#rhysand lemon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heirofnight · 18 days

Text

meddling, pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 4.6k - we have a lot of ground to cover with this one

summary: reader accompanies azriel to an event at the house of wind that rhys is hosting for the summer court. fluff, angst, and jealous (borderline murderous) azriel ensue.

also based around this request: would you consider writing a protective/jealous azriel? like maybe someone is getting a little too comfortable with his mate lol

a/n: so sorry for all of the slow-burn pining that has taken place thus far. i think you'll find that this part will make up for that. as always, pls leave feedback! hope you love it <3

read parts one, two, and three

rhysand was hosting a courtly event at the house of wind this evening. you weren't quite sure of the political details regarding the whole thing, but you'd deduced that tarquin would be visiting from the summer court after hearing various brief conversations that cropped up during meals.

such as the one that took place during dinner at the town house the night before.

"so, rhys, what exactly is the nature of this party we're hosting for summer?", cassian had asked, shoveling a spoonful of roasted vegetables into his mouth mid-sentence. a few droplets of the lemon & herb sauce had escaped his spoon, splattering against his bearded chin. you'd smiled at the sight, azriel hiding his own huff of laughter behind the rim of his wine glass.

rhys leveled his brother with a blank stare, shaking his head in mock disappointment at cassian's less than stellar table manners.

"it is not a party, cass," rhys drawled, sounding bored. "tarquin is visiting to discuss a few matters regarding the new treaty. however," rhys paused, taking his own sip of wine, "he's also bringing varian and cresseida," another pause, "and i believe - fifty others from his court," rhys finished, pushing his fingers into his temples.

cassian snorted, raising a dark eyebrow, "so - a party," he smirked, resting his elbows on the dark wooden table before him. "i propose we break out the expensive booze for the occasion," cass stated, attempting to use his most noble voice.

you met azriel's amused gaze from across the table, a dimpled smile spreading across his cheeks once you'd both locked eyes.

he shook his head in feigned exasperation at cassian's antics, and you'd nudged the toe of his boot with your own under the table, huffing a laugh.

"cassian, you will be on your best behavior," rhys stated, pointing a lithe finger in the war general's direction. "you're already on thin ice with summer - we need not encourage them to send more blood rubies our way," the high lord exhaled, stabbing a fork into his piece of roast.

you'd cleared your throat then, sitting up a bit straighter in your chair.

"am i allowed to join?", you'd asked. every head at the table lifted to look at you, surprised expressions on their faces. as comfortable as you'd become around the family, you still really only engaged with azriel on a consistent basis. and, as isolated as you'd been during your first few months residing at the house, no one truly expected you to willingly participate in this not-party.

your eyes darted from rhys' pleased expression over to azriel's honeyed gaze. he peered at you tenderly, with eyes that looked like hazel pools of pride.

he was, indeed, proud. proud that you'd spoken up, proud that you'd asked to join the rest of them for a gathering that would have otherwise made you feel the need to hide yourself away in your rooms only a few months ago.

"of course you can, sweet y/n," rhys said, voice oozing delight and charm.

your smile threatened to split your face in half, and you found azriel's eyes again. he nodded once, encouragingly. his own smile grew marginally, a dimple peeking through.

he tried his best to hide his budding fondness towards you around the rest of his family - especially cassian. his brother would never let him hear the end of it, otherwise. such busybodies, all of them. azriel was terrified of his family's meddling tendencies potentially spooking you in the opposite direction.

but, even with all of that being said, azriel couldn't help the words that spilled from his lips before he could stop them:

"uh -," he set his wine glass down gently - holding the stem between his fingers, swirling the liquid once, "you can accompany me, if you'd like to. if that would make you more comfortable," he said confidently, voice unwavering.

if his family had to witness him asking you to be his plus one to a formal party, the least he could do was sound like he wasn't nervous to do so. but, he was. he was very nervous.

however, the butterflies in his chest threatening to rip through his skin and flurry throughout the room only thrashed harder when he watched the way your eyes lit up at the offer.

your gaze flit around quickly, surveying everyone else's expressions - you were met with soft smiles as the family silently watched the sweet exchange. and then there was cassian, sporting a smug smirk as he pushed the food around on his plate.

you looked back to azriel, his expression soft, his fingers tapping quietly at the base of his wine glass.

"i would love to, az," you said graciously, and you sent another nudge to the toe of his boot with your own foot under the table - a 'thank you' said in a language that only the both of you spoke.

now, tonight, you were preparing for said event - having no idea what to expect. what you did know, though, was that you were attending it with azriel. a fact that definitely added a bit of pressure to the evening.

you knew that az would be a perfect gentleman, as he had been since you'd met him nearly eight months ago. but, you were developing very loud feelings for him - feelings that you were unable to shrink and contain in a quiet corner within your heart and mind any longer. they were boiling over, pushing and shoving to make themselves known.

and, honestly, if he didn't reciprocate those feelings, you weren't sure how you'd recover. this was not just some juvenile crush - azriel had helped mend together the pieces of you that were left jagged and splintered upon arriving in velaris. after your past, after the shattering pain you'd become used to, azriel had taken gentle hands and sanded away your abrasive edges.

you took a deep breath, studying your appearance in the floor-length mirror that was propped against your armoire. nuala and cerridwen had assisted you in getting ready for tonight, and honestly, you almost didn't recognize yourself.

your hair was set in long, elegant, loose curls down your back - the skin there exposed due to the gown you'd chosen. a black, silk, floor-length number that appeared as though tiny stars had been woven throughout the fabric. your makeup was beautiful - glowy and fresh. you looked happy. you looked like you belonged.

you were stunning, and you'd hoped your chosen ensemble would turn the head of the one male you couldn't stop thinking about.

little did you know, azriel hadn't been able to turn away from you since you'd arrived.

it was now half-past-seven, and you knew az would be knocking on your door soon to escort you downstairs for the party.

azriel shut his own bedroom door, waiting for the quiet click of the latch before descending down the hall to your chambers. he tugged on the left sleeve of his suit jacket, worrying over the fit of the formal clothing he'd chosen for the evening.

he stopped in front of your door, and opted to readjust his silver chain - a beautiful gift you'd given him only a month prior - to assure it laid correctly, before knocking. his wings twitched in anticipation, and he really hoped he wasn't over-dressed. he glanced down at his black dress shoes, his black slacks. he frowned, slipping a hand into his pocket to fidget with truth-teller nervously.

before his thoughts became too loud, too stifling, he heard your doorknob turn from the opposite side of the threshold.

and there you stood, in a dress that very well may have been sewn and stitched with the sole intention to bring him to his knees in front of you.

that, paired with your innocent eyes peering right up at him had azriel malfunctioning.

his mouth opened and closed several times as he took you in. open. close. open - you thought he may finally say something, but, alas, he closed it again.

while his mind was spinning, thrashing, screaming, his shadows had gone eerily still.

cauldron... boil me, was the only clear thought that he was able to translate from within the absolute stirring storm that was happening internally.

should he bow? he felt the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and worship you like you had created him with your own hands.

speak, you fool, he commanded himself, realizing that the silence had stretched on for far too long.

"you-", he forced out, swallowing hard. "i am very lucky to have you on my arm this evening," he spoke, taking all of you in once more. you'd placed a dainty gold necklace around your neck, one that trailed right between your cleavage and down the front of your dress. azriel took that detail in now, his fingers twitching at the sight of it.

and you, well. you were struggling to keep your own composure from where you stood. this male in a suit was absolutely devastating. a suit that hugged his tall, muscular form so well, you'd wanted to personally thank the individual who tailored it.

the chain. your eyes snagged on the chain almost immediately. it sat against his bare clavicle, and that's when you'd realized that his chest was showing completely. he'd left the top three buttons of his black, silk dress shirt undone. his tan skin, marked with swirling illyrian ink, showing, and a chain?

you'd really hoped that cassian had convinced rhys to serve the expensive booze tonight. you were going to need it.

the party was progressing along, and after a few glasses of lavish wine, you'd felt loose enough to unabashedly enjoy yourself. azriel was doting, attentive. he'd provide you with a refilled glass every now and then without you even having to ask. he'd paraded you throughout the busy space with a chaste hand on your lower back - your exposed lower back. the feeling of his silver rings against your bare skin sent a bolt of lightening up your spine each time he guided you throughout the room. he'd gently check on you every now and then, asking how you were feeling, if you felt okay, if you needed anything.

and as the night further progressed, and more drinks were had, you found yourself leaning into his strong frame as you both mingled with various partygoers.

azriel had loosened up quite a bit himself - his own drinks allowing him to open up a bit more than usual. wide smiles were being thrown your way more frequently now, and his affectionate hands had found your body on several occasions as if they were acting on instinct.

he leaned into your ear, making sure his next words were only for you.

"you are stunning," he'd said in a gravelly voice, a single wing wrapping around your back as he spoke. he pulled back to take a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours in the process.

you'd blushed, face on fire. but, the alcohol had made you a bit bolder than normal, so you unabashedly placed a hand on his bare chest as you took your turn leaning into him.

"i was hoping you'd think so," you said, your voice smooth as the silk you were wearing. your eyes traveled along the expanse of his face. his long lashes, freckled nose, full lips. your gaze landed on that damned chain once again, and you trailed your tongue across your lips subconsciously.

azriel tracked the movement, his breath hitching at the sight of you. the wing wrapped around your back tugged you in a bit closer to his body, and you stumbled slightly in your heels before pressing your shoulder into his.

"i always think so," he whispered, matter-of-fact.

you paused with your wine glass halfway to your mouth, locking your clouded gaze with his own molten-honey eyes.

he stared back, unblinking. he felt as though his chest was going to cave in. you were ruining him in the best way possible. his slightly drunk mind was swimming in thoughts of you, and he did not care if he drowned right where he stood.

just then, a tendril of shadow darted to the shell of azriel's ear, whispering something that only he could hear. you watched his expression drop momentarily, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"i'll be right back, okay? rhys, he-," he started, huffing out an exhale. "just, i'll be right back," he swallowed, downing the rest of his glass in one go. he was clearly disappointed in the interruption of your intimate moment, a moment that really seemed like it may have ended with his lips on yours.

he went to turn around, his wings tucking in tight to his back in preparation of having to push through a crowd of people. he reached an arm back behind him, wrapping a scarred hand around your wrist. peering over his broad shoulder, he met your eyes.

"will you be okay?," he paused, searching your features for any sign of discomfort at the prospect of being left alone.

you smiled, nodding once, "i'll be at the refreshments table - i need a refill," you offered, nodding your chin towards the large, extravagant spread at the other end of the room.

he nodded, offering you a dimpled smile.

"i won't be long, promise," he said, squeezing your wrist gently in a reassuring gesture.

you watched as he disappeared into the crowd, only the apex of his wings peeking over the heads of party-goers.

you loosed out a breath, making your own trek to the opposite end of the room with the sole purpose of refilling your glass.

you stood next to the exorbitant spread of food and drinks placed around the massive refreshments table, taking everything in with your back to the crowd. you were lost in thought about how much effort rhys put into this entire evening, how detail-oriented he was in his planning, when you felt a warm hand on your bare shoulder.

a hand that you knew was not azriel's.

you peered over your shoulder hesitantly, immediately feeling nerves flood your chest and stomach. you knew almost no one here tonight, aside from azriel and the inner circle - the amount of guests from summer out-populated your small group in excess.

and sure enough, your eyes met those of a summer court male, his orbs twinkling as he took in your appearance appreciatively. he made no effort to hide the way that his gaze raked over your form from head-to-toe, his eyes traveling all the way down to your heeled feet before they snapped back up to your face.

"well," he crooned, "i knew rhys hid away the good liquor, but i had no idea that he was in favor of hiding beautiful females, too," he purred, stepping a fraction closer to you. you turned to face him completely now, arms crossing over your chest to hide yourself from his wondering eyes.

"what's your name?," he continued, pausing to sip his drink, "and more importantly, where have you been?", his eyes sparkled, pure male confidence oozing from every pore on his body.

you opened your mouth, eyes flitting around the room to plot a potential escape route. you were not comfortable. not at all.

az, please come back, come back, come back, you chanted silently, your eyes dancing around the room quickly in hopes of spotting the tips of his wings amongst the large crowd. he knew that you'd be here - in this general area. surely, he'd come straight here to find you. right?

the male before you tutted quietly, grasping your chin with his thumb and pointer fingers to turn your head back towards him, wanting your full attention. he was also wearing rings, but his jewelry didn't have the same gut-twisting affect on you as azriel's had. no, your gut twisted now for a completely different reason.

"eyes on me, little one," he cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. you bristled, internally recoiling at his touch, at the term of endearment he'd bestowed on you.

the summer male's hand went to your shoulder, his fingers grazing the skin as they traveled down your bare arm.

"be careful," you heard a familiar voice snarl from beside you. his tone was cold, rough, and left no room for discussion.

azriel.

the male before you dropped your gaze immediately, standing up straighter in az's newfound presence. he dropped his hand back to his side, his fingers twitching as he stepped back from you - curiously eyeing azriel instead.

"ah, the shadowsinger," the man said, attempting to sound far more confident and at-ease than he obviously was. "to what do i owe the pleasure?," the summer male continued, swishing the wine around in his glass.

you didn't miss the way his eyes flashed with unease, and you almost let a smirk form at the sight. you glanced over at azriel, his shadows now swirling around him in agitation. his honey eyes, normally flooded with so much soft, affectionate warmth when settled on you, were now hard, narrowed, and full of ice. this was the feared shadowsinger of the night court - a side of him you had yet to see.

"you'd be wise to walk away," azriel started, his voice sharp. his hand found your lower back, much like it had the entire evening. except this time, it felt claiming, possessive. the cold metal of his rings were a nice reprieve from how warm your skin had become due to this entire interaction.

the male faltered for a moment, but he tried his best to glom onto the last fragment of dignity he had left. "now, now, azriel. there's no need to cause a scene over a female," he spat the word as if he were disgusted by it, and you felt azriel's hand twitch against your skin.

"i've caused a scene for far less," azriel deadpanned, voice lathered in irritation, "and mind how you address her," he continued, "i'd love nothing more than to personally deliver the hand that you used to touch her right back to tarquin's front gates," azriel's deep voice was death personified, and the summer male before you was smart to heed the warning. he exhaled a clipped breath before turning on his heel - striding away into the crowd and out of sight.

azriel let a low growl rumble deep within his chest as he kept his eyes locked on the retreating male, his eyes narrowed. he only allowed his gaze to find yours once he was sure you were both safe from his lingering presence.

you turned your body toward his, azriel's hand still splayed across your lower back. you had no idea what to say, where to start. there were too many emotions to sort through, too many feelings to give names to - and the liquor circulating through your veins wasn't helping, either.

he watched your expression carefully, his eyes softening - the way they always did once he'd sought you out. he rubbed your lower back affectionately, his pointer finger tracing small shapes across your skin.

"sorry," he finally muttered, his eyes searching your own, trying to gauge how you were feeling. he'd never wanted you to see that side of him - that cruel side of him that was able to inflict unimaginable pain and suffering onto the unfortunate soul at the other end of his blade. he didn't want you to run in the opposite direction, although he wouldn't blame you if you did.

after all, as someone who was so used to being shrouded by darkness and shadows, he'd come to believe that he didn't deserve to sunbathe in the light. and that's what you were - a blinding, all-compassing, warm beam of radiance.

his reaction to the summer male was instinctual, second-nature. and that particular reaction was azriel grasping onto every ounce of restraint that he could muster. his knee-jerk urge involved putting the knife in his pocket to good use.

"sorry?," you questioned, brows furrowing. "azriel, for what?", you continued, stepping closer to him, every instinct in your body compelling you to comfort him, to smooth out the concerned lines that had formed between his brows. to wash away the ashamed look that was threatening to flood his amber eyes.

"that-," he sighed, clearing his throat, "i shouldn't have acted that way," he finished, reaching up to absentmindedly run his fingertips across the chain that hung around his neck.

you tilted your head to the side curiously, "i'm glad that you did," you confided, "he made me horribly uncomfortable," and azriel bristled once more at the notion, at the idea of another male intruding on your personal space - going as far as to touch you.

his nostrils flared, and you offered him a comforting smile, wanting so badly to calm him down. you tipped your chin towards the outdoor balcony, resting a hand on his upper arm.

