely perceptible shift of weight to your back foot; the subtle scanning of the room for allies. Fight-or-flight instinct already activated while your conscious mind still navigated court politics.

Azriel recognized your fear—had cataloged such micro-expressions for centuries. But never had another's fear affected him so viscerally. His own heartbeat accelerated to match yours, his muscles tensing in unconscious mimicry of your readiness to flee. The bond between you vibrated with shared dread.

"Not flattery if it's true." Kieraven's fingers, long and elegant, tipped with the faintest blue that spoke of controlled Winter magic, brushed yours as he offered a goblet. The touch lingered, a deliberate invasion of your space, possession disguised as courtesy.

Azriel's awareness expanded, taking in the entire room with the tactical precision five centuries of spycraft had honed. Five Winter Court nobles had shifted positions, creating a subtle perimeter. Two Autumn Court guards who should have been nearby had disappeared entirely. Eris was engaged across the hall, deep in conversation with three Winter nobles, his back deliberately turned.

Not coincidence. Planned separation.

Understanding slammed into Azriel like a physical blow. This had been orchestrated. The separation from protection. The isolation. The calculated approach. Eris's convenient distraction.

A wave of self-loathing crashed through him, bitter as poison.

Recognition hit him with sickeningly familiar weight.

How many females had he witnessed in the shadows as they were cornered by powerful males? How many reports had he filed on violations when information was deemed more valuable than intervention?

Acid shame flooded his mouth, bitter and burning.

The taste of complicity. He wanted to vomit, to scream, to tear Kieraven limb from limb—but most of all, he wanted to erase his own culpability in centuries of similar predations, all justified in the name of intelligence gathering.

"Perhaps we might speak privately," Kieraven suggested, hand settling at the small of your back, fingers splayed possessively over your gown.

Even through memory, Azriel could feel the winter chill emanating from that touch. Not physical cold but something darker, an intent that frosted the very air between you.

His shadows lashed toward Kieraven again—a futile gesture against a memory two centuries old. Yet the violence of his reaction disturbed him.

His breathing came in short, sharp bursts, his vision narrowing until all he could see was the Winter lord's hand defiling the gold silk of your gown.

You attempted retreat, voice maintaining the careful neutrality of court politics. "I'm afraid I must decline, my lord. My father expects—"

The transformation was instantaneous. Charm to cruelty in the space between heartbeats. Kieraven's face hardened, frost literally forming around his fingertips where they dug into your waist.

"Your father expects you to secure Winter Court's goodwill." His voice dropped to a whisper meant for your ears alone, but the bond carried it to Azriel with perfect clarity. "Don't you think it's time you fulfilled your purpose?"

Kieraven's meaning crystallized with terrible clarity in Azriel's mind. The specific way he emphasized "fulfilled your purpose" carried centuries of entitlement, of females treated as currency between courts. A transaction Beron had clearly authorized.

The question burned like acid.

Now, seeing you—feeling through the bond your rising fear masked behind diplomatic composure—made him realize how hollow those justifications had been.

You lifted your chin, summoning dignity that made Azriel's chest ache with unexpected pride. "You misunderstand my purpose here, Lord Kieraven. I represent Autumn Court's diplomatic interests, not its... hospitality services."

The refusal was measured, diplomatic, final. Delivered with the poise of someone born and bred to navigate deadly courts.

Something that might have been admiration flickered through Azriel. A strange warmth blossomed in his chest, so at odds with the horror of witnessing what he couldn't change.

Kieraven's face contorted with quiet rage, "You'll regret that choice."

The memory shifted, the great hall dissolving into a more intimate scene.

You slipping from the gathering, seeking momentary solitude in a corridor adorned with Autumn Court's sigils. A place where you should have been safe.

Azriel recognized your tactical error immediately and wanted to scream a warning across time. No diplomat should ever seek isolation during hostile negotiations.

His centuries of training screamed at the vulnerability of your position—alone in a corridor, away from witnesses, in hostile territory. The terror of foreknowledge clawed at his throat, wild and desperate.

Please, no.

The sound of footsteps echoed against stone walls. Not one set, but many.

Azriel's body tensed, shadows coiling around him like armor as he braced for what he knew would come. He found himself at your side, unable to affect events yet unwilling to abandon you to face this alone.

Every sinew in his spectral form strained against the constraints of time and memory, his very essence rebelling against his role as helpless witness.

"Did you really think you could embarrass me before both courts without consequence?" Kieraven's voice carried a chill that frosted the very air between you.

You turned to find Kieraven blocking the corridor. Eleven other Winter Court males emerged from adjoining passageways. Surrounding you. Cutting off every escape route. The precise formation spoke of planning, of premeditation.

Azriel's spymaster mind calculated odds with the detachment of centuries of training—twelve against one, a female without combat skills, in a hostile territory with magic designed specifically to counter her natural abilities.

No possibility of victory. No chance of escape. The clinical assessment made him hate himself all the more.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your voice remained steady despite the fear-scent that filled the memory-space, so potent Azriel could taste your terror on his tongue. "My father will—"

"Your father," Kieraven interrupted, frost patterns forming on the walls around him as his control slipped, "sent you to us as a gift. One you refused to properly deliver."

The words hit Azriel like a physical blow, confirmation of his worst suspicion. This hadn't been opportunistic predation. This had been arranged. Sanctioned. Sold. The brutal truth of it cleaved through his composure, leaving raw, bleeding fury in its wake.

He fought against the memory's pull with everything he had, shadows lashing wild patterns against the constraints of time and space.

He cried your name, the sound tearing from his throat with such force it should have shattered the memory-walls around them. The scream echoed in the void between past and present, carrying five hundred years of rage and helplessness.

"STOP!"

Your voice, your subconscious, tore through the memory-space, desperate and raw.

Shadows that were not Azriel's surged between him and the memory, trying to block his view. The bond trembled violently, the golden thread connecting you stretching so thin it seemed it might snap.

"I don't want you to see this."

The memory surged forward, implacable as fate itself.

What followed unfolded with merciless clarity.

Kieraven struck first.

He grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall so hard the stone behind you cracked. The impact forced the air from your lungs.

Your vision spun. Cold rolled off his skin in waves. Not the ordinary chill of Winter Court nobility, but something deeper. Something ancient. The kind of cold that settled into marrow, that crawled into the soul.

"The Autumn Court bitch thinks herself better than us," he spat, leaning close, his breath frosting the air between you. "But look how easily she burns."

You struggled. Your hands sparked, the fire in your veins instinctive, but it flickered once, then vanished.

A second male seized your wrist, another your ankle. Cold hands.

Magic laced through their fingers as they dragged you down, tearing your gown as they did. The fabric shredded under them, silk splitting like skin. Your scream followed, a raw, animal sound, but it was cut off too quickly. Kieraven's hand clamped over your mouth.

Azriel fell to his knees.

His shadows scattered like startled birds.

His heart didn't beat, it convulsed.

The bond pulled taut, a golden thread soaked red with what was coming.

His mouth opened to scream. Nothing came. Not your name. Not his own. Only air. Only silence.

Only memory that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Your body thrashed in their grip, but already you were surrounded.

Four males. Then six.

Then more.

Their bodies a cage of silver and blue. Their eyes glittered, not with lust, but with domination. With power. With ritual.

Ice magic bloomed across your bare skin, slow and creeping like frost over glass. It wasn't just suppression, it was invasion. It slipped beneath your skin, laced through your blood, calcified your flame. You writhed as your magic betrayed you, collapsed inside you, turned brittle and useless.

Your screams froze in your throat before they could even leave.

The silence wasn't still.

It screamed.

Azriel clawed at his chest, as if he could rip the bond out of his ribcage. As if he could stop feeling your bones break through his own skin.

His hands trembled. No grip. No ground. No breath.

Even his shadows refused him. They huddled in corners, flickering with grief. No blades. No barriers. No salvation.

Your limbs were forced outward. Your wrists pinned to cold stone. Ankles held wide.

Every inch of you exposed to their cruelty.

The chill on your skin was more than winter, it was shame. A shame so visceral it burned hotter than your fire ever had.

You tried to fight, gods, you tried, but they were prepared.

Each hand on your body was placed with precision. Each move choreographed. Your power suppressed. Your limbs restrained. Your mouth silenced.

One male took your face in his hand and turned it toward him. "The fire's gone now," he said with a grin. "Now we see what's left underneath."

The others laughed. That laughter echoed off stone walls like the shattering of glass.

Azriel's shadows clawed at the barriers of time until they bled smoke.

His skin split open in sympathy with yours, invisible wounds mirroring every violation. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard someone calling his name.

Rhys? No, it was you. Not present you, but the girl you were before they ruined you. Screaming, sobbing, begging, whispering his name like a prayer in a language he didn't know how to answer.

He reached for Truth-Teller, for wings, for any weapon, any strength he had ever possessed. His hands passed through memory, through time, grasping nothing.

Sweat beaded on his skin despite the cold. Bile rose in his throat. The room spun, reality fracturing around him while you suffered in perfect clarity.

He was a boy again. Hands nailed to stone. Blood in his mouth. But it wasn't his. It was yours.

His memories collapsed in on themselves until there was no line between past and present, between who had suffered and who was suffering now.

They touched you. Violated you.

Passed you from hand to hand like a thing. They didn't speak after the first, no taunts, no questions, no pleasure. Only duty. Only cruelty. As if this was a rite. A purge.

Each of the thirteen took something.

One crushed your fire.

Another twisted your arm until it snapped.

A third forced Winter magic into your mouth, through your teeth, until your tongue blistered.

One dislocated your hip.

Another froze your feet to the floor until your skin split open when you were torn free.

There was no dignity in this. Only desecration.

Pain was constant.

It had no beginning, no crescendo, no mercy.

And through the bond, Azriel felt it all.

As if it were happening to him. As if his own body were being torn apart while his mind remained intact, forced to witness, to experience, to understand.

Azriel's scarred hands trembled uncontrollably against the memory-floor. Sweat drenched his body, his leathers clinging to his skin as violent tremors wracked his frame. Blood filled his mouth where he'd bitten through his tongue, metallic and sharp. He couldn't feel his wings anymore, they'd gone numb with his horror, hanging like dead weight from his back.

The guilt wrapped around his throat like a rope, each second dragging tighter.

He should have known. Should have seen. Should have been there. He hadn't. And now it was carved into him, a sin that would never stop bleeding.

Your body shut down. Your mind tried to flee. He felt that too, the disassociation.

The split.

The moment when you began to float outside yourself, watching from somewhere above. The only defense left to you.

He could feel your soul splinter.

A thread snapped.

Something sacred was torn.

And he mourned.

His body convulsed. It wasn't a sob, but something more primal, a physical rejection of what he witnessed.

His stomach heaved, emptying itself onto the memory-floor. Shadows poured from his mouth with the bile, twisting into shapes of such anguish that they became unrecognizable.

His face contorted, veins standing out on his temples as he fought for breath against the crushing weight of your trauma.

He, the great shadowsinger. The killer of kings. The nightmare in the dark. On his knees in a memory he could not stop, unable to do anything but scream into the void and feel your suffering as his own. Five centuries of training.

Five centuries of killing. Five centuries of power. All meaningless in this moment. He could not save you. He could not even look away.

One noble bent to whisper in your ear. "This is what you were born for."

Azriel's shadows exploded. Darkness erupted outward from him in a tidal wave, tearing through the memory like a silent storm. He knew it would do nothing. He knew the past could not be touched.

But it didn't matter.

He would not let it go unanswered.

The scene shifted, a jarring transition.

Autumn Court guards discovered your body, their shock at finding you still breathing evident in their careful handling. Their whispers reached Azriel with perfect clarity.

"How is she still alive?"

"No one could survive this."

"Her pelvis is completely shattered," one guard reported, voice shaking. "Both legs broken. Five ribs puncturing her lungs. Her right shoulder and elbow dislocated. Three fingers on the left hand missing entirely. Frost magic in her bloodstream. And the... the internal damage..." He couldn't continue.

But you had survived. Somehow.

You survived.

Azriel fell forward, pressing his forehead to the memory-floor. His wings draped over you both, a shield against horror he couldn't escape. His shoulders shook with silent reverence. The survivor in him recognized something in you that transcended the breaking, a core of steel that even torture couldn't reach.

Where I might have surrendered, you endured.

Then Beron, standing over your healing table, face twisted not with fury at what had been done to his daughter, but with contempt at the political complication your assault created.

"Foolish girl," he hissed, flames erupting around his clenched fists, casting ominous shadows across your broken body. "Did I not tell you to behave appropriately? To represent this court with dignity?"

Something in Azriel broke.

A sound erupted from him, part growl, part scream, all predator. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

His shadows solidified, taking physical form for the first time in memory. Truth-Teller appeared in his hand, conjured from pure hatred. His pupils dilated until his eyes were black pools rimmed with gold fire.

"I will end you," he promised Beron, the words a vow written in blood. "Father or not. High Lord or not. For this alone, you die."

The killing rage that surged through him transcended anything he'd experienced in five centuries of battle. His shadows lashed out with such violent force that the memory itself seemed to waver.

"She was found at the border," one healer reported quietly, hands shaking as they hovered over your wounds. "Impaled on a Winter Court tree."

"And the perpetrators?" Beron's voice held no concern for you, only calculation.

"No trace, my lord."

Beron's expression hardened further. "Say nothing of this. To anyone. Not even her mother or brothers."

"But my lord, she requires—"

"She requires discretion," Beron interrupted, voice deadly soft. "Heal her body if you can. But this incident never happened. Is that understood?"

The healers nodded, terror evident in their trembling hands as they resumed work on your shattered body. No one dared speak against the High Lord, though their expressions betrayed their horror at his callousness.

"You failed her," Azriel snarled, the words meaningless to ears that could not hear him. "You all failed her."

Azriel could only watch with mounting horror as the healers worked over your broken form.

Something in your eyes began to change.

The light dimming, the spark of the woman he'd glimpsed by the forest pool fading into nothingness. Blue frost patterns remained beneath your skin where Winter magic had taken root, refusing to dissipate despite the healers' efforts.

And then came the transformation that truly chilled him to the bone.

Over the following weeks, as your body healed but your spirit remained shattered, Azriel witnessed it.

The memory timeline accelerated, showing flickering moments across months, then years, to centuries.

Your eyes, once warm with compassion, grew cold and calculating. The curve of your lips, once quick to smile, hardened into a permanent sneer. Your hands, which had once healed with gentle touch, now dealt pain with mechanical precision.

You became what trauma had forged. A weapon.

Your first kill came three months after the assault. A servant who spilled wine on your gown during a feast. The room fell silent as you placed your hand against his chest and channeled fire directly into his heart.

His body crumpled to ash before it hit the floor. You didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just returned to your meal while servants hastily swept away the remains.

Beron's smile that night was one of sick pride.

Azriel recognized the hollowness in your eyes. His own stared back at him from countless reflections after his own torture. The void where something vital once lived. He had almost become this, would have become this without his brothers. The knowledge settled in his gut like stone.

The second kill followed a week later. A courtier who dared mention the Winter Court in your presence.

His screams echoed through the castle for hours before he finally died, his body a testament to your newfound creativity with flame.

By the time another year had passed, your reputation had spread throughout Prythian. The Lady of Autumn, they called you in whispers. Cold as Winter but burning with Autumn's fire. A contradiction wrapped in cruelty. Beautiful and untouchable. Those who approached too closely vanished in screams and ash.

Through the bond, he felt it happen.

Your soul fracturing, tearing, one piece clinging desperately to your body while another fled, seeking escape from unbearable pain.

Azriel reached forward with trembling fingers, trying to hold the pieces together. His shadows joined his effort, stretching toward the breaking golden light of your essence. His face contorted with desperate concentration, as if by sheer will he could prevent what had already happened.

It wasn't instantaneous. The fracture began that night in the Winter Court corridor, widened during the hours on the tree, and continued to split during the weeks of physical healing.

Each new callous comment from Beron, each dismissal of your suffering, each night of untreated nightmares widened the crack.

Until finally, during a particularly horrific flashback, something broke completely.

One remained tethered to your Fae body, calcifying into something cold and lethal. The other fled, across worlds, across realities, seeking refuge in a form untouched by Prythian's horrors.

It felt like his own soul was being torn apart.

His shadows split into two distinct groups. One remaining with his spectral form, the other flowing toward you on the healing table, instinctively trying to hold the pieces of your soul together.

But they couldn't. Nothing could. The tear was too profound, the wound too deep.

His consciousness followed the fleeing half of your soul, pulled by the golden bond that connected you. The memory-vision blurred, reality dissolving into golden light that surrounded him, buoyed him, carried him across the boundaries between worlds.

The experience was nothing like winnowing, which merely folded space within Prythian. This was a shattering of cosmic barriers, a journey across realities that shouldn't have been possible.

The hospital room materialized around him with shocking clarity.

Sterile white walls, strange beeping devices, tubes and wires connecting the still form on the bed to machines he couldn't comprehend.

Your human form, so similar to your Fae body yet subtly different. Softer. More fragile. Untouched by the horrors your other half had endured.

Around the bed, human figures, family, he supposed, maintained their vigil. A woman who shared your human features wept silently, holding your unresponsive hand. A male, perhaps a father or brother, stood by the window, face haggard with grief.

"Come back to us," the woman whispered, and Azriel felt the words reach toward your soul across the void that separated conscious thought from wherever you had retreated.

But he could see what they could not, the golden thread that connected this human vessel to a Fae body in another world entirely.

You found a way to survive.

When there was no escape, you created one.

Azriel lurched awake with a strangled gasp, wings flaring violently in the pre-dawn darkness.

Shadows exploded from his skin, not with their usual controlled precision but in chaotic bursts that plunged the room into impenetrable night. His scarred hand seized Truth-Teller before his eyes had fully opened.

Then he felt it—wetness tracking down his face.

Tears. In five centuries of nightmares, of reliving his own torture and the weight of countless deaths, he had never once cried in his sleep.

"You were crying."

Your voice cut through his darkness like the first light of dawn. His senses, always razor-sharp, had failed to detect your presence—he'd been too consumed by the visions the bond had forced upon him.

His eyes found you standing at the foot of his bed. Morning light filtered through the windows, limning you in amber and gold, turning your hair to living flame. The sight of you stole what little breath remained in his lungs.

"Bad dreams?" you asked.

Something in how you said it—the understanding that only comes from walking through nightmares yourself—made his shadows curl back protectively around him.

"The bond shows me things," Azriel said, watching your reaction carefully. "Your world. The hospital room where part of you still dreams. The machines keeping watch with their steady, metallic heartbeats."

Your sharp intake of breath seemed to pull all oxygen from the room. Fear flashed across your face, not of him, but of truths you weren't ready to face.

"You've seen... my other life?" The words barely formed a whisper.

Azriel nodded once. His shadows coiled tighter, though rebellious tendrils still strained toward the answering golden light beneath your skin.

"I've seen your human family," he said, gaze never leaving yours. "Their vigil at your bedside. The prayers they whisper over your unmoving hands. Their refusal to surrender hope."

The color drained from your face as you stepped back. "How much do you know?"

His shadows reacted to his inner conflict, painting the walls with frantic, jagged patterns.

The bond had shown him everything, your assault, your soul's desperate flight from unbearable pain, but he could see those memories remained locked behind walls your mind had built to protect itself.

"I know enough," he said finally, voice gentling despite the rage still simmering beneath his skin. "I know you exist between worlds, suspended between lives, belonging fully to neither."

He watched your face for signs of distress, of memories threatening to surface. But he saw only confusion and wariness, and beneath that, desperate hope that someone finally understood.

"There are...gaps," you admitted, so quietly only Fae hearing could catch it. "Times I can't remember. Feelings that appear from nowhere, like I'm borrowing someone else's heart."

The admission seemed to surprise you as much as him, a vulnerability you hadn't meant to reveal. The bond pulsed in response, acknowledging the trust such words required.

"Sometimes the mind shields us from what we're not ready to remember," Azriel said softly. His wings shifted unconsciously, creating a sheltered space that included you within their span. "There's no shame in that."

Your eyes widened, understanding dawning like stars appearing one by one. "You know more than you're telling me."

Azriel's silence was answer enough.

A single tear escaped down your cheek. The mating bond flared in response, golden light seeping through both your bodies like twin flames fed by the same source.

"Why won't you tell me everything?" you whispered.

"Because some truths should be followed to their source, not poured into unprepared vessels," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "And because choice was stolen from you once. I won't be another thief."

Something in your expression shifted at his words, a wall crumbling, a door creaking open. Your fear softened to cautious wonder.

"You really mean that," you said, half statement, half question.

"I've had five centuries to learn the sanctity of choice," Azriel replied, the ghosts of his own trauma briefly visible in his eyes. "Of agency. Of deciding one's own fate when all other freedoms have been stolen."

Ember and Sizzle materialized beside you, their pink flame forms crackling protectively. They studied Azriel with suspicious intensity before Ember cautiously approached. The tiny creature hopped onto the bed, then settled near Azriel's scarred hand. Not touching, but close.

"I should go," you said finally. "The healers are expecting me."

Azriel nodded, making no move to stop you.

But as you turned to leave, something broke inside him, some final barrier between duty and need.

With a wince he couldn't hide, Azriel pushed himself from the bed. His movements betrayed the wounds still healing beneath his leathers. Shadows curled around him as he crossed the chamber in three swift strides.

Then, before you could react, he knelt at your feet.

The gesture was so unexpected, so contrary to everything you knew of the feared shadowsinger, that you stepped back. But Azriel remained where he was, head bowed, shadows spread around him like wings darker than those folded against his back.

"I make this vow to you," he said, voice raw with emotion he'd stopped trying to hide. "Not because the bond demands it, but because I have seen all that you are across worlds and cannot bear the thought of your light dimming."

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, not crushing, but anchoring you to this moment.

He looked up, meeting your startled gaze with eyes that burned with such fierce devotion it stole what little breath remained.

Five centuries of controlled fury now focused solely on you with the precision of a blade crafted for one purpose.

"I vow that no one, not Beron, not the courts, not reality itself will ever again inscribe your destiny but you." His voice shook with the effort of laying himself bare. "Your choices will be yours alone."

His hands trembled at his sides, the effort it took not to reach for you written in every line of his body.

"Even if—" His voice faltered, and for the first time in five centuries, the shadowsinger struggled to master himself. "Even if those choices lead you away from me."

The bond between you flared, golden light bleeding through both your skins, responding to truth where pretty words would have fallen short.

The shadows around him deepened, no longer the calculated extensions of his will but raw manifestations of his soul laid bare. They created a living circle of darkness that surrounded you both, intimate as a whispered confession.

"I vow to stand between you and harm," he continued, each word carved from his very being, "not because you lack strength, but because you've already carried too much alone."

His voice dropped lower, until each word felt like a caress against your skin.

"I vow to be the silence that listens when you speak," he said, "the darkness that shelters when light wounds. To learn your silences, to honor your spirit in all its broken, beautiful glory."

His scarred hands—instruments of centuries of death—remained at his sides, making no move to touch you.

His fingers curled into fists, as if physically restraining themselves from reaching for what they had no right to claim.

"I vow to be patient as mountains, steadfast as stars." The tendons in his neck strained with the effort of offering everything while asking nothing. "To wait centuries if needed, to accept only what you freely give."

The chamber around you seemed to hold its breath as his final words took form.

"I bind myself not to you, but to your freedom," he said, the vow settling around you both like a constellation newly born, "your right to determine what you become."

You stood frozen, overwhelmed by what he offered. No male in your experience had ever placed a female's sovereignty above even a mating bond's demands.

"Azriel, get up," you finally managed, the word barely audible.

Azriel obeyed immediately, returning to his full height though he remained close enough that his scent—night-chilled stone and cedar—enveloped you like the promise of shelter in storm.

"Why?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

His gaze did not waver. "Because in five centuries of darkness, I never knew I was blind until your light showed me my own soul."