"i'm in the mood for some fresh air," you spoke, stepping around the side of his body to begin leading the way to the large glass doors that led outside. "join me?", you met his gaze hopefully, and azriel wondered if you knew that he would never say no to anything that you asked of him.

he nodded once, his hand still firmly splayed across your lower back. he followed you through the crowd and took his place beside you once more as you approached the balcony railing.

you stayed silent, peering up at the twinkling stars that blanketed the night sky. azriel glanced over at you, both of his hands now taking purchase on the railing.

your mirrored his actions, resting your own hands next to his as you leaned over slightly to take in the sight of velaris below - mesmerized by the smoking chimneys, the bright lights of the rainbow, and the sidra that flowed amongst it all.

"so beautiful," you whispered to yourself, awestruck by the picturesque view spread out before the two of you. it was so extravagant, a living, breathing work of art.

azriel swallowed, his eyes boring into the side of your face. he nodded once, "beautiful," he agreed on a breath, but he wasn't referring to the same view that you were.

the starlit sky perfectly matched the dress that looked as though it was poured over your body, and azriel didn't have much composure nor restraint left in him. not after the last few months, not after he'd seen you in his clothing, not after the affectionate glances and nervous touches shared between the both of you in a room full of others that had no clue, not after sitting across from you for dinner each night - where he'd started looking forward to your little foot nudging his own beneath the table, and not when another male had just tried to sweep you away from him.

his wings flared momentarily, the action allowing him to release some tension before they settled proudly against his back once again.

he stared at you for a moment longer, before touching that chain around his neck one last time - grounding him, giving him courage.

"y/n," he whispered, his large right hand lifting from the railing momentarily - before gently placing it right on top of your much smaller, softer one.

you looked over at him then, expectantly. you were so beautiful. so soft, so elegant, so perfect.

"i'm going to kiss you. do you think that would be alright?", he asked on softly, taking a deep breath of crisp evening air.

your eyes widened, and you blinked. your cheeks turned the sweetest shade of pink as your processed his question.

you felt frozen - of course that would be alright. you'd daydreamed about this moment for months. how his lips would feel, taste, how they'd move. would he be rough, gentle, would he use his tongue to explore your mouth? where would his hands go, where would your hands go? what if you were bad at-

just kiss him already, you scolded yourself, and before you could allow your nerves to take over, you nodded eagerly, a bashful smile creeping across your rosy features.

azriel exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, had almost convinced himself that he'd been rejected. he wouldn't have been wholly surprised, but still - it would have been agonizing all the same.

he stepped closer to you, his gentle fingers splaying across the left side of your jaw. as he angled your face upwards towards his, he allowed his thumb to caress the skin of your cheek, smiling at the warmth he felt from your perpetual blush.

"i've been thinking about this for so long," he whispered, ghosting his lips across your own. he shuddered at the feeling, the contact.

finally, he thought to himself.

you nodded, placing a hand on his bare chest.

"me too," you whispered back, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his. his other hand gripped your waist at the action, squeezing once.

and upon hearing your reciprocated want, azriel surged forward, his lips finding yours immediately, as if he'd done this for centuries. it wasn't rough, but it definitely wasn't gentle. you could feel months of repressed want flowing through the both of you, clashing where your lips met. exploding into fireworks and stars, creating vibrant new galaxies at the contact.

he squeezed your waist once more, feeling the fabric of your dress between his fingers. a soft groan trickled up his throat and directly into your mouth, and you almost burst into flames at the sound.

your hand slowly slid upward, caressing the bare skin of his chest before gripping his chain into your fist. and of course, this sent thoughts that were far from innocent cascading into azriel's muddled brain. he pulled back from the kiss, only a fraction, and his knees almost buckled beneath him when you chased his swollen lips with your own.

he leaned into you, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth gently, and you let out a reactive whimper at the feeling. his head was swimming, and as much as azriel prided himself on being a gentleman, you were eliciting feelings that were too overwhelming, too much. his instincts were screaming at him to lie you down, spread you across his mattress, really show you how much you made him feel.

he pulled you against him, his wings wrapping around the both of you - to shield you from sight, to keep you warm, to bring you closer.

his lips met yours again, and his hands traveled from your waist, back up to your jaw, holding your face between his hands as if he were granted the honor of holding the most precious jewel ever discovered.

he supposed, in that moment, he was.

finally, he pulled away, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. he brushed loose strands of your hair behind your ears, smiling fondly at you.

"gods," he whispered, catching his breath. "you are such a dream," he finished, taking all of you in hungrily. he would never be satiated enough, not now that he's finally tasted you.

you sucked your lower lip into your mouth, still tasting him there, and his pupils dilated at the action.

smiling, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the clasp of his chain, "speaking of dreams," you mused, "i've been dreaming of this for a very, very long time," you smiled, playing with the cluster of curls at the nape of his neck.

"well, i hope i didn't disappoint," he teased, his hands finding your waist once more, fingertips grazing the exposed skin of your back.

you huffed out a laugh, resting your forehead against his bare chest, "you know," you started, tone laced with mock contemplation, "i wasn't able to really tell," you glanced up at him with a smirk.

azriel cocked an eyebrow, smirking down at you knowingly.

"i think we should try again, just to be sure," you quipped.

azriel laughed, a beautiful, melodic sound.

you didn't have to tell him twice.

a/n: FINALLY. i've heard all of your pleas, ok. here is the long awaited KISS <3 i hope i did it justice. pls leave feedback! this took me so long to execute properly, and i truly hope you loved it. my heart is a puddle on the floor !!!

tag list: @stressed-reader @vhjlucky13 @scarsandallaz @victory-salads @weirdo-fun @topaz125 @mrsjna @lovegoodlunaa @lilah-asteria @andreperez11 @luna9876 @kennedy-brooke @coolepowersthings @saltedcoffeescotch @99sunflower99 @nikt-wazny-y @rose-girls-world @mariacbzs @jesskidding3

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel imagine #azriel x you #azriel fanfic

645 notes · View notes

azsazz · 3 months

Text

Tell Me I'm Your Midnight

Kinktober Day 13: Cassian x Reader [Virgin!Reader]

Summary: In the middle of the night in the middle of your thoughts, you want a distraction.

Warnings: Smut, descriptions of death,

Word Count: 3350

Notes: Yeesh, bout time I hopped back on these...OOF Cassian how i've missed you big boy 💙💙💙

_________________________________________

The moonlight spilling in through the open doors of your balcony does nothing to settle the aching in your chest. From your place in bed, you watch the stars sparkle in the blackness of night. The gentle and cool breeze makes your curtains sway, and the moon is so bright in the sky that you can make out the shapes of every piece of furniture in your room, the silhouette of the Starfall dress wrapped tightly around the figurine in the shape of your body.

Cerridwen and Naula had been so very eager to show you what they came up with for Starfall and the dress had brought you to tears—your first glimpse of the deep navy fabric draped elegantly across the bodice of the dummy had the tears you’ve been desperately trying to shove inside of you for months spilling over. You had collapsed into a puddle of emotion on the floor like you aren’t the High Lord’s sister, but the sight of your mother’s Starfall dress from last year reworked to fit your body made the dam of emotion burst within you.

Oh, how deeply you miss your mother.

The thick comforter surrounding you does nothing to ease the clenching of your heart. It’s another sleepless night, haunted with images of what happened to your mother out in those lands of the Night Court she shouldn’t have been riding alone in. All to see your brother and check in on him during his time at the camps.

Something in your gut twists like a hot knife. It’s your anger flooding your senses at the thought of how she’d been brutally attacked and left for dead, succumbing to her own injuries. She was all alone out there, and you would have been too, if it weren’t for the request of your father that you stay in Velaris with him until his meeting with Keir was over, the promise that he’d winnow you to the camps and meet up with Rhysand and your mother later.

You’d always been excited about the prospect of winnowing, and you thought that if you stayed back to tag along with your father that he might teach you how to do it yourself.

These days, you wonder if he had set the ambush up himself, a deal struck with those from the Spring Court who you’ve been told had done the terrible awful.

He died before you got the chance to ask.

With a heavy sigh, you shove the blankets back and climb out of bed. You forgo a robe, letting the perpetual chill the deepening autumn airs bring forth settle into your bones. You need the bite of the cold floors to ground yourself, the prickling of your fingers, toes, and the tip of your nose because it had been the same cold your mother had endured for so long.

The House of Wind is silent except for the soft padding of your feet against the hardwood floors. You slow your pace, treading very carefully as you creep past Azriel’s room, biting your lip at the sight of the swirling shadows like a cloud of smoke curling beneath the doorframe, always on lookout for their master. If they report to him that you’re awake, he may try to console you in that way of his, where he sits silently in the same vicinity as you. Most of the time, you appreciate his ability to care for others without words, but tonight, you just want to be alone.

In the kitchen, you fill the kettle and set it on the burner, flicking the flames as they lick the bottom of the teapot. While you wait for it to heat, you slice into a lemon, breathing in its fresh scent. It’s relaxing, even though it reminds you of your mother, who would make you a cup of warm lemon water on the nights you were unable to find sleep. She’d often join you in the kitchen, lending an ear to whatever was on your mind.

Tonight, it makes your throat tight.

You climb up to the counter with your made mug between your hands, feet dangling off the floor as you think about her. You swear you can feel her presence, see her at the kitchen as she looked out over the vast mountains of your home, watching the butters and creams of the sunset. Or how she’d pretend not to notice when you snuck into the kitchen and snagged a taste of whatever she was making that night.

It brings a soft, sad smile to your face that falls at the sound of approaching footsteps drawing your attention to the door. Your shoulders sag because you wanted to be alone, but your heart kickstarts in your chest when Cassian is the one who stumbles through the archway.

His hair is mussed with sleep, but it looks like it may have been a restless attempt. He blinks groggily, clearing his throat at the sight of you.

“What are you doing down here?” You ask him. It’s a whisper of your surprise and delight of the beautiful male creeping into the kitchen. The cup in your hands is warm, matching the feeling that his eyes bring forth.

His sleepy gaze hardens into something that you can’t make out in the dark as it creeps up your bare legs to where the hem of your night shirt rests against your thighs. You’re careful not to move as he takes his fill, a moment of weakness in the dark for the both of you, a small acknowledgement of the charge in the air.

His hazel eyes sweep upward, lingering on the perk of your nipples where they’ve gone tight under his gaze. You swear you catch him shuddering, but he’s shaking the tightness from his wings, finally stepping further into the room with a shrug, his stare now pinned to the ground.

“Felt like this is where I needed to be,” he answers lamely, but it means more to you than maybe it should. He could be awake for any reason this late at night. Surely, he has enough on his mind with the looming war that’s headed the Night Court’s way. “Why are you up?” He asks, leaning against the counter across from you and crossing his arms over his chest.

You have to consciously remove your eyes from the sight of his bulging muscles, instead focusing on the slice of lemon that’s swirling around in your cup. “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinking about mom.”

Before your next breath, Cassian’s body collides with yours, those strong eyes you were just forcing yourself not to ogle wrapped tightly around you. You squeak in surprise, you didn’t even hear him launch himself across the kitchen, but you easily melt into Cassian’s comforting hold, tears prickling at the back of your eyes as you squeeze them shut tight.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he admits softly, and the warmth of his breath caressing your hair makes you shiver, makes you want to burrow even further into him. He has nothing to be sorry for, he’s not only lost one mother, but now two, since she had taken both Cassian and Azriel in like they were part of her own brood.

When Cassian straightens, he’s already too far away. He stays close, hazel eyes boring into yours as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear, examining you. His touch is a brand across your skin, sending electric zipping through your veins, making you sit taller. Cassian still towers over you, but he seems distracted, thumb stroking across your cheek, drifting down to your mouth to where your tongue darts out to wet them.

His admission is a whisper that strikes you to your very core. “As selfish as this may sound, I’m glad that you weren’t there that night.”

“Me too,” you breathe, trying to crane yourself further into him, to see if he’s finally going to act on the arousal a thick cloud surrounding the both of you.

You don’t need to stretch far because he’s as drawn to you as you are to him, and he kisses you full on the mouth, hard at first, like a desperate man finally getting a taste of the nectar he’s been yearning for his entire life.

Cassian’s hands caress your face, turning you this way and that as your tongues brush in a motion that makes your mind short circuit. He steps closer and your thighs open wide for him to fit between like two perfect pieces of a puzzle.

His hand slips between your legs and you whimper with anticipation that he might touch you there, but he’s only taking your cup in hand and sliding it away so that it doesn’t fall and shatter.

There’s no time to be disappointed though because the feeling of the warmth from your mug is easily replaced by that of his cock trapped in his sleep pants, especially when his hands grab a firm hold of your ass, dragging you closer to grind against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Cassian says, even though his cock twitches because you’ve captured his lower lip between your teeth and refuse to let go, knowing that he might try and push you away after so quickly giving into what he’s desperately wanted for years.

“Don’t,” you pant, burying your fingers in his hair to keep him close. If this is the only taste of Cassian that you get, you’re going to make the most of it.

He falls into you easily, and the both of you lose yourselves in each other. Your pussy is uncomfortably wet and grinding yourself against his clothed cock isn’t doing much to relieve the aching in your clit. Your whimper of frustration is swallowed greedily by the man towering over you.

“Please, Cassian,” you plead when he’s finally able to tear himself from your lips. Your fingers are fisted around the waistband of his pants so that he can’t escape. “Help me take my mind off of everything.”

He curses because it sounds fucking tempting to have you right here and now, with the moonlight washing in through the kitchen windows and spilling across the counter, your body.

The way you’re looking up at him has him fucking weak. He’d fall to his knees right now, which is exactly what happens when he sees that confidence manifest in your gaze, releasing him only to lean back and strip yourself of your night shirt, baring yourself to him completely.

Your name is a low growl from his lips. It makes your incredibly hard nipples tighten even further, and you hiss in pleasure as he flicks one of them, his gaze hot and dark and utterly consumed by you.

His palm flattens and you arch into his warmth with a soft moan. Your head rolls back on your shoulders because you’ve never had this before, never felt something so sure, something so perfect. Cassian growls at the exposure of your neck, drawn into you like a moth to a pyre, shoving his nose into your throat to catch your scent, heady for him.

“We shouldn’t,” he groans like a dying man.

“We should,” you cry at the nip of his sharp teeth, melting under the sweep of his tongue he uses to smooth the hurt. “Want you to be my first, Cass. Please!”

He freezes against you, completely ignoring the way that you’re writhing against him because all he can focus on are those few words.

“Your first?” His voice is husky, settling right between your thighs. Cassian’s gaze is enamored, desperate almost. You’ve seen that look on the battlefield once or twice, a bloodthirsty one that screams his victory. You’d shy away from its intensity if you weren’t so sure about this.

You swallow harshly. “Yes.”

“You mean that no one has touched these beautiful breasts?” He asks, dragging his large hands to where he’s mentioning. He’s completely consumed by you as he tweaks a nipple in his hands, his mouth coming down hot against the other. You nearly bite through your lip to keep from screaming, your fingers already clawing down his broad shoulders.

“No one has tasted this perfect skin,” he murmurs, mouthing down your body. It makes you want to collapse against the counter, but you need to stay sitting up, you need to see his facial expressions and what he’s doing with his hands. His breath is hot as he lowers himself to his knees before you, hooking his hands beneath your knees, dragging you forward so that your ass is nearly teetering over the edge of the counter. “That no one has tasted this pretty pussy?”

“No,” you breathe, shuddering as his knuckles brush softly across your cunt. Cassian looks like a beast untamed, no semblance of brown in his eyes anymore. They’re all pupil. “Want you to be the only one who does, Cassian.”

Your admission is his undoing. He all but tears your panties from your body and you don’t have time to properly prepare yourself before he splits your seams and drags his tongue up your cunt.

“Cassian,” you say desperately, pressing the back of your hand to keep the noises threatening to escape inside. It feels too good, the hot press of his tongue against your most intimate spot. He’s undeterred by your pleading, your nails digging into his skin. He’s finally had a taste and he’s never letting you go.

He brings you to the edge much faster than you thought was possible. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t getting wetter by the second with his tongue fucking into you, then one finger and two, three before he’s sucking on your clit and flickering his tongue against it in a motion that sets your body on fire.

You’re a shaking mess when you come down from your high, blissed out with the cold cut of stone beneath your bare body. You shut your eyes as you try to catch your breath, only to rip them open when Cassian stands, his hands undoing the ties of his sleep pants. “You know we’re not done yet, right sweetheart?” He asks, and your jaw drops at the sight of his cock bobbing from its confines. He hadn’t been wearing underwear, and your cunt clenches, dripping when he takes himself in hand, giving himself a rough tug before he’s slotting himself between your thighs and rubbing the head of his cock through your slick. “It’s not over until my cum is painting your insides and you are officially mine.”

“Yes,” you groan, spreading yourself wider for him. You’ll take anything he gives you, everything he gives you. “Please.”

Cassian hushes you softly. He needs another taste of your lips before he takes you for the first time. You’re so perfect for him, all spread out on the counter like this, more than eager to be impaled on his cock. And no one else has experienced this, has touched you in the way that he is right now.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever begin to thank you for this gift.

When you part, he helps guide you back onto the counter, making sure that you aren’t too uncomfortable. Your back is going to be sore tomorrow, but he’ll spend the day hiding away in your room, massaging your tight muscles before he’s easing himself back into you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the breach of his cock in your channel. His thick fingers hadn’t quite prepared you for this. He’s fucking huge, an apologetic look on his face as he eases his way inside of you as slowly as he can manage.

“Relax, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Good girl,” Cassian groans, “Almost there.”

You both share a heart stopping gasp when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. It awakens something slumbering deeply inside of you, that thing you’ve only heard stories of rousing in your chest. You swear you can see it, the thread of essence that moves from your body to Cassian’s, who’s completely enthralled by the feeling as well, eyes locked onto yours.

It’s the feeling of two souls reuniting after so long apart, here in the kitchen while he’s hip deep in your cunt.

You feel whole.

You feel settled.

You feel complete.

“Cassian?” you ask tentatively, because you’re still in shock.

“Will you be my mate?” He blurts, and it’s when he leans in, pressing himself flush against you that you see the glittering of emotion in his eyes. His hands caress your face again, but it’s tendered this time, like he’s going to explore every part of you all over again.

“Yes,” you breathe, a grin breaking out across your face. What a night this has turned into, from your heart broken and sad to fuller than you ever thought it could be.

Cassian kisses you hard, like the emotion of the bond has him feeling completely new, needing to taste your acceptance off his lips.

It hits you when he gives a gentle grind of his hips that this bond isn’t complete until you offer your mate food.

Cassian releases you at the gentle push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, biting back a noise when you twist, reaching out for your abandoned mug and digging around inside.

“Here,” you offer the lemon to him and his eyes shine in amusement, even if he gives you a playful pout. He doesn’t crack a joke though, because he’d lick the dirt off your fucking feet if that was what you offered him. He takes the lemon into his mouth, rind and all, chewing thrice before swallowing it back, and it’s official.

“My mate,” he purrs and holy Gods, does that sound perfect rolling off his lips.

“My mate,” you agree, brushing a falling strand of his hair behind his ear. It soft, an intimate moment, then, “Can you please start moving now?”

Cassian’s responding chuckle makes your heart swell. “I promise to make this up to you, but I need you to know that I’m not going to last long.” You laugh and he groans at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, constricting his cock. You’re not going to last long either, your emotions so heightened that everything makes you feel like you’re right on the precipice of orgasm.

“Deal,” you answer, and he begins moving, pulling out before he’s pressing in again, reveling in the way that you cling to him so quickly, are a mess for him so easily.

Cassian hooks his hand under your knee and pulls it up over his shoulder, changing his angle. The noises you’re making are loud, but neither of you care because of the rawness of the mating bond, the heightened emotions, touches, everything. It’s better than they always told you it would be, not just sex itself, but finding your mate.

And you can feel just how much Cassian loves you with his sweet words, the way his grip is as harsh on you as yours is on him like you might slip away from one another if there’s a part of you that isn’t touching.

That fire builds between you, you can feel it through the bond, blurring your mind as you crash life a wave against the reef, letting your orgasm consume you.

Cassian’s mouth finds your as he plunges over the ledge himself, following you obediently into oblivion. He’s lost in the feeling of you as he fucks his cum deep into your womb. He’s going to have to take you to a healer for a tonic when tomorrow comes, if he’s done with you by then. For now, he’s going to bask in this, the feeling of you in his arms and wrapped tightly around his cock.

He's going to bring you upstairs just as soon as he can catch his breath, but with you as his mate, he doesn’t ever think he’ll be able to catch it again.

And he’s more than okay with that.

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cass x reader #cassian x reader #cassian smut #azsazz kinktober 2023 #cassian #cassian acotar

480 notes · View notes

solbaby7 · 3 months

Text

Stuck Like Glue

rhysand x clingy!reader

warnings: light bullying, maybe some swearing

summary: You’re a little clingy and your High Lord never seems to mind but—maybe his friends do

clearing out my drafts, so don’t judge if it’s a lil short

—

It seemed harmless enough, hanging off of Rhysand’s shoulder or scuffling your way into his lap when the festivities had gotten entirely too much for you to endure on your own. His hand curls easily around your waist, fingers tapping at your thighs when you start pressing kisses down his neck in the middle of a conversation with one of the other High Lords.

Boredom quickly grew, excusing yourself with a kiss on Rhysand’s chest to go grab a drink. There’s more options to choose from than you can comprehend, drinks filled with hand tied tea bags or fresh fruit. You settle on something gentle, like tea with honey and you have full intentions to rush back to your High Lord, a smile in place and a few pastries in tow but the group he was speaking to before has huddled in closer, voices more hushed. “—just saying, Rhys. I don’t have a clue how you deal with her hanging off of you all the time.”

That was Cassian—cadence unmistakable even with all the overlapping voices in the crowd. Your smile falters, steps slowing as more of them pitch in, clapping sympathetic hands to Rhys’ shoulder and mumbling out different variations of how bad they felt for him. You say nothing, lemon tart shaking in your grasp and tears swell in your waterline as you wait for Rhysand to speak up—to tell them at they were stupid and wrong and had not the slightest fucking clue they were talking about.

But that never happens.

“She’s just a little attached—it’s cute.”

Attached.

You swallow the lump in your throat and enter again, a faux smile plastered in when you make a point to sit on the couch and not Rhysand’s lap. You refrain from reaching out to play with his fingers or trace the inky lines of his tattoos. There’s no spare kisses, no sweet words whispered for just the High Lord to hear, no fingers sneaking up to play in his hair or manicured nails scratching gentle patterns at the nape of his neck.

Just your hands in your lap, clutching that now half-cold cup of tea from before. “Baby, come sit over here.” Rhysand softly whispers, a hand already wrapping around your back to help move you but you stop him, head shaking in defiance as you slide just a little further away from him.

“That’s okay, there’s people around.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

He says it playfully but the smile you give back doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m okay, Rhys. Thank you.”

His brows furrow, confusion evident but he doesn’t fight you on it.

He does, however, notice the way you pull your hand away whenever he reached for yours and halfway through a conversation with some male Rhysand had apparently known since he was younger; he tries to kiss you. Just a quick peck but you only offer your cheek instead. His frown deepens, eyes barely tearing away from you to finish what they were talking about because your distance is unmistakable.

There’s no fingers toying with the crisp lines of his dress pants. No hair tickling at the side of his neck or legs wrapped around his waist and the absence makes his jaw clench.

Rhysand’s friends leave for only a second, making promises to return with more drinks and that they hoped the Lord of Darkness could still keep up and he chuckles back some half-assed comment before fully turning to face you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m having a great time.”

“You haven’t kissed me in hours.” It comes out like that’s the only fact he needed to make his point.

And to appease him now that no one was around, you lean forward and press a kiss to his mouth. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be too much with your friends around.”

His brows raise again; that’s the second time now you’d said something along those lines. “Don’t worry about them—they’re just jealous anyway.”

You scoff like it’s an insult, quick to set the teacup down before you did something stupid like throw it. “Yeah, whatever.”

Rhysand forced you to meet his eye, a finger curled under your chin and you could feel the caress of his talons prodding at your mental barriers. “Show me what’s wrong.”

Your mouth opens to confess but out the corner of your eye you can see the guys returning, each holding their own bottle of whatever expensive liquor was left on display by the refreshment stands and your mouth shuts just as quickly. “There’s nothing wrong."

He doesn’t accept it, politely pulling you away from prying eyes. “Tell me, right now.”

A huffy sigh emits, shoulders slumping and tears well in your eyes. “I just want to have a good night without anyone thinking I’m too attached to you.”

His shoulders square out at the venom laced in the word and the previous conversation had between friends seemed to backfire. “Oh,” Guilty fingers trace warm cheeks, grazing over a wobbly chin and Rhys is crooning out apologies; promises that it wasn’t true—that he’d said whatever to get them off his back. “I didn’t mean it. I love when you’re all over me,” The truth in the words is undeniable and while you’d like to be mad, you really had missed the feel of him; his warmth and the grabby hands that always pulled you in closer.

“But, Cass said—“

“Cass is drunk and not getting any.” Rhys pulls you in closer, fingers raking through your hair while the other hand grips your hips just enough to push them flush with his own. The music thuds loudly, vibrating the floors and rattling the very blood in your body but everyone else seems to be having so much fun—laughing loudly and leaning into the other without the worry of being too much, too overbearing, too clingy or needy.

“But—“

“Don’t listen to him.” Pure affection sweetens his tone, love twinkling into amethyst irises when taking in every dip and curve of your features. “You’re perfect, just as you are.”

#rhys x reader #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #rhysand fluff #rhys x reader smut #acotar fics #rhys acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar x you #high lord rhysand #rhysand acotar #pro rhysand #rhysand #rhys fluff

704 notes · View notes

mischiefmanagers · 7 months

Text

Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 🦇💙

I'm back with another list of one hundred Azriel x Reader and Azriel x OC fics for the Azriel lovers out there! these are in no particular order. enjoy!! ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @ellievickstar

River Side Confessions 💞

by @itsphoenix0724

Peony 💞

Gardenia 🥀💞🌼

Hold Me Gently 🥀🔥

by @azrielslostshadow

I see you 💞

lemon tart 💞🌼

by @imaginesmai

i love you 🥀

right around the corner 🌼

Something new 🔥

by @daycourtofficial

Cassian is a Nosy Busybody Who Can’t Keep to Himself 💞

We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball 💞

Prophesize Me 💞

Love Potion No. 9 💞

Everything is Not As it Seems 🥀

Your Love is My Drug 🔥💞

by @lidiasloca

even in sickness 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

only you my girl 💞

Pretty like the wind 💞🥀🌼

by @gothicbabydollz

more than a distraction 🥀🔥

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Princess 🥀

Best mistake 💞

Scary mate 💞

Failed proposal 💞🥀

Oops 💞

by @thesunloveschips

Eye of the Storm🌼

by @azriels-shadowsinger

Confessions 🥀

by @writingcroissant

As a Trophy 🥀🔥

by @tadpolesonalgae

Milestones 💞

The Secret World of Borrowing

Unchained 🔥

The Dregs of Tragedy

by @spellbookd

Little Mouse 🔥

by @serpentandlily

Untouchable 🥀

Mystique 💞🌼

Arcane 💞🌼

Scared to be Happier 🥀🔥

by @angelshadowsinger

Assistance 🔥

by @batboylover

mating bond snaps with a stranger 💞

Rhysand's Sister 🥀

protective w/ pregnant mate 💞

degradation gone wrong 🔥🥀

by @sxnktaalxna

Threads

by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Mirror, Mirror 🥀

Not my cup of tea 🥀💞

by @florencemtrash

The Artificer 💞

by @readychilledwine

Losing Forever 🥀

Love and 100 Other Lies 🥀💞🌼

Cat and Mouse

Whispers in the Dark 🔥

Lollipop

The Last Cabin on the Left 💞

Past and Future - Threefold 💞

Breathe 🔥

by @sarahs-library

Forgotten 🥀

by @parkerslatte

Drawn to You 🥀💞

Strings That Bind Us 🥀💞

Not Fated 🔥🥀

by @fieldofdaisiies

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart 🥀💞

by @fairydustblossom

losing control 🥀💞

encroaching promises 🥀🌼

by @mxigo

soul sick 🥀

by @leafsandstarlight

Bad Idea, Right? 🔥🌼

Never the One 🥀

Inadvertently Yours

by @jeannineee

Resolve 🥀

by @lure-of-writing

forgotten anniversary 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Binx 💞

I Just Feel You 💞

Back Off 🥀💞

Alone? 💞

I'm Married 💞

Combined Aesthetics 💞🌼

by @theostrophywife

in my head. 🔥

by @cosmic-whispers

Control 🥀

by @artists-ally

Only Me and the Devil Know🔥

Train Wreck 🥀🌼

Smoke on the Water

by @soulessjourney

Autumn's Whispered Secrets 💞

by @aroseinvelaris

Guardian Angel 💞

by @pricklepearbloom

Late for Dinner 🥀

Baked With Love 🥀💞

by @moonlightazriel

Fake it until you make it… 🥀💞

by @lalacliffthorne

sleepy in the library 💞

sunday mornings 💞

when Azriel has a nightmare 🥀💞

by @whisperingmidnights

To Long-Forgotten Gods 💞🔥

by @sapchat

We Are Not Our Fathers 💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

Don't grieve 🥀

Babysitting 💞

by @throneofsapphics

bad idea 💞

by @throneofsmut

Size Difference 🔥

Hunter/Prey 🔥

by @shadowdaddies

The Greatest Casualty 🥀

by @fever-fluff

Home

Cats Out of the Bag, Claws and All 🥀

Take my Hand 🥀💞

by @thevanserrras

Tricks For Treats 💞🔥

by @moonlightazriel

Mask Off

by @azsazz

Midnight Muse 🥀💞🌼

by @acourtofmenandthirst

Love You In The Dark 🥀

929 notes · View notes

redheadspark · 12 days

Note

I’m soooo excited!!!! really happy that the soul mate theme won. Can I please request no. 18 with azriel, thank you <3<3<3

A/N - I love this for Azriel! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Set You Free

Summary - Being Soulmates with the Shadowsinger would bring pain, but also life too

Warnings - Mostly fluff with a hint of angst

As soon as Azriel closed the doors behind him, he knew he was going to be in a world of hurt.

It wasn’t that he was wanting to get in trouble, given his track record as the Shadowsinger of Prythian. He had to stay in the shadows and get all the information he needed. Then again that meant he had to get his hands dirty every once in a while and find himself in tough spots. This time though was supposed to be the opposite: get in and get out. Even Cassian called this mission a simple “Walk in the Park”

It was no walk in the park.

The small penthouse that Azriel shared with you, his soulmate of 500 years, was dimly lit with only the scattering stars in the sky and the hung crescent moon that gave a blue tint through the massive windows that overlooked the bay and Velaris. Azriel looked at the living room, the worn couch that you brought with you from your first home, a massive blanket that was a mating gift from High Lady Feyre perched over the couch, and the lingering scent of the lavender candle that still had a lingering amber lit on the wick on the kitchen counter. Azriel could tell you recently turned in for the night, but with a small look in the direction of the master bedroom, he noticed the light was still on since the light was escaping under the crack of the door.

He inwardly cringed, this was not how he wanted to see you tonight.

You knew his job at the Spymaster was tough and would have him be away 80 percent of the time. It was a sacrifice you made taking him on as not just his soulmate but as his wife. However, Azriel swore to you that he never wanted you to be pushed aside for his duties and his devotion to Night Court, to High Lord Rhysand even. You came first in his life, and you saw it in the first few years of your marriage. He eased back on the missions that were given to him and attempted to stay close to Night Court, merely to be close to you. Not that you needed any kind of protection from him, you were an Illryian Warrior and grew up in the camps and fought for your life. Azriel admired that about you, your spirit and the tough exterior that seemed to contrast your tender heart and kindness.

He found himself profoundly lucky to have you as his soulmate, which was why he wanted to make sure to work hard for your relationship and marriage.