The simplicity of his answer, the raw honesty of it, nearly undid you.

"Can you..." you began, then faltered. Taking a deep breath, you tried again. "Can you help me find my way back? Home, I mean. To my real body."

For a heartbeat, everything showed on Azriel's face—the devastation of your request, the selfish desire to refuse. The bond between you spasmed as if in physical pain. His shadows recoiled, then coiled tighter as if protecting him from a blow that had already landed.

But then, deliberately, he mastered himself. His expression smoothed into something that cost him dearly to maintain.

"If that is your heart's true desire," he said, each word a river of emotion carefully channeled between banks of control, "then I will tear apart the fabric between worlds with my bare hands if it would grant you peace."

The promise clearly flayed him alive—you could see it in the tightening of his jaw, the subtle tensing of his wings, the way his shadows trembled, but he made it anyway. Honoring your choice even as it carved pieces from his soul.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words inadequate but all you could manage past the tightness in your throat.

Azriel inclined his head, accepting your gratitude though it must have felt like swallowing fire.

You took a step back, needing space to process what had just happened. The flame bunnies followed, though Ember cast one last look at Azriel before reluctantly joining you.

At the door, you paused, looking back. "I don't know what I'll choose in the end."

The hope that flared in his eyes was quickly banked, carefully controlled, but unmistakable as sunrise. "Whatever you choose," he said, voice steady only through centuries of discipline, "I will honor it as I would honor my own heartbeat."

Something that might have been a smile ghosted across your lips before you turned away. The sight of it made his heart clench in his chest, a glimpse of possibility where before he had seen only walls.

The door closed behind you with a soft click that echoed in the hollow space of your chest.

Azriel remained perfectly still for several heartbeats after you left.

The memory clung to him like smoke, seeping into his skin, his lungs, his bones. His scarred hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to breathe through the aftershocks.

He made it three steps before his knees buckled. Truth-Teller clattered to the floor.

Then came the sound, not a sob, not a growl. Just something breaking.

Your screams still echoed in his ears. The cold of that corridor. The laughter of those males. The smell of your blood on snow.

The room was too quiet now. Too still. A silence that rang louder than your screams.

He lurched toward the bathroom, barely making it before his stomach emptied itself. His shoulders heaved as he retched, tasting bile and fury and impotent rage.

When there was nothing left to purge, he slid to the floor, back against the cold tile wall. His wings dragged awkwardly, joints refusing to cooperate.

The first tear fell then, sliding silently down his cheek. Another followed. Then another, until his face was wet with grief.

Five centuries of discipline shattered like glass as sobs tore from his throat. Each one painful. Each one raw. His shadows recoiled from him, terrified by this display of emotion from their master who had taught them control above all else.

I failed you.

The thought crushed against his ribs like a physical weight.

Mother above, I failed you.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the violent trembling that had overtaken his body. The scars on his palms caught on the leather of his fighting clothes as he clutched at his own shoulders.

He had never broken like this. Not during his imprisonment in that lightless cell. Not in the centuries of blood and battlefields that followed. He had built his reputation on control, on emotionless precision, on perfect, deadly calm.

I should have been there.

I should have known.

Gods, I failed you.

The thoughts repeated, blades twisting deeper with each iteration. The tears wouldn't stop. They flowed as if an ancient dam had finally broken, carrying centuries of suppressed emotion. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with the force of his anguish.

His shadows finally approached cautiously, curling around him like concerned children. They had never seen their master like this, utterly broken open, utterly vulnerable.

They will pay.

The thought formed with perfect, crystalline clarity amidst his grief.

Every one of them still living.

Every one who touched you.

Every one who watched.

He saw it again, the moment your soul tore in two. Remembered the sound, like silk ripping, like a star dying. The terrible beauty of that golden light splitting, one half fleeing across worlds, the other calcifying into armor around what remained.

This understanding only made him crumble further, made his chest heave with sobs that felt like they might break his ribs. He tried to regain control, tried to force the tears to stop, but they continued to pour down his face, dripping onto the tile floor beneath him.

In this moment, he wasn't Rhysand's shadowsinger. Wasn't the Night Court's most feared assassin. He was just a male, kneeling alone on a bathroom floor, heart breaking for suffering he couldn't prevent.

The shadows tried to comfort him, wrapping around his shoulders, his wings, his trembling hands. But they couldn't reach the wound that had been torn open inside him, the raw, bleeding awareness of his failure to protect something precious.

I'll guard what remains.

The vow formed somewhere beneath the tears, solid as stone.

I'll never fail you again.

He rested his forehead on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, making himself as small as possible, as if he could somehow contain the devastating grief that poured from him.

For the first time in five centuries, Azriel, shadowsinger of the Night Court, cried until there were no tears left to shed. Until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen. Until his shadows had gathered around him in silent vigil, witnessing this transformation, this breaking, this rebirth.

His shadows, once wild and frantic, began to still. As if recognizing the shape of a vow. As if honoring it.

Finally, when the tears subsided into occasional shuddering breaths, he lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his features swollen with grief.

I will find them all.

The oath settled in his bones with cold finality.

And when I do, death will seem a mercy.

He pushed himself up, movements stiff and pained. In the mirror, he barely recognized himself, face ravaged by tears, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shadows still curling protectively around his shoulders.

He looked like what he was: a male who had witnessed something unholy and been forever changed by it.

He splashed cold water on his face, the chill a shock against his heated skin. Then he straightened, squared his shoulders, and faced his reflection. Not to check the damage, but to look himself in the eyes.

To bear it. To earn the right to one day bear your gaze again.

I am yours, as you are mine. Whether you want me or not.

The vow settled in his bones with finality. This was his purpose now. Not Rhysand's missions. Not court politics. Not ancient vendettas.

You. All parts of you.

The broken and the healing. The cruel and the kind. The fragments across worlds.

His to protect. His to avenge. His to guard.

He picked up Truth-Teller with unsteady hands.

Not a weapon tonight. Just a reminder.

He opened the bathroom door, shoulders set with new determination.

The grief would come again, he knew. The images would haunt him. But they would also drive him.

He wasn't healed. He wasn't whole. But something had cracked open. Like stone split by frost. And through it, something new might one day grow.

His tears had washed away something old to make room for something new, a shadowsinger with purpose beyond court and war. A male who had finally found something worth fighting for beyond duty and brotherhood.

You.

You stumbled back to your chambers, Azriel's vow reverberating in your mind. Each word had carved itself into your memory with the precision of Truth-Teller's edge.

"Is kneeling and swearing eternal oaths what passes for flirting in Prythian?" you muttered, pressing fingers to your flushed cheeks. "Whatever happened to awkward small talk over wine?"

The bond pulsed in response, a golden thread beneath your skin that sent warmth cascading through your veins.

Ember and Sizzle materialized in twin pops of flame, immediately launching into a dramatic reenactment. Ember dropped to his tiny knees, paws clasped in supplication, mimicking Azriel's intensity with such ridiculous devotion that you snorted despite yourself.

"I'm glad someone finds this amusing," you said, collapsing onto your bed. The mattress sank beneath you, cradling your exhausted body.

Your fingers brushed against the leather journal in your pocket. The worn cover felt warm against your skin. You hesitated, then pulled it out.

"I shouldn't read this," you told the bunnies, already turning pages. "Major invasion of privacy."

The first entry made you choke on a laugh.

"What is a submarine? Some underwater house? Why would anyone put a door with holes in it underwater? Filed under: Makes no sense but I understand completely."

"He's been documenting everything!" you exclaimed, fingertips trembling slightly as you flipped through more pages.

A knock interrupted your reading. A servant bowed when you opened the door.

"My lady, Lords Eris and Lucien request your presence in the eastern gardens. The meeting with Lord Thesan and the shadowsinger has concluded."

Your heart stammered against your ribs. "What meeting?"

"I believe it concerns the Autumn Court," she replied carefully. "They asked for you specifically."

You hurried to the gardens, journal still clutched in your hand. The eternal dawn cast long shadows across the carefully tended paths. As you rounded the final corner, you spotted Eris and Lucien standing with Azriel beneath a blooming tree.

The shadowsinger's back was to you, his wings folded tight against his spine, but his posture changed the moment your scent hit the air.

Lucien looked grim, his metal eye whirring faster than usual. Eris's face was a mask of cold fury, lips pressed into a bloodless line, until he saw you. His expression softened instantly.

Azriel turned, and the raw emotion in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs. His shadows stretched toward you before he reined them in, but not before one tendril brushed your ankle.

"What's happening?" you demanded, heart pounding. "Why wasn't I included?"

Eris's gaze flicked to Azriel, sharp as a blade. "Shadowsinger, leave us. This is a family matter."

A muscle ticked in Azriel's jaw. His shadows darkened, coiling tightly around him. For a moment, you thought he might refuse, but then he bowed his head in a gesture of surprising deference.

"As you wish," he said quietly. His voice was midnight stone, cool and impenetrable. The words were for Eris, but his eyes found yours. "I'll be nearby if needed."

With that, he dissolved into darkness, though the bond tugged insistently in the direction he'd vanished.

Once he was gone, Eris's shoulders dropped a fraction, the knife-edge of his posture dulling just enough to reveal something more human underneath.

"I've declared the northern territories of Autumn Court in rebellion against Beron," he said, his voice precise as a surgeon's blade. "Dawn Court has granted sanctuary and military aid."

Cold shock washed through you, the bond trembling with your fear. "You're starting a civil war?"

"A war that's been brewing for centuries," Eris replied, each word cut from ice. "Beron's time has ended."

"Why now?" you asked, stomach twisting into knots. "What's changed?"

Lucien moved closer, his expression gentling. Before you could respond, Lucien closed the distance between you. His arms wrapped around you in an embrace so unexpected that you froze, the journal pressed awkwardly between you.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking. You could feel him trembling. "I'm sorry for failing you. For not being the brother you deserved."

You stood shocked, uncertain how to respond. Over his shoulder, you saw Eris watching, his amber eyes burning with an emotion you'd never witnessed there before.

"I'll protect you," Lucien continued, pulling back to meet your gaze. His metal eye whirred, focusing with fierce intensity. "I swear it on the Mother, on my blood, on whatever remains of my honor."

"We protect our own," Eris echoed. Unlike Lucien, he maintained his distance, but the vow in his voice cut deeper than any blade. "Whatever the cost."

You looked between them, Lucien's open emotion, Eris's restrained intensity, and felt something shift inside you. Not the mating bond, but something equally profound. The bond of family, forged in shared purpose.

"Beron will retaliate," Eris continued, voice hardening until it could have shattered stone. "You can't stay in Dawn Court. It's not defensible enough."

The bond reacted to your rising concern, pulsing beneath your breastbone. It felt like warning, like protection.

"The Night Court has offered sanctuary," Lucien said, his metal eye gleaming with determination.

"The Night Court?" Your voice rose slightly. The bond flared, golden warmth spreading through your chest. "With Azriel?"

Something that might have been amusement flickered in Eris's eyes, there and gone like a spark from a fire. "Despite my personal feelings about the shadowsinger, his protection is... formidable."

"You'll have choices there," Lucien assured you, warmth infusing his words. "You'll have freedom."

The word resonated within you. Your fingers tightened around the journal, its leather warm against your skin.

"Do I have a choice now?" you asked. "Or has this already been decided?"

The brothers exchanged a look laden with centuries of understanding.

"The choice is yours," Lucien said, his voice gentle. "Always."

"But we strongly advise Night Court protection," Eris added, amber eyes never leaving yours.

Ember and Sizzle materialized on your shoulders, sensing your uncertainty. Ember nuzzled against your cheek, his tiny flame form surprisingly comforting. Sizzle puffed herself up, growing to twice her size as if preparing to defend you from your own brothers.

"I'll go to the Night Court," you said finally. The bond hummed in approval, sending warmth through your veins. "But this isn't forever. When Beron is dealt with, I decide where I belong."

"Agreed," Lucien said immediately.

Eris nodded once, the gesture somehow more binding than any oath. "We'll send word when it's safe."

As arrangements were made around you, a shadow tendril briefly touched your hand. Azriel, listening from the darkness, acknowledging your choice without intruding.

The bond responded instantly, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin where the shadow had touched. Not rejection. Not possession. But recognition.

Looking at your brothers, one openly protective, one fiercely reserved, you felt something you hadn't expected. Belonging.

Whatever awaited in your future with a certain shadowsinger, you wouldn't face it alone.

The Dawn Court servants had packed most of your belongings. All that remained were your personal items and deciding which of Azriel's gifts to bring. You stood over the drawer containing them, his journal warm in your hands, your fingers tracing the worn leather cover.

A whisper of darkness gathered at your balcony, like night itself had taken form. Shadows curled and danced in invitation before Azriel himself appeared, moonlight silvering the edges of his wings.

"May I enter?" he asked, his voice deep velvet in the twilight. He remained outside, waiting with a patience that seemed etched into his very being.

You stiffened, heart betraying you with a quickened beat. "Why are you here?"

"Your brothers asked me to check final arrangements," he replied, but something in his eyes, a vulnerability that belied his warrior's stance, suggested another reason entirely.

You nodded, placing the journal back in the drawer. "Fine. Come in."

He stepped inside, wings tucked tight against his back, not the predatory male you'd first met, but someone humbled, careful. You moved to the opposite side of the room, pretending not to notice how the bond between you brightened at his nearness, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin.

Silence stretched between you, fragile as spun glass. Ember and Sizzle materialized, their tiny flame bodies casting warm light across your face. They stayed beside you, but their eyes remained fixed on Azriel with unmistakable longing.

"Are you prepared for tomorrow's journey?" Azriel finally asked, shadows betraying his nervousness, reaching toward you before he pulled them back.

"As prepared as one can be when shuttled between courts like a parcel," you replied, your tone softer than intended. Something about the night, about his presence, made your carefully constructed walls seem suddenly transparent.

He didn't flinch, but his shadows curled inward, as if absorbing your words. "Your world," he said unexpectedly, eyes finding yours across the distance. "What was it like?"

The question caught you off guard. "Why do you want to know?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Because it made you," he answered simply. "And that makes it important."

Your breath caught, the raw honesty disarming you more effectively than any practiced charm. "Is this small talk? Because you're terrible at it."

A smile, rare and beautiful, touched his lips. "Is it working anyway?"

Despite yourself, warmth bloomed in your chest. "Maybe."

"Tell me," he said, voice falling to an intimate murmur that seemed designed for secrets shared in darkness. "Please."

You moved to the balcony, gesturing for him to join you beneath the stars. His scent, night-chilled stone and cedar, enveloped you as he drew near, careful to maintain the space you needed.

"Submarines are vessels that travel underwater," you explained, watching wonder transform his severe features. "Like ships, but beneath the surface."

"And screen doors?"

Your answering laugh surprised you both. "They're mesh doors that keep insects out while letting air in, useless on submarines, hence the saying."

"Your world sounds fascinating," he said, gaze lingering on your smile.

"Says the immortal shadowsinger," you countered, noticing how starlight caught in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold.

His attention fell to your mouth. "What about...yeeting?"

"Oh god." Heat rushed to your face.

Laughter bubbled up from some long-forgotten place inside you. Ember and Sizzle suddenly formed tiny flame balls and flinging them while squeaking what could only be their version of "yeet."

"No, no!" you exclaimed through giggles. "No yeeting fire indoors!"

Azriel's shadows darted out, catching the flame balls before they could cause damage. What happened next stole your breath, darkness and fire merged, spiraling together in a dance of opposing elements that somehow created something new, something beautiful.

"I didn't know they could do that," you whispered, momentarily forgetting the distance you'd imposed.

"Neither did I," Azriel replied, watching the interaction with wonder. "Looks like we create something beautiful together."

The implication hung in the air between you, not a challenge, but a truth offered without expectation.

"What do you miss most about your world?" Azriel asked, his voice a caress in the darkness.

"Coffee," you admitted, leaning against the balcony rail, face tilted toward stars you were beginning to recognize. "And the people who'd make it for me on bad days."

His hazel eyes lit with genuine curiosity. "What is this coffee? I've heard you mention it before."

"It's a drink made from roasted beans. Bitter, but in the best way possible. People get addicted to it."

One of his shadows curled forward with interest. "Your world has recreational poisons?"

You laughed, the sound startling in its genuineness. "We have so many. Coffee, alcohol, sugar, social media..."

"Social... media?" His brow furrowed, shadows mimicking his confusion in swirling patterns.

"Imagine if everyone in Prythian could instantly send messages to everyone else, at all times of day, and also show pictures of their breakfast."

A rare smile tugged at his lips. "That sounds..."

"Horrible? It absolutely is," you grinned. "I was completely addicted."

"You miss things that are horrible for you?" His shadows danced with amusement.

"Humans are complicated like that." You gestured to the night sky. "We also had metal contraptions that flew without wings. Cars that moved without horses. Tiny devices that held all the world's knowledge in your pocket."

Azriel leaned closer, completely enraptured. "Tell me more about these... cars?"

"Metal boxes with wheels and engines. They go really fast, but also kill thousands of people every year."

"Your world sounds terrifying," he said, but his tone conveyed fascination, not judgment.

"We also had medicine that could cure most diseases. Buildings that touched the clouds. Devices that let you talk to someone across the world instantly."

"Yet you say 'yeet' when throwing things," he noted with unexpected dry humor.

You burst out laughing. "Did you just make a joke? The terrifying shadowsinger made a joke!"

For the next hour, you described smartphones, internet, airplanes, and television. Azriel listened with increasing amazement, his shadows occasionally forming shapes that resembled what you described—tiny cars, miniature airplanes, even a crude approximation of a smartphone.

"Your world sounds interesting," he said finally. "Creative. Innovative."

"It's also polluted, overcrowded, and constantly at war," you admitted. "No place is perfect."

His expression grew serious as he reached into his leathers. "I have something for you."

From within his leathers, he produced a small object wrapped in midnight blue silk. His scarred fingers barely grazed yours as he placed it in your palm, but even that brief contact sent warmth cascading through your veins.

Inside lay a delicate silver charm—a tiny flame crafted with remarkable detail, suspended on a fine chain. Within the flame swirled what looked like living shadow, dancing and pulsing with quiet life.

"I asked Amren to bind your flame to my shadow," Azriel explained, his voice rough with emotion. "It'll grow warmer the closer I am."

His shadows caressed the charm as if reluctant to part with this piece of himself.

"And if you ever need me," he continued, eyes meeting yours with fierce intensity, "break it. The bond will bring me to you, across any distance."

You held the charm against your heart, understanding the gift's true significance—not possession, but protection. Not demand, but devotion.

"I know your path is yours to choose," he said, voice breaking slightly. "But if you ever need someone who will come without question, without hesitation..." His scarred hand hovered near your cheek, not quite touching. "Let it be me."

Before you could respond, a commotion erupted below. Azriel's shadows instantly darkened, stretching toward the sound as his body tensed, warrior replacing poet in the space of a heartbeat.

Lucien appeared at your door, face grim. "We have to leave. Now. Beron's forces breached the defenses."

"How?" Azriel demanded, wings flaring protectively around you.

"Betrayal," Lucien answered. "Someone inside let them through."

The charm burned warm against your skin, its promise suddenly vital.

"Get her to Velaris," Lucien commanded. "I'll hold them here."

"And Eris?" you asked, heart pounding.

"Captured."

Azriel moved toward you with predatory grace, the tender male of moments ago transformed into living shadow. His fingertips finally brushed your cheek, the touch so gentle it made your eyes burn with unshed tears.

"Stay behind me," he said, voice midnight steel. "Always."

As he cradled you against his chest, you felt his heart beating in perfect rhythm with yours, the bond between you no longer a chain but a lifeline.

Through the windows, orange flame bloomed in the distance. Velaris lay ahead, but behind you, everything you'd begun to trust was burning.

As Azriel launched into the night, wings unfurling like destruction made beautiful, you slipped the necklace over your head and pressed the charm between your bodies, where fire and shadow already danced together, creating something neither of you had imagined possible.

Author’s Note: This was one of the hardest chapters I have ever written. It deals with trauma, helplessness, and the echoes of pain that linger in love. Nothing here is for shock value. It is about survival, silence, and the grief of watching someone you care for break.

If you have lived through something like this, or love someone who has, I see you. This story does not claim to define that pain, but it does seek to honor it.

Please take care while reading. Step away if needed. Your peace matters. 🕊️

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#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #feyre acotar #cassian #nesta acotar

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inkedinshadows · 7 months ago

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Calanmai

Day 28: Breeding kink — Tamlin x f!reader

Warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, rough sex

Word count: 1.507

A/N: sorry again for the delay in posting this one. I’m not sure about how this turned out, I honestly don’t know what to think of it. It's not exactly what I wanted it to be, but it also is what I wanted? Idk, I have no idea lol

Tamlin had warned you about Calanmai. He explained what it was and what he was required to do, and he made sure you knew you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. But you had stood by each other’s side since the day you met months ago, and you weren’t about to abandon him now.

Especially because you knew he hoped you would be there, even if he never said it and left the choice to you. And you wanted to be there. You wanted to see this part of him, too, and love it as much as every other part.

You stood among the faeries lining the path that led to the cave where the ritual would take place. They were all female, all waiting for Tamlin’s arrival and hoping to be chosen.

Would he choose you? You had no way of knowing for sure. It was the magic flowing through him tonight that would make the choice, not him. But you pushed the thought away, unable to stomach the idea of him with some other girl. Even more so because he had told you he needed to “complete the rite inside the chosen one.” You needed it to be you.

The drumming picked up rhythm and volume until it was an almost deafening frenzy. Swaying on your feet alongside the others, you resisted the urge to cover your ears and instead focused on the other end of the path, where every faerie—lesser or High Fae—had gone utterly still.

You felt the thrum of power before you saw him, and when he appeared, he looked like a god.

Tamlin wasn’t wearing a shirt, his muscled chest painted with swirls of blue ink that shimmered in the light of the bonfires. His hair was unbound, and a crown of golden leaves rested on the top of his head. His back was rigid, his stride long and unhurried as he surveyed every faerie gathered just for him. A part of you swore he was looking for someone specific.

But what if you were wrong? What if he wouldn’t pick you? The question crawled its way into your mind, and this time, you couldn’t shake the concern—not when you heard the girls next to you sigh dreamily. You couldn’t blame them, but something churned in your stomach.

Suddenly, Tamlin stopped in his tracks. He seemed to smell something in the wind, and then his head snapped in your direction, his eyes immediately locking on yours amidst the crowd. You held your breath as he stalked closer, and only when he stood in front of you did you realize what he meant when he said he wouldn’t be himself tonight.

His pupils were blown wide, his short fangs exposed, just like his claws. Even his beautiful features seemed more animalistic than usual—sharper. There was nothing soft in his face, nor in his voice, as he snarled, “Y/N. Come with me.”

Every worry disappeared the moment he grabbed your wrist and headed for the entrance of the cave, not bothering to glance back to check if you were keeping up.

You followed silently as he led you deep into the hillside, the rock walls illuminated by only a few lanterns casting long shadows. Tamlin stopped after a turn in the tunnel and pointed to several blankets laid out on the ground.

“That’s where I’m going to take you,” he growled.

The sound trembled down your body, a shiver of anticipation and excitement coursing through you at this new version of him. He pulled you closer until your chest pressed against his. The paint smeared on the front of your dress, but you were too caught up in his eyes to notice.

You caressed his cheek as you normally would, and something softened in his gaze, if only slightly.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said, but there was a light tremor in his voice that revealed just how much he was struggling against the magic of the land.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Don’t.”

As if the word were a trigger, the softness you had glimpsed disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only that feral, lustful gaze. His mouth descended on your neck, and he bit the tender spot where it met your shoulder, not hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood, but enough to make you yelp at the jolt of pain. Yet, there was a sort of tenderness to it all—the way he soothed the spot with his tongue before he pulled back, how his claws retracted until they were nothing more than sharp nails so he wouldn’t hurt you.