Creaking open the bedroom door, he poked his head in and saw you perched in the bed, sheets bunched around your lap, and a book in your hold as you were reading silently to yourself. It was amazing really, seeing his mate reading a book and perched in bed like a common housewife when Azriel knew you were a fierce Illyrian that could throw any other soldier over your head with ease. He’s seen you on the batter field, sword in hand and able to slay anyone in front of you.

Yet there you were, reading a book and looking as content as ever.

“You’re not that good at lurking behind doors, my dear,”

Azriel heard your voice slip through the room, making him chuckle as he finally amends into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. He could breathe in the lingering scent of lemons and cinnamon, your unique scent that he craved and loved over the centuries. Your long hair was in a loose braid over your shoulder, the longest it’s ever been that had hints of yellow and red mixed together. Even the freckles along your cheeks and arms made you look radiant, almost a distraction that you would have to then eliminate your enemies.

Azriel had to admit, he would fall under your spell at any time from a simple smile.

“I thought I mastered it after 500 years of marriage,” Azriel joked as he toed off his shoes, you letting a giggle slip past your lips as you looked up from your book. Your face which had a smile was now laced with concern from seeing Azriel’s appearance. Slamming your book shut, you sat up in bed as your mate shrugged off his jacket, showing the scattering of bruises and a massive cut on his former that was near his scarred hands.

“What happened!” You asked in worry, “You told me that you would be safe and nothing would happen—“

“I’m alright, sweetheart,” He reassured you calmly as he walked over to the bed, sitting on the side and close enough for you to touch his wounds tenderly and look over every inch. He hated having you fear for his safety, you both knew deep down that he could handle himself. But you still worried over him, it was in your nature to wish for him to not be harmed. You’ve seen him look worse and almost on the brink of death, and although he looked minor, he was still your main concern.

You felt it in the bond: Azriel telling you the truth.

“Any casualties?” You asked him, seeing him sigh and rub the back of his neck nervously.

“Just one from our camps, a new recruit that was too reckless for his own good,” He answered, you reaching over to lace your fingers together. Being soulmates ultimately meant your intuition was linked as well: neither one of you could lie to the other. Not that Azriel was a known liar, but he had to be persuasive with the truth every once in a while when he was on the job. He would get away with it when it came to others, even other High Lords or those who had more power over him.

But with you, his soulmate, he could never lie.

There were plenty of fights in the past between the two of you, and the truth coming out about how you both were feeling almost brought your relationship to a halt a few times. Scream matching or death glares, in the end, you both still loved each other. Relying on each other’s truth did strengthen your love for one another. It was not a burden but more of a blessing, you both being an open book to the other and not wishing to hide anything from each other. It made you stronger and more in love with each other, even after centuries together and plenty of hours to bond.

“The threat is eliminated then?” You asked him nervously, Azriel smiling and kissing the top of your head.

“Yes,” he replied simply, you feeling it in the bond that he was truthful.

“Good, and I take it you’re going to take the day off tomorrow?” You asked carefully, though you were softly smiling and the worry was gone from your lips and cheeks. Azriel nodded, kissing the back of your hand.

“I already asked Rhysand for some time with you,” He reported, you grinning from ear to ear as he then gestured to the bathroom that was adjacent to your bedroom, “Wanna join me in washing away that filth I brought him?”

“As if you need to ask me,” You replied, throwing the blankets off your legs and tossing the book to the side. Azriel laughed, taking your hand to guide you out of bed and you both literally ran to the bathroom. You both loved being true to one another, even on the darker days and the days that were filled with worry and uneasiness. In the end, it made your love for one another ten times better than before.

The truth always sets you two free.

The End

September Prompt Session

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel x female!reader #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #acosf #acomaf #fanfiction #writing

211 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

Text

Moon Cycle

Dark!Rhysand x reader

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

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

word count: 2,501

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

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

196 notes · View notes

lucysstoryworld · 5 months

Text

The Veil Whisperer | Azriel x Reader (2)

Summary: The High Lord and his Spymaster have a meeting with The Veil Whisperer. It does not end the way anyone expects.

Themes: Love/hate relationship, enemies to lovers kinda

Warnings: CC3 Spoilers, mentions of child abuse. If I have missed any, let me know.

Just a quick note. Abhartach is mentioned as 'Avertock', That will make sense in the story.

Words: 4979

Read Part One Here

A mix of amber and lavender incense swirled delicately into the air, hazing the room. Through the mist, Azriel could see what looked like various shrines and altars staged in different parts of the room; each seemingly signifying something different. One had various gold coins coupled with a mug full of... something, surrounded by rocks? Another consisted of feathers and skulls, of which Azriel quickly looked away from what was quite obviously some sort of omen of death. He landed on another which had some of the most intricate tools he had seen, he would think they were beautiful if the whole thing didn't make him so uncomfortable. A large, open fire sat in the middle of the room. The heat offered some semblance of comfort to Azriel when the rest of the room sent shivers creeping down his spine. There were other rooms and he was glad he could not see into them, only The Mother knows what lurked behind those doors and he hoped it would stay that way. Though nothing drew more attention than the woman sitting quietly, brewing a pot of tea over the aforementioned flames.

"High Lord of Night and his Spymaster... what could possibly be so important that you both show up together?" She spoke, though a knowing glint was obvious in her eyes which was accompanied by a feline smirk. Azriel and Rhysand glanced at each other, both arching one eyebrow that turned the Veil Whisperer's smirk into a grin. "Now, now boys. Come sit and have a cup of tea." To anyone who was unaware, this would appear like a kind gesture between friends. Azriel and Rhys knew better than to argue. They had walked themselves right into the centre of her web, so they had to tread lightly. Both males sat quietly, watching the Veil Whisperer from across the fire. Watched as she poured the tea into three cups, her face remained on the pot, not yet having looked either male in the eyes. Azriel looked at Rhys once again, who was sat stock-still and watched the female's every move. Azriel was sure he was preparing to be tricked, like he was previously. So was he, if Azriel was being honest. This female was one of the least trustworthy fae he knew. He was sure the humans based their ideas of trials and trickery about their kind on this female.

"We have come with a request," Rhys spoke, the cool voice of a High Lord rang through Azriel's ears.

"Obviously," the female cut in, her eyes focused on the cup in her hands looking wholly bored. Azriel refrained from rudeness by taking a sip from his cup. He swirled it around in his mouth for a moment. Floral, bitter with a hint of lemon. It's fine, no poison, Azriel projected and not a moment later, Rhys also sipped his tea. A short breath snorted from the Veil Whisperer, as if she heard Azriel's thought. Rhys has assured him she was not daemati, though there was no telling what other talents she possessed. "I'm not going to poison you... again. Especially when I have drank from the same pot."

"We need your help locating something," Rhysand spoke again.

"And would it have anything to do with the world-walker that entered Prythian some weeks ago?" The Veil Whisperer queried as though she was asking about the weather.

If Azriel wasn't so good at his job, he was sure his shock would have been audible. The same could be said for his High Lord, although he was a bit less talented at hiding his reaction. Rhysand's jaw clenched and his lips thinned into a firm line. He pushed a sigh through his nose and rolled is eyes slightly, "Okay, so instead of playing your little games, how about you tell us what you know then."

A toothy grin paired with a soft laugh erupted from the Veil Whisperer. Finally her eyes lifted from her cup and straight into Rhys's. Azriel couldn't deny her strange allure, how different her beauty was from what they were used to in Prythian. The fine-line tattoos that decorated her face along with the strange decorations in her hair and ears interested Azriel to no end and he found himself studying her instead of paying attention. It was unsettling really, Azriel found himself being more wary than he was usually. He felt as though he was being walked into the trap of her beauty like it was inviting him to let his guard down and end up the worse of it. Azriel took another sip of his tea and allowed the blend to bring him back to reality. He focused once again, this time with self-annoyance rippling through his body. The Shadowsinger had fallen for the first trick of the Veil Whisperer and that was her beauty. She was currently staring Rhys down, examining him as though he was an experiment. Rhysand held her gaze but nonchalantly drank from his cup.

"A world-walker entered this land three times in close succession some weeks ago, there was a large release of power on the first visit and they departed soon after. A couple of days later, the fabric of this world was opened again by the same individual and very soon after, they entered and left again," The Veil Whisperer drawled, her hands animating the scene dramatically.

"Not interesting enough for you to come sniffing if you could sense it then?" Rhys sniped, while placing his cup on its accompanying saucer.

Seriousness settled on the female's face. "I do not go looking for trouble... especially where world-walkers are concerned." Azriel felt uneasy. The same uneasiness he felt when Bryce landed in front of his feet. For someone as renowned as the Veil Whisperer to be cautious of a world-walker proved that they were up shit creek.

"Have you ever come across another?" Azriel found himself asking before he had a chance to stop himself. He blamed his spymaster tendencies for that, always prodding for the whole truth.

The Veil Whisperer's gaze rolled over to Azriel and the Illyrian found himself bracing before her clear scrutiny. "I have not... well not through an event as large as this one." She stated and returned her attention to the High Lord. He stopped himself from demanding her to explain herself, more so when he saw that Rhys seemed to know what she was talking about. "Though we are veering off track. What do you want and how does it involve a world-walker," The Veil Whisperer almost snapped.

"The world-walker caused a release of power, like you said," Rhys began and the female beckoned him to continue impatiently. "That release of power occurred on a part of my land that you may be familiar with... The Prison." The inner circle had discussed on the best call to action for this conversation. They toyed with the idea of Rhys appearing like he does to the Hewn City, or an indifferent force of nature like he is in front of his fellow High Lords. Though they decided for him to be respectful, yet demanding. 'Beggars cannot be choosers, boy,' Amren had advised.

A hard look settled over the Veil Whisperer's face, her tattooed fingers tightened around her cup. "What of it?"

"The world-walker caused... structural changes to the Prison and-"

"And one of its inhabitants has gotten free and you need help finding it?" She butt in, annoyance building in her tone.

"Yes."

"Who or what has gotten loose?" She pinched her the bridge of her nose.

"The Abhartach..." Rhys spoke cautiously.

The Veil Whisperer's head shot up from her cup with a vicious glare. "Of all things," She gritted her teeth. "Why must you need my help? Can your dog sitting next to you not perform his duties? Or your creepy second in command?"

"You will not speak ill of my inner circle," The High Lord ordered, balling his hands into fists.

"It is not ill-spoken if it is truth, Rhysand." Impertinence rippled off the female in waves. "How long have you been looking?"

"Roughly five weeks," Azriel answered, his ego bruising.

"Any victims?"

"None that we have been able to unveil."

The Veil Whisperer threw her eyes to the ceiling, muttering a swear to some deity that neither male knew of, or cared to know of for that matter. "What do you know of the Abhartach?"

"It is a blood sucking demon, from what I have read, that was captured and imprisoned long before even my great-grandfather walked the land," The High Lord answered, rubbing his hands on his pants.

A humourless chuckle filled the space, "It is not just a blood sucking demon. It is of an age where people with my abilities were the only magical inhabitants, from what my mother told me," The Veil Whisperer began with a flicker of emotion in her eyes. "Its kind was highly intelligent. It can appear as human, fae, beast, whatever animal it likes to draw its prey in. Some of my ancient scrolls talk of a time where there was a local population of them here, and more dotted across the continent. They do not die of age, hunger, thirst, illness. They are beings frozen in time, their very blood runs cold."

Azriel felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at her description of the Abhartach... it was more information than he, or anyone else for that matter, had been able to gather through their own fae history and books. This female before him seemed to have a completely different impression of the history in these lands that also seemed to run deeper than he could conceive. The spymaster ignored the unsettling of his stomach at how eerily similar this demon sounded to the high fae. The Veil Whisperer looked at Azriel, as if sensing his train of thought.

"Their main goal is blood, that is how they sustain themselves as I'm sure you're aware. For no victims of The Abhartach to have been discovered after an untold term of imprisonment does not bode well... my manuscripts and history only tells me so much about it... but they always spoke of the bloodlust..." She seemed to say more so to herself than Azriel and Rhys.

"So what you're telling me is that because there has seemingly been no attacks, that there is something else at play," Rhys stated.

"I do not know what I'm telling you, High Lord. Only that it is acting out of turn of its documented behaviours. Regardless, this is technically none of my business." The Veil Whisperer settled back into her mask of arrogance.

"What price will make it your business?" Rhys asked. Azriel now knew that this female was their only chance at catching their escapee. Her knowledge of it far surpassed their own, which he was sure she knew, and that meant she could ask for whatever she wanted and they would have to oblige.

The Veil Whisperer stood and rounded the large hearth, her cup in hand. She halted between to two males, looking down at them with an unforgiving expression. Her eyes burned holes through both of them. The Veil Whisperer tore her gaze from them, and stared into the bottom of her cup. A displeased hum. "It's a goat," She muttered. Both males furrowed their brows, each looking to the other with puzzlement. They watched as she set her cup down and picked up the cups that the males had been drinking from. "You have the scales," She muttered again and met eyes with Azriel. "And you have a unicorn, High Lord."

"Excuse me?" Rhysand almost spat. Azriel felt his heckles rising, he did not enjoy the idea of being part of some... ritual.

"It is a mythical creature written in my culture... it is depicted in the leaves of your tea, Rhysand." The female lowered the cup to Rhys and Azriel could see the shape of a horse with a horn? "Each one of the depictions in our respective cups are bad omens... so I must decline your request. You may take your leave. It has always been a pleasure."

"You're rejecting our plea for help to catch a blood sucking demon because of tea leaves?" Azriel questioned incredulously.

The Veil Whispered sauntered back to her chair, "Yes, Shadowsinger," She answered as though he was a child. "These omens are rarely incorrect so I heed their warning."

Azriel glanced at his brother, who seemed to be searching inwardly for a way to convince The Veil Whisperer. "Is there truly no way to convince you? I'm willing to meet any of your demands." The feeling of Rhysand's almost begging churned Azriel's stomach.

"If our paths are truly meant to cross on this journey, High Lord, then they will in some other way. You cannot buy my participation this time. This is no easy task, not one bought."

Azriel could feel his temper begin to simmer below the surface. This female spoke in riddles and bullshit. He felt himself wanting to shout and demand that she helps, for she knew they were at a loss — that he was at a loss. Don’t, Rhys spoke into his mind, We will figure something else out. Azriel shot his brother a look to say ‘How?’ to which Rhysand ignored. When Azriel looked back to The Veil Whisperer, she seemed to be studying his face. Meeting her eyes, Azriel did not hold back the grimace and disgust he felt. If she noticed, she did not show it. She held his gaze for a moment, before returning her stare to Rhys.

“You may take your leave.” With that, she stood and left into a different room.

Azriel and Rhysand left The Veil Whisperer’s home and winnowed back to the River House. There, the inner circle awaited patiently. No sooner than their feet had touched the wooded floors had Feyre come into view, carrying a crying Nyx in her arms. Azriel could see the tiredness weighing on his High Lady’s eyes. From what his brother had said, Nyx seemed to be crying at nearly all hours of the day as of late. As much as he loved his precious little nephew, he did not envy Feyre or Rhys at the moment… no matter how much he longed to have a connection that resulted in a family.

Rhysand scooped the wailing high baby of night into his arms, the nickname coined by Cassian, and began to rock him gently. He shushed the boy, though it did little halt the cries. "I've tried feeding him, changing, playing, napping..." Feyre trailed off, her hand rubbing across her forehead.

With his free hand, Rhys took his High Lady's hand into his own and squeezed. "Go have some time to yourself, Feyre. You deserve a rest," He said as gently as he could over Nyx's yells. Feyre looked gratefully at her mate and squeezed his hand in return. With a kiss on her child's cheek, Feyre took off down the halls to her respite. Rhysand met his brother's eyes and could see the question looming in his gaze. "I am not sure how we should proceed," Was all he said, and continued to rock his son. He slowly began to quieten though Nyx felt it fitting to let both males know he was still unhappy. Azriel remained silent, instead choosing to take one of his nephew's little hands into his own. The way the babe melted his heart was undeniable.

"Well, we will discuss the others about what to do... there is a lot to unpack from that one visit alone."

***

You tried to focus on the book in your hand, though the words seemed to swim on the page. Your mind relentlessly returned to the earlier encounter with the High Lord of Night and his Spymaster. It had been a long stretch of time since the last time a three-part omen presented itself to you. If you were being honest with yourself, the decision to reject Rhysand's offer was one you weren't sure was completely right. The last time something similar happened... Well that hadn't ended well. Your cheeks heated at the thought, the familiar bubble of anger roiling in your stomach.

Your mind wandered to the Shadowsinger, as you lost yourself in the smoke whirling and twirling from the incense burning before you. The way he looked at you, disgust and interest all mixed together in his smoky gaze. A slight smile tugged at the corners of your lips. As good as Azriel was at hiding his emotions, you thought him fairly easy to read. He trusted Rhysand implicitly, and Rhysand trusted him. They looked to each other for support throughout their earlier meeting. You found Azriel's eyes looking between you and the High Lord, he was ready to put himself between you if the situation called for it. The spymaster looked at you like you were a walking, talking trap. A light chuckle. You supposed he wasn't wrong, after your little trick on Rhysand last time. You sensed his personal apprehension of you. After the revelation of his tea leaves, you didn't miss how he seemed to pale when he realised he had his leaves read. If he was like most sentient beings in Prythian, he was likely terrified of the possibility of anything other than The Mother existing. Fool.

At the thought of the leaves, you stood and made your way through your cottage. Huffing frustratedly, you settled before your small desk and reached for the soft cloth. Folding it, you placed it over the crown of your head, leg bouncing impatiently. If you can't stop bitching about it, then you might as well get more guidance, your mother used to say when you got like this. Tying the knot in your hair, you reached for the pouch, pulling out the familiar deck of cards. Though you had many in your collection, this set was always your favourite. These cards were brutal when they wanted to be, but always said what you needed to hear. After knocking the deck and shuffling, you had an itching feeling the cards would be on the more brutal side today. With that, your hands kept shuffling until three cards dropped. Two landed faced-up, and a long sigh escaped through your lips. Ten of cups in reverse, eight of wands upright. "Wow," you said humourlessly. You turned over the final card. There was no denying that change was coming. And it was coming in a way that you weren't going to like or be able to avoid. Not with The Tower staring back at you, upright. Brutal cards indeed.

You contemplated the signs before you and the leaves from earlier. Whatever was coming your way was unavoidable, that much was true. Another sigh. You would deal with this tomorrow. After putting the cards away, you padded to your kitchen. After a day like this, you pulled out your favourite blend. Bringing the box of tea to your nose, a sense of nostalgia filled you. People had come and gone, tragedies ebbed and flowed but this tea had always remained a comfort. Settling in your chair before the fire, you sipped the tea and allowed yourself to relax finally. The sun began dip below the horizon. Despite the turmoil of the day, you felt your nerves settle. You allowed the heaviness of your eyes take over.

There was a storm raging outside your window now. The hail battered your window so hard you were sure the glass would crack. The room was eerily quiet. The candles had snuffed themselves out, the fire in middle of the room cast a red glow over the room. A chill encroached the room. You rubbed your arms and looked around. The lack of presence in the room rattled you. There was always a sense of vague company in your little abode. Now, it was stagnant. Like the room was holding its breath as the storm raged outside.

Standing from your chair, you looked into through the open doors of your home... strange. You always kept your doors shut. Each room was the same. Empty. The wind screamed outside your window, wailed like a feminine rage. Viscous and... terrifying. Goosebumps prickled along your arms. The screams started to sound more real. Like a baby, howling for help. The sound was undeniable. Everyone knew what that sound meant. A tremble took over your hands, a cold sweat immediately broke out across your brow. Your heart began to thump heavily in your chest. Instinct had you bolting back through the rooms of your cottage. Every time you followed the sound, it moved somewhere else. Louder and louder, that baby cried. Squealing in pain. Tears gathered in your eyes, your shaking hands pulling at your hair.

"Where are you?!" You screamed.

The scream suddenly sounded behind you, right in your ear. You whirled. There it was, across the room. The baby, swaddled as though it had been ripped from its crib. He cried wantonly as a long, black nail rubbed over his cheek. You looked at who was holding the child... at what was holding the child. It was strange, its features blurry. It was looking right at you, its aura threatening yet smug. You felt stuck.

"What are you?" You growled.

It remained stock-still, all for its nail rubbing the infant's cheek. Like it knew it was upsetting the poor child. You repeated the question again, trying to find the power within yourself. The being studied you, like it knew what you were trying to do and it judged you. The emptiness within... you couldn't feel your power.

"What. Are. You?" The demand passed through your lips with a venomous ease. Your heart only thumped harder as the nail on the baby's face halted.

Halted and began to dig in.

Your ears rang with the shrill of the baby's terror. Though you could not make out any identifiable features on the being, you knew it was smiling more and more. You tried to run for the child, though your feet remained cemented to the ground. You tried to pull against it, though nothing seemed to work.

"Please!" You begged for the first time in many moons. "Please!"

Suddenly the cries halted. The beast stopped too. The baby turned its head and looked into your eyes, tears still dripping down his little face that was beet red. You stared back in horror, fear rippling through you in waves. You reached out to it, wishing you could comfort it. However, as your hand fully outstretched the being lunged for you, the baby falling from its hold.

Your mouth opened to shout, the breath beginning to rip through you. It wasn't quick enough to stop it. The being ran through you quicker than the scream left your lungs. Quicker than the baby hit the ground.

The scream followed you back into the real world as you jolted upright in your seat. Heaved breaths laboured through you as your hand rubbed against your chest. Your eyes darted around the room. Candles lit. Fire bellowing. Heat in the room. Calm weather through the window. A nightmare. It was a nightmare. Something wasn't right about it, that much you knew. That baby... You shot up out of your seat, and grabbed your bags.

***

The inner circle of Night sat in a semi-circle around the fire. Conversations littered throughout the room. The rain outside made the room feel cosier. Azriel sat between Nesta and Elain. The sisters were chatting idly.

"Well all I'm saying is that I could recommend you books that are far more interesting than 'An Encyclopaedia of Prythian's Flora and Fauna'," Nesta teased.

Elain smirked, "I'm sure you could, sister. I'm sure your titles are positively riveting and mentally stimulating."

"They stimulate something anyways," Azriel muttered, his mind going back to the times she and Cassian had fucked all over The House.

Nesta hit Azriel's arm playfully and Elain giggled though a rosy hue coloured her cheeks.

Silence captured the room as a cry from Nyx emanated into the space. A frustrated sigh escaped Feyre and Rhys... and everyone for that matter.

"I do not know how you deal with that day in and day out, as lovely as he is when he's quiet," Amren announced.

"Oh please, Amren," Morrigan protested. "He's just a little baby!"

Rhys and Feyre left together. "A noisy one," Amren replied.

Morrigan rolled her eyes and gave the short female a snotty glare. It quickly left as the High Lord and Lady returned with their son. He still was still groaning and moaning. "Madja says there is nothing wrong with him... a lot of infants go through this," Feyre stated as she handed the baby over to Mor.

"It's okay," She cooed. "Come to your favourite Aunty Mor."

All eyes shot to Azriel when he shot up from his seat and began stomping toward the doors. Someone has entered the city, he projected to Rhys and Feyre through his mind. Both of them followed, getting ready to intercept the stranger. Azriel could hear the others question what was happening. He assumed Rhys and Feyre relayed the message to them because they all silenced themselves. The three of them walked all the way outside, until they were free of the wards on the estate.

"I will winnow us," Feyre announced and held out each of her hands. Both males took her hand without question and they winnowed to the location that Azriel provided. A multitude of possibilities ran through Azriel's mind, as he took out Truth Teller. Maybe an Autumn Court spy. Court of Nightmares, perhaps. Bryce Quinlan may have returned? None of the speculations could have prepared him for the reality when he emerged from the winnow.

For you standing on the edge of the city, feline-smiling at all three high fae, bags in hand. "Hello there, High Lady Feyre. I do not believe we have met before," You said.

"What are you doing here?" Feyre had really mastered the voice of a High Lady.

"Forgive me," You said incredulously, "Was it not your mate and Shadowsinger that requested my services?" You asked as though they were children. Rhysand looked like he was going to rip her apart, to which she grinned. "Well I've changed my mind, it's your lucky day."

"Why the sudden change of heart? After your leaves and omens," Azriel bit.

"Oh pipe down. I did further searching. It is in our best interest to proceed with our best foot forward. I will help you, take it or leave it," You barked. Azriel felt a sense of urgency from you, a sense of unease.

"What of your price?" Rhysand asked.

"I have not yet decided." Definitely out of character.

"How do we know you will not ask for too much even after the job has begun?" Feyre this time. All three of them were a force to be reckoned with.

"Ugh," You grumbled. Never had you seen three more ungrateful people. "I am offering you my help without a prior price, surely that speaks for itself. But if it's really that much to you, I will not ask for anything that will ruin any of you or your court... is that enough?" All three looked to each other, a mental conversation, you were sure. You took the opportunity to look at Azriel again. There was something you couldn't quite put your finger on, an interest.

You purged the thoughts from your mind as the Shadowsinger's eyes met your own. You smirked once again at the apprehension in his gaze, that same religious fear swarming.

"We will accept," The High Lady announced. "Though we still need to know why you are in the city? How did you get this far without triggering the wards?"

You met her eyes. Feyre was as fierce as you'd heard. You were impressed when you found out that Rhysand had made her his High Lady. A better male than his father, that was for sure. "Hm..." You chuckled lightly. While you studied her, you could tell she was becoming impatient. "I'll put it to you this way, High Lady. My abilities are very old, very complex. Older than the magic that flows through your veins. So I can be wherever I want to be, undetected. I thought that I would trigger the wards here, strong as they are, as some sort of... doorbell we'll say." The sarcasm was clearly not appreciated by her. You noted the look of muted surprise when you used her honorific without malice as you were sure she was accustomed to. "As for my reasons being here, my work will be better undertaken from here." They wanted to press further, though they all remained silent.

"Very well, Veil Whisperer," Rhysand said. "You will stay with Azriel in the city. You will conduct your work in conjunction with him and report to myself and my High Lady periodically until this ordeal is over."

Azriel would rather do anything other than share lodgings with this female, but they were desperate he supposed. The Veil Whisperer looked less than pleased with the terms. Your eyes scanned over all three of them, weighing. You walked toward them. Azriel braced himself. With an outstretched hand, you spoke "Deal."

Rhys, Feyre and Azriel stared at your hand as though there was a trick in your sleeve which put a humoured grin on your face. You kept it outstretched, waited for them to shake. Feyre took your hand first, shaking it gently but firm at the same time. Her lead was followed by Rhysand and Azriel.

You looked at them once again, and dipped you chin as a sign of respect. You were only glad that you managed to stop shaking during your trek here.

Note: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you want me to create a tag list :)

#acotar azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x you #a court of thorns and roses #azriel shadowsinger #amren acotar #cassian acotar #morrigan acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction

95 notes · View notes

cauldronblssd · 2 months

Text

Watch It Glow

CH 1/5 | Read on AO3

For @elucienweekofficial Day 1 - Fated

Thank you to my wonderful betas, @climbthemountain2020 and @witch-and-her-witcher.

Iron bars greeted Elain as she opened her eyes. Everywhere she looked, she found it - iron bars on the windows to a yard gated by iron and stone walls, iron knobs on the door to her bedroom, and an iron ring, flanked with pearls, covering her finger. She’d tried to soften the effect with breezy yellow curtains and flowers by the window. She begrudgingly replaced them every few days, the room didn’t get enough sun to grow anything.

The thick wool of a rug served as a barrier between her bare feet and the cold stone floor as she stepped out of bed. A tray with tea and her morning breakfast rested along the table in the corner. Elain wrapped a warm robe in her favorite shade of green around her body to fight against the chill. Despite all of the color she spread around the room, the gray stones of the walls seemed to leech any light and happiness from the space. Every step she took seemed to echo around her. Aside from a few servants, she would be alone in the manor for most of the day.

Elain squeezed a slice of lemon into her tea before lifting the mug, letting the steam waft into her face. This time in the morning was one of the few simple pleasures of the day she allowed herself to savor. She sat at the table, reading correspondence that had collected from the day before. A few of the noble families had moved back to the village to rebuild, and the Asters had invited her to a ball they would be holding in a few weeks' time. She read three more letters in the same vein, each polite but mundane in nature. The letter she hoped for, from Feyre or Nesta, would not come by post, but would be spelled to her room directly. It had been a concession that Rhysand demanded, allowing her to stay in contact with her sisters, even if it must be discreet. At the time, she’d requested nothing for herself, allowing her family and her betrothed to make the negotiations on her behalf. Now, she felt grateful that Rhys had been so forceful in his requests.

Setting her empty teacup down with a pleasant clink, she headed to her adjoining bathing chamber to draw a hot bath. She could avoid her duties for a little longer, relishing this time before the sun had fully risen. Afterwards, Elain would be spending long hours running the manor. She’d lost two members of her staff in the recent months, and replacing them had been harder than she’d hoped. Despite their advertisements in local papers for their town and the next several over, the pay did not entice anyone to leave their current position.

Not to mention, so few people were willing to live so close to the place where the wall had once been. Neighboring towns murmured that it was cursed, that dark magic lingered. Others feared the new treaties would be impossible to enforce with no wall or wards to prevent faeries from coming to snatch humans away, as they had once done. While Elain would like to refute this particular fear, she couldn’t deny it, given that what happened to her own sister had launched the series of events that led to her being made fae.

Elain sank into the tub, letting her muscles relax as the hot water seeped into her body. She always felt cold, either due to the cold gray skies or her too thin frame. She draped her long hair down the back of the tub to keep it from getting wet as she submerged further, letting the water rise to her chin.

Just thinking of the faeries in the neighboring court made her nervous. Her own secrets felt too precarious. Her hold on her magic felt shaky, and she worried that just the presence of other fae might trigger an unwanted release of her powers. Elain nervously felt the tips of her ears, reassuring herself that the glamour remained firmly in place. Even in her own chambers, she never let it slip. She couldn’t risk alerting the servants. Her marriage, too, depended on her willful denial of all things magic.

The truth of who she was, what happened to her, felt too painful to acknowledge. Most days, her old human body felt like a comfort. Other days, it felt like chains from which she couldn’t free herself. She hadn’t seen her own, true face, in years. It felt disorienting to forget the particulars of her own features, like a distant relative. Even her movements, she forced herself to alter. Elain had quickly adjusted to the easy, graceful gait of the fae. Upon her return to the human lands, she’d retrained herself into her old, clumsy posture, moving her hips more stiffly or stepping a hair too loudly.

Elain regretfully extricated herself from the bath, wrapping a towel around her body. She chose an elegant but simple day dress from her wardrobe, the same as what she wore most days when not expecting guests. She tightened the stays around her waist and breasts. Between her frail frame and her naturally small breasts, she doubted anyone would notice if she forwent the constricting garment, but propriety demanded it.

Long before her engagement, before Feyre had ever hunted down the wolf, Elain had been regarded as beautiful. Her own mother dismissed her for it, seeing her as destined only for a marriage based on her beauty. Her husband, too, had often remarked on it. It had been one of the first things he spoke to her of when they danced at a ball. Glamoured to her old human self, something about her appearance never seemed quite right. Her features remained soft, her eyes a shade of warm brown. She meticulously cared for her loose curls, and they shone as any human woman’s might. It seemed dull to her now.

Something shifted imperceptibly, it was her own face, but not. She wondered if Rhysand had not captured her human features completely when he’d glamoured her, or if she just had lost appreciation for her own face and body.

Elain inhaled deeply before gripping the iron door to her room and trudging down the hall. She walked down the stairs to the dining room, meeting the cook to review the menu for dinner that evening. The maids and kitchen staff offered her polite nods or small smiles as they passed by her. She longed to talk to them, befriend them, but had been scolded that it was not proper for the lady of the house to spend time with the staff. Who she was meant to interact with was less clear, given that there were no ladies to invite to tea, and she saw her own husband only for dinner before retiring to separate rooms.