Tamlin was already panting, a victim to whatever greater power flowed through him. His cock was straining in his pants, and you reached for it, palming him through the fabric. He flinched, as if not used to being touched in such a situation.

“Let me,” you murmured.

He bared his teeth in another growl. “Later.”

He was on you again, kissing you with such hunger that a moan escaped your lips. He dragged a short claw over the laces at the back of your dress and the fabric soon slipped off your body. You shivered as the cold air of the cave hit your skin, and a guttural groan came from Tamlin at the sight of your peaked nipples.

For a moment, you caught another glimpse of your beloved High Lord in his eyes when he helped you lay down on the blankets. But soon, his clothes joined yours, and he was back in the grip of the magic-induced frenzy.

The male that would normally murmur sweet nothings and soft praises as he pleasured you was gone. This Tamlin kept silent while he spread your legs and lowered his mouth to your cunt. His thumb drew tight circles on your clit, making sure to use just the pad and avoid scratching you with the sharp nail. Your eyes closed as he lapped at you, but he stopped shortly after—once you were wet enough for him to slide in effortlessly.

He thrust into you with a single roll of his hips and you cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth when he kissed you again. He immediately set a punishing rhythm, fingers digging into your thighs, and you welcomed the slight twinge of pain, relishing in the knowledge that he would leave little marks on your flesh. By the time the night was over, you hoped there would be many more all over your body.

Tamlin looked like he couldn’t get enough of you. He was nibbling on your neck one moment and sucking on your nipples the next, and then his mouth was on yours again. Yet his pace never faltered, pounding into you relentlessly as if his very life depended on it.

“Tam,” you whimpered. You held on to his broad shoulder, your hands smudged with the blue paint that was now also smeared on your breasts. “Gods, this is—”

“I’m not stopping,” he interrupted you with a snarl. “I need to come inside you to complete the ritual.”

His words were accentuated by a deeper thrust that had you almost screaming, but concern about him stopping was actually the last thing on your mind. You knew that already and you wanted him to come inside. A primal, hidden part of you wanted—needed—him to breed you.

“That’s not what I—” you tried again, but Tamlin was too lost in the magic.

He growled and kissed you, teeth slightly sinking into your lower lip. His hips slammed into you faster, harder, and you were soon arching beneath him as you neared your climax.

“I’m about to come, princess.” His voice was barely recognizable. “I’m going to fill you up.”

“Yes… yes, please,” you whined. “Breed me, Tam. Put a baby in me.”

His grip on your thighs grew tighter, his thrusts became frantic and he came with a roar that echoed off the cave, spurting hot seed inside you. The sensation pushed you over the edge and you reached your own orgasm just a few seconds later. You clenched around him and as you did, you felt a wave of power shake the ground beneath you and expand all around.

“The ritual,” Tamlin muttered. He sounded more like himself now, though the animalistic growl lingered, along with the unnatural glint in his green eyes.

You went limp beneath him after coming down from your high, but Tamlin was still moving, slowly dragging his cock in and out of you, pushing his cum deeper inside you.

“We’re not done yet,” he warned you. His hands let go of your legs to roam up your body and cup your breasts. “That was just the bare minimum we had to do.”

You were still panting, but you offered him a smile. He had told you that too. The Great Rite could take hours, if not the whole night.

“Then keep fucking me, High Lord.”

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#kinktober 2024 #tamlin acotar #tamlin #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin x y/n #tamlin smut #tamlin fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar #acotar smut #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #acotar fic #kinktober #smut #fanfiction

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smileysuh · 8 months ago

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knight of roses

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. The Knight of Roses looks so beautiful as he says his piece, and the idea that he’s already committed to you is one that makes your heart race in your chest. He’s so beautiful- and you’ve tried to deny it for too long. You hate being the girl who falls for the same man that everyone else has their eye on, and Jaehyun has no lack of suitors, especially in court. However, you suppose there’s always legitimacy in the looks of a man who has captured the hearts of many.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, virgin!reader, first time, dirty talk, praise, power imbalance, Jaehyun unties her stupidly royal corset, armor removal, hand job, pussy eating, fingering, stretching out, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 9.1k

🍭 aus. Fantasy au, fairy au, royal au, knight!Jaehyun, princess!y/n, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. So this is a fae au, but that’s more the kingdom fantasy side than any overt faerie wings or powers- Jaehyun’s hair is naturally pink, and Yuta has white hair, so that’s going to be the extent of the faerie aesthetic in this- I just wanted to do something royal, and I wanted a unique kingdom set up :)

Prologue:

Tourneys of this caliber are unusual. The northern reaches that expand through the Winter kingdom, as well as the Fall lands in the West, are known for their bad weather, not for their celebrations. While the Spring Royals host events, it’s with little regularity. No, this kind of lengthy drinking and fighting fest is a uniquely Summer type of pride and joy.

It’s the Summer Kingdom’s Prince John’s birthday, and only a princely celebration could merit the expense of this sort of event.

All the royals, from all four reaches, are here, as well as a host of knights from all sorts of families. Everyone is intent on proving themselves, but none more so than the Princes Yuta from the North, and Doyoung from the West.

The Winter Prince has a reputation for upholding the traits of his house. He’s fierce, white-haired, and hardened from the cold temperatures and unforgiving terrain he was made in.

The Fall Prince carries some of those more ‘Northern’ aspects, however, where Yuta is more brazen, Doyoung is regal in every sense of the word. His motions are calculated, his blade as sharp as his eyes.

They’re both formidable fighters as the tourney day drags on, however, another favourite has emerged in the past two days that has shocked everyone. ‘The Knight of Roses’ they call him, in reference to the emblem on his chest plate, a man from a lesser house in the Eastern lands.

With pretty pink locks, this Jeong Jaehyun has stolen the hearts of many, however, you’re not so easily swayed, and your brother, John, knows it.

“Who will you be giving your favour to?” Johnny asks, leaning on his watching throne to get closer to you in the royal box where your family sits to watch the tourney.

“I’m not sure yet,” you admit, although, your gaze shifts to Prince Yuta as he pulls on his black dragon helm.

“Don’t even think about it,” Johnny grins. “Yuta is a savage. You don’t want him to get any ideas.”

“Ideas?” you counter with a smirk.

“First it’s your favour he asks for, then it’s your hand,” Johnny points out.

“I’m too young to marry,” you insist. “Maybe I’ll never take a husband.”

Johnny sighs. It’s a well-known fact within your close family that you don’t want to adhere to political protocols. You have a wildness in your heart, and your mother has always attributed it to a touch of winter that had coldened her family line many years ago.

“But if you must, it can’t be Yuta,” Johnny says firmly. “The North might be exciting now, but summer and winter don’t mix well. You might think of yourself as a savage, with your sword-wielding, and your dislike for ‘things befit of a princess,’ but you’re still too sweet for a man like him, believe me on that.”

Your lips pull tight, and you refuse to respond, focusing your attention on the tourney as the announcer begins to read out the names of competitors.

Yuta is one of the first, as is his right as a royal, and he approaches the elevated stand you’re sitting on. “I’m hoping for a favor, from the princess,” he says loudly, holding out his joust.

You stand, holding a small garland of wildflowers picked from the King’s wood. “Good luck, Prince Yuta,” you call, leaning over the rail to toss your favor onto his joust.

Yuta nods respectfully, and you’re taken by his striking eyes.

You go back to sit with your brother and he lets out an annoyed sound, but doesn’t pester you further.

Soon, the final tournament, the last of three days, is beginning.

You’re glued to your seat for all of it, eyes fixed on the commotion as rider after rider is bested. The royals hold their own, but once again, the Knight of Roses shows off his skills with a joust, defeating Prince Doyoung in the semi-finals.

You feel, as Yuta and Jaehyun size each other up, that the victor should be obvious, you’d given him your favour after all- however, the day ends with your bet not paying off.

The Knight of Roses finishes on top, and as you and your brother leave to head to the final departing feast, Johnny pulls you close. “That Jaehyun guy is no joke,” he muses. “I want him in my court.”

One:

“In light of our mother and father going to The Bright Lands,” your brother sighs as he’s fitted into his coronation robe, “I think it’s best you finally get a proper bodyguard.”

“Jungwoo is doing the job just fine,” you muse, fingers clicking on your glass of wine while numerous maids fuss over the future king.

“Jungwoo is my guard,” Johnny corrects. “And now that I’m about to be correnated, I want him back. He was a loan.”

“A loan,” you laugh.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree to a new guard, but in an hour, I’ll be your king, so you’re going to make this easy on me, okay?”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t protest. “And who are you planning on assigning to baby sit me?”

“The Knight of Roses.”

Your heart skips a beat.

It’s been five years since Johnny recruited Jaehyun to come to your palace and train. Five years of you seeing the pink-haired man work at becoming an even better swordsman. Part of you had assumed that Jaehyun would step into the role of Johnny’s protector, not your own.

“I don’t need him,” you say.

“Yes, you do,” Johnny sighs. “Trust me, I think you’ll like his style of protection.”

With one last flair of his furred robe, Johnny turns to the door, and it’s clear the conversation is over.

The two of you exit his royal chambers, and you’re immediately flanked by guards. Jaehyun falls into step right behind you, and you do your best to ignore him as you make your way to the grand hall.

The Knight of Roses sticks to your side the entire ceremony, and it’s hard to focus on your brother with this pretty, pink-haired man practically breathing down your neck.

You’re ready for some alone time as the coronation closes. Tonight marks the eve of a three-day celebration to solidify the start of your brother’s reign, and you know you’ll have many duties in the coming seventy-two hours. You can skip the feast, especially while Johnny is swarmed in the great hall at the dining table.

As you slip away, you’re cognisant of the spring shadow following you. He’s silent, and you appreciate that as you make your way to your room. Once in the safety of your bed chamber, Jaehyun waits outside respectfully.

Two handmaidens join you, and they’re a little shocked at your request to be helped with putting on the armor your father had gifted to you three years ago. He’d known at that time that there was no way of squashing your wild heart, so he’d made sure you’d have the proper gear to protect yourself if you decided to live dangerously.

You exit your room fully adorned in royal armor. It’s similar to your elder brother’s, all golden, and stamped with the Summer house’s royal sunshine mark.

Jaehyun continues to say nothing, continues to shadow you as you make your way down to the courtyard and into the King’s wood.

It wouldn’t be ‘becoming’ for you to practice swordsmanship where others could see you, so your father had made a training section of sorts for you a short way into the treeline, in a clearing where you’ve since spent many hours.

You expect Jaehyun to continue his silent streak as you approach a practice dummy, expect him to sit back and watch you the way Jungwoo always has- but as you ready your first blow, Jaehyun speaks his first words. “Do you come train here often, Princess?”

You pause, turning to look at your spring shadow. “Excuse me?”

“This practice site, is it yours?”

“Yes,” you respond, striking the practice dummy, “it’s mine.” You hear something of a scoff- or maybe a smile, and you turn to find the pink-haired man grinning. “What?”

“King John said you’re an unusual girl, but I never expected this.”

“Sorry to ruin your expectations,” you sigh, lining yourself up to take another hit at your training dummy.

“Has anyone ever given you any formal training, Princess?” Jaehyun asks next, stepping toward you.

“Johnny has tried to teach me a few times,” you confess.

“Are you open to pointers, Princess?”

You let out a deep sigh. “My last guard would simply watch.”

Jaehyun nods, looking down at the ground. It’s clear he’s going to drop this, that he’s taken your response as a rejection. You’re his Princess, he won’t question you, and you kind of like it. But, at the same time, as you begin to hack at the dummy, you wonder what Jaehyun might be able to provide for you that Jungwoo couldn’t, or maybe wouldn’t.

The Knight Of Roses has proven himself, and his swordsmanship, many times over. There are worse people you could accept constructive criticism from.

“Fine,” you sigh. “What am I doing wrong?”

Two:

You’re elated from your impromptu training session with Jaehyun. After allowing him to teach you a few tips, you’d sparred for an hour or so before he’d insisted it would be a good idea to go back to the banquet. So here you are, all tightened in your gown and corset, your heart racing every time you think of how much you’ve just learned from your new protector.

Your brother is seated next to you, and as the dinner commotion quiets down a little, he leans closer to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

Johnny scoffs at your one-word response, his eyes shifting to the guard behind you, to the great hall full of people there to celebrate his coronation. “How do you feel about the familiar faces here tonight?”

You sigh, knowing who he means. Prince Doyoung and Prince Yuta are seated at their royal tables, one poised, the other relaxed and holding a cup of wine between his fingers.

“We just had a royal wedding,” you muse, looking at Johnny’s new wife as she sits on his left.

“And as much as I like the Spring King, I don’t need Taeyond as a brother-in-law twice over,” Johnny agrees. “I remember a few years ago, you had an eye on Prince Yuta.”

“That was a few years ago.”

Johnny nods, and he looks contemplative for a few seconds. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re a summer child, but there’s always been an untamable side to you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“However,” Johnny lifts his fingers to his lips, leaning his elbow on his large chair. “I would like for you to dance with a few people tonight.”

“And what would be the point in that?” you counter.

Johnny shrugs. “Fun? Intrinsic value? Because your older brother, and King, wants to see you smile?”

“I doubt many of these men could make me smile.”

Jaehyun is close behind you, and he listens to this exchange, a smug grin working it’s way onto his face. As familiar as he is with Johnny, it’s clear your brother doesn’t know very much about you. If he wishes to see you smile, he just has to see you with a sword in your hand.

The Knight of Roses has always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you dressed in full royal armor, wielding a blade- he’d realized that was your element. You’re happiest while battling, unladylike sweat dripping from your brow, eyes fixed on your task, the smell of deep concentration practically wafting off of you.

Jaehyun would be lying if he said he wasn’t affected by the small training session that had just taken place. He wasn’t sure how to gauge what your relationship as princess and guard would be like, but now- if tonight was any suggestion of what’s to come- he thinks this might suit him just perfectly.

The feast is cleared away by servants, and large tables are pushed to the sides of the great hall to make way for dancing.

Jaehyun shifts on his feet as he watches, holding his breath at what’s to come.

He’s not surprised when Prince Yuta approaches the royal table.

“King John, Princess,” he nods, his gaze lingering on you, “I was wondering if I might have this dance.”

For something of a winter savage, Prince Yuta can be surprisingly well-mannered when he wants to be, and it’s no shock when you stand to your feet, allowing the man from the North to pull you to the dance floor.

Each kingdom has its own color scheme. While Fall is depicted with bronze and blue, Jaehyun’s own kingdom sports rose gold and green. Yuta however, is silver and black, and it is starkly contrasted by your gold and white dress. The two of you stick out like a sore thumb on the great hall floor, and there are many eyes that watch you humour the prince from the North with a dance.

Jaehyun has his opinions about this potential union, but he’ll keep them to himself.

Three:

It’s the second day of Johnny’s coronation celebration. The Summer equinox is approaching tomorrow, and the days are long. The sun is hot, and it makes you sweat in your suit of armor as you and Jaehyun train by the lake in the King’s Wood.

There had been a tourney today, and you’d slipped away from the crowds to find a spare hour or two before the nightly banquet. You’re aware that you’ve been sparring for some time already, and the summer heat is making you exhausted faster than you’d anticipated.

With a sigh, you let your sword fall to your side, and your guard immediately mirrors the movement. “I think I’m done for the day,” you muse.

“As you wish, Princess,” Jaehyun nods.

You pull off one of your armored gloves as you move closer to the rocky shore of the lake. “Come sit with me.”

Jaehyun nods again, following you.

He’s quick to unclip his rose gold and green embroidered cape, setting it along the rocks for you to sit on. You and Jaehyun have found a way to communicate with motions more so than words, and you nod a thank you to him as you get seated.

You release a sigh as you continue to take off parts of your armor, relieved by the coolness that washes over your skin after being cooped up for an hour.

“I have something to ask you,” you tell him.

“Whatever you need, Princess.”

He’s still standing, and you sigh. “Sit.” Jaehyun does as he’s told. “I’m sure you noticed me dancing with Prince Yuta last night.”

“I think it’s safe to say everyone noticed,” Jaehyun nods.

“I know what is expected of me as a princess, and I guess I’m wondering what your feelings are on love and marriage?”

Jaehyun looks out at the lake, and he’s quiet for a moment while you assess him.

“I don’t have the same pressures that you do when it comes to marriage,” Jaehyun admits. “I’m your guard, my only duty- my only commitment, is protecting you, and even though it’s only been two days, I think I can be content with that.”

The Knight of Roses looks so beautiful as he says his piece, and the idea that he’s already committed to you is one that makes your heart race in your chest. He’s so beautiful- and you’ve tried to deny it for too long. You hate being the girl who falls for the same man that everyone else has their eye on, and Jaehyun has no lack of suitors, especially in court. However, you suppose there’s always legitimacy in the looks of a man who has captured the hearts of many.

“Thank you for saying that,” you nod finally.

“How about you, Princess? If I might ask… what are you thinking about your future?”

“My brother says he won’t pressure me, so for now, I think I’ll just lean on that,” you admit, letting out a sigh. “For now, I want to be free.”

You stand up abruptly, and Jaehyun is quick to his feet as well, looking at you with a question in his eyes.

“Help me take my armour off,” you tell him. “I’m going for a swim.”

“Excuse me, Princess?” Jaehyun freezes, and you can see a hint of pink blossoming on his skin.

“I’m going for a swim,” you repeat. “I want to be one with the water. It’s good for your muscles after training.”

“But- you have nothing to wear-”

“So I’ll wear nothing,” you say simply. “We’re in my brother’s King’s Wood, no one will come here, only royals can, and every royal has been drinking since this morning. We’re alone, and I wish to be free.”

Jaehyun lets out a breath. “Respectfully, Princess, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Regardless of his words, Jaehyun begins to help you take off your armor.

You’re wearing a white shirt and pants beneath your metal plating, and Jaehyun’s gentle as he helps undress you. When it comes down to the final layers, Jaehyun bows his head and turns around, giving you privacy to get naked on the banks of the lake.

You find it comical how respectful he is, and you kind of love it as you strip completely and step into the water. The summer heat has made the temperature seasonably warm, so it feels lovely on your skin as you wade in.

Once shoulder deep, you begin to swim, and when you turn back to the shore, you find Jaehyun watching you.

He’s standing there, guardian you from afar.

You know there’s no way he would join you, so you don’t bother to ask. Instead, you just enjoy the water, allowing your muscles to relax, your body decompressing.

Once you’ve had your fill, you begin to swim back to shore- and that’s when you notice motion in the treeline.

Jaehyun is quick to turn around, and you watch as Prince Yuta stalks onto the beach, taking one look at your guard, and then at you in the water.

“What is this?” Yuta asks loudly.

“The Princess wanted to go for a swim,” Jaehyun responds calmly.

You can see Yuta’s gaze shift to your pile of clothes, and even from a distance, you note the change in his expression.

“And you let her go for a swim?” The Prince from the North growls.

“I don’t let my Princess do anything, that’s not my job,” Jaehyun retorts.

“Your job is to protect her. Her body, her virtue as a princess- Do you have any idea what future suitors might think if they were to find out about this?!” Yuta is yelling now, and it sets your teeth on edge.

This is one of the first times you’ve seen his brash, hot-headed winter features in a situation outside of a tourney, and you’re beginning to see what your brother has always meant when he said Yuta wouldn’t be good for you.

“If my future suitors are so pigheaded that they judge a swim in the lake in my brother’s King’s Wood, then they aren’t good suitors to begin with,” you yell back. “Maybe I never want to get married! And I won’t marry any man just because he’s royal or it’s expected!”

Yuta stares at you in shock, lips parting then closing again- it’s clear he’s at a loss for words. Finally, with a scoff, he turns and leaves, a flurry of black and silver as he gets back on his horse, disappearing into the trees.

Jaehyun’s shoulders relax when the Prince departs, and he turns to look at you in the water. He doesn’t say anything, but you get the feeling that he’d wished you’d stayed out of the altercation.

“Are you almost done in there, Princess?” he calls.

“Uh huh.”

“I’ll grab a blanket from my horse,” Jaehyun announces, swiftly turning.

He comes back with the blanket, and you watch Jaehyun close his eyes as he holds it outstretched for you. You wade back to the bank, cognizant of your nakedness as you allow yourself to approach your guard.

You take the blanket from him, wrapping it around your body to dry yourself.

His eyes are still closed. Jaehyun is so pure- you’re little Knight of Roses.

“How, may I ask, are you protecting me if you can’t see?” you ask.

“I’m listening to the forest,” Jaehyun responds softly.

You admire his beautiful face, and you can’t help but lean forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you, testing his ability to sense things-

Jaehyun takes a step back, brows furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“Just testing you,” you muse, leaning back and taking a breath. “I’ll put my clothes back on now, then you can help me with my armor before we go back.”

You hope Yuta hasn’t made a scene about all of this, but only time will tell.

Four:

Jaehyun supposes he’s getting used to the sight of you dancing with other princes, and it’s easy for him to ignore the feeling bubbling inside of him, his mind wandering to what had just happened an hour ago at the lake.

“Jaehyun,” Johnny’s voice drags the knight away from his watch. The King makes a motion for Jaehyun to lean closer, so he does. “I heard something happened in the King’s Wood.”

“What did you hear, your highness?” Jaehyun asks.

“The Prince from the North came to talk to me, he gave me a warning about my favorite knight stealing the virtue of my sister.”

Jaehyun’s skin runs cold. “You Highness- nothing happened, on my life, on my honor- your sister wanted to go for a swim, I kept my eyes shut-”

“I never doubted you,” Johnny interrupts, waving his hand. “Although, I do see the way you two look at each other… I don’t want to force my sister into anything, let alone a loveless marriage.”

Jaehyun considers his King’s words. It almost sounds like Johnny is giving Jaehyun permission to court you.

“Anyways, I trust you.” Johnny leans back in his chair. “There’s a reason I chose you to be her protector, and what is a husband if not the ultimate protector?”

Jaehyun wonders if he’s something of a knight in shining armour to you, roses and all.

“I appreciate what you’ve said, your Highness,” Jaehyun nods, and they both shift their gazes back to the dance floor where you’re wrapped up in Prince Doyoung.

It’s clear to Jaehyun that the smile on your face is fake. He’s seen your real smile, when you’re wielding a blade. You haven’t been faking it with Jaehyun, and he hasn’t been faking it with you.

“Jungwoo?” Johnny’s voice disrupts Jaehyun’s thoughts. “If you wouldn’t mind cutting in with my sister, it looks like Lord JYP is about to ask her to dance, and he’s much too old for her. I think she deserves a savior.”

Five:

You focus on your breath, trying to anticipate Jaehyun’s movements. He’s hard to read, even though you’ve done your best to recougnize his tells. The Knight of Roses might put his weight onto his left foot, only to lunge from the right.

He’s very adept at this, and you think you must have gotten better in these past few days at swordsmanship than you have since you picked up a sword.

You’re entirely focused on Jaehyun, so focused, that when he suddenly pauses, you don’t know what’s happening. That’s when you feel a presence behind you, and you swing to find the Fall Prince standing there.

“So this is where you run off to every day,” Doyoung muses, sizing you up. “You’re quite good with a sword, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you nod, a little shocked that he’s praising such a non lady like pass time.

“Your brother, the King, told me where I might find you,” the Prince explains. “I’ve come with an offer.”

Your heart sinks in your chest, and your gaze shifts to Jaehyun. He’s looking at the ground, doing his best to be respectful of this royal exchange while still manning his post.

“I’ve noticed Prince Yuta’s interest in you,” Doyoung starts, “and I’m civilized enough, even as a man from the Eastern reaches, to know that no summer girl should be thrown to those Northern wolves. A union of the Fall or Spring kingdoms would be better suited for you, and since your brother just married into the Spring’s royal line, I feel as if I might be the next best option for you.”