The only lady of significance in the village lived just a few miles from her own home, but they did not see each other. Lord Nolan had gifted the property on the outskirts of the village to Queen Vassa in hopes of securing her favor once she returned to the throne. What a queen would want with such a plain and unwelcoming house, she didn’t know. Of all the places for a queen to reside, she certainly would never have chosen her own humble village.

After the war, when she had settled into her routine as the lady of the Manor and a married woman, she’d written on a few occasions to inquire after the queen to invite her to tea or simply to ask after her wellbeing. She’d never received a response, even to decline her offer. She suspected that the messages never truly made it to the fiery queen, but she could never prove it. Graysen often met with her on some official business or another, but she had never been invited to join him and he rebuffed any of the questions.

Once, she’d glimpsed the queen in her firebird form. Even with talons and flamed feathers, she still exuded royal grace as she sailed above. The queen had released a screech that she could have sworn had been directed at her. She didn’t know if a bird’s caw could have a tone, but she felt certain there was unspoken judgment in that sound. It was that memory that prevented Elain from pressing Graysen or Lord Nolan further to visit the queen. Perhaps he had delivered her messages, and only meant to spare her feelings that the queen did not want to see her.

If Vassa resented Elain’s place in the village, she supposed she couldn’t blame her. They had both had their human bodies and mortal lifespans stolen from them. But while the queen was forced to relinquish her womanly form each day to take to the skies, Elain remained comfortably hidden amongst the humans in secret. She’d never had another vision of the queen since the war ended. She suppressed her own powers through sheer force of will and a weekly dose of fae bane. Occasionally, she considered loosening her hold on her magic, just so she could see if she could summon another vision for Vassa. Perhaps if she did, the Queen might consider inviting her into her home.

Jurian, her general and living companion, was another matter. She had seen him, once or twice, reviewing some security measures with Graysen and Lord Nolan, pacing the fields of ash groves that lay behind the manor. It didn't seem entirely proper to live alone with the general. From what Elain knew, Vassa did not keep servants and did not have any other family or court members in her home. To live unmarried with a man would be scandalous by most standards, but she supposed royalty adhered to different rules than lords and ladies.

From what she knew of the queen, she eschewed tradition anyway, much to the Nolan’s chagrin. They believed that ladies, even queens, should follow the guidance of men, should speak only when spoken to. It was just another barrier to her friendship with the queen, Graysen did not permit her to spend time with anyone he considered unsuitable. More than her lack of courtly manners, Elain suspected that the reason that she was not permitted to speak with Vassa was the magic that touched her. Vassa was tied to an immortal God, after all. While still human in appearance, she might draw unnecessary attention to Elain and her own predicament.

She’d thought about asking in one of her letters to Feyre if she still hoped to break her curse, if anyone from the Night Court communicated with Vassa and might beseech on her behalf, but she knew that would invite too much involvement from her sister into her life. Feyre and Nesta never rebuked her outright for her choice to stay with Graysen. She had been so miserable in her time in Velaris, so unmoored by her visions and her loss of her true love, that they had been willing, though reluctant, to make arrangements for her to stay in the human lands.

She knew that Feyre wanted them to stay together. Nesta had fully joined the fold of her inner circle, training as a warrior and mating with Rhysand’s own brother. Elain considered returning to Velaris for Nesta’s mating ceremony, but ultimately decided against it. It had been a selfish choice, she knew. Feyre had assured her that they could winnow her to Prythian and return her that same night, if she’d wanted. Even Rhysand, whom she rarely spoke with, had written to encourage her to come, saying how much it would mean to both Feyre and Nesta to have her there for the day.

Graysen would never agree. Besides, she feared what it might draw out of her to be around so much magic and fae. Instead, she wrote her sister often, suggesting choices for flower arrangements and finding out everything about human wedding traditions she might incorporate into her own ceremony. She sent her little gifts, embroidered signs and hand calligraphed invitations, hoping that she could show her that she would help, offer her any amount of her time, from afar.

Once a year, her sisters came to visit the manor on her birthday. They made arrangements with the Nolans to clear the house of servants so they could winnow directly into the home and see with their own eyes that she was well and cared for. Along with the letters, it had been one of the requirements of their marriage agreement. Even though she missed her sisters, she dreaded the visits. They looked at her with such concern and pity, she felt the need to overcompensate by acting overly cheerful and enthusiastic.

After their last visit, she felt so exhausted and frustrated, she kept to her rooms for two days, claiming a headache. She knew the staff whispered that it was her own reluctance to age or her sadness that another year passed where she had not born a child. That she did not age and would never bear a child with Graysen was something that she did not say. Someday, arrangements would have to be made for an heir to the Nolan line. Graysen would most likely take a lover, and Elain would raise the child as her own. They couldn’t risk a child born demifae.

To hide her own powers required constant diligence, to mask the body and magic of a child seemed impossible. Could Graysen love a faerie born child? She doubted it. She tried to imagine her child running free on the property through a forest of ash and amongst the fae hating soldiers that guarded the gates. For love, she would face it, but she wouldn’t place that burden on her offspring.

Elain agreed to a plain dinner of venison and vegetables that the cook had suggested. Though the woman’s skills were considerable, the Nolan’s palettes remained unrefined and therefore their food unseasoned. The vegetables, bought at the market, tasted as much of dirt as anything else due to the unfavorable soil. She’d offered, once, to try growing some produce in the garden herself. Like all things, Lord Nolan deemed it unladylike and suggested she take up painting or an instrument instead. Elain did not have her sisters’ artistic or musical genes and hated both.

She practiced needlework and arranged bouquets of flowers. She filled odd hours practicing the languages of the continents and reading their history, hoping she might one day put her hosting skills to more work as a courtier and the lady of the manor. That, of course, required that any foreign guests deign to visit the human lands outside Prythian. Moreover, it also meant that Graysen allowed her to speak with them about more than the occasional comment on the weather or their preferred dance. Still, if she could not travel, she could at least read and educate herself.

After meeting with the staff, Elain took her parchment and tea to the garden behind the manor to set about returning a letter to the Asters about the ball. She planned to offer her assistance to Lady Lidia. She might find something new to busy herself with and make a friend in the process. She’d just finished pressing the wax seal to close the envelope when she heard a crunch in the gravel from behind her. The heavy steps told her it could only be Graysen’s father, Lord Nolan. The pace of his steps slowed as he approached her. Elain plastered a pleasant smile on her face, as she stood to curtsy a greeting to her father-in-law.

“Lady Elain, you look fine this morning.”

“Thank you, Lord.” She lowered her eyes demurely.

“To whom might you be writing?” No letter ever left the house without one of the two men she lived with approving it.

“Just a letter to Lady Lidia. Her family just returned to the old Aster estate a few miles over. They plan to throw a ball, and I offered her my assistance.”

He nodded his approval, responding gruffly. “Very nice. However, I must ask that you rescind the offer.”

“As you wish. Might I ask the reason?”

“Graysen planned to speak to you this evening, but we ask that you remain more closely at the manor for the next several days. Should any needs arise, please let Parsons know and he will have someone see to it.”

“Is there any danger, sir? Should I alert the servants?”

“The matter has already been addressed with the staff. I will notify you personally when the issue has been resolved.”

Without any further conversation, he inclined his head as a dismissal and turned to walk back towards the town. Elain hated that Graysen and Lord Nolan refused to provide her with any information about the dangers that plagued their days. That they bypassed her to speak to the servants directly snubbed her role as the Lady of the Manor, one of the only true responsibilities they allowed her.

Even years after the war, they spent much of their time reviewing their weaponry and meeting in secret. It is not the first time they’ve asked her not to leave the manor, though usually Graysen delivered the information himself.

With a sigh, Elain sat back down and broke the seal on her letter. She would compose a new one, politely declining her invitation. Perhaps the threat would be lifted by the ball and she might write to her again to plead for a renewed offer. It hardly set the right tone for a new friendship, but she would supplicate herself to the woman. Even groveling, in the coy sense of a lady, would be preferable to the monotonous silence of the manor.

*****

Two days passed, and Graysen and Lord Nolan never returned to speak to her or tell her how long she might expect to be stuck in the manor. She caught the servants looking at her pityingly on a few occasions. Despite their distant relationship, she knew the servants favored sweet, mild-mannered Elain. Only their loyalty to her kept rumors of her marriage from making it to the town gossips. Personal matters often traveled from one house to another in this way.

What might they think if they knew that lovely Elain, whose fiancé had been so smitten with her he promised to court her upon their first meeting, had spurned her already, never visiting their marriage bed. Blame would fall on her, as it always did on women. They would speculate that she was frigid or dull or some other odious trait that might lead a man to look for a mistress rather than find satisfaction with his wife.

Whether Graysen chose this, she wasn’t certain. He was gone often, but presumably spent much of that time in the company of his own father. She’d never scented another woman on him, never caught any glances exchanged between him and another lady in her social circle. This meant little, of course. Outside of the social gentry, one might have any number of affairs without making any promises to the woman involved. Graysen might choose such an opportunity, now that he’d secured a pretty wife to host his dinners and uphold his reputation as a respectable gentleman. Feyre had an affair of her own, when they had fallen poor. No one had looked twice when she snuck off, unsubtly, to take her pleasure in the barn with Isaac Hale.

Occasionally, Elain regretted that she had not chosen a man for herself during those years to enjoy herself and gain some experience. She had entered into her marriage with her purity intact. The silent and dispassionate exchanges she had in the dark of her bedroom with Graysen hardly fulfilled the fantasies she’d had in her youth. Elain had been a dreamer, imagining a great romance to sweep her off her feet. She’d expected that to include the kind of thrilling sex life she’d read about or now heard her sisters describe. While the first few times had been awkward, she’d felt sure with practice they might learn about each other’s bodies and find ways to pleasure each other. Graysen had no such interest, his efforts in sex as stilted as their conversations. Eventually, he stopped coming to her bed at all and she stopped asking.

Elain’s shoulders ached from crouching over her embroidery hoop for too many hours to pass the time. Forbidden from gardening, she sewed flower after flower into pillows and handkerchiefs and napkins. She could only study history or languages for an hour or two at a time before her brain turned to mush. She looked out the window through the gaps in the iron bars to see that the sun shone brightly. She did not see any danger.

The guards had not taken any extra preparations, they chatted amiably with each other out in the courtyard as they stood at their posts. They only engaged in such casual behavior when the Lord and his son were away. One guard, Bade, had a soft spot for her. She’d noticed his gaze lingering on her as she passed to and from the house on more than one occasion. He was not unusually handsome, but he was sweet and always offered her a greeting, which was more than her own husband could say.

Had Lord Nolan instructed them that she was not to leave the house? Most likely. However, Elain had spent her whole life charming her way into getting the answers she wanted. Perhaps if she acted casually enough and buttered up the guards a little, she might take a walk to the village for an hour or two. She could pick up a new book and stop by the market. If the villagers knew of any danger to the area, there would be talk of it.

Elain grabbed a basket and her cloak before donning her most innocent expression. She strolled through the front door, offering friendly greetings to the two guards stationed on either side. She walked as quickly as she dared without drawing attention. Better not to speak more than necessary so she wouldn’t be caught in a lie. When she reached the iron gates, she paused to address Bade and the other guard, Radcliff.

“Isn’t the sun just beautiful today?”

Both men looked at her warily, though a slight flush bloomed on Bade’s cheeks. She heard his pulse jump, pounding loudly in the silence of the courtyard.

“Indeed, my lady. I did not know that you planned an excursion for this afternoon.”

Elain just smiled sweetly, tilting her head to the side. “Not planned, necessarily. Aida mentioned that she was a bit short of greens for tonight’s stew. I offered to fetch it from the market for her so that I could enjoy the sun. I had need to stop at the seamstress, anyway.”

The guards exchanged glances.

“All this gloomy weather had left me feeling rather ill. I hoped fresh air might ensure my good health.” She was laying it on thick, she needed to slow down if she didn’t want to raise suspicions. She recalled, with amusement, a time when her father had told her that faeries couldn’t lie. These men, of course, did not know that she wasn’t human, but she hoped to call upon a bit of fae trickery to get them to believe her all the same.

Bade bowed respectfully. “Of course, my lady. Lord Graysen will be most pleased to see you looking so well when he returns.”

“You’re too kind, Bade. When does he plan to return?”

Radcliff cleared this throat, perhaps startled that she did not know when to expect her own husband. “Tomorrow evening, Lady Elain, if my information is accurate.”

She forced a smile. “Perfect, perhaps I will pick up something for him while I’m out. You’ve been most helpful. Thank you, gentleman.” She looked at them each in turn, standing at the gate expectantly. They pulled the gate open and Radcliff raised his hand for her to proceed.

The village was just a little too far away to walk comfortably, and Elain’s feet started to ache in her boots by the time she reached the market. She had not intended to buy anything, but now that she’d told the guards about the cook’s need of it, she couldn’t return empty handed. Elain meandered amongst the stands, hoping to look inconspicuous. Usually, the lady of a house would never deign to procure her own food at the market. She tried not to linger too long in any area so that she didn’t call attention to herself. She knew many of the people selling their goods from when she had been poor, when she had bartered anything they had in the cottage to secure food and clothing when she could.

Speaking to any of them now, it was as if those years never happened. In her heart, she wanted to be forgiving, they had all been forced to face many hard years in the best way they could. However, she couldn’t bring herself to truly forget the scornful glances they’d given her when her bones had poked out of her body in every direction from near starvation. Even less so could she forgive the way it humiliated Nesta, the wound to her pride that still lingers.

Keeping her head down, she hadn’t noticed the uneasy glances of many of the customers and merchants as they bustled about the market. One woman held to her purse so tightly as she walked about, her knuckles had turned white. Another man already begun to shut down his booth, despite it not being an hour past noon. Elain’s heart began to beat a quicker pulse in her chest. Discreetly, she looked at her hands. They looked human, normal. Her fae hands had been graceful, with slender wrists and long fingers. Her skin too, looked human. She could even see where a patch had grown rough from the cold spring weather. Her ears were hidden behind her hair, but she felt no difference.

She turned around, looking for any indication of a disturbance. Perhaps there was danger after all, and she should hurry home. She tried to remind herself that she was not a weak human any more. If true danger arose, she could run quickly or defend herself if need be. But that would raise questions she was not prepared to answer.

Still, the thought of another day of quiet in that house with nothing to do but stitch roses and lilies might be her undoing. She quickly purchased some celery and spinach from one of the new merchants to town before hustling towards the next street where the shops were located. An unnatural quiet hovered over the street that normally sang with commotion on a busy day. Faces turned northward where crowds separated with clumsy urgency. She looked towards the cause of the disturbance. A spot of red hovered over the crowd of onlookers.

She stood, transfixed, hoping that she might catch a glimpse of who held the attention of so many villagers. Elain began to turn the other direction when she saw the familiar dark hair and broad shoulders of Jurian walking through the crowds. He looked agitated, his jaw clenched and his hand gripping the pommel of his sword. Jurian was infamous, as a war hero, but surely not the cause of such a fuss?

Elain looked at the person walking behind him and dropped her basket in surprise. She let out a surprised gasp that caused a few people to look in her direction. Walking alongside Jurian, his ruby colored hair gleaming under the bright sun, was Lucien.

#elucienweek2024 #elucien #elucien fic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

63 notes · View notes

viktoriaashleyyx · 2 months

Text

Feyre trying to sell me on RhySAnd is like a shady car salesman trying to get me to buy the lemon.

"The engines misfiring, BUT it's got HEATED SEATS and 10cup--"

"Ima stop you right there you lost me at engine misfiring."

She lost me at the SA, nothing that happened after means anything at all.

#acotar critical #acotar #anti rhysand #sjm critical #rhysand critical #rhysand #feysand #anti feysand

54 notes · View notes

prythianpages · 10 months

Text

ACOSM | The Night her Father found out her secret

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: angst, mentions of violence, blood, dead bodies

summary: the High Lord of the Night Court discovers his daughter's little secret. He does not take her sneaking off to train with the Valkyries lightly and decides to punish her for it.

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here. I'm currently watching The Witcher and Yennefer is my fav character. the fact that she has purple eyes reminded me of Rhysand's sister so now I can't help but picture her as Val, hence me using her in one of the pics above.

The air buzzed with anticipation as they circled each other, eyes locked in fierce determination. Zeila, a seasoned Valkyrie instructor, initiated the first strike. Valeria, her dark membranous wings stretching proudly, deftly parried. Their blades danced in a symphony of skill and grace.

Despite Zeila’s experience, Valeria’s proved a formidable force. A quick succession of well-executed maneuvers caught Zeila off guard. Her sword fell from her grasps clattering to the ground but the warrior did not falter. With a grin, she unsheathed her daggers and Valeria did the same, throwing her sword to the floor.

They danced around each other, eyes sharp and focused. It was Valeria who threw the first strike, lunging forward with precision. She was at a disadvantage as she only had one dagger and Zeila two but she did not let this deter her. Zeila countered swiftly, her dagger slicing through the air grazing Valeria’s leathers, drawing a hiss of pain as it left a shallow cut on her arm. Undeterred, Valeria pressed on. Her keen eyes assessed Zeila’s movements, searching for an opening. When she found one, she disarmed her instructor in a swift maneuver. Before Zeila could react, Valeria had her backed against the training ground’s boundary, dagger gently pressed against her mentor’s throat.

A hushed pause settled over the training grounds as the surrounding Valkyries assessed the situation. Zeila’s eyes gleamed with pride rather than disappointment as she bore witness to Valeria’s skills and dedication that shined as bright as the full moon above them. She grinned. “Well done, Valeria.”

Valeria, panting but radiant, lowered her weapon in disbelief. The realization of her victory, not just in the spar but in the eyes of her instructor, overwhelmed her with a whirlwind of emotions. The look Zeila was giving her was one she had previously yearned to find within her father.

Zeila had taken her under her wing, not caring that she was the High Lord’s daughter. She saw her as Valeria, a girl with a determined and unwavering spirit. She understood that Valeria’s path to training was not a smooth one, given the tempest of her fate as a high fae. So Zeila devoted every opportunity to guide her and it was through her and the other Valkyrie’s relentless support that Valeria transformed. She, who once faced the storm, had become the storm itself. This training session was more than a physical exercise. It was a moment of growth and validation of all the years Valeria trained.

“Looks like someone brought you a gift.”

Valeria turned around, her gaze finding Tanwyn and some of her other Valkyrie friends. Her heart swelled at the small pastry, a lemon cake, in Tanwyn’s hand that was topped with two lit candles. One for each decade of her life. “Happy late birthday,” Tanwyn smiled.

“Thank you.” Valeria’s own lips curled up into a smile as she took the pastry into her hands. Noctis, who had been persistent in accompanying her tonight, squeaked in delight and returned to her shoulder.

Valeria pursed her lips, preparing to blow the candles but there was a sudden gust of wind. She watched as the flames died out, eyes widening in horror as a familiar cloud of darkness began to engulf the training grounds. It wrapped them in its cold embrace, prompting all Valkyries to draw out their weapons, senses on high alert.

There was a thundering sound and in the blink of an eye, a figure appeared that had the blood draining from Valeria’s face. Both her wings and Noctis’s began to quiver.

It was her father. He had found her.

The Night Court’s throne room was bathed in twilight. Tall, obsidian pillars, adorned with intricate carvings of celestial motifs, reached toward the vaulted ceiling. As Rhysand walked through the vast room, he couldn’t help but notice the delicate mist that hung in the air.

He came to a halt upon the dais, where his father sat upon his throne.

“Ah, Rhysand.” The High Lord greeted with a smirk, his violet eyes flickered with an emotion Rhysand couldn’t quite place. “My son.”

“You called for me?”

“Yes.” His father replied. “I was hoping Valeria would be with you.”

Rhysand frowned. He rarely ever asked about his sister’s whereabouts. “She’s with Cassian. They’re shopping for the upcoming Starfall.”

“Interesting.” His father said with a hum. He inclined his head slightly to his left and in that subtle motion, the air seemed to dance with translucent waves. As the glamor fell apart, a crestfallen Cassian came into view. “Cassian was just telling me how Valeria was at the library with Azriel.”

He then gestured his head to his right and from the shadows emerged Azriel, maintaining an unwavering composure that echoed stoicism. “But he has been with me all day.”

Rhysand shrugged yet the discerning gaze in his eyes subtly revealed a crack in his normally composed facade–a fleeting trace of concern. His powers reached out toward his friends and they let him in their minds, allowing him access to their thoughts. They mirrored his concerns but neither of them knew of Valeria’s whereabouts.

“Perhaps she is with Mor then.”

“Morrigan is in Velaris alone.”

“Then Mother–”

“Your mother has been in her room, working on dresses for Starfall. Also alone.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows furrowed and a surge of panic quickened his heartbeat. His hands instinctively folded together in front of him. “So where is Valeria?”

“I’ll tell you where she was.” The High Lord’s voice rang taut and rough and it was then that Rhysand recognized the look in his eyes. It was one of pure rage. “She was with the Valkyries.”

An eerie silence filled the throne room. Rhysand’s eyes were wide and he turned to his friends. Azriel remained stoic but there was an icy rage lurking within his eyes and Cassian’s fists were clenched at his sides as he glared at the High Lord. There was another haunting realization.

“Oh, you didn’t know either?” The High Lord’s voice carried a taunting tone, accompanied by an almost amused expression that played across his features. “Your little sister was sneaking off to train as if she were a Valkyrie herself.”

After another moment of silence, the High Lord spoke again. “Would you like to know where your sister is now?”

Rhysand’s throat tightened. “Where?”

The High Lord leaned back into his throne with a malevolent smirk that sent shivers down Rhysand’s spine. “Learning a very much needed lesson in Windhaven.”

As if following an otherworldly cue, the ground beneath them quivered and the mountains themselves seemed to shift. A low chuckle escaped the High Lord, his eyes gleaming in the face of such an overwhelming power, failing to recognize that it was not Rhysand who had made the Night Court tremble.

Valeria’s ears were ringing and her breath hitched at the sight of five heavily armed Illyrian males surrounding her. Her wings were taut, one of them curling inwards over Noctis, her dear bird. She had no weapons herself. Her dagger had fallen from her grasp at the Valkyrie’s training grounds and she didn’t have enough time to reach for it before her father had roughly grabbed her and winnowed them to Windhaven.

“You want to be a warrior?” Her father had seethed into her ear. “Go ahead then.”

He had pushed her to the ground in front of the hungry and malicious Illyrian males. “Have at her. This one needs to learn her place.” He had said before winnowing away.

She rose to her feet, eyeing each of them. She recognized one of them. He was the only one among them that bore no siphons. His eyes were cold and spiteful as ever. Mallory’s father.

This would not be a fair fight. She was outnumbered and unarmed but she refused to let the fear that surged through her body surface. She would not yield to it. She turned her head toward the bird on her shoulder, her eyes were pleading. Go. Noctis blinked back at her, his dark eyes twinkling with defiance. He refused to leave her side.

Mallory’s father was the first to step forward, a wicked smirk etched onto his face. The blade in his hand gleamed as it was directed toward her. “You thought yourself untouchable because you were the High Lord’s daughter but it is he who brought you to us. It’s going to be fun breaking you.”

“Let’s start with her wings.”

The one who last spoke was the one who lunged at her first. She dodged his strike with ease and grace and then kicked him, sending him crashing into one of the other Illyrian males.

“You will not take my wings from me.” Valeria snarled as she tucked her wings behind her and stepped into a defensive stance–one she learned from Cassian.

Mallory’s father chuckled. “You’re outnumbered.”

The four Illyrian males lunged at her, their siphons glowing. She punched, kicked and threw tendrils of silver light their way. Noctis flew from her shoulders, his beak piercing and pricking at their eyes to allow Valeria the upper hand. She didn’t scream as blades pierced her skin, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her pain.

Valeria managed to steal a dagger from one of them and swept it across his chest, sending the Illyrian male staggering backwards. “You bitch,” he growled before lunging for her again.

Distracted by the bleeding male before her, she didn’t catch the nod the two males approaching from behind her shared. She found herself pinned to the ground before she could even react properly. She squirmed and fought against their hold until a third male came from behind. One of them grasped her hair and yanked her head up, forcing her to look up at Mallory’s father.

Noctis let out a croak in warning as Mallory’s father approached her, flaring out his wings as he perched himself on her shoulder again.

“How embarrassing it must be.” Valeria choked out, blood trickling from her mouth. “To know that it takes three strong Illyrians, siphons and all, to hold me down.”

When the fingers digging into her pierced into her skin and Mallory’s father’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, she almost grinned.

“Do it now.”

She heard it before she felt it.

The haunting sound of a blade slicing through her wing. The blade drew back and it was then that the fear within her surfaced for a fleeting moment as she watched Noctis fall from her shoulder. He fell to the ground silently, blood trickling from the gaping wound at his throat. Her own blood began to splatter on the ground beside him from the wound in her wing.

She could not bring herself to cry or scream. She could not afford to at the moment so with an unwavering determination, she pushed all her grief and hurt away until only one feeling remained. Anger.

Her father thought her to be weak. He had taunted her, believing that she could not withstand the storm of Illyrian rage. But he had forgotten that she was a half breed. Illyrian blood coursed through her veins too. She would not fall victim to this storm. She would not falter. She would not yield.

She looked up, past Mallory’s father, at the night sky above them. The moon was full and shining brightly. It seemed to cast its ethereal glow upon her, sparking a feeling she had never felt before. Thirst for revenge. For blood.

The moonstone wrapped around her neck glowed intensely and her pupils flared, capturing the reflection of the full moon within their depths.

There was a scream and then the hold on her was faltering. She took advantage of it, pushing the three Illyrians away from her. She swore the ground beneath her trembled as she rose to her feet, gaze fixed on Mallory’s father.

Tendrils of pure and raging moonlight were snaking around him. They wrapped around his legs, his arms, his neck. They were burning and suffocating, clinging onto him as they anxiously awaited their master’s next orders.

“Witch.” She heard one of the males hiss under his breath.

Valeria allowed her silver tendrils to continue as her powers surged through her veins. She had never felt them like this before. So strong, so intense. It almost scared her to know what had been lurking within her.

The tendrils began to move over Mallory’s father. The ones at his neck snaked up and slithered into his parted mouth. She could see them glow from within him and she watched as he fell to the ground. Screams of agony escaped from the male as more of her light flooded into his mouth. He writhed on the ground while the other males froze in terror.

Mallory’s father fell silent and still as the tendrils of light that had swarmed into him were now surging out from his mouth and eyes. They rushed back to Valeria, slithering up her arms and she was surprised to find that they were warm and loving.

She turned to the remaining males with a wicked gleam in her violet eyes. Her silver tendrils were radiating from her glowing body. The male who had sliced through her wing and killed Noctis was the first to drop his weapon and run.

“Where are you going?” She called out, taunting him. “I was just getting started.”

Her silver tendrils whirled after him and Valeria took delight in the way they wrapped around the male’s ankles and yanked, forcing him to the ground. They dragged his screaming body until he was laying at her feet with such force that the rocky ground beneath cut through his leathers and pricked his skin. One of her silver tendrils brought forth the male’s weapon and Valeria took the dagger into her own hands with a thankful smile before hurling it toward the male and silencing him, the dagger tearing into his throat just as he had done to Noctis.

The remaining males growled at her, their siphons glowing so bright that they burst as they rushed at her, unaware of the beast they had unleashed within Valeria. She brought them all down one by one, using both the dagger and her powers.

When the last male had dropped to the ground, her knees gave out and it was only then that she released the scream that had been lingering in her throat.

Azriel’s heart was at his throat. He could feel everything she was feeling. He reached out toward that golden thread–that connection between him and Valeria–but he could not get a hold of her. He couldn’t reassure her as he did before. All he could do was feel her pain, her hurt and it drove him insane.

He desperately clung to that fine thread, urging it to lead him to where she was as he landed in Windhaven with Cassian and Rhysand by his side. His shadows were rushing from his side, diffusing into the chilling night.

“She’s close.” Azriel said as his shadows picked up on her scent. “The training grounds.”

A sudden, piercing scream followed his words. Its abruptness resonated through the cold Windhaven air, making their skins crawl and Azriel’s blood run cold. Valeria, Azriel’s shadows screamed in his ears.

A chilling and terrifying scene was before them. Five Illyrian males were strewn across the training grounds, their mouths agape–a telltale sign that they had died screaming. The scent of burnt flesh was strong and Rhysand’s eyes darted around them in fright. They all had matching injuries with the exception of one. Blood was seeping from their eyes and mouths and their exposed skin was marred by burnt marks while the one exception had bled out from a gaping wound at his throat.

“Valeria.” Rhysand breathed as he spotted her.

She was in the center of the dead males, hunched over on the ground as she hurled, her chest heaving. Her body was glowing so bright that Rhysand had to squint his eyes. He rushed toward her, dropping to the ground besides her as he heard Azriel and Cassian arrive.

Azriel’s shadows darted toward her, desperate to assess her injuries–to know how badly she had been harmed. His shadows were able to break through her protective light and Azriel’s knees nearly gave out as they returned to him and curled against his ear. Cassian’s eyes were wide and he moved to confirm that each of the males who had hurt her were dead.

“I didn’t mean to kill them all. I just wanted to hurt them, to scare them away but then something came over me.” Valeria’s voice was shaky and frantic as she sobbed. “They wanted to–my wings–Noctis–they–”

Rhysand let out a curse as he spotted the dead carcass of her beloved bird, his heart breaking at the sight. His touch was gentle and soothing despite the rage he felt within as he held her head in his hands, bringing her fearful gaze to his.

“Father–he brought me here–he wanted to–I was–I'm so sorry–I only wanted to–”

"Shh, it's okay."

Valeria’s cries and broken voice were soul-crushing. Azriel’s body was shaking and his wings prepared to take flight but Cassian, who sensed his intent, was stopping him. With a firm grip, he led Azriel to where Valeria and Rhysand were kneeled on the floor instead.

Rhysand’s eyes bore into Valeria’s. “You’re safe now.”

Valeria’s eyes continued to dart around her, her breathing ragged and uneven. Her tears blurred her vision but she could still make out the silhouettes of the dead bodies. She had killed them. All five of them.

“You’re safe now.” Rhysand repeated, pulling her trembling body into his arms. He rested his hand on the back of her head, pressing it to his chest to keep her from looking at the scene around them. “It’s alright.”

Yet the vulnerability in his eyes betrayed his words and as he locked gazes with Cassian and Azriel, he found that a shared sentiment of unease painted their expressions. This was the night the High Lord unwittingly forged three formidable enemies.

A/N: after writing this I feel kind of bad for making rhysand's dad so evil but I don't want to defend him at all in this au bc he's an asshole. anyway, it was kind of fun writing Val's powers and also her Illyrian urge to kill awakening in her. sorry there wasn't much Az x Val interactions. just one more imagine and we're done with the collection of Val's early life. I don't have the name up for it yet bc I wanted it to be a little bit of surprise but any guesses as to what the theme will be? 👀 i've left subtle hints lol

tag list: @justrepostandlove , @kemillyfreitas, @thelov3lybookworm

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar angst #azriel angst #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand's sister #azriel x rhysand's sister #azriel imagine #acotar imagine #azriel x oc #rhysand imagine #cassian x reader #cassian imagine #acosm

259 notes · View notes

redbleedingrose · 10 months

Note

This idea popped into my head while making my coffee this morning. How do the batboys like their coffee? Do they like the specialty drinks or just a good cup of coffee?

I could honestly go both ways. Like some morning I just want a cup of coffee with some cream and sugar but some days I want a specialty drink that will give you a cavity by just looking at it lol

OH MY GOD!!! I LOVE THIS!!!

Coffee/Latte Orders of the Bat Boys and Vanserra Bros

Rhysand

I think it depends on the day but Rhys gives me Cold Brew vibes. He needs the espresso for sure with all his high lord activities! But he absolutely adds oat milk to it, because he does not want plain black coffee.

I don't think he likes the actual flavor of the cold brew, he def drinks it in the morning because he needs it to function, but later he would drink homemade caramel cappuccino.

And I think he wakes before you, so he will make you a cappuccino as well. He always sits himself at the edge of the bed, watching you sleep peacefully for a couple of minutes while sipping on his cappuccino, thinking about all the things he is grateful for, before leaning down to brush your hair out of your face and pepper kisses all over your face.