You swallow thickly. There’s a “No” that bubbles along the back of your tongue, willing to be let out- but despite your distaste for political things, you’ve been trained well enough to know not to be so blunt with the Fall Prince.

“Thank you for your offer,” you say curtly. “I’ll have to consider your proposal. I can’t make any decisions without first discussing them with my King.”

Doyoung nods. “I understand. Thank you for your time, Princess.” He reaches for your hand next, and you allow him to bring your armoured fingers to his lips.

You watch as Doyoung leaves, and once he’s gone, you let out a deep breath.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Jaehyun asks.

“Just flustered,” you admit. “I’m impressed by his confidence to ask for my hand like that. I’ve always liked a man who knows what he wants... I might be a princess who swings her sword and swims naked and free- but I’m still just a girl who wants to be pursued, to be wanted- for more than just a political alliance.”

Six:

It’s been such a short time that Jaehyun’s been guarding you, but already, you’ve opened up to him numerous times. He’s beginning to understand you, and his feelings for you have been growing in a way he could have never imagined.

He can’t get the thought of what you’d said about being courted out of his head.

You want to be pursued, to be wanted- for more than your name, your title, your family- You want something real, and as much as Jaehyun’s never wanted to admit it to himself, he’s wanted the same.

He’s had hundreds of women throw themselves at him at this point- but they always liked him for his exterior, nothing more.

The two of you are like different sides of the same coin. Wanted, admired- you for your rank, and him for his looks. It’s a difficult way to go through life, to feel like you’re never truly being seen.

But Jaehyun sees you, the real you, the you that you only show in your vulnerable moments. As fearsome as you think you are when you’re wielding your sword, there’s a side of you that is also open to being taught new things, and the ferocity in your approach to protecting yourself is more than admirable to the Knight of Roses.

He’s deep in thought, but his eyes never leave you as you dance around the great hall for the final night of the celebration, an endless line of suitors waiting for a turn at the Summer Princess.

There’s a flash of bronze, and Prince Doyoung catches Jaehyun’s gaze. The regal man from the West is cutting through the crowd, side stepping the line as is his right as a royal.

There’s no doubt in Jaehyun’s mind as to what Doyoung wants to discuss as he cuts into your dance, and your guard sees the micromovements in your brow, the twitch of your lips as your smile momentarily falters.

Even so, you accept the prince’s offer of a dance, and Jaehyun broods while he watches.

Was it not just yesterday that King John asked Jungwoo to step in between you and a high born for a dance?

Jaehyun’s gaze shifts to the King, and something inside of him snaps.

It’s the Knight of Roses’ duty to protect you, and maybe he’s let this farce of a party drag out too long. John won’t be mad at him for finally stepping in, of that, Jaehyun is certain as he steps down from his post.

People part to allow the armoured knight to pass, and Jaehyun can hear the blood rushing to his ears as he closes the distance between himself and you.

He stops just a foot short of you and the Prince, both of you looking at him with questioning eyes.

“May I cut in?” Jaehyun asks, and he’s pleased that his voice sounds more confident than he feels.

“I-” Doyoung opens his mouth, but you’re quick to cut him off, “You may.”

There’s a clear anger in the Fall Prince’s expression as he reluctantly relinquishes you to your guard, and there’s a curious arch of your brow as Jaehyun takes you in his arms.

“What was that about?” you ask, once Doyoung has retreated.

“I thought you looked like you needed to be saved.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” you question with a grin. “Saving me?”

“It’s my duty, Princess.”

You narrow your eyes at him, and then you laugh. “Maybe you’re just jealous. Are you jealous, my good knight?”

Jaehyun tries to act innocent, to pretend the idea is stupid, but his scoff lacks conviction, and it’s clear you both know it.

“There’s something I have to tell you-” Jaehyun starts, but you cut him off in very much the same way you had the Prince just seconds ago.

“Not here, not now, not with all of these eyes,” you whisper. “I thank you for saving me from this dance, I think the night ends here for me.”

Jaehyun nods, releasing you and stepping back respectfully.

You turn to head back up to your King, and Jaehyun follows three steps back.

“John,” you say, skipping the formalities for your older brother, “I’ve grown tired, and I’d like to go back to my room.”

“As you wish,” Johnny brushes it off, his gaze fixed on the great hall infront of him.

“Please tell Prince Doyoung that I reject his offer of marriage,” you continue, and this draws the attention of the King. “Would you let him know that I’d like to stay in the Summer Kingdom, at least for a little while longer, before I make any big decisions.”

John looks between you and Jaehyun, who averts his eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” You look so determined, so powerful as you stare down at your older brother, and in that moment, Jaehyun is proud of you. He’s proud of how much you’ve grown in the years since he first came to your Summer court- proud of the way you’re obviously following your own heart now that your brother is on the throne and allows it.

However, something tells Jaehyun that even if Johnny wasn’t so supportive of you, you’d still be making waves for yourself.

“I’ll talk with Doyoung,” John says finally. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You curtsey for your king, and then you’re swiftly leaving the great hall with your knight closely behind you.

The walk to your quarters feels dualistically long and short at the same time. Jaehyun’s mind is running a thousand miles per minute, and his heart is racing like it only does when he’s fighting.

He stops just outside your room, and you look back at him. “Well? Aren’t you coming inside?”

“I-”

“Come.” You leave no room for argument, and Jaehyun nods before stepping after you, closing the door.

“Well?” you ask, heading to your nightstand to pour yourself a chalice of water. “What did you want to say to me?”

“Hmm?”

“Just now, when you cut into my dance with the Fall Prince, it looked like you had something important to tell me.”

In the heat of the moment, seeing you with Doyoung had spurred something inside of Jaehyun, but now, in the privacy of your quarters, the Knight of Roses feels tongue tied.

“Princess-” Jaehyun swallows thickly, and you set down your cup to move closer to him.

He can’t meet your gaze, so he looks at the floor, and he watches as you reach out to take his hand.

“Talk to me,” you plead, your voice near a whisper.

Jaehyun looks up at you.

Gods, you’re so beautiful. He likes you in your armour, but the dress you’d chosen for the final evening of your brother’s coronation celebration is truly ethereal, and Jaehyun thinks he may have never seen a prettier sight in all of his life.

Your gaze shifts to his lips, and Jaehyun’s breath catches.

You move closer- like you had at the lake yesterday-

There’s a knock on your door, and Jaehyun practically jumps out of his armor. He tears his hand away from you, turning toward the intrusion as one of your ladies in waiting steps into the room.

“I’ve come to help the princess remove her gown for bed,” your maid announces.

“Yes, thank you,” you sigh.

The maid looks to Jaehyun next. “Marcus Lee is also outside, to relieve you of your position for the night, Sir Jeong.”

“Right.” Jaehyun nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Goodnight, Princess, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, good knight,” you bow your head.

It almost pains Jaehyun to walk away, but he has to. He steps outside of your bedroom, joining the knight who takes care of your watch while Jaehyun gets his rest.

Mark nods to Jaehyun, and Jaehyun returns the motion, not saying a word as he sets off toward his own room.

The Knight of Roses’ skin is practically buzzing, a fire raging inside of him. He thinks of all the things he’s wanted to say, all the things he’s wanted to do-

You’d been so close to kissing him, and Jaehyun can feel it.

When he gets back to his quarters, Jaehyun is quick to tear his armor off, the metal feeling constricting and like a furnace against his heated skin.

He falls into bed with a huff of exasperation, the thought of your lips never leaving his mind.

Seven:

There had been a huge morning going away party, in which you and Johnny said goodbye to everyone who had come to celebrate his birthday. You’d been doing your duty, and you and Jaehyun have yet to discuss last night. When you’re finally alone and head back to your room, you turn to your Knight of Roses expectantly, waiting for him to break the ice.

“Would you like to train today?” he asks in the doorway to your bedroom.

“Get in here,” you instruct. “We’re finishing our conversation from last night.”

With a nod, Jaehyun closes your door behind him, standing awkwardly a few meters away from you with his head bowed.

“Well?” you ask expectantly.

The knight takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you urge. “What you’re feeling. Tell me that last night, if we hadn’t been interrupted, you would have kissed me the way I’ve been wanting to kiss you.”

Jaehyun’s eyes meet yours, and you see his expression break a little. “I talked with the King,” he starts, and you let out an exasperated sigh, not knowing what this has to do with anything. “He told me that he doesn’t want to push you into a loveless marriage, and then he noted that we look at each other the same way-”

“How do we look at each other?” you ask, wanting to hear him say it.

You watch him swallow thickly. “We look at each other like we care about each other. I know I care about you, more deeply than I ever thought I would- and in such a short time-”

“It has been a short time that you’ve been my guard,” you agree, “however, you’ve been in court for five years. It’s not like we’re strangers. I feel as if I already know you. I’m comfortable with you, and I’m not comfortable with many people, Jaehyun.”

Your knight nods, staying quiet.

“I care about you,” you confirm. “I care about you too.”

He looks up at you hopefully, and you have the sense that he’s waiting for you to elaborate.

“I’ve had these feelings, these longings-” you try to explain, clutching at your chest, where your heart is beating rapidly at the thought of how this might change your relationship. “But I have worries too.”

“Worries, Princess?” he inquires.

“It’s just… this power imbalance,” you motion between the two of you. “I’m your Princess, and you’re my Knight- I’d hate for you to grow to resent me as my protector if we were to ever take this leap.”

“I could never resent you,” he promises, words softening. “Princess- Never.”

“Never?” you repeat, stepping closer to him.

Jaehyun shakes your head. “I admire you, more than I’ve ever admired anyone. You’re a princess, but you don’t let your title define you. You are so singular- in the best of ways.”

“Keep telling me sweet nothings,” you whisper, reaching out to play with the belt that holds his sword.

“I’ve never met someone like you, man or woman,” Jaehyun tells you, his breath hot on your face as he looks down at you. “You’re so fierce, yet there’s a softness to you too- a softness I don’t think you want to show many people.”

You look up to meet his gaze. “You think so?”

“Yes, Princess.” Jaehyun nods solemnly. “I want you to feel safe enough to show me that soft side. Want for you to feel safe and know that I’ll always protect you, all of you.”

You cup his cheek, and Jaehyun leans into the touch, his eyes closing as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Kiss me,” you tell him.

“You’re a princess,” Jaehyun sighs. “Prince Yuta was right about not tarnishing your virtue-”

“Well, if you ask me to marry you, and I say yes, then my virtue is yours regardless of whether you take it now, or on our wedding night,” you point out.

Jaehyun opens his eyes, and you can see his resolve faltering. You can see him crumbling for you, and it’s a dazzling sight. This strong knight, breaking.

“I don’t have a ring,” he whispers.

“I don’t care about a ring.”

“We’ve not known each other intimately for very long.”

“My mother met my father on their wedding night, for royals, it’s not uncommon to meet your betrothed until you’re at the alter.”

“Are you sure you want this, Princess?”

“My Knight, my dear, sweet Knight,” you move closer, until your lips are just an inch away from his own, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Jaehyun kisses you then, his arms wrapping tightly around you. He’s all hard metal, but his lips are soft. You’re sure he knows that this is your first time kissing a man, and he’s gentle as he wordlessly guides you through it. His tongue strokes your bottom lip and you hesitantly open up for him, allowing him deeper.

You mewl as he lifts you off the ground, carrying you toward your bed.

“You’re sure?” Jaehyun asks again, setting you down.

“Make love to me, Jaehyun, your Princess commands it.”

Jaehyun lets out a laugh, and his smile lights up his entire face. “Should we worry about a maid coming in to check on you?”

“They’ll just assume I’m off in the King’s Wood somewhere,” you tell him, fingers going to the fastenings on his armour. “Once I get this metal off of you, we can close the blinds on my four poster bed, a little more privacy that way.”

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Jaehyun nods, lips attaching to yours again as you work to undress him.

You’re not generally accustomed to undressing yourself, let alone others, and it’s clear that you’re struggling. “Here,” Jaehyun gently takes your hands, placing them by your sides. “Let me do the work.”

You sit down on the bed, watching as he expertly removes his armor.

Soon he’s just in his under armour white shirt and pants, and you reach out to remove those next-

“Your turn, Princess,” Jaehyun tells you, gently pushing your hands away again.

“My turn?” You cock a brow before rolling onto your stomach. “Hope you're good with laces,” you grin, baring the corsetted back of your gown to him.

Jaehyun laughs. “I think I’ll manage, Princess.”

“You better.”

Jaehyun’s shaky fingers find the laces, and he undoes the top bow carefully. Then he slowly begins to tug on each section, gently working his way down your back to open you up for him. You can feel his breath on your shoulders, and there’s something so erotic about it. He’s unwrapping you, his perfect little Princess present.

“You’re sure about this?” Jaehyun asks again, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Please stop asking me that,” you breathe, practically writhing under his touch.

“Is that a command, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Jaehyun chuckles, returning to his task as he gets the last of your corset undone. You hold the front of your dress close to your chest as you sit up, facing him. The sleeves are falling off your shoulders, and you look up at the knight, curious to see his expression.

Your guard looks stunned, and then he says, “Wait, I never officially asked you to be my wife.”

“I thought that was a given,” you admit.

Jaehyun gets down onto one knee. “Princess, would you do me the great honour, and make me the happiest man in all four kingdoms-”

“Yes, Jaehyun, yes, I’ll marry you.” You press your lips to his and he kisses you desperately, his hands balling up in the thick fabric of your skirt.

“I want to taste you,” Jaehyun whispers.

“What?”

“I’ll talk you through everything,” The Knight of Roses promises. “You trust me, right?”

“I trust you,” you confirm.

Jaehyun presses one last chaste kiss to your lips before moving down to your throat. You love the feeling of it, and you throw your head back, moaning. You love the way he’s taking his time with you, his mouth descending. He ghosts his attention across your chest, and then, he gets onto his knees on the floor.

You watch him curiously as Jaehyun lifts up your skirt. “Lay back for me, Princess.”

You do as you’re told, gingerly relaxing back against the bed as Jaehyun pushes your dress even higher to your hips.

His breath fans across your core, and you wiggle desperately. The Knight of Roses hooks his fingers in your panties, dragging them down your legs.

“If you want me to stop-”

“Just do it Jae,” you whisper. “Do whatever you want.”

He doesn’t say anything else, his lips teasing up your inner thighs.

Your pussy is throbbing like it’s never throbbed before. You’ve touched yourself a handful of times, but nothing has ever felt like this.

“I’m gonna marry you,” Jaehyun tells you, pressing a kiss to your clit that has your toes curling deliciously. “You’re going to be my wife.”

You can only moan as he licks a stripe of your pussy, teasing his tongue around the sensitive bud. Your hands bunch up in the blanket on your bed, and you writhe beneath Jaehyun’s motions, prompting him to press a hand to your hips to keep you pinned.

He licks at you for a while, working you up, before his lips suction around your clit again, applying more pressure and stimulus than before.

“Oh my Gods-” you groan.

Jaehyun returns your sound with one of his own, and the vibrations make you dizzy.

You can feel something building in the pit of your stomach- you’re not sure what it is, exactly, only that it feels amazing.

Your moans are getting pitchier, and Jaehyun sucks harder on your clit-

That’s when the tension in your tummy snaps, and all of the sudden, summer waves are washing over you. It’s a pleasure unlike any you’ve felt- and it takes your breath away as you gasp and moan in the sanctity of your bedroom.

You quite literally see stars, your eyes clenched shut as Jaehyun continues his motions, keeping you on that pleasure cloud until you can’t take it anymore.

“Jae-” you whimper, pushing at his head.

He’s quick to draw back, and you open your eyes to see him looking up at you, licking his lips. “Was that good, Princess?”

“That was amazing,” you tell him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he warns, rubbing his fingers through your wet pussy lips. “I’m going to stretch you out now.”

You can only whimper at his words.

“Relax for me, Princess, I’ve got you.”

You lean back against the bed again, trying to breathe deeply as he begins to push his pointer finger into your wet hole. The feeling is foreign, but not unpleasant. In fact, as he begins to thrust his digit, it begins to feel heavenly.

Gods, your inner walls have never been stroked like this-

“You’re so wet, Princess,” Jaehyun muses. “Are you ready for another finger?”

“Yes,” you moan, eager to please him.

Jaehyun’s mouth returns to your clit, and he gently pushes a second finger into you. You groan at the feeling, your walls stretching to accommodate him.

“So tight for me,” Jaehyun tells you. “So perfect.”

You mewl, hips pushing toward his hand as he begins to curl his fingers inside of you.

He works you open, and you can feel yourself relaxing more and more by the second. His mouth finds your clit again, and that sensation in your tummy returns.

You close your eyes, enjoying everything Jaehyun is giving you.

“I think you’re going to cum again,” Jaehyun says, lips ghosting past your clit. “You going to cum for me, Princess?”

“Mmmm, yes, Jae,” you whimper, ready to agree to anything he asks of you.

His mouth suctions around your sensitive bud, and he sucks lewdly, triggering the release that’s becoming all to familiar.

You squeal with delight, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his soft hair as your high overtakes you again. Your pussy is throbbing desperately, body alive with a sensitivity you’ve never felt.

This is what heaven must feel like, you decide, as you writhe beneath the Knight of Roses, reveling in the way he’s taking care of you. You’ve always wanted someone to love you for more than your royal status, but this feeling of being worshiped is something you could get used to.

When the sensation is over, Jaehyun pulls away again, and you take a shuddery breath.

“I’m going to take your dress off now, Princess,” Jaehyun tells you, and you feel like a loved up, limp doll as he undresses you slowly, pressing soft kisses all along your body.

You’re fully naked for him, and you don’t feel an ounce of shame.

Jaehyun’s eyes betray his feelings, and you can tell he’s as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him. There’s a connection here, one neither of you had admitted, but now that you have-

This is your person, and he’s going to be your person, forever.

Your Knight of Roses begins to undress, and you can’t help the greedy way in which your eyes devour each piece of newly exposed flesh.

He’s so perfect- his abs especially- or wait, no, just, everything.

You feel shy for the first time when you take a peek at his cock, your skin heating with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun assures you. “I’ll go slow with you, Princess, I promise.”

“Come here,” you prompt him, crawling up to your pillows so you can be in the centre of your large four poster bed.

You watch Jaehyun draw the blinds, allowing you some inkling of privacy before he returns between your thighs.

He’s already rock hard, and you can’t help but reach out and touch him, stroking him gently while Jaehyun releases a groan of pleasure.

The Knight of Roses leans over you, pressing his elbows into the bed while his lips meet yours.

You let go of his cock in favour of tangling your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss.

His length teases your pussy, bumping by your clit as he begins to slowly rock his hips.

“Are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you groan. “Jaehyun-”

“As you wish, Princess,” he tells you, kissing you again before grabbing the base of his cock, lining it up with your pussy.

He teases the tip inside of you, and you groan at the stretch. Jaehyun pauses, allowing you to get used to his size a little before pushing more inside your aching core.

He’s very gentle, his mouth hot on your throat, a welcome distraction as he opens you up for himself the way no man ever has before.

Finally, he’s fully sheathed inside of you, and he releases a groan. “You’re squeezing me so tight, Princess-”

“Sorry-”

“No, it’s a good thing,” he assures you. “Feels good.”

“Good,” you grin, drawing his lips to your own.

You kiss him fiercely, getting lost in the feeling as he begins to move, slowly rocking in and out of your core.

The sensation of his cock along your inner walls turns pleasurable quickly, and soon you’re moaning against his lips.

Jaehyun’s hand finds yours, and he links your fingers as he makes love to you.

That tension is building in the pit of your stomach again, and you whimper. “I think- I think I’m close again,” you warn him.

“Want you to cum for me, then I can cum too,” he tells you, releasing your hand so he can bring his thumb to your clit.

You’re so sensitive from two orgasms that the brush of his digit across your bud has you mewling, grabbing at the sheets desperately. “Jaehyun-”

“I know, I’m here, I’ve got you,” he promises.

You open your eyes, gazing up at your new lover, your protector, your future husband.

You’re overwhelmed by a feeling of complete joy, and it fills your entire being as he works you closer and closer to the edge, fucking you harder-

“Jae, I’m gonna-”

“Let go for me,” he whispers, nuzzling into your neck. “Let go for me, Princess, I’ll take care of you.”

With a whine, you release the tension in your abdomen, and for the third time tonight, your high washes over you.

You gasp, back arching, pressing your breasts up toward his chest.

Jaehyun groans deeply, hips unrelenting, fucking you through the feeling.

As your orgasm subsides, Jaehyun pulls out of you, pumping his cock as he coats your abdomen in his own release.

He lets out curse words under his breath, head bowed, eyes focused on the mess he’s making. You lay there, keeping still and watching in awe at the beautiful man in front of you.

Finally, Jaehyun lets out a grunt, his motion stopping.

He’s breathing heavily, you both are. Then, Jaehyun runs a hand through his hair. “Let me find something to clean you up with.”

He stumbles out of the bed, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him not fully composed. You love the effect you have on him, and you lay there, in a state of complete bliss.

Jaehyun returns with a wash cloth, and he cleans the cum off your skin.

“I’ll get dressed, and when I leave, I’ll find your maid. I’ll let her know you want a bath,” Jaehyun explains.

“A bath sounds really nice,” you admit, feeling sleepy.

“I know, Princess.” Jaehyun kisses you one last time, and you lazily watch him put his clothes and armor back on.

Part of you hates to see him go, but you’re exhausted, and after your maids come in to help you with a bath, you fall into a deep, love filled slumber.

Eight:

Jaehyun knows he’s doing the right thing as he approaches the King’s quarters.

Jungwoo and Haechan are outside, standing guard, and they nod to their fellow knight as he passes through, knocking on the door.

The King’s authoritative voice calls a, “Come in!” and with a deep breath, Jaehyun enters.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Johnny admits, looking up from his book at the Knight of Roses.

“I have news,” Jaehyun says, his throat dry already.

“Let’s hear it.” Johnny leans back in his chair, eyeing Jaehyun suspiciously.

“Well.” The Knight lets out a deep breath. “The Princess and I-” His voice cracks, and it makes Jaehyun look at the floor.

“Are you two engaged now, or what?”

Johnny’s question makes Jaehyun’s eyes rise again.

“It’s about time,” Johnny continues. “You know, our family has always loved you. Even before you were officially my sister’s guard, there was something there. My mother could see it. She left her engagement ring before she went away with my father, I guess she always figured that one day, you could give it to her daughter.”

The King stands, going to his bedside table, where he pulls out a tiny box.

“Here,” Johnny says, holding it out to Jaehyun. “Give this to her.”

“I-” Jaehyun doesn’t even know what to say. “I couldn’t possibly accept this-”

“You can, and you will, your King demands it,” Johnny teases. “You know, the whole ‘sending Doyoung to ask my sister to marry him’ thing was just a ploy to get you to act on your feelings, but I never imagined it would happen this fast.”

“You orchestrated this?” Jaehyun asks in shock.

“Of course. My sister always had this weird thing about ending up in a wild Kingdom, the North, or the West- I wanted to show her that she’d do better with someone from our own kind of land, someone more peaceful, less headstrong, that sort of thing.” Johnny sighs, forcing the small engagement ring box into Jaehyun’s hands. “She’s a summer girl, and everyone knows Summer works best with one of their own, or someone from the Spring Kingdom. All I’ve ever wanted for her was happiness, and I think she can attain that with you. You have my blessing, Jaehyun, don’t mess this up.”

Jaehyun nods.

He won’t mess this up. There’s no way he would ever intentionally hurt you. The Knight of Roses will guard you with his life, as your husband, and your ultimate protector.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I had so much fun with this fantasy au, and now... I'm going to plan my Halloween fic for this year, cuz I've gotta match how good Ghostie was from 2023

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🔮 preview. The Knight of Roses is so adept with his tongue- he’d spent hours eating you out on your honeymoon, taking the time to learn every inch of your body. He knows exactly what makes you tick, and you adore that he puts an effort into all things.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (sex in the forest), oral ( f recieving), body worship, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, praise, power play, etc…

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 1.8k I teaser wc. 135

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyunl x afab!Reader

bonus

In the year since you and Jaehyun were wed, very little has changed. You’re still head over heels for him, and he’s still completely obsessed with you. It’s a beautiful little life- the two of you spending much of your time in the castle or the King’s Wood, where you’re currently training.

You’ve gotten so much better with your swordsmanship, and you can see the pride in Jaehyun’s expression every time you even slightly get the best of him.

You get the sense that he’s still holding back- your husband would never, ever, ever hurt you, not even while training, and it fills your heart with love every time you see him adjust himself or use less power in a blow.

“Don’t be scared, my love,” you tease. “You don’t have to hold back today.”

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azsazz · 1 year ago

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Eris x Rhysands!Sister Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,217

Notes: Love this tbh!!!

_________________________________________

You feel him before you see him.

You can feel him all the time; even when he’s courts away there’s that connection humming blissfully in your chest. It’s comforting, to know that your mate is alive and well, that there’s a surety you’re aware of him and how he’s feeling. When he’s content in a warm bath with a glass of fae wine smoothing the creases between his brows. When he’s squaring his shoulders and surging with pride for the sparring with his brothers he has won again. When he sends a warmth so suggestive down the bond late at night when he’s sure there’s no one around. The very one you feel deep in your soul, that makes your core melt like his fire-filled hands are working your center. The one that leaves no questions whether he loves you or not.

Of course, there are times when you can’t feel him. When he’s blocked the bond from ever reaching you when his father brings his wrath down on him like he’s young and defenseless again. He always hides that from you. When the distance from you becomes too great and there is no choice for him but to block the bond because he knows that there is nothing that can be done in the current state of Pythian. No way for the both of you to be together, no way for him to seize you from the control of your older brother. If you were lesser than the High Lord’s younger sister, he’d sneak across the border lines on a whisper of autumn winds and find his way into your bed.

It’s been ages since you’ve seen your mate, since you looked into those warm russet eyes, ran your fingers through his auburn hair, counted the freckles dotting the pale skin of his cheeks.

Your breath catches in your throat as Eris is escorted into Rhysand’s office and your eyes meet.

A sense of relief floods the bond as his eyes move over you in an intentional sweep that to everyone else in the room looks like he’s wondering why you’re here, but you know your mate is assessing you for injuries even though you’re nowhere near injured. Not even a scratch or a bruise on your perfect skin.

No one notices the slight falter in his steps. All Eris wants to do is rush over to you and sweep you in his arms and press you into his chest, feel your heartbeat against his own. He wants to taste that smile you’re trying all too hard to hide from him, move his mouth across the color dusting your cheeks to feel his fire dancing underneath your skin. He wants to strip you bare, devour every inch of you. He wants to hear you scream his name, whisper that you love him, cry for him to take you away, admit that you never want to be apart—

But he’s not even allowed to sit next to you.

Across the large table is as close as he allows himself to get. It’s not close enough that he can accidentally kick his foot against yours and he doesn’t like that you’ve been meticulously placed on the opposite side so he can’t even walk past you and brush his fingers against your hand or the back of your neck.

His bond keens in his chest and he tries his best to stifle it, ripping his gaze away when he’s drawn to you like this.

Eris is flanked by Cassian and Azriel, and even though he feels as if he’s on the best terms he’s ever been with the Night Court, this feels like a set up. A trap.

You allow a caress of reassurance down the bond to your mate. Your brother doesn’t know, no one in this room, in this court, in this continent knows of your connection to the heir of Autumn. Eris’ throat works as he swallows, and you turn your attention away from him as he sends a feeling of understanding back to you.

“Eris.” Rhysand gestures to the autumn born royal to sit. He’s lounging in his own chair at the circular table, an arrogance to him that irks you. It’s all a front, of course, one Rhysand has carefully crafted to perfection from centuries as High Lord. You don’t like that it’s directed at your mate, and you’re feeling more protective than ever, flickering a glance over to the males sitting on either side of your mate, as if they’re caging him in.

Not unusual for an untrusted male in your court. You’ve seen your brother pull this same maneuver more times than you can count, but there’s a charge to the air that feels different. Your spine lengthens and you flare a warning down the bond, praying your mate doesn’t react but readies himself.

He follows your heed with unfaltering trust. Eris’ fingers flex where they’re resting on the arms of his chair, and you watch him unhinge his jaw only slightly, so that he doesn’t flex it. The scalding look on his face stays directed at your brother.

Your lips part and the muscles of your legs tense, ready to jump out of your chair in the next moment, when you catch Rhysand’s smirk, the one that spells trouble. His violet eyes are dark with the promise of violence and his shadows are quick to strike, tendrils of nightmares winding their way around Eris’ wrists, trapping him to the very chair he was offered.

Eris shifts his hands in a nonchalant motion, testing out the strength of the sentient darkness Rhysand uses to hold him hostage. They don’t give an inch and he wonders for a fleeting moment if he can burn them away. If your worry wasn’t heavy in his chest, the beat of your heart spiking double, he would try it. But with you here, he’s not willing to try anything that could potentially put you in danger.

Plus, a part of him wants to hear what Rhysand has to say. The other part of him wants to get you the fuck out of here.

The High Lord of the Night Court plants his hands on the table. High Lord, because there is no ounce of your brother in his eyes and actions right now.

The chair scraping against the floor as Rhysand stands is the only sound in the room. Cassian nor Azriel moves from their seats, but they pin your mate with the menacing kind of looks that mirror Rhysands, ready to follow his every demand, no questions asked.

“Eris,” Rhysand’s voice is not its usual purr as he leans forward. A strand of hair falling across his forehead is the only sign of the crack in his facade, the utter rage filling the room with an unbearable tautness.

The words are sticky in your throat. You can’t move, can’t seem to take your eyes off of your brother as your heart splinters in your chest like it’s his own shadows tearing you to strips. You’re only able to manage a quiet, “Don’t,” that’s filled with too much desperation.

Rhysand ignores your words. He hisses at Eris, dark and low. “How long have you and my sister been keeping this little mating bond of yours a secret?”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris angst #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar

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lqveharrington · 11 months ago

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Feelings Mutual | C.G.

summary: Your forced to hangout with Cardan at the High King’s birthday celebration. Turns out, you both make stupid decisions when drunk. And what’s the fine line between hatred and love between two being who can’t lie anyway?

pairing: Cardan Greenbriar x half fae!fem!reader

includes: drunk Cardan, drunk reader, cursing, making out, suggestiveness, no use of Y/N, barely proofread (i think that’s it)

a/n: i’m on a reading spree, and working on my projects, so this should help get me out of a huge writing slump.

In Faerie, it was uncommon for a half fae, half human being to be a princess in the court. Your father — the King of one of the many lands — wed a human woman, causing you to become the land’s princess. Of course many of the court thought that you were lesser than them; For such a creation should never hold that high of a status.

Ever since you were younger, you often attended lessons with the High King’s youngest child. At first, you sought out to befriend him and his group of friends. But you soon found out that they loathed you. Because how could a halfling ever be a worthy princess?

So you gave up trying to befriend them. You let the group taunt you for not being full fae, but what was the worst thing they could do? You still were a daughter of a very powerful king. The very king that was the closest with the High King himself.

You and your family were constantly invited to all their gatherings, and this one wasn’t an exception. It was the High King’s birthday, which meant all of Faerie was invited to Elfhame palace to celebrate such a day. The only issue with that meant your father and mother urged you to talk to Cardan and his group.

“Mother, they don’t like me.” You wring your hands together, fidgeting with your silver jewelry.

She clicked her tongue, “Nonsense. Prince Balekin spoke of how much Cardan talks about you when he comes home from your lessons.”

“Wait what?” Your eyes widen at her in disbelief. “Mother, I’m sure they’re words of hate.”

“Is it because you don’t like your dress? Are you afraid they’ll hate it?” She tugged you to stand in front of herself. “You look gorgeous, angel.”

You purse your lips at her compliment. You truly loved the dress. It was a beautiful sage color that complimented your skin tone completely, and the corset really did wonders. There were gorgeous lace details of butterflies that were a shade darker, with a slit running down one side of the dress. It was beautiful, but you feared that it was much too modern for Faerie, causing your thoughts to wander to how Cardan’s friends would insult it.

“No, I love the dress, mother.” You give her a tight lipped smile, squeeze her hands. “If you truly wish for me to find Cardan, I’ll go and be friendly so you and father can enjoy your time here.”

“Thank you.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead and a real smile etched its way onto your face.

“Be safe, alright?” Your father squeezed your shoulder before leaning down to whisper words your mother couldn’t hear. “If trouble comes, you know what I’ve taught you. You have your dagger?”

Your lips twitch in excitement, “Of course.”

“Then you’re all set then, kiddo.” He gave you one last look before resting an arm around your mother’s waist. “I’ll come find you when it’s time for us to depart.”

You nod before taking a small bow. You watched them leave and make their way to the throne, immediately engaging with the High King and Queen. They seemed happy, which made you glad that they accepted your mother as their own. Shaking your head, you took a deep breath and blew out the air in one go. Carefully, you made your way over to Cardan. Luckily, he was on his own for once.

“Cardan.” You nod in his direction, watching his dark eyes with flecks of gold suddenly gazing into yours. Without fail, his eyes roam over your body, tail whipping behind himself after gaining someone’s attention.

“Princess! Don’t you look absolutely captivating tonight.” He slurred, red wine dripping out of his glass. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

You raised a brow at the prince. From what you could recall, he didn’t live inside the palace walls. And there wasn’t a chance he could lie either. “You don’t live here.”

“I used to.” He tipped his glass up to his wine stained lips, taking in the drink whilst taking in the sight of you.

“Where are your—“ You use your hand to gesture in the air as you grab your own glass of wine from a server passing buy. Unsure of how to word your question, you sip on the wine, immediately hit by its strength. “Where are your friends, I should say.”

“Off to bother some mortal or do something stupid.” He smiles in your direction as you down your drink and reach for another. “What’s upsetting you, princess?”

“Nothing.” You tilt your head toward him, eyes flicking down from his strange stare to his stained lips. “Just want time to move faster.”

“How drunk do you want to get?” He leans closer to you, fingers itching to pull you into him.

You place a hand to his mouth and push him further away from yourself. He hums as he traces his finger over his empty wine glass.

“How many glasses have you had, Cardan?” You tip back your third drink, missing his smirk while he watches.

“Enough.”

“Enough to forget?” You turn toward the table and grab the strongest drink, carefully downing the drink.

His shadow towers over you as his breath tickles your neck, “Forget what exactly, love?”

“I hate you.” You say against Cardan’s lips, arms loosely hanging around his neck. “I hate you so much.”

He continues to push you backwards as he slams the door behind him, hands finding their place around your waist. “Feelings mutual, princess.”

Letting your hand thread through his hair, you pull him in for a more heated kiss, tugging ever so slightly at his roots. Cardan groans against your lips, pulling your body closer to his.

“This is such a stupid idea.” You unwillingly part as he drops you down on a bed — hopefully one that used to be his. You let out a small gasp as he litters soft kisses on your throat and down to your exposed collar bone. Your hands find his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. “Cardan—“

“Yes, love?” He slowly makes his way back up to your lips, pressing short kisses as you try to make sense of the situation. He stops attacking you with his lips, staring and waiting for you to continue.

You shake your head, eyes glassy with drunkenness as you meet his gaze. “Kiss me.”

“You’re too perfect for me.” He groans again, tasting the red wine from your lips as he kisses you harder. “God, I hate you.” Cardan mumbles as he lets his hands wander over your body, refraining from the more private areas at the moment.

Cardan allows you to wander over his own body, feeling you fidget with the hem of his shirt. Letting your hands slip underneath his shirt, you let out a small sigh before flipping the both of you over. You quickly toss your dagger onto the floor before meeting his lips again, the kiss heightening all your profound feelings.

As minutes turned into an hour more, you both fell into a pit of no return. The shared kisses were intensified, and without either party having a clear mind or being sober, neither could stop the motions that lulled them both to sleep very late into night.

It wasn’t until early afternoon that the pair awoke to the sounds of pounding at the door and a splitting headache.

“Your highness, your father is looking for you.” The voice called from outside the wooden doors, causing you to groan and bury your head into the warmth emitting from your bed.

A beat passed before the pounding occurred once more.

“Your highness—!”

“In a minute!” Cardan shouted, eyes shut from the dizziness and hangover. “For fucks sake…”

Your eyes widen at the voice, head rushing up before falling back down at the impact of a jaw. “Shit, that hurt.” You mutter, wincing when you felt the hangover hit you. Slowly, you remove yourself from Cardan’s arm, slightly frowning when you saw him rubbing his jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to slam into you…”

“I think that’s the least of our concerns.” He grumbled, glaring at the door again.

He pushed himself up from the bed, eyes raking over your appearance. He smirked over at you before leaning against the headboard. You crease your brows before looking down and realizing whose clothes you were in — crossing your arms over the loose shirt.

“Princess, I think your father will be a little disappointed in you.”

“Why is that?” You roll your eyes at him, keeping one arm over Cardan’s shirt while running your free hand through your hair.

Your bored gaze meet his amused one, watching him tilt his head. You look away as you weren’t necessarily hiding the fact that you were eyeing his bare chest either.

He pulled you into his chest, despite your halfhearted protests. “Because you have hickeys all over your skin.” Cardan presses a kiss to your cheek, causing your breath to hitch.

All the memories from last name came rushing in, warmth filling your body at the thoughts. Your eyes flit to your dress and dagger scattered across his floor, still thinking of the punishment to come.

However, you did not regret him.

“I don’t think we drank enough last night.” You twist in his arms, lips barely touching his.

“I don’t think so.” He lands a soft kiss to your lips. “I still hate you, love.”

“Feelings mutual.” You straddle over his hips and rest your forehead on his, both your heads still pounding from last night’s activities.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 10 months ago

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Glimmering Shadows | Azriel x Reader

Summary: While visiting Spring Court on political business with Rhys, Azriel meets you, a Faerie with little glimmering sparks that help you in the same way his shadows help him, and he decides that visiting you a few more times afterwards couldn’t hurt.

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This was so cute to write, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

It had been an ordinary visit to Spring Court, Rhysand arriving with only Azriel flanking his right side. Cassian was off in Windhaven, probably about to bite Devlon’s head off, per usual.

Spring Court had shaped up since Tamlin had gotten himself together. The Court was working better now, still recovering from the war like many were, but after a few changes and adjustments to the system and ruling, the citizens seemed happier, the land and economy thriving, and most of the houses were put back together from the previous damage. Azriel’s shadows surveyed the area around them while Rhys walked to Tamlin’s manor, it also being freshly restored it seemed.

They entered, a slightly tense welcoming from the Fae at the door, before walking in, only to meet Tamlin, seeming unhappy as ever to see the High Lord of Night, gesture them to follow and led them into his office. The house was made primarily of wood and vines, with delicate colored windows that, when the sun hit them, portrayed wonderful patterns of flowers and vines shining onto the floor.

The office had a few windows open that were quickly shut by vines, those of which moved on their own, it seemed. The desk was made of what looked to be expensive wood in a deep chestnut color, bookshelves coating the wall to the left, a large map of Prythian on the right, and underneath it a map of Spring Court in personal detail. Tamlin was freshly shaven, his blond hair silky and shimmering as it flowed down, his green eyes clear, clothes ironed and expensive as any other ruler’s.

Try as he might, the son of Spring could never acquire the same casual power as Rhysand. Azriel knew that for sure.

That was when he felt it. A small feeling of something flickering, and going out, before a shadow slithered back up to him, seeming agitated. Tamlin noticed, eyes narrowing.

“I’d rather our discussion stay private.”

His voice, carefully neutral to Rhys, said. A pair of violet eyes glanced back at the shadowsinger, before Rhys gave a casual shrug, and Azriel, knowing what that meant, promptly left the room and began wandering the manor. He felt it again. More flickering, then the shadows returned to him despite his repeated attempts to make them go back out. They were agitated, but wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, it made him wonder what it could be.

Nothing around the manor seemed to be causing it, though the bugs that made his skin itch were annoying. He huffed, exiting the manor, only for his mind to promptly be told something.

‘Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want Tamlin thinking you’re spying on his precious bug-infested land.’

The smug voice of his High Lord rang out in his mind, before retreating as quickly as it had come. A few of the servants, mostly lesser Fae, glanced at him as he passed. Some with wonder, some with fear. However, the closer he got to the area where all his shadows that had been had gone out, he found one female who only looked at him with amused curiosity.

It was a bit far into the woods, trees in hues of deep amethyst purple and a light shimmering pink hanging down like a curtain, he pushed them aside, met with an area with long grass and blooming flowers, and you, the female sitting on the somehow-not-rotting fallen tree that was hollowed out, holding the tiniest little bunny he’d ever seen.

As soon as he’d caught sight of you, the bunny had hopped off, his attention now directly on you. There were tiny little sparks around you, but when he looked closer it seemed more like globs of see-through glitter, like a toddler’s art project come to life through the shimmering pieces of what he could’ve imagined as pixie dust surrounding you. Not to mention the wings, nothing like his own, yours being thin and delicate, shaped like a butterfly’s, with a rich hue of translucent colors. A rare species of Spring Court faeries had such wings, most choosing to hide them from sight, as you promptly did when seeing him, the delicate appendages slowly fading from view.

He’d been staring.

“Who are you?”

He asked with a mild frown, you raised a brow, an amused smile on your face. The gesture sent an odd aching feeling in his chest flaring up that he tried to shove down.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who’s been sending all those shadows?”

You asked, completely ignoring his question. He sighed through his nose.

“You’re the one that's been putting them out?”

He asked with a knowing tone, shadows darting out from him to meet your little tiny pixie pieces, both warring against each other as they intertwined, some shadows sending the glittery things back to you, some of your sparks sending his dark, shadowy creatures back to him. It was almost as if they were playing.

“That would be me, yes. What’s your name, … shadowy figure?”

You asked, and he then realized that he was cloaked in the shadows that had returned to him, making him look like a splotchy black figure in this Court’s bright light. No wonder the servants had been giving him weird looks.

“Azriel. And yours, pixie-dust?”

You giggled a bit at the name, finding it amusing. He found it odd how much he liked hearing and making you laugh.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

You said with a small smile, offering a hand to shake in greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered him a hand besides maybe Elain, and even she’d been scared of him at first. He took your hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the scarring that coated his calloused hands, compared to your soft, gentle ones.

“A..pleasure to meet you as well.”

He replied, cautiously watching you, the way you held yourself. A hint of recognition entered your gaze as you examined him further.

“Oh! You’re that Spymaster, aren’t you? Night Court?”

You then asked, and he internally cringed at the fact that the only reason you knew him was because of his occupation that involved slaughtering and torturing people, not to mention spying.

“Yes..”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you continued talking. You were very talkative and friendly. It was almost overwhelming, but he found that he liked it, surprisingly.

“That’s what those shadows are for, like little spies, I’m guessing? My little pixies work the same way, they just run around and help me with things, it’s honestly —“

He stood there, listening to you talk before he was pulled to sit down by his shadows next to you on the log. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, listening to you rattle on and on first about your nieces then your one nephew who would always sneak out of his crib, or your mom who still treated you like you were a little girl despite you being at least a few centuries old….

‘Someone’s lovesick~’

A certain High Lord’s voice in his head called out, and though Azriel wanted to deny it, he knew better.

He was an absolute goner.

*********************************************************

He’d been looking for any excuse to see you, honestly. Even lying straight to Cassian’s face about why he’d missed training. The truth? He’d been flying to Spring Court, visiting you.

It had become a real problem, honestly, how distracted he was because of you. Even on missions he couldn’t stop thinking of your smile, how he loved listening to you speak about things you loved, like the flowers and flora of your homeland, or the way you’d showed him your delicate little wings after his first few times visiting you. A few months passed, and his little crush hadn’t gone yet, in fact, it had blossomed into something much more than a crush, and the others were starting to notice.

“What’s got you so distracted lately, Az?”

Cassian’s confused but intrigued voice rang out from in front of him where they sparred, iron clanging against iron, bodies moving in a dance of death they’d practiced too many times before.

“Nothing.”

He said simply, shaking his head. Cassian only laughed, a sound that only reminded him of you, and your —

And then he was on the floor, Cassian’s sword at his throat as he grinned triumphantly.

“What’s her name?”

His annoying brother asked in a teasing and knowing tone, Azriel only huffed, getting back up and dusting his leathers off.

It wasn’t anything serious, he told himself.

Even when he found himself flying hundreds of miles to go see you again that very same night, he found you on the windowsill of your house, watching the sky with a sleepy smile. He landed silently, walking closer to you and stepping on a twig on purpose, so he wouldn’t frighten you. Your gaze snapped over to him, and you beamed, getting off of your windowsill in a smooth motion to pull him into a warm hug, a gesture he always melted into.

“Do your wings not get sore from all that flying?”

You asked him, separating only enough to look at him. He smiled, barely, but any sort of smile from him was enough to make you happy.

“It’s worth it, for you.”

He replied before his lips curled into a more genuine grin.

“Though maybe you should come visit sometime.”

He suggested, tone joking but also with a hint of actual meaning. He’d talked about his home, Night Court, to you before, and tried getting you to come visit it or even just let him fly you over it, but you’d always denied it.

“What would I tell my family? They wouldn’t support me with you, and-“

That was when it happened, when your eyes met, his pleading, yours empathetic, when it snapped right into place. Everything was warm despite the cold chill of the night, and the breeze as it blew past. Both of your eyes widened, the only sounds being that of the leaves rustling for a few moments, but you both knew what had happened.

Before you could get a word out, his lips were against yours, yours against his, both savoring the feeling of finally crossing that final bridge and letting each other feel. Your little pixies danced with his shadows that night, in harmony for one moment, despite being the opposite of each other.

When you finally separated, he smiled, full this time of warmth and happiness.

“Does this mean you can come visit now?”

He asked, and you only laughed despite the tears in your eyes, and the ones in his, and pulled him closer into another kiss.

He’d be lucky if you ever weren’t visiting now.

Tags:

@hqmsby

Part 2

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #azriel fluff

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utterlyotterlyx · 10 months ago

Text

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Two

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

Warnings - swearing, fluff, a little angst as always, mentions of blood, brother sister fluff 🥺

Part One

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

There was only one singular thing that Rhys wanted more than to be able to spend a moment alone with his long-lost sister, telling tales and swapping stories of what the last 500 years had held for them, and that was to see Tamlin cower at her perfectly painted feet.

Though, Rhys was sure, like the other High Lords, that Tamlin would not be making an appearance, not after what Feyre had done to his court.

Aelin leaned to the side, her eyes not once moving from the reflective pool in the centre of the chamber as she whispered to y/n, causing the raven haired female to grin in response. It was clear that the two other-worldly women were putting the High Lords of Prythian on edge, if not for their damning beauty then because of the suffocating power that waltzed around them, dancing in a phantom wind and casting a faint shimmer over their forms.

Azriel didn't blame either of them for wrapping a shield around themselves, though, he did get the feeling that it wasn't they who had decided it, it seemed to be Rowan's doing. The fae prince's gaze sauntered across the room, not wanting to indulge in the idle chatter of lesser-than beings, he was assessing and probably imagining all the ways in which he could cut them down without even blinking.

The only sounds that filled the room were polite comments and the gossip from Vivane and Mor, catching up after 50 years apart. All Rhys wanted to do was lean over and ask his sister a million and one questions about her life, where she had been and what the other world was like, but, upon gazing upon her monotonous features, he decided against that impulse.

Instead, the High Lord of Night peered across the pool to find Eris Vanserra in complete awe of her, and if she had noticed his lingering gaze then she did well to not let onto it. Y/N had most likely already known that if she was raised in Prythian then it would have been him who would have been given her hand, their father had always wanted a way into the Autumn Court. Rhys was glad that she looked so alike to him, but he couldn't help but notice a certain darkness within her eyes, like a chilled breeze in the midst of winter, unwavering and fatal.

He had so many questions, so many things he needed to know.

A gentle loop of wind coursed through the open arches from the east, sifting through y/n's hair and cascading her scent straight into Azriel's lungs, so blissful that even his shadows swarmed around the speckles of air for a taste. He had been trying to pinpoint the individual aspects of her scent for the last ten minutes, desperate to etch it to memory, but that last fell sweep confirmed it.

Y/N smelt like the calm before the storm, when the earth hazed by swelter was damp and eagerly awaiting the roaring from the skies during its last moments of peace; there was a slight ashen note to it, like lightening kissed trees that were crackling after being torn apart by the storms fury, and then all of that was combined with with the heavenly aroma of fresh petrichor from newly bathed mountain springs.

He tried to tell himself that he was following each of her movements out of the desire to protect his home from a cunningly beautiful stranger, but he was lying to himself, so much so that his shadows swatted against his back sternly at the thought of her being anything remotely evil. Azriel couldn't take his eyes off of her, he noted every tick of her jaw when Beron would open his mouth and every furrow of her brow when someone would say something that intrigued her, and then there was a familiar softness that consumed her violet gaze whenever Rhys would taunt and prod those around him. Her eyes were laced with longing and pride, like she was only then realising everything she had missed from the moment she had been sent away.

Azriel was too keen not to notice the scar peeking from the bodice of her dress, though her hair did an exquisite job of hiding it, Azriel was placed in the perfect position to be able to count every scaled ridge. It extended from the tip of her pointed ear and slithered down her neck and shoulder before disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress, leaving Azriel to wonder two things, where the scar ended and what had happened to cause it. It was clear that they all had stories to tell, and Azriel was eager to know every snippet of hers.

"Forgive me for prying," Helion drawled, leaning forward in his seat and his lethally poised orbs staring directly at y/n, they trailed down her figure, from the ornate crust of jewels encapsulated around her head to the burgundy pumps on her feet, "But what exactly are you?"

The attention of the room shifted, the one thought on their minds having being thrust out into the open, and they all waited eagerly for her response. Y/N sighed and simply glanced to her right with a soft nod, bestowing a silent permission to her companion, Aelin, who grinned, knowing the floor was open for her, "Does the crown not do it for you? She's a queen."

"A queen?" Beron scoffed with a mixture of disbelief and amusement, his brown eyes wicked and untamed, he sneered at the jewels curling above her ears and asked, "Did it fall onto your head? How does a little girl like you get to call herself a queen?"

Rowan's jaw clenched, his top lip curling into a snarl, and he went to say something, to stand up for one of his two queens, but Aelin halted him with a firm hand on his forearm, "I killed my mother, not for the crown, but because-"

"She was an evil bitch?"

Y/N pointed to Aelin with her gaze stuck on Beron, unwavering, lethal, "That." Placing both hands flat against the arms of her chair, y/n rose from the seat, the sky darkening overhead and a violent gust soaring through the chamber, "I have not left my people to aid a continent that finds it acceptable to treat the only thing standing between them and certain death this way. I am over 500 years old, I'm not a little girl. I destroyed my mother and then eviscerated her body for extra measure, and if you think that I won't do the same to you then I would suggest thinking again. I am the daughter of one of the most powerful High Lords in your history, and I am also the daughter of a Valg queen whether I wish it or not. Choose your next words very carefully."

The air had grown heavy, swelteringly so, and the skies continued to darken with splotches of demonic grey; electricity surged through the space, causing the atoms to vibrate with tension. A faint rumble coursed in the distance, and sparks of blue lit up the skies which had once been a backdrop of serenity, even the ocean below could be heard crashing against the cliffside.

Despite his thunderous heartbeat, Beron couldn't allow his mask to shiver in response, no matter how much sweat had built up on his brow or cold had seeped into his bones. Before he could open his mouth and spurt another insult, two thick threads of lightening crashed through the dome of the chamber, landing on either side of him with a crack as they split open the stone under his feet. Thunder chuckled overhead, always thrilled to witness one of her spectacles.

Then, the darkness vanished, giving way to lazy beams of sun as she began her descent below the horizon, the air lightened and birdsong drifted through the room from the open arches. Still standing, y/n arched a brow and adorned a knowing smirk, knowing that a single effortless flash of her abilities had struck fear into every soul surrounding the reflective pool, "Next time, I'll let them devour you. My lightening enjoys the taste of snivelling old cunts."

I like her. Feyre's voice all but purred into Rhys' mind, her face was taut from attempting to hide her grin but it glowered in her eyes.

Hm. I don't think you're the only one. Rhys cocked his head to the side, causing Feyre to crane her neck to see Azriel staring down at her in total awe, though he wasn't even trying to conceal his smile, he let it shine for all to see.

Aelin looked practically giddy by the show, waiting for y/n to sit at her side once more before continuing on as if nothing had happened, "Carrying on," Aelin folded her hands over her stomach and leaned back, propping one of her legs up on the arm of her seat, "Y/N is the Queen of the Fae of Erilea," Aelin glanced to y/n with a level of adoration, "She gave up everything to aid us, there is no one I would rather rule beside than her," Rowan cleared his throat at the words, sending Aelin a deadpan and stern glare, "Oh, and birdboy over here."

"What a touching sentiment," the white haired warrior drawled, his eyes were laced with humour as he rolled them, his body language relaxing tenfold compared to when he had been assessing the males in the room earlier. Apparently he had deduced that none of them were a threat to him and his queens, not after y/n's recent display. "And," he looked to Beron whose orbs were trained on the steaming black cracks etched into the stone floor, "If you thought that was bad, then you should count yourself lucky that Aedion and Lorcan weren't here. Your head would be detached from your shoulders for that level of disrespect."

Aedion and Lorcan.

Rhys made a mental note to ask about them later, and why saying their names aloud made Rowan's smirk turn positively feline.

"Don't forget about Manon," Aelin sang, and Rowan chuckled darkly at the thought, making Azriel think that he never wanted to meet whoever Manon was.

Y/N dragged her fingers through the lengths of her hair and sniffed the air lightly, her ears pricking as though they could hear something approaching from the distance, and just as the doors swung open did her eyes dart to meet them.

Eyes connecting with those of the intruder, Y/N shivered at the tremors of magic that coursed through the room from the High Lords and their entourages throwing their shields up, and she noticed keenly how the shield around the Night Court in particular became reinforced with rage, even if Rhys' face didn't show it.

The male before her eyes was not considered an ally.

Dressed in a green tunic and smiling so broadly that she could see each of his gleaming white teeth, the male sauntered forward into the stilled room with eyes dancing between Rhys and Y/N, picking apart every similarity between them until the realisation swarmed him.

Thesan rose to his feet slowly, his Peregryns ready to put him down if needed, but he really hoped that it wouldn't come to that, "We were not expecting you, Tamlin," he extended a hand to his quivering aids and ordered, "Please bring the High Lord a chair."

Despite his flickering eyes and subdued smile, Tamlin mainly kept his gaze on Feyre, staring directly into her soul, and by the looks of him y/n could tell that he was lethal in his own right. Feyre shuffled under his gaze, a gaze that sought to control and demand her, and y/n would be damned if she allowed such a thing.

"I have to admit that I am surprised you came, Tamlin," Beron drawled, somewhat recovered from the display of anger directed at him only moments before, "Rumour suggests that your allegiance lies elsewhere these days."

Still, Tamlin's gaze did not leave Feyre, it only moved downward to the band circled on her finger and then trailed up to the tattoo flowing and ebbing against her hand, finally ending on the crown lay atop her head. He exhaled through his nose and waited for the aids to place his seat between Beron's sons and Helion's clan; he had come with no generals, no family, no friends, he was completely alone.

The male didn't utter a single word as he sat, the air was tight, but he moved his gaze at long last and rested it upon y/n, narrowing his green eyes at her and tilting his head slightly as if he was trying to place her in his mind. Helion waved his hand, cutting through the ripe tension, "Let's get on with it then."

It made Rhys feel uneasy, the way Tamlin was looking at his sister and the way in which she was staring back, almost taunting him with her orbs of violent delight. He wanted to reach into her mind and tell her to stop, but her walls were strong, almost impenetrable.

Thesan cleared his throat, eager to move the meeting along so that the time spend with Tamlin was as little as possible. No one looked toward the High Lord of Dawn, not even Tamlin as he moved his eye back to Rhys and Feyre, eyes simmering with a hatred that y/n had only ever seen within her mother. He opened his mouth, and Feyre visibly braced herself, "It seems as though congratulations are in order."

Silence.

Only Rhys held his stare, and deep down, y/n could feel his wrath bubbling inside of him like a hot spring, he looked to Thesan and said, "We can talk of this matter later."

"Don't stop on my account."

Rhys' grip tightened around Feyre's knee, "I'm not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies." His gaze floated to his sister who was still staring down Tamlin, hands coiled around the arms of her chair and eyes blazing with a fury he didn't know she too possessed.

"No," Tamlin matched Rhys' tone with a certain level of ease, "You're just in the business of fucking them."

The room stilled with rage, the entire entourage of the Night Court seethed in silence, waiting for a single nod from their High Lord to allow them to tear this nothing-man into pieces.

A single claw slid from his knuckles, and the world became muffled to y/n, she wasn't focusing on anything or anyone other than him, the one making a clear threat toward her brother and his mate, her sister by law. There was nothing more sacred. Then she fell back into the room just as Tamlin smirked and angled his head at Rhys, "When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?"

Heat stained Feyre's cheeks at the question, one that sought to discount everything that she was. Beron beamed, and Eris monitored the situation carefully from his seat, but then-

Silence. A gentle kiss of breeze.

Azriel glanced to his right, expecting to see y/n sat there with hate-filled eyes, but she was gone. A wet gurgling pulled his attention, he followed the noise and his eyes widened with delight.

Y/N had winnowed right into Tamlin's lap, her elongated talons piercing the skin of his neck causing blood to trail downward and pool at the collar of his tunic. Her other hand was furled into his hair, tugging his head back roughly so that his eyes met hers. One wrong move and Tamlin was done, and he knew it, the terror clear in his panicked eyes.

"If you ever speak of my sister-in-law, or any female, in such a manner again," she spoke lowly, dangerously, like poison on the tip of a blade, "It will be the last time you speak. Am I clear?" Her talons dug in deeper, the blood staining the rings littering her fingers.

Tamlin nodded shakily, gasping for air, and y/n only smirked down at him before retracting her talons from his flesh and bringing her index finger up to her lips, painting the bottom with his blood and humming, "For a male who acts so mighty, your fear tastes delicious," she ground down on his lap and called to her companions, "I think we have seen enough, don't you?"

Huffing, Rowan rose to his feet followed by Aelin, and the pair rounded the pool, Rowan extending a hand to y/n on the way and not even flinching when her bloodied fingers used him as leverage to slide from Tamlin's thighs. "Pathetic," he spat, bewildered at how their help had been wished for when they couldn't even play nice with one another. They all needed some lessons on how to get things done.

The trio sauntered from the chamber, but stopped in place when Thesan rose to his feet and called out to them, understanding that their aid meant the difference between peace or annihilation, "Please, wait." Thesan took three steps toward the trio whose combined power rippling around them was enough to make them see stars, "Stay the night at least, allow us to prove to you that we are worthy of saving."

Without looking back like Aelin and Rowan had, y/n nodded stiffly and only once before she rounded the doors, disappearing into the palace to presumably be shown to her rooms for the evening.

And, after a fair few snarky comments and displays of power, the meeting concluded, and Rhys was the first one rising from his seat and rounding the opened doors, following that mesmerising mountainous scent all the way through palace until he met a pair of tall golden doors that were littered with engravings of clouds and stars.

The rest of the Inner Circle eventually caught up with him, panting, and Cassian especially cursing the day Rhys was born for making him rush so much. Before Rhys could even raise a fist to the door, to reunite with his sister in the way that he had dreamed of for 500 years, it opened for him, and he found Aelin lazily draped against the frame looking to him with an arched brow; she peered behind him at the rest of his family and smiled, "Come on in."

Aelin stepped aside and ushered the group into the lavish suite they had been gifted, Thesan had really pulled out all of the wonders to make their stay as comfortable as possible. Soft white walls encircled the room that was adorned with pillars of solid gold and intricate artworks that littered the ceilings, wide open arches gave way to skies caressed with oncoming darkness, and in the centre was a seating area that rivalled that of the River House, long deep rooted chairs and frilled pillows, a square glass table at the centre and a fire raging on against the wall.

Upon one of the many seats, the Inner Circle found Rowan, feet propped up on the glass and head craned to meet them, "She'll be out in a minute," he drawled, "She's getting used to how large her bed is."

"I was washing the blood off my hands, thank you very much," y/n waltzed in from the open door on the left, wiping her cleared palms against the deep blue skirt of her dress, "You make me sound like such a princess."

Rowan rolled his eyes and dipped his head backward, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, like her testing his patience was a common occurrence, "I would like to remind you that you were one. For 500 years. And I've known you for half of that time."

Y/N straightened and shrugged, "Fair enough," she turned on the balls of her bare feet to face Rhys and angled her head to the side, waving her gaze from his feet to his crown, "Who would have ever thought that we'd end up like this?"

A High Lord and Queen.

Rhys' smile widened as he beheld her, as they all did actually, the dark monster vanquished into a sea of light leaving behind something airy and fresh, "Certainly not me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Her smile faltered, "Me neither," she took a step toward him, "You gave me quite a scare you know, with that message."

Rhys matched her step, "That was never my intention."

"I know," she loosened her shoulders, "We'll help, even if the other High Lords of this land don't know the meaning of decorum."

Adoration flashed in his eyes, "Thank you, for what you did in there for Feyre. It was-"

"Terrifying?" Y/N moved like the wind, approaching her brother and taking his hands in hers, "I'll do anything to protect family."

And the Inner Circle knew that the protection she spoke of also extended to them, to the found family Rhys had formed in her void.

Snapping back into reality, Rhys placed a tender kiss on her brow and then angled his body to allow his family a chance to really see her, "Y/N," he began, tugging her to the jumbled line his circle had formed, "You know Feyre, my High Lady and mate, and this her sister, Nesta," the pair smiled warmly at one another whilst Nesta watched on, unphased, "This is Amren, my second in command. Cassian, the general of my armies. Mor, your cousin," Mor beamed at the sentiment, she was astounded to be related to someone so incredibly powerful and beautiful, "And then this is-"

"Azriel," the Shadowsinger interrupted, taking a single step forward causing y/n to crane her neck to get a better look at him.

Tendrils of darkness poked over his shoulders and combed through her hair, placing delicate kisses against her cheeks whilst she drank him in. Azriel was beautiful, dark hair and brooding hazel orbs, tattoos that crept up his arms and peered out of the collar of his second skin, a perfectly sloped nose and full lips, and a jaw so sharp she felt as though if she reached out to touch it then her fingers would return to her sliced.

"Azriel," the faint whisper sounded like a sonnet to his ears, and her offered a small smile, and she returned it instantly, unable to tear her eyes away from his until Cassian cut through the moment.

"Hate to break up whatever this is," he spoke with a wink in Azriel's direction who contained his growl to silence, "But we have to know everything about you. It's not every day that your best friend forgets to tell you that he has a sister in another world."

Shaking her head with a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, y/n motioned to the seating area, moving from Azriel and leaving his shadows pining after her to find a space in the centre of one of the four plush benches, "Sit. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Azriel moved first, wasting no time in taking the seat to her left whilst Rhys took the space to her right, the rest of the inner circle filled the other vacancies, Cassian puffing out his chest when he fell beside Rowan, the latter of who just grinned at the action, and Nesta partly cowering away from Aelin who watched her with a raised brow.

"How old are you?" Mor asked with a voice of wonder, she should have been angry at Rhys the moment she found out that she had another cousin that had been hidden from her, but for some reason she wasn't.

Y/N glanced to Rhys, "I'm 508, give or take a couple of years."

"So you were banished when you were a baby?"

"Yes. I hadn't even reached my second year, " y/n smiled sadly, "The Sidra flooded the city when I was born, our father said that an uncontrollable storm raged on for two weeks afterward. It was clear that I had a power that couldn't be tamed here, so I was sent to my mother in Doranelle, and she raised me."

"I remember that storm," Mor spoke faintly, brow furrowed as she recounted the night when the lightening cracked over the Court of Nightmares, causing the entire city to seek refuge indoors for four whole days and nights, "I didn't realise that it was you."

"Yes, well," y/n trailed, "It's not everyday a High Lord fucks a Valg queen but here we are."

Feyre suppressed a chuckle at y/n's tone, one that was light and attempting to find the silver lining of it all.

Rhys lay a sturdy hand on her knee and pulled her attention to him, unspoken words of an eon drifted between them, "If it's any consolation, I think that father sent you away because he knew that you were meant to be more than a High Lord's trophy wife. Males would wage wars to control a power like yours."

Feyre spoke next, asking, "What is it that you can do?"

Laying her palm open toward the ceiling, the room watched intently as blue sparks of lightening coursed over her fingertips and curled around her wrists, "I can mostly control the weather, storms to be exact, and water also answers my call."

"Tell them the truth, y/n," Aelin teased, "Stop trying to lessen your worth," she told y/n sternly, holding her gaze and sighing when she didn't elaborate, "She decimated an entire army with that power to save me, and the entire world. It nearly killed her. Erilea owes her a great debt. That's why she is queen, not because of her birth right, but because she sacrificed herself to make the world a better place."

"So, you control storms, huh?" Cassian cut through the pause, threading his fingers behind his head and leaning back into the seat, his face a mixture of impress and challenge.

Y/N raised a goblet to her lips, causing Azriel to wonder where exactly she had gotten it from, and drank slowly, "There's a reason that storms are named after women."

"Can you fight?" Mor asked, eager to know if she could train with her cousin, wanting to spend as much time with her as possible with the time they had together.

Rowan huffed and then frowned when Aelin dug her elbow into his ribs, but it didn't hurt him, not one bit. "You can thank me for that."

"He trained you?" Cassian asked with disbelief, his shoulders squaring and eyes narrowing at the white haired fae prince.

"I can show you if you'd like?" Y/N smirked through her lashes, eyes swimming with unmatched mischief as Cassian turned to her and grinned, thinking it would be an easy win for him. "If you're up to the challenge?"

"I would be honoured to show you how us Illyrians fight. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two." Cassian wriggled his brows at y/n but he failed to notice the glance she sent to Rowan who was rolling his eyes in her direction, and something told Azriel that Cassian would be eating those words once the morning came to pass.

Author's Note

Part 2 is here my lovelies!

As always let me know what you think!

Taglist

@userxs-blog @riorgail @fandomarchiveilyd @booksandbud4me @acourtofbatboydreams @sidthedollface2 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @tenshis-cake @rcarbo1 @doodlebugg16-blog @snoopyspace @superspideyparker

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illyrianbitch · 1 year ago

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Blessed

Pairing: Lesser Fae Acheron!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary: Angered by Nesta's actions, the Cauldron turned you into a fae different than your sisters— a lesser one that resembled more animal than human. Now living in Autumn, Eris shows you a new perspective on yourself.

Warnings: mainly fluff, sprinkles of self-hatred and low confidence, mentions of previous trauma, just reader being shown her worth!

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: unedited so pls ignore anything tehehe i was just excited to post

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a faint breeze that kissed your skin as you walked a step behind Eris.

The vibrant hues of fall leaves surrounded you— beautiful trees of red, orange, and yellow. But you were stuck far too into your mind to appreciate the sight. Even after your move to Autumn, and your growing relationship with Eris, you spent your days in your head, wishing to keep distance between you and every other living creature.

But it wasn’t possible. Even now, you weren’t able to hide behind fabrics— no cloaks or jackets could hide the antlers that had sprouted from your head or the spots and markings that adorned your skin. You were exposed in every way you wished to hide. It was hard to appreciate the world around you when it had cursed you to be such a creature.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The sound of it alone was tired and timid, and for a moment you barely recognized it yourself.

Eris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stopped, causing you to halt in your tracks as he turned to face you. His expression was unreadable for a moment before softening into something you couldn't quite place. His eyes scanned your face.

"Do you trust me?"

His voice was gentle, a soft cadence that balanced the cool fall breeze perfectly.

You met his gaze, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes seemed to soften in your presence. There was a gentle smile playing on his lips, but beneath it, you detected a flicker of uncertainty, as if he was afraid of what your answer might be.

A warmth in your chest spread as you replied. "Yes.”

Eris let out a breath as the smile on his face grew. He extended his hand towards you.

"Then let me show you something,” he said, “I hope it will prove something to you.”

You frowned slightly at his words but took his hand nonetheless, feeling how the warmth of his skin spread throughout your body. You didn’t dare to look down at where your hands met, at where the markings on your skin would stand in such contrast to his immaculate human-like hands. You brushed the thought away as he led further into the depths of the forest.

You stole glances at him as you walked, admiring how different he looked now, surrounded by his court, than those times you'd seen him at the Night Court. He seemed so regal, so effortlessly handsome and elegant— an image so far from the one he’d kept at first, the darkness, mystery, and cruelty that shrouded him before.

He looked back every other moment, making sure to catch your eye and give you a reassuring gesture, a smile or a squeeze on your hands. And those eyes—those mesmerizing eyes—seemed to hold so much. So many emotions, so much intellect, and so much capability for kindness.

It shocked you, truly, to think about a time when those eyes were only cruel, only calculated. But perhaps it was only you he looked at with such kindness. Or, perhaps it was sorrow he felt for you, for your situation and the way you were Made. You tried not to think about it too often, tried not to make yourself sad by the reality that Eris, the powerful new High Lord of Autumn, was forever mated to you– a cursed, creature of a female, a disgrace compared to you devastatingly beautiful High Fae sisters.

But here he was, holding your hand and guiding you into the forest of his court— your court. And your heart fluttered in a way you still weren't used to.

It was a few more minutes of walking in comfortable silence until you arrived at a small clearing within the embrace of the trees. The area was adorned with fallen leaves and small boulders, and the sound of a babbling creek nearby filled the air with a soothing melody. A sudden sense of peace washed over you, easing the weight of sadness that had been clinging to your shoulders like second skin.

Breathing out a sigh of contentment, you turned to face Eris, who had gently dropped your hand. You took in the beauty of the scene before you, the colors of autumn painting a picturesque backdrop that seemed to come alive with every rustle of the leaves. You brought your hands together at your chest, meeting his eyes with a timid smile.

"I'm still so stunned by the beauty of it all,” you said, turning around to take in your surroundings once more. “Even after seeing it so often.”

Eris simply stared at you, the smile on his lips never fading. Something glowed deep in him. "I understand the feeling.”

You missed the way his eyes softened with awe at you, at the sight of you taking in the world around you—the way your eyes sparkled with wonder. His words weren’t meant for the woods around him, weren’t about the beautiful nature you now looked at.

"Are you willing to do me a favor?”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes playfully as you took in the glint of his eyes. "Depends on the favor, Vanserra."

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. With a nod, he beckoned you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come closer, Archeron, and then I can ask it of you.” A faint heat rose to your cheeks as you stepped forward, your gaze now falling to the ground to avoid the magnetic pull of his own. A nervous flutter danced in your chest, and you chided yourself for being so silly— blushing over a male like a child with a crush. A male who was tied to you by some mystical, godly thread. It was still so much to wrap your mind around— how strongly you felt towards him in such little time.

Eris slowly extended both of his hands towards you, the palms of his ring-clad hands facing upwards. You hesitated, face furrowing in uncertainty as your gaze flickered between his hands and his face.

"And here I thought you said you trusted me," he teased. His voice remained just as gentle.

A laugh escaped your lips, a sound that bubbled up from deep within you. It echoed through the quiet clearing and Eris’ eyes lit up. A smile tugged at his lips as you finally reached out, placing your palms gently against his.

With a soft exhale, he instructed, "Close your eyes."

You furrowed your brow once more. "What for?"

"I just want you to take it all in," Eris replied, his tone earnest. "Close your eyes. And then we can try something."

You nodded. “Okay.”

You allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, eyelids fluttering shut as you let out a deep breath. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sound of the babbling creek and the feel of Eris's hands beneath yours.

You sunk into the peaceful rhythm of your heartbeat, and deep down, it almost felt as if you could feel Eris's heartbeat echoing yours, the pulsing of his heart through the palms that touched your own.

After a while, his voice broke the silence. "Keep your eyes closed. I'm going to let your hands go."

A slight pang of disappointment grew in your chest at the thought of losing the warmth of his touch, but you nodded nonetheless. You pulled your hands back into your chest, holding them together as you listened to the sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots.

"I'll be right here. Is that alright?"

Eris spoke again, his voice now coming from behind you.

You jumped at the sudden proximity, and a nervous shiver ran down your spine as you felt his breath against your skin, his warmth enveloping you from behind. Swallowing hard, you willed yourself to calm down, to ignore the fluttering of your heart. He let out a small breathy laugh.

"Sorry," Eris murmured, his voice light with a sense of amusement. “I’ll give a better warning next time.”

You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Are your eyes closed too?" you found yourself asking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"Do you want them to be?"

Feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at the realization of how silly your question was, you whispered, "Well, I wouldn't want to be alone."

Another laugh escaped Eris. "You're not alone. I'm here."

You let out a ragged breath. “Right.”

"Just take a deep breath, Y/n," he continued.

You did your best to ignore how your stomach seemed to flip at the sound of your name on his lips and you nodded his response, following his guidance as you took in the fresh air around you.

"Focus on the sounds around you," Eris continued, "On the earth beneath your feet."

It only took a few moments before you began to feel acutely aware of every sensation coursing through your body. The gentle sway of the trees in the breeze sent shivers down your spine, the earth beneath your feet pulsed with life, grounding you in the present moment, to the presence of Eris behind you.

Each breath you took filled your lungs with the crisp autumn air, invigorating you from the inside out. A faint echo of leaves crunching filled your ears, your mind wandering to thoughts of the life that must be found within these woods. Every rustle, every chirp, every whisper— magnified, as if the forest itself was alive and speaking to you in its own language.

"What do you feel?"

"I feel... alive," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel connected to everything around me, as if I'm a part of this forest, this world."

It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever felt— a sense of belonging that washed over you like a warm embrace. You nearly cried at the feeling, at the realization of how desperate you had been for it, how difficult it had been to watch your sister’s grow into their new lives while you felt so strange, so at odds with it.

"Anything else?" Eris prompted, his voice soft, coaxing.

You paused, taking a moment to listen to yourself, to the feelings that swirled within you, to the sensations throughout your body. “Curiosity," you admitted, your face slightly furrowing at the realization.

Eris placed his hands on your arms, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your dress. A smile tugged at your lips at the comforting sensation and the crease between your brows quickly faded.

And then, leaning in closer, Eris whispered, "Open your eyes."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, a sense of excitement – giddiness, almost– coursing through your veins as you slowly opened your eyes.

As your gaze adjusted to the sight before you, your breath hitched in your throat.

There, standing before you, was the most stunning doe you had ever seen. Her coat shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees and her eyes held a softness that seemed to reach into the depths of your soul. Somewhere deep inside of you, something sang. Beside her stood a small fawn, eyes wide and curious as she regarded you with innocence and wonder– curiosity. It was curiosity.

But it wasn't just the two of them. Behind them, hidden amongst the trees, were more deer.

You blinked in disbelief. Turning your head to glance over your shoulder, you found Eris already looking at you.. His eyes gleamed as he peered down at you, and a proud smile played at the corners of his lips.

Eris gently motioned you forward with a soft push on your bicep. You glanced back at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze, in your wide eyes and parted lips. He nodded forward, silently urging you on once more, and a knot of nerves formed in your stomach.

"Eris..." you began, voice trailing off as you turned your attention back to the doe before you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hesitated, nervous to make a move. Deer tended to be timid creatures, and the last thing you wanted was to startle them.

Memories from the past flooded your mind. You thought back to the times when you struggled to provide for your starving family, the guilt weighing heavily on your conscience— a stain that still existed, just as dark as the first days when it began to form. You remembered how Feyre understood when you couldn't hunt with her, despite how easily you were able to track deer, how she accepted your help in other ways.

And now, as you stared at the doe before you, you couldn't shake the feeling of unworthiness that gnawed at your insides. How did you deserve this moment of peace, this connection with nature, when you carried the weight of your past actions on your shoulders? A sense of peace like this was earned— deserved. You had done nothing but hide away.

You glanced back at Eris.

Was this what he felt like? Had he, too, struggled with a sense of peace and belonging that seemed almost too good to be true? With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and took a hesitant step forward, still worried, almost overly cautious, that your movements might startle the animals before you.

But to your surprise, instead of fleeing, the doe lowered her head in a gesture of acceptance, and the fawn cautiously approached you.

There was a bubbling of emotions in your chest, feelings that swirled within you– mixtures of awe and vulnerability. The small fawn approached you on bending legs, and you kneeled down slightly, watching as its small gaze was fixed on you. You let out a small laugh, your mouth breaking into a smile as the creature regarded you with such comfortability.

From behind, you watched as the mother doe moved forward, and out of caution, you stood up slowly. She inched forward more, her fawn at the side of her legs. An instinctive sensation prickled at you, and with trembling hands, you extended your palm outward, offering it in a gesture of peace— or so you hoped.

The mother doe approached, her nose brushing against your hand as she stared at you with those deep, soulful eyes.

"She is not threatened," you whispered softly.

You glanced back at Eris, who began to walk towards you. His movements caused the doe before you to stiffen under your touch, and you quickly found yourself murmuring to her, in a voice intended solely for you and the creature, "He's alright. It’s alright."

A sense of relaxation washed over you as the animal before you seemed to relax once more, her small fawn approaching Eris with excited movements.

"How do I know that?" you asked him. Eris watched as you looked back at the deer before you, as you placed your hand on her snout, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin. “How do I know that she’s not threatened?”

There was a small pause. “Have you been told much about The Mother?”

You frowned, eyes still trained on the animal before you, hand still gently touching her fur. “Not really.”

You stilled for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “I think you underestimate how hidden away I was, how little I interacted with my family once I became….this.”

Eris’ heart sank at the way you regarded yourself, and he let out a deep breath.

"The Mother is said to know the heart of every living thing. Her connection with nature is something renowned. Think of it as a bond.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Like ours?”

There was a tug in your chest at the mention of that bond, of that thread that tied you and Eris together— you and the male that currently regarded you with such awe. Even the way he spoke made your heart flutter, made you want to ask him of all the things he’d learned about. You’d quickly come to know that Eris was quite the intellect. It was showing especially now, as he spoke.

“Somewhat,” he responded, “A different type of bond. But yes, just as strong. Just as sacred.”

You smiled at the words. And then, you listened intently as Eris spoke of how stories his own mother told him growing up, stories of how The Mother had once walked among the forests, her very presence a blessing to all who crossed her path. She cared for the world with a tenderness and love that knew no bounds, nurturing the land and its inhabitants with a gentle hand.

"Those who care for the world that she so carefully tended are said to be blessed by her," Eris continued. His voice was soft and low with a sense of reverence that made your heart beat calmer, slower— one that filled you with a sense of sanctity and respect. "The Mother sees the goodness in their hearts and rewards them with her favor."

A sense of wonder, of awe and admiration washed over you, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. You weren’t certain where the emotions were coming from, whether it was the peace in your heart, the tenderness of Eris’ voice or the beautiful animals before you— it was all overwhelming, so beautifully soul-igniting. There was a tug in your chest, a feeling of breathlessness mingled with an inexplicable longing, as if you were being drawn into something greater than yourself, something infinitely beautiful and sacred.

You turned to look at Eris as he walked towards you, closing the distance that remained. At your feet, the small fawn brushed past the fabrics of your dress.

"The Cauldron was angry when Nesta stole from it. It wanted to punish you for her actions.”

You nodded absentmindedly, nodded at the memory, at the excruciating pain you had felt. Your thoughts ran back to the anger you harbored towards your family, the fear and embarrassment– the envy that your sisters had been made so beautiful where you had been wronged. So deeply, unnaturally, strangely wronged.

Your lip quivered. Eris’ eyes softened.

"You've led yourself to believe that you are cursed," he said softly, “Do you want to know what I believe?”

You blinked away tears. “What do you believe?”

“The Mother protected you. Saved you.”

Your hand fell gently from the doe’s snout, an overwhelming, crushing sense of relief flooding through your body like a wave, rippling through your arms, exploding in your chest.

Eris’ hand reached out to grasp yours, and with his eyes still trained on you, he brought your hand to his lips— the same hand freckled with spots, with ones that mirrored the fawn that stood below you. He placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles before raising your hand slightly.

You watched in astonishment as a small butterfly appeared, alighting on your palm with delicate grace. A tear slipped from your eye as your lips parted.

"You are far from cursed, Y/n," Eris said tenderly, "You are blessed."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

guys ngl i have an entire universe of ideas for this pairing...just the parallel of eris and a lesser fae reader and what happened to lucien and jesminda??? reader struggling at first and eris feeling the bond so strongly he needs to stay away but reader mistakes it as him being disgusted?? reader x lucien friendship??? reader being representation for lesser fae??? PLEASEEE

like ask @itsswritten i already love this pairing but idk if yall are as interested. lmk and ima make a taglist!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @nighttimemoonlover

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #autumn court #eris fanfic #eris imagine #acosf #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #acotar fandom

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elaacreditava · 10 months ago

Text

Have I found you, flightless bird?

Azriel Shadowsinger x reader

Summary: Rhysand brings back home a mysterious girl with a distaste for Illyrians. Azriel feels attracted to her and compelled to change her view on things.

Warning: angst, blood, gore, pinning and fluff

Word count: 4.661k

Note: This is my first writing ever. Never thought about writing fics, only reading them (obsessed) but I couldn't take this fic out of my mind so I decided to write and share it.

After Amarantha's death, Rhysand winnowed back to Velaris with an unknown female. As soon as he saw his family, Rhys fell to his knees and was hugged by Mor while cried and said repeatedly "she's my mate". His cousin, Amren, Cassian and Azriel stared incredulously at the mysterious woman in the corner of the room.

"Who are you?", the Illyrian commander asked after the shock of the situation has passed.

"I'm Y/n and no, he's not talking about me, I'm not his mate", Y/n answered feeling the need to get rid of any misunderstanding. No one asked any more questions while all of them sat down after Rhysand had calmed himself enough to start explaining everything that had happened since the beginning.

When Rhys was done hours later, Azriel noticed how little he knew about Y/n, as if Rhys was leaving her out of it as much as possible intentionally, only saying that she was Amarantha's slave just like him.

Seeing Y/n rounded ears, no scales, horns, wings, slitted eyes or anything that made her high fae or lesser, Azriel deemed she was human, the most beautiful female he has seen in his life with her smooth long hair, slender body and sharp face, no older than 25. But what got Azriel most about her were her eyes, more than the exquisite color they had, the look she gave at them, the kind of look of someone that had been through a lot and would never let it happen again was always present. He needed to know more about her, so he decided to pry for answers.

"Why did you bring the human back with you? Why not send her back to the mortal lands?" Az asked Rhysand but as soon as he finished his sentence, Y/n eyes turned in his direction and the shadowsinger knew he had made a mistake. "The 'human' is no human at all and she hates when someone talks about her as if she's not present." Y/n said in a disgusted tone and with such fury that Azriel felt like he's been electrocuted, but being the spymaster he is, he didn't let show how much the storm in her eyes affected him.

"Y/n isn't human, she's... something else, but that's not my story to tell. She will tell whenever she feels ready to share." replied Rhys trying to keep the conversation under control. Azriel and Y/n kept staring at each other for a while and he had a feeling she didn't like him very much. When the silence was uncomfortable enough for everybody else in the room, Azriel was the first to speak "Apologies, I didn't mean to, I see you and know you can speak for yourself." That caught Y/n off guard. Was it possible for an Illyrian to be different from all the ones she has meet before? Apologizing and looking at her as if had worth stirred something in her chest, something she hadn't felt before, like a tug in her heart. But she decided to not let it show and only nodded in return.

After introducing Y/n to his family, Rhysand decided the conversation would be over for now. "Y/n and I must rest" Rhys said to everyone and turning to her he finished with "Nuala and Cerridwen will help you getting settled." With that, the High Lord left and everybody else went to their own affairs while the half-wraiths took Y/n to the room she would be staying.

A warm bath was waiting for her and since she was feeling the need of washing away everything that happened she went in. Scrubbing the skin raw has become a tradition, the necessity of getting rid of Amarantha's touch and smell she could feel on herself after she was used, like Rhys was. Even now, with Amarantha dead, Y/n could smell her as if it was impregnated on her skin, as if she would never be free of it. So she scrubbed and cried and scrubbed some more like she did for years and years.

Having left the bath and changed into a short sleeved knee length dress, Y/n felt as clean as she could get. She was thinking about taking a walk around to explore the house when someone knocked on the door. Y/n went and opened it coming face to face with Azriel. Looking at him from this close, she could see the green in his hazel eyes, the light freckles on his cheeks, how his sharp jaw could cut anything. He was breathtaking. And breathless she was... until she realized they were staring at each other, so she cleaned her throat and said "Can I help you with anything?"

Azriel noticed her puffy eyes from crying during her scrub session and the raw skin of her arms and neck, so red that looked very sensitive to touch. The dark blue dress she was wearing complimented her curves and skin tone. He could only think about how was it possible to someone to look so mesmerizing even with puffy eyes, raw skin and a simple dress.

After a moment he averted his eyes "I feel like we started with the wrong foot. I'm Azriel, spymaster of the Night Court." he extended his hand, palm up, his shadows went to his fingertips, eager for her to make contact so they would jump to her warm fingers. Y/n put her hand on his and he kissed it and gave her a little bow while he saw his shadows circling her wrist and caressing her forearm "They seen to like you" his lips twitched trying to hold a smile before he continued "I was wondering if you need anything. Perhaps a tour around the place?" he said looking at her eyes now with a little smile, still holding her hand, and Y/n was wondering how soft his lips would feel against hers.

No! She couldn't get involved with him! After everything she's been through, she didn't need an Illyrian brute controlling her choices, taking away her freedom like she knew was part of their culture. As soon as she thought about it, she snatched her hand back and said "No thanks, I don't need to go anywhere with your kind" dismissing him. She was ready to close the bedroom door but he stopped her, holding the door ajar. She could see hurt and fury in his eyes, his shadows back around him were bristled when he asked "What do you mean with 'my kind'?" at that moment she thought he probably didn't always need to torture to get the answers he wanted, the look he was giving her and the tone he voiced his question was almost enough to make her apologize and cower in a corner. But she didn't suffer all she did all those years to run and hide when confronted any male.

"I don't need an Illyrian male telling me what to do and where to go, soon enough you'll start telling me what to wear and how to behave" she replied coldly.

"What?! I was just trying to be nice since you just got here and don't know your surroundings. Never wanted to control you in any way, just thought you would feel more at ease knowing how to come and go." He took a step closer, she could smell night-chilled mist and cedar coming from him "Don't compare me to other Illyrians you have met before. You don't know me", his low voice giving her goosebumps and making her heart race.

Azriel felt an anguish in the current situation he hasn't felt before. Being compared to everything he had fought against his whole life.

"Whenever you feel like leaving your prejudice behind, I'll be around." with that he left leaving Y/n stunned by the door. She was so shocked by his words that she didn't remember closing the bedroom door, walking to her bed and laying down. She felt a mix of rage and shame, how he talked to her, after she patronized him, how her prejudice made her think they're all the same when all he showed her was kindness. She took a deep breath and got up ready to find him and apologize but as soon as she got to the door and opened, Rhys was there. "Hey! I just saw Az leaving, looking mad, what happened?" he asked, so Y/n told him everything about their encounter.

"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Y/n. The brooding face, shadows and bat wings might give you the wrong impression but once you get to know him, you'll see that he's nothing like you ever knew. Let the past in the past and try to be open minded" the High lord said, making her feel even worse about the situation. So she got up fast and said "I need to go, Rhys. Do you know where I can find him? I really need to apologize."

"He's probably at the library, it's where we usually find him when he's pissed. It's on the lower floor, fourth door to your right." he instructed her knowing she had no idea where was anything in the house. "Thanks Rhys, wish me luck!" she said passing Rhysand and giving him a peck on his cheek.

"No problem! And you won't need luck, Az is a nice male and you are you. He will understand and both of you will be fine." he said with a smirk looking at her as if he knew something Y/n didn't. She went to the lower floor and the fourth door to her right was a large one, very library like so she got in and started looking for him. The place was so big, with endless shelves full of books. She will definitively spend some time here in the future. For now she had to find him, but had no idea where to start.

Something on the ground was trying to get her atention and when she stepped closer she noticed it was one of his shadows. When she bent down to touch it the shadow moved to an aisle luring her to follow it and so she did. After some twists and turns she found him sitting on a sofa with a pile of books and reports laying on the table by his side. He looked very comfortable, with his legs spread, one hand holding a report while the other arm was resting on the back of the sofa holding his head in place. His wings were behind the sofa resting, just as spread as his legs. And damn, if the rumors about wingspan were true, the male in from of her was very blessed. Fuck, she comes to apologize and can't stop thinking about those things, not nice!

As soon as she came into view, he stiffened and fixed his posture, looking tense and ready to fight. "I've come in peace!" She stated quickly while holding her hands up in a surrender position for him to see. "I was so unfair comparing you to others, I am very sorry about it. I've had some bad experiences in life but that doesn't excuse how I treated you." Az looked her over, her guilty ridden face told him she was being sincere.

"It's okay, I forgive you" he replied and she instantly looked so relieved and for a couple of seconds he just kept gazing at her, something in her was so entrancing, he couldn't take his eyes off of her until -"wait, how did you find me here? This library is like a maze" he said imagining the trouble she went through until finally finding him.

"Uh, as soon as I entered the library one of your shadows found me and guided me to you" she said and his jaw dropped. His shadows always helped him to hide, not to be found. It didn't matter who was looking for him, they never gave his whereabouts to anyone. "You little traitors" he scolded them playfully. Even feeling a bit betrayed by them he felt glad that they did it and the air between Azriel and Y/n could be cleared.

"So, I feel like we started with the wrong foot. I'm Y/n. Would you mind giving me a tour around the place?" she used almost the same words he did hours before by her door so he barked a laugh, got up, took the hand she extended, kissed it, put it around his byceps and told her "It would be my pleasure."

He didn't fail to notice how his shadows would naturally run from him to hers, excited to touch her warm skin and back to him bringing her smell with them.

Months have passed and the dynamic between them both was as if they have known each other for centuries. They would talk for hours about a book they read, go to a cafe to have their favorite pastries, walk down the Rainbow while chatting about the future, training hand to hand combat, since Y/n begged to learn anything because she felt the need since she was never able to fight back in her slave days or before that.

Everything was great between them, except for the fact that Y/n still didn't disclose anything to him about her past. He didn't know what she was, where she came from, how old was she, and that made Azriel confused. She was comfortable enough to have him around, to do almost everything together, even sleep on his shoulder once when they were reading together side by side on the couch and she fell asleep, laying her head on his shoulder, then moving to his chest, and when waking up, not being embarrassed about it, as if it wasn't the first time this was happening and as id it wasn't almost gave him a heart attack.

Her head near his face, he could smell her hair, feel the softness of it on his cheek, he wanted to run his hands through it, feel it between his fingers. Then she moved a little bit to get more comfortable and her nose was almost touching his chest. He could feel her breath on his skin since the V neck he was wearing showed some skin. It tickled him and gave goosebumps.

He couldn't concentrate on his book any longer. All he could think about was how would it feel to have her hair between his fingers while she kissed his chest, his abs, his- never mind! He took a deep breath and tried very hard to take his mind off of it. They would be very flirty with each other all the time but it was just a joke, she would never be interested in him more than friends. She was so kind, brave, smart and pretty. And he was just him.

Today was training day and they were stretching at the center of the ring before starting with hand to hand combat. Y/n was wearing leggings and a long sleeved shirt. Azriel noticed Y/n never wore sleeveless clothing, she would show her arms sometimes but never her back. He tried to dismiss this information but it kept nagging at him.

Azriel was wearing his combat leathers, and Y/n couldn't stop staring at his muscles, how good he was looking. He kept giving her a welcoming smile, an encouraging one since they were about to start fighting and he would handle her ass to her. She has been training for months now but he has been training for centuries, it didn't matter what a great professor he was, she would never win a fight between them, even so with her getting distracted when their skin touch, when he imobilizes her and she can feel his breath on her neck, when he's so close that everything she can do is do her best to keep herself under control and not kiss him then and there.

It was impossible not to fall for him. He was amazing, she could spend the whole day with him and would never tire of his company. Everyone saw him as a serious fae, never smiling and always in the shadows, but with Y/n he was funny, attentive, respectful and smart. Gods, she wanted him so much. But he would never want her, a broken girl, her years as a slave only left a shadow of the person she was. He would answer her flirtation with the same tone but of course it was just a joke to him, he could have anyone, why would he choose her?

"Okay, today we'll test the grappling you've been learning lately. We have tested your kicking lessons and punching ones in the last classes. Today, no kicking, no punching, only imobillizing, got it?" He asked and even knowing what was coming, she got nervous. He was very built, tall and large so she would have trouble dealing with it.

He taught her how to take down bigger opponents but one thing was just theory and training other was to use it to really win the fight. Y/n just took a deep breath and nodded in confirmation.

They started to circle each other, looking for a weak spot to take advantage of. She tried to trip him tackling his legs but he just pushed her back and gave a little laugh. She knew he was playing her, that he could have finished it already but he wanted to see what she had learned. So back at circling she remembered a takedown she read about, trained the movement in front of the mirror many times but never really did it on someone. If she was able to execute it, Azriel wouldn't be expecting it since it was one he never taught her.

Y/n keep a natural stance while moving closer to him. She then gripped his left wrist with her right hand and hooked his left armpit with her left arm. Taking a big step forward, she rotated her body and dropped to her knees between his legs, with her back to him, using the momentum to change Azriel's center of gravity and pull him over her shoulder and onto his back on the mat. He looked so surprised that Y/n kept staring at his face with the biggest smile he has ever seen. He took a second to save that scene in his memory and in the next he dropped her and mounted her waist.

"That was one hell of a takedown, but instead of gloating you should've held me down so I wouldn't get up and take you down" he said looking down and smiling at her.

Y/n was breathless. She didn't know if it was because of the takedown, or of when he caught her off guard after it or because he was sitting on top of her with that smile that melted her every time.

"Hey, are you okay?" He whispered thinking she could be hurt and moved his hand to move her hair away from her face. Lost in his actions, he didn't notice the mischief in her eyes. She hugged his forearm and bumped her hips to the side, making him loose balance and falling on his back again. This time she learned her lesson, before he could close his legs around her hips or get up, Y/n moved fast and mounted him as he did to her minutes ago but now, she held his wrists above his head.

They both were breathing heavy, their noses inches apart, looking at each other's eyes. His eyes moved from hers to her lips and back to her eyes.

"I yield" he breathed against her lips. She threw all control away and kissed him deep and hard. Moving one hand to his hair and the other to the back of his neck she tried to show him through that kiss how much he meant to her, how glad she was to have met him and how she wanted a future with him.

With his arms now free from her grip, Azriel buried with fingers in her hair and his other hand moved to the small of her back. He waited so long for this to happen and to have her kissing him back, gods! He hoped she could feel how in love he was with her, how he never wanted to part from her, have her in his arms all the time would be everything.

Y/n lifted her head a little bit, just enough to look at his face, that's when she felt it. That tug in her heart so strong that made her gasp. The bond snapping into place. She widened her eyes in disbelief. Azriel was her mate.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The shadowsinger asked, noticing the change in her demeanor. He moved his hand from the small of her back to between her shoulder blades and saw when she instantly winced in pain and pushed his arm away, getting up and turning her back to him, ready to leave.

Before she could go, Azriel grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. When she looked at him, her eyes were shining silver with tears. He knew he didn't hurt her back, had mastered enough his fighting skills to be sure of it. The pain must be from a wound badly healed from her time Under the Mountain.

"Please, talk to me" her mate pleaded, "please, I want to help, I want you!" With that, she looked at his hazel eyes and saw all the love he had for her. It was time to trust him with her secrets since her mate always showed himself to be loyal and reliable.

Y/n moved her arm from his grip but didn't walk away, only turned her back to him. When he thought she would ignore him, she started taking her shirt off. Under that she had a spaghetti strapped top and where he touched her back before were scars. The red and twisted tissues were in the same placement of his wings.

"I'm Illyrian, Az. Amarantha severed my wings with her sword after I tried to run away from Under the Mountain years ago" she told, looking at him over her shoulder with tears running down her face. "My father was Rhys' father Illyrian commander. The night Tamlin's family was killed by Rhys dad at Spring Court, my father was there helping them. So Amarantha slaved Rhys and I for our parents part in her ally's death."

Azriel was at loss for words. Y/n had wings once. And they were cut off of her with a sword. The pain she must have felt. It's a wonder she's still alive. He had so many questions but afraid of overstepping he started slow with "that's how you know about Illyrian culture, why you thought I was like them all."

"Yes, I grew up witnessing how females were treated by males in our village. Always being submissive, ready to serve, never fighting back" she told him with rage in her voice. "When I was old enough, my father clipped my wings. Told me it would be easier to marry me to someone this way, as it was a display of submissiveness. He died the same night as Rhys' father, by Tamlin's hands. And when Amarantha came for me, I couldn't fly away and didn't know how to fight to defend myself. So she took me." Her father made her a flightless bird, always caged, never able to feel the wind on her wings ever again.

By now, Y/n was on her knees with her forehead on his chest, the conversation having taken all her strength, while the spymaster kneeled before her, holding her as if he could prevent her from breaking, from falling to pieces.

"After years of serving in Amarantha's bed whenever she felt like it, I tried to run away. It was the best chance I've had in years, I would have made it if I could fly after leaving her court, but with clipped wings I had to walk, that's when the Attor got me" Y/n was sobbing so hard that Azriel was shushing her, caressing her hair and promising he would never anyone hurt her again. She believed him, knew he would burn the world down to keep her safe.

After taking deep breaths to calm herself, she continued, "Amarantha said that clipped wings weren't enough to make me submissive, she would need to try harder. So she grabbed her sword and severed them. I'll never forget the pain I felt that day, the sound of my screams, the blood spilling from my back. After that, she called for Rhysand, told him that his mission was to not let me die of blood loss and left.

"Rhys found a healer and they did the best they could in the conditions presented to them. I survived, but a wound this bad needed better conditions to heal properly, that's why is more sensitive than a normal scar. Madja's already working on it, prescribed some balms and potions to lessen the pain and make it less sensitive but she said it will take a while to be completely painless."

"Y/n, I'm so sorry this happened to you, all of this! What your father did, the price you paid for his actions, all you suffered before and during Amarantha's reign. I wish you never went through situations were you had to show your strength but going through it all, you were so strong, so brave!" Azriel said with choked voice while holding Y/n face in his hands, touching her forehead with his, drying her tears with his thumbs, caressing her cheek in reassurance. The shadowsinger himself was on the verge of tears, keeping a hold on his emotions while trying to comfort Y/n. "I would do anything to save you from all this suffering, anything" Azriel whispered to her.

Y/n felt so light, having someone to share the burden, someone she trusted, was like having a boulder removed from her chest. And to hear all reassurances he was giving her made her feel so safe and seen. She gripped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly but with so much love that he felt the bond snapping into place right away.

Azriel gasped, opened his eyes and Y/n was staring at him with a smile on her face, eyes rimmed with tears. She gave a tug on the bond and he gasped again, she laughed and said "Can you feel it?"

Her mate just nodded gaping at her. She laughed harder then said "thank the cauldron! I thought I'd have to endure ages until it snapped to you too!"

"You're my mate" he whispered, she nodded. "I've found you... I can't believe it" he was stunned. "When did it- oh, minutes ago when you were looking at me after our kiss!" He realized, dumb struck.

"For a spymaster sometimes you're very clueless, you know?" She said giggling. "I've been giving you clues about how I feel about you, flirting and spending as much time as I could with you. Mates or not, I've been in love with you for a while now."

Azriel was dreaming, he was sure of it. No way this was real, it was too good to be truth. Y/n was his mate and was in love with him. He never thought he was deserving of a mate, much less deserving of her and here they were, mates and in love. The Mother blessed him with the greatest gift.

"Looks like you bested me this" he said smiling, then cupped her jaw to to lift her face and capture her eyes and said "I will protect you with my life. I'd die and kill for you."

Y/n knew he was speaking the truth because she could feel through the bond and also that's how she felt about him. Knowing all he has been through since a child, she would die and kill to keep him safe.

Her lover, her mate, her Azriel.

#acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #velaris #night court #a court of thorns and roses #azriel spymaster #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #azriel imagine #azriel x y/n

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slytherin-pen · 5 days ago

Text

In The Night, I Am Yours

pairing: Eris x Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of Beron and his abuse.

tags: no use of y/n, gn reader, sex worker!reader, reverse hurt/comfort, Eris needs a hug, soft!eris

a/n: heavily inspired by that scene in HOTD where Aemond goes to a brothel for cuddles. written for day 5 of @sjmxreaderweek

The Velvet Den wasn’t the most glamorous brothel in the Autumn Court. It wasn’t the most expensive or the most infamous, either. But it was the kind of place where a person might stumble in and forget, for a few blessed hours, the cruelty waiting outside.

You were used to visitors coming through your door with desires they could not voice elsewhere. Some wanted pain, some wanted power, and some simply wanted to be seen.

Then there was him.

Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court. The male who had set whole villages ablaze, who wore his arrogance like armor, who moved through the world like he was untouchable.

And yet here, he was just Eris. And he only ever asked for one thing.

To be held.

The first time, you had blinked in surprise. Surely, you had thought, this was some sort of trick, some game he was playing. A test.

But when he had stripped off his heavy crimson cloak, the fine embroidered jacket beneath it, and then the linen shirt—baring skin dusted with old bruises and scars that looked suspiciously like whip lashes—the truth had been impossible to deny.

It was no secret that Beron was an abuser. Lesser Fae. High Fae. His own family. No one was safe. Despite that knowledge, you couldn’t help the shock and rage that coursed through once you saw the evidence of his brutality on Eris’s body.

You had to take a moment to collect yourself, clearing your throat before motioning toward the bed with your hand. When you had moved to untie your robe, Eris stopped you. He had no desire for you to be nude. You had simply shrugged and crawled onto the bed with him.

Now, months later, it had become a ritual.

The moment Eris stepped into your room, well past midnight, always cloaked and hooded, you would lock the door and open your arms.

And he would come to you, shedding not only layers of clothes but his mask, too.

Tonight, he looked particularly tired.

You watched from the bed as he crossed the room, undoing the heavy buckles of his armor with slow, mechanical movements. His hands trembled slightly, a detail you might have missed if you weren’t so used to looking for it.

Wordlessly, you rose and went to him, brushing his fingers aside to help.

Unbuckling leather. Pulling bloodstained gloves from his hands. Lifting the weight of his armor from his shoulders. He let you, his eyes closed, his breathing steadying.

When at last he stood in just his pants, the firelight highlighting the pale scars across his chest, you reached for his hand.

“Come to bed, Eris.”

He let you lead him without resistance.

You pulled him into the circle of your arms, lying back against the pillows. One of his arms curled possessively around your waist, the other came up to grip the fabric of your shift, as if to anchor himself to you.

For a long time, there was only silence.

Only the feeling of his breath against your throat, slow and uneven. Only the weight of his body half-draped over yours, heavy and real and alive. He smelt faintly of woodsmoke and cedar.

“Today,” he rasped, so quietly you barely heard him, “he made me watch.”

You didn’t ask who he was. You didn’t need to. You stroked your fingers through his hair—that thick, fiery mane usually slicked back so perfectly—and found it damp with sweat. As if he’d only just escaped whatever horrors Beron was up to today.

“What did you see?” you murmured.

“A traitor,” he said flatly, his body tensing up again. “My father caught him trying to flee the court with his mate. Punishment was swift.”

Your hand kept moving through his hair, slow and steady. You didn’t press him to continue, but he did, after a long, shuddering breath.

“I had to stand there,” he whispered. “Had to… pretend I approved. That I agreed.” His fingers clenched in the fabric of your shift. “While they screamed.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple, feeling his body tremble in your arms. “It’s not your fault,” you said softly. “If you have any chance of making this court a better place someday you have to do what he asks to survive.”

Another ragged breath. Another long silence.

“What if I end up like him?”

It broke something in you every time he said things like that. Things a little boy might have whispered in the dark.

You tightened your arms around him, offering your body as a shield against the dreadful thoughts clawing at his mind.

“You won’t,” you said fiercely. “You’re nothing like him, Eris.”

He said nothing, but the tension in his body eased a little at your words.

For a while after that, he simply lay there. You ran your hands along his back, mapping the faint new scars with your fingertips.

Eris buried his face against your throat, breathing you in like you were the only clean thing left in the world.

Eventually, you felt him slip into sleep. His body slackened in your arms, the furrow between his brows disappearing.

You knew he wouldn’t sleep long. He never did. A few hours, maybe, and then he would be gone before sunrise. Back to the Forest House, back to the games, back to his cage.

But for now, he was here. Warm and alive in your arms. And you would hold him for as long as he needed.

He stirred once in the dark hours before dawn, and you murmured his name to ground him. He settled again almost immediately, like a child reassured by a familiar voice.

You wondered, not for the first time, how long he’d been alone before he found you. If anyone had ever held him like this before now. If his mother was ever even allowed to. If he even knew how to accept it outside of this corner in the world the two of you have carved together without fear or shame.

Your heart ached for him.

You brushed a kiss against his forehead and whispered promises he might never hear.

“I will always hold you. You are safe with me. You don’t have to be alone.”

Outside, the first gray light of dawn began to seep through the curtains. Soon, he would leave. He would become the heir again. The monster his father demanded. But here, in this stolen pocket of time, he was just a male. Just Eris.

And for as long as he let you, you would be the one to comfort him. To hold him like a lover he isn’t allowed to have.

taglist: @tele86 @phamtastical

#acotar #sarah j maas #acotar fic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #hurt/comfort #eris vanserra imagine #eris vandaddy #soft!eris #gn!reader #sjmxreaderweek2025 #acotar x reader

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inkedinshadows · 5 days ago

Text

The Prince and the Pauper

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

Summary: The Heir of the Autumn Court should court a Lady, or at least a High Fae. He's not supposed to mingle with lesser faeries and low-borns. Right?

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.9k

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Eris Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

The hallways of the Forest House had finally grown quiet after music flooded them during the ball. Held to celebrate the Heir’s birthday, it lasted hours, dragging on from the early afternoon until dinner.

You had been so jealous of the guests. They got to dance and enjoy a rich meal, wear fine gowns and expensive makeup, looking as if they had stepped out of a child's storybook.

Well, you assumed that for people with so much money, even fictional stories could turn into reality if they were just willing to pay for it.

But you—you had to bring the heavy trays of food from the kitchen up to the banquet hall, using the hidden passages for the servants. Cauldron forbid someone saw you.

The delicious smell of the food made your mouth water as you carried it upstairs. That was all you were allowed to do, really—breathe it in and wish you could at least take a bite. So much of it would be wasted anyway, but the High Lord would rather throw away the leftovers than give them to commoners.

With a sigh, you stopped in front of the doors to the Heir's chambers and knocked twice, the sound breaking the silence of the hallway.

“Come in.”

His voice was sharp and clear even from behind the wooden door. Authority dripped from those two simple words.

You turned the knob and pushed the door open, closing it behind you after you walked in, your eyes scanning the room in search of the Heir.

Your breath caught when you saw him.

Eris Vanserra had always been beautiful, but tonight the word wasn't enough to describe him.

He was clad in a long burgundy tunic embroidered with golden threads, his long hair a cascade of fire down his shoulders. The dark brown pants completed the outfit, making him look every bit the regal Heir of the Autumn Court.

“You called for me, Your Highness?” you finally asked.

Eris let out a low chuckle and stalked toward you. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”

“You look like a prince,” you countered. “It's only right I address you as one.”

He shook his head, but you didn't miss the small smile on his lips as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I missed you tonight,” he murmured. “I wish you could have been there.”

Warmth spread through your chest, but you just lifted a brow. “I was there, you know,” you pointed out, looping your arms around his neck. “I kept sneaking in to bring fresh food for you fancy people.”

Eris's lips quirked up at the corner. He'd once told you it was one of the things that had made him fall in love with you—more than just your witty humor, it was how you'd never treated him as the Heir everybody had to fear and respect, but as a normal person. As if he were no different from you. Of course, you both knew it was just an illusion.

If there really hadn't been any difference between you and him, he wouldn't have been forced to keep his love for you a secret from everyone. Especially his father.

“You know that's not what I meant,” Eris said. His hands roamed over your back, as if having you close wasn't enough for him. “I wish you could have been by my side.”

You left a trail of kisses along his jaw. “Well, I'm here now.” Your lips brushed his. “Let's make the most of this time.”

Eris claimed your mouth in the kiss you didn't give him, but he soon pulled back.

“Later,” he murmured. He let you go and took a step back, pointing to the table set against the wall. “I brought you something.”

Your gaze followed to where he was pointing. A tray was set there, a dome lid hiding its contents.

Eris took your hand and gently guided you to the table. “My lady,” he offered, pulling out the chair for you.

You lifted a brow but sat with a smile. “I'm not your lady.”

A flicker of sadness passed through his eyes. “No,” he conceded. “But I wish you could be.”

You squeezed his hand, ready to tell him that just because you joked about it, it didn’t mean you didn’t wish the same.

But Eris smiled again. “Let me treat you as one while I can.”

He removed the lid from the tray, revealing small portions of at least five different dishes and a glass of sparkling red wine.

Your eyes widened, and your nose filled with the same enticing smells as just a few hours ago. Your mouth watered, and your heart swelled.

“I didn't know what you'd like,” Eris said. “So I took a few different things, just to be sure.”

Tugging on his hand, you pulled him down until he was at eye level with you.

“Thank you, Eris,” you murmured. Any hint of playfulness had disappeared, and only gratitude now laced your words. “This means a lot to me.”

You kissed him with all the passion you could, trying to convey with one simple kiss the depth of your love. But just like words weren't enough, neither were your touches or kisses—and maybe they never would be.

But at least you were trying.

“I love you,” you added when you leaned back.

“I love you too,” he replied with a smile. He sat next to you, then gestured to the tray. “But you'd better eat now, my darling. That heating spell won't last forever.”

You didn't need to be told twice.

Without wasting any more time, you picked up the fork and dove in.

Eris had summoned you to his chambers shortly after the celebration was over, so you'd come here immediately without eating first and you were hungry enough to finish it all in just a few minutes.

But you forced yourself to eat slowly. It wasn't every day that you got to eat such food—normally, servants would have bland, simple meals—and you intended to enjoy every second of this rare occasion.

Under Eris’ gaze, you took the first bite.

A low moan slipped past your lips as flavor exploded on your tongue.

Eris chuckled. “I'm usually the one getting that sound out of you,” he quipped. “Should I be jealous?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately, already taking another mouthful. “This is delicious. The best thing I've ever had.”

Not that the bar was high, anyway.

He had been careful in his selection of dishes. There was smoked beef and roasted pork, grilled fish and buttery buns, plus different types of vegetables. Each bite tasted better than the last one, and the wine… gods, the wine was sweet and fruity, cleansing your mouth with every sip. So different from the watered-down grape juice you sometimes drank in the kitchens.

Eris watched in silence as you savored your meal. Amusement lined his sharp features, but you were too busy eating to ask him what he found so entertaining.

Probably your enthusiasm—or the little noises you let out with every new flavor.

Once you were done and the dishes looked like they had been thoroughly cleaned, you set the knife and fork down and leaned back against the chair.

You didn’t know how you could go back to eating normal food after such a fancy meal, but you definitely knew you would never forget it.

Your eyes settled on Eris, who was still looking at you.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile. “It feels like Winter Solstice, but months in advance.”

Eris grinned. “Then you’ll be happy to know your presents are not done yet.”

He rose from his seat and extended a hand. You accepted it, letting him help you to your feet.

“There’s more?” you asked, scanning the room as if expecting to see a wrapped box somewhere.

“That depends on you, actually.”

Frowning, you turned back to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eris let go of your hand and walked up to the empty fireplace. He picked up a small, shiny sphere from the mantel.

“Darling,” he said slowly, glancing from the sphere to you, “do you know how to dance?”

You grew more curious and confused with each passing second, but you still shook your head. “No,” you answered. “No one ever taught me.”

“Well, that’s a real pity.”

As you approached him, Eris quickly tapped the smooth surface of the sphere twice. The light within seemed to shift, and then slow music began to play.

One of the sweet melodies you’d heard during his birthday celebration now filled the room, echoing crystal clear against the walls—without any of the crowd noise that had previously ruined it.

You gasped softly when you realized exactly what the sphere was.

“A Symphonia,” you murmured in awe.

You had heard about them, but you had never seen one before. It was a luxury you could never afford. The only music you could listen to was the kind played during balls or parties— or, if you were lucky, by some wandering minstrel down in the village on your day off. Sometimes, you could even catch echoes of the Lady playing the piano or the transverse flute in her rooms—though it happened less and less frequently ever since Lucien had left the Court.

Eris positioned the device back onto the black marble mantel, a crescendo of strings now flowing from it.

“I’ve had to dance with many people today,” he said when he turned to face you again. “But not with the only person I wanted to.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he offered you his hand.

“Can I have the honor of this dance, my lady?” he asked. He even bowed slightly, his fiery hair spilling over his shoulders.

“I already told you I don’t know how to dance,” you replied, yet you took his hand and let him pull you close.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. His scent of twinkling embers and nutmeg flooded your senses, and you rested your head against his chest, breathing it in and letting it soothe you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he reassured you, placing a kiss on your hair. “We can enjoy it anyway.”

And so, you did.

Instead of the waltzing dance the music probably called for, you just swayed softly to the rhythm, holding each other and enjoying the moment in silence.

You were aware of how it must have looked like from the outside. Eris Vanserra, the Heir to the Autumn Court, dressed in his fancy, expensive clothes, dancing with a servant wearing only a simple tunic. It was laughable, really.

If the High Lord found out, you knew your punishment wouldn’t be limited to being sent away from the Forest House and losing your job.

But you refused to think about it. Especially not now.

Right now, you were here with Eris. And he was just that.

Not the Heir to his father’s title.

Not the General of the armies.

Just Eris.

The same Eris who had once seen you tending to his mother and had taken an interest in you. The same Eris who had never treated you as an inferior but as his equal, who had gone to lengths to prove to you that he wasn’t just looking for a quick fling with a girl he could forget an hour later before you would consider accepting his attention.

Dancing with him now, just you and him and no one else, with your belly full with exquisite food, was the closest you would get to feeling like you belonged to the high class.

But when the song ended, the spell broke, and the illusion that you could be anything more than what you were dissolved like the last notes of the melody. And though another one began playing shortly after, those few seconds of silence in between weighed heavily on you.

You were exhausted after being up since dawn to help prepare for the ball. Your feet hurt from climbing up and down the stairs while carrying heavy trays. And—as you were finding out just now—eating more than what you were used to hadn’t helped. You felt stuffed.

Reluctantly, you stepped back from Eris’ embrace.

“It’s late,” you sighed. “I should probably go.”

Eris looked disappointed. “Why? You could stay.”

You tilted your head to the side. “You know why. Someone might notice it if I don’t return to my room.”

He shook his head. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his words. Then he reached out and tapped the Symphonia again, and the music faded into silence.

He turned back to you, his expression almost pleading.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Just tonight, my love.”

The Cauldron knew how much you wanted to say yes. Even after months, you had never spent the whole night with him. It was too dangerous. One of the other servants might grow suspicious. It hadn’t happened yet, and the few times somebody had asked questions, you’d been quick to come up with a believable lie. But it didn’t mean you should take too many risks.

“It’s my birthday,” Eris added with a smirk. “You can’t say no to me on my birthday.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s a good point. But still, I don’t think—”

“No one will notice,” he insisted. “They never have.”

That was also true. And every night after a big event, you and the other members of the household staff usually collapsed into your cots and slept soundly till the next morning. So maybe, just this once, it was the perfect occasion to stay with him…

“Eris, I’m very tired,” you argued one last time—mostly so you could tell yourself you had tried everything to change his mind.

“That’s alright, I have a bed,” he replied instantly. His smirk widened, and before you could protest, he picked you up.

You laughed, arms looping around his neck as he carried you to his bedroom.

“Alright, you win,” you conceded. “But if someone scolds me tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure to tell them it’s your fault.”

“Deal.”

He pushed the door open with his foot, then set you down on the large bed in the center of the room.

A bed that was apparently already occupied.

You raised an eyebrow. “You let her sleep on your bed?”

Eris shrugged. “She cries if I leave her with the others.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him, then reached out to scratch the hound behind her ears.

Noora lifted her head to look at you. She sniffed your hand for a few seconds and—probably recognizing you—licked it once. Then she yawned and tucked her snout back between her paws.

“You spoil her,” you chuckled. “And then you say you don’t have favorites.”

He laughed with you. “Don’t tell the others. They don’t know it’s a lie.”

You shook your head, but your attention soon shifted from the sleeping dog.

Eris started undressing, deft fingers making quick work of the buttons on his tunic. A small part of you was sad to see him discard such a handsome outfit, but it wasn’t as if you could complain about his physique.

Lean and tall, yet not lacking muscle. Especially that wonderful V-line disappearing just below the hem of his underwear—a line that made you want to pull the fabric off him in seconds.

“I thought you said you were tired.”

His voice cut through your thoughts, amusement lacing his tone.

“Are you suddenly awake?” he teased.

“Oh, I could definitely give up sleep for that,” you replied, pointing directly at that inviting line of muscle. “But alas, you let your dog sleep here.”

Eris arched a brow. “I could make her leave. It’s just one night.”

“No, it’s fine.” You sighed, then stood to take off your tunic. “Jokes aside, I really am tired.”

He pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, patting the mattress beside him. “Then come here.”

Wearing only your undergarments, you climbed into bed next to him. There was enough space for you, him, and Noora—and at least three more of Eris’ hounds. But you snuggled close to him, and he wrapped you in his arms, pulling you back against him until you were pressed against his chest.

“You can sleep as much as you need,” he murmured. His breath was warm against your neck. “I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble tomorrow.”

Even if he couldn’t see it, you smiled. Your hand found his and you intertwined your fingers, lifting it to your mouth. You brushed your lips against the back of his hand.

“I love you,” you whispered, eyes already drifting closed.

He kissed your shoulder. “I love you too, darling.”

It was the first—and probably the last—time you got to sleep in his arms, to wake up in the morning and have him next to you, still holding you close. And maybe you should take advantage of it and try to stay awake a little bit longer just to savor it for a few more moments.

But the peace and safety you felt in his arms were too strong to fight against, and you were soon drifting off to sleep.

And for just that one night, you could be two normal people who loved each other, regardless of status or titles.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

#sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra #eris x reader #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #one shot #fluff #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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