Once you wake up, and you give him his "proper kiss," he will leave you to continue his work, your piping cappuccino set on your beside table for when you're ready to start your day.

Cassian

Cass does not give me a cuppa joe kinda male. He likes his water and fruit juices and smoothies.

He drinks water throughout the day, especially because of the amount of training he does. He has one of those huge water bottles that has all the water he is supposed to drink in a day, and he carries it around religiously.

He def gets one for you and will check in on you throughout the day and remind you to drink your water, especially if you are behind on your water intake. He is the kind of male to make it into a contest between you two, just to make sure your competitive ass gets enough water.

He also appreciates putting strawberries, lemons, cucumbers, pineapples in his water so that the fruit can infuse its vitamins into the water.

And the smoothies are his morning meal. He adds protein powder, fruits, and greens into these and he loves them. He feels super refreshed by them, and will try to convince you (and his brothers) to give them a try, and they turn out to be pretty good when he makes them. If you attempt to make them, they kinda taste like grass in water.

Azriel

Az screams black coffee. He drinks his coffee hot, plain and simple. He uses this dark roast blend that is very traditional to the Illyrian mountains. His mother used to drink coffee like that, and I think it would remind him of her, and thus, he drinks his coffee black. He is proud of it too, smh.

I think it helps him poop, poor male is chronically constipated from stress

When he meets you, he teases you for adding milk and sugar to your coffee, but once he gets a taste of your coffee, he may or may not sneak in a sip or two from your mug when you aren't looking.

You both like to start off your days sitting on the balcony, steaming cups in hand with Az's wing wrapped around you to keep you warm, and you watch the sunrise together.

It tends to be really quiet in the morning hour, and it is a special time for you and Az to kinda soak in the peace and allow for your mating bond to glow as the bright as sun.

Lucien

Luc is for sure an oat milk chai latte girly pop.

He also appreciates a matcha latte here and there. I think he likes the earthy flavor, so if he is not feeling chai (which is very rare), he will go for the matcha. If he is feeling extra spicy, he will drink it iced.

I think the spice of the chai latte really brings him back to all the good times in his childhood, when Eris would sneak little five year old Luc some caffeine through the chai.

I think if Luc were to drink coffee, it would be a caramel apple flavoring that comes around only during the fall seasons in Day Court.

I feel like Lucien would be the kind of male who wants to support small businesses, so he would go to different cafes throughout the court to try their chai lattes and would bring you home a fresh pastry and warm coffee. It's especially fun for him when you wake up early and join him.

Eris

Er's coffee order is interesting and complex, just like the male himself.

He likes to drink Autumn-spiced mocha lattes. It is an espresso with steamed goat milk, chocolate, cinnamon, and other spices. It actually is incredible, and he gets it every morning with a warm almond croissant for breakfast.

He likes his goat milk. I don't know why, but he does. Fucking sexy ass weirdo

Later in the day, he will have a honey cream latte which is an espresso with steamed goat milk and honey. His afternoon drink is not because he needs the energy, but I think he likes to have a warm drink in between lunch and dinner.

You usually join him in the office, warm latte in hand with your own drink, and you sit together on his green velvet couch, his free arm around your shoulders playing with strands of your hair as you discuss your day and plans for the night.

When you're done with your drinks, you will take his empty mug back to the kitchens, but not before he kisses you.... and attempts to bite your cheek off.

he loves your cheeks, what can I say?

Masterlist which severely needs updating

#rose answers #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanons #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #lucien x reader #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra #rose rambles

186 notes · View notes

heirofnight · 24 days

Text

blueberry scones & lemon squares

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: azriel spends his morning reflecting on various places he's lived throughout his lifetime. his thoughts quickly reroute back to you, his true home, and he reminisces on how you both met.

a/n: another drabble / stream of consciousness that took on a mind of its own. i really enjoy these! i only skimmed over this once, so it's lightly edited. sorry for any other mistakes i may have missed. this one made my chest hurt though - in a good way.

home.

az had resided many places during the course of his lifetime. but, as the years progressed, he'd come to realize that home was not solely determined by a physical structure with four walls - not just a place to lay his head and wings after a long, grueling day, or after returning from missions with bloodied hands and a dagger in need of sharpening. no, azriel's true home was always marked by wherever his brothers were. and now, wherever you were too.

the house of wind. another home of his.

azriel stood atop the balcony connected to his chambers. it was early dawn, the sun just beginning to rise into the morning sky. misty clouds carried on a breeze idled by, so close, az truly thought he could reach out and grab a piece of one for himself. if he squinted hard enough, really focused, he could make out the city of velaris and the sidra river, glowing like melted sapphire, far below him. could see the smoke of chimneys rising to meet the clouds as the city and its patrons began stirring for the day.

he stretched his large, membranous wings outward, letting the sunlight bathe them in warmth. his breath escaped him as visible white puffs, the autumn chill inescapable at the high altitude.

az regarded himself as a self-reflective male. his mind never stopped, and unfortunately, he was not ever able to fully escape it. this morning, he lazily cycled through thoughts regarding the places he'd called home. his early childhood, with his father and step-mother. never a home, he'd thought, leaving that memory behind as swiftly as it'd presented itself. windhaven, where he'd been dumped at eleven years old. his lips quirked up as he recounted his first memories of cassian and rhysand. the way in which they'd quickly become brothers. rhys' mother taking him in - the cabin where so many memories were made. a home.

he took flight now, shooting directly into the blazing sky. puffs of clouds caressed his arms and wings as he ascended right through them, a tickling sensation that he'd never tire of. now, he thought of you as he inhaled deep breaths of fresh, crisp morning air.

the way you both met. your father owned a bookstore right in the middle of the rainbow in velaris. an older business that was well-known and well-loved within the city. it had been destroyed during hybern's attack, and when it was rebuilt - a task that you'd had to heavily convince your aging father of - you'd added on a bakery to the renovated structure. one half was now a quaint pastry kitchen, designed with small café tables that extended onto the boardwalk overlooking the sidra, swirling gold motifs atop white marble, and glass display cases full of baked goods that you'd hand-make each morning. the other half was reminiscent of your father's original bookstore, and while he was still involved, you'd opted to largely take over the business so that he could rest and enjoy the fruits of his labor from afar. this was the first storefront of its kind in velaris, and everyone was smitten. including feyre and nesta.

feyre was absolutely infatuated with your glazed blueberry scones. on several occasions, you'd arrived at the bakery hours before opening to fulfill large-batch orders of them for various events that she'd ask you to cater throughout the city.

nesta, on the other hand, adored the attached bookstore. several times a week, she'd meander through shelves of first edition texts while feyre and rhysand browsed your daily selection of baked goods. nesta would always purchase stacks of books, as many as she could bare to hold within her arms. sometimes, if the group would opt to hang around for breakfast, you'd catch her flipping through her recent purchase, carefully cradling a scone in her other hand.

feyre had given az the task of picking up another large order from your bakery the day that you both met for the first time. azriel began to recall that day as he flew higher into the skies, his heart swelling at the memory.

"six boxes of glazed blueberry scones," his high lady had told him. "and if she has any fresh lemon squares, please pick one up for rhys. he becomes an insufferable baby whenever i return without anything for him." az had huffed out a laugh in response, nodding once to affirm he'd handle the task presented.

he made his way down the boardwalk to the front of your shop, making a mental note of how nicely the renovations had come along since that awful attack on the city. pushing the door open, a small bell tinkled above the doorway that his tall frame had to slightly crouch through. you'd appeared from the back almost immediately, flour dusted along your nose. you wiped your hands on a small towel, looking up at him to offer this beaming smile. a smile that he remembered, even now, being absolutely winded by. "hi!," you'd greeted happily. "you're here for feyre's order, right?," you'd moved towards a nicely-wrapped stack of six pastry boxes, sliding them along the counter for him to grab.

he briefly remembered reminding himself that he was meant to actually move forward. 'grab the boxes, grab the lemon square, and leave,' he thought to himself, feeling absolutely ridiculous for floundering in the presence of such a warm, pleasant female. he'd nodded towards you, approaching the counter. he'd had to tuck his wings in tight against him to comfortably fit within the spread of café tables. once reaching you, he'd cleared his throat before speaking.

"a lemon square too, please, if you have one," his voice steady despite the way his chest felt. you let out a precious, tinkling laugh. "ah, must be for the high lord. feyre's told me of his outbursts if she forgets to include them in her orders.", you shook your head affectionately, clearly quite fond of his family. he huffed out a quiet laugh, perusing over the rest of the goods within your pastry case as you packaged up rhys' lemon square.

he wasn't sure back then what compelled him to utter his next words, although now, years later, he knew. you were magnetic, and he would have done anything to see that beaming smile again and again and again. which is why he proceeded to point at the pastry case and ask for one of everything else within it.

you'd paused, eyes widening slightly at the request. "also for the high lord?," you'd breathed out, purely stunned. the corners of his lips had quirked upward then, your adorable expression hitting him right in the chest. "no, for me.", he'd stated matter-of-factly. you'd graced him then with one of those face-splitting smiles, dimples sweeping across your cheeks in its wake. he was a goner then, and he knew it.

after carefully packing up the rest of his order - which was now so large, he had no idea how he'd manage to fly back up to the house of wind cradling all of these boxes - you'd slid them across the counter to him.

he'd reached out to grab them, and that's when you took note of his beautiful, scarred hands. your gaze snagged on them, and he noticed immediately. his heart sank, a breath lodged in his throat. surely, he thought, this was the swift and brutal end to something that could have been between the both of you.

instead, you hummed quietly, unabashedly meeting his gaze. your next words came out quietly, almost a whisper - a hint of awe woven into the statement that azriel would absolutely never forget in this lifetime or the next: "you must be very brave."

no, it was then that azriel knew he was a goner. and that was it. he'd vowed at that very moment to do whatever he had to do in order to know you, love you. and you had made it so easy for him to do so.

azriel smiled at the memory, smiled at the fact that while he'd spent his morning reflecting on places that he had lived and called home throughout his lifetime, that you had flooded his mind - guided him back to all thoughts of you.

of course you had. you were his home, after all. a living, breathing representation of love so pure. he'd never once questioned it, he'd never felt something so sure. your love had healed him of so many things, things that you weren't even aware of.

and he knew, that if love were enough, all of his physical scars would be washed away too.

a/n: hi thank u for reading! honestly no idea what this is or where it came from, but i do know that i'm PMSing and writing it almost made me cry lmao. i'm such a sucker. anyway pls let me know if you enjoyed this drabble!

#acotar #azriel #batboys #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar

385 notes · View notes

beansidhebumbling · 5 months

Text

You again

The soft glow of his cigarette was all Feyre could see in the darkness of the closet.

'Do you mind Rhysand?'

She hissed, coughing for effect. He had always been an arse.

'Oh shite, sorry.'

He murmered, crushing the cig quickly beneath his patent leather boots. Irritation rippled through her, stiffening her spine. The word shite sounded distinctly wrong in his clipped Eton-educated accent, vowels falling clumsy and cut. He didn't get to keep words gifted to him by her. Not when she wasn't his anymore.

How dare he keep remnants of her in his life? How dare he look upon her like he did moments ago, with a softness once reserved for secret nights under silk sheets?

Trapped with your ex in a closet that stunk of bleach and crisp lemons had to be a circle of hell Dante forgot.

Her hand grasped blindly behind her for a light, knocking against the wooden handle of a mop in the process.

'Don't bother love. The light is broken here.'

His voice, full and resonant, holding the memories of late night pancakes in dorm rooms and the smell of rosemary from her mother's bread within it, danced with amusement.

'This all part of some masterplan, you dick?'

She felt him move. His trouser leg brushed against the bare skin of her thighs, clove and amber tickled her nose as his hands rested gently on her shoulders. His next words came from lips far too close to her own to be polite.

'My masterplan is to get you back, Feyre darling. And it's beginning to look like the universe is conspiring with me.'

#Rhysand #Feyre #feyre archeron #Feysand #Another idea luring me in

78 notes · View notes

bluelancess · 8 months

Text

Untouchable | Elriel fic part 1/3

Summary: The inner circle is having one of their usual dinner parties, during which Azriel can't help but shoot death glares to Lucien across the table, Elain is the only one who manages to calm him down.

Tags: secret meetings, forbidden love, secret relationship

—————————

Read on AO3.

—————————

Chapter 1: This is falling in love in the cruelest way

The Townhouse was exceptionally quiet today, the only sound filling its empty walls came from Elain’s soft humming in the kitchen. It was a melody she had heard a couple of days back while strolling along Velaris’ farmer’s market. She thought it was sweet, sounded almost a little magical to her ears, she had stopped on her tracks to give her full attention to the street performers, marveling at the way their expert fingers played the instruments, and at how they could attract a large crowd after only playing a single enchanting note. She was most definitely not doing the song justice, but humming helped her keep her mind away from dangerous black holes that always threatened to swallow her whole, the same way baking and gardening did.

She was adamant on never letting her mind take her away again.

Ever.

Elain put the final touches to the delicious meal she was cooking for dinner, and cleaned the palms of her hands on the front part of her light-blue apron. Roasted rosemary potatoes, grilled chicken with lemon zest, honey and mustard, various vegetables she had seasoned earlier; broccoli, peas, a tomato salad with basil and olive oil.

Cooking kept her busy and occupied most of the time. And it filled her with joy to be able to be helpful in any way she could. Besides, today was one of the Inner Circle’s weekly dinner meeting. Rhysand made it almost mandatory, and considering everyone was busy doing their own thing nowadays, having an afternoon where they could catch up on everything else other than work-related subjects, was a refreshing change.

Elain had dessert finishing baking in the oven, a blueberry crust pie she was going to serve alongside some vanilla ice-cream and whipped cream, when Nuala and Cerridwen entered the kitchen, both walked as silently as a ghost would. It used to perturbe Elain at the beginning, them being so silent, but with time she had gotten used to their presence, their company.

“The table is set,” Nuala said. “We can finish up here.”

“Thank you,” Elain smiled at her, and slowly removed her apron. Cerridwen extended her hand towards her, so Elain could hand her the clothing item covered in flower. “Is Feyre still asleep?”

Nuala nodded softly. “She and the babe, both.”

Elain chewed on her lower lip, concealing the smile that had formed after picturing the image in her head. Feyre lying on her bed, Nyx resting on top on her chest, the tiny wings tucked in, his little chubby hands holding onto Feyre’s gown like he used to do when he slept in that position as if scared Feyre might put him in his crib as soon as he fell asleep.

“I’ll go change,” Elain told them both, “then I can check up on them.”

“We’ll clean up here.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Elain exited the kitchen, and took slow, soft steps towards the stairs. She had already chosen the gown she would wear for dinner. A lavender satiny dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, with hug shoulders, long slit sleeves and a cirde skirt that reached a little under her ankles that flowed when she walked, making her her feel like a real-life fairytale princess. It was her favorite dress as of late. She hadn’t worn it for other people yet, she was waiting for an special occasion.

This seemed like the right time.

Considering Az would be here any minute.

Just thinking about the Shadowsinger brought a wave of unbearable heat cursing through her, warming up her cheeks, her neck, her ears. She needed to learn to control herself, if she wanted whatever was going on between them to remain private.

Any time she stopped to remember they way Az had looked that one night he came knocking on her window at three in the morning, her whole body shivered, the memory carefully stored in a special place in her heart. It had been the night everything shifted, everything changed, for her. For Azriel.

No one knew about it.

No one could.

Elain had been awake twisting and turning on the sheets, as per usual since their moment at the Winter Solstice, that cursed night that some days, the bad days, she wanted to desperately forget. Forget the way he had touched her and made her light up with so much want, so much need… She had never felt so alive before. Only to end with him pushing her away, such a regretful look in his eyes, telling her that it had been a mistake. But then… there were the good days, those days were she thought about him and hoped, prayed to whatever had interest in hearing her pleas, to have a second chance. To ask him all the questions roaming her head. All the doubts eating at her.

She never imagined he was feeling the same way.

But then, as if he were almost as desperate as her, he’d come in the middle of the night, looking like he’d also had been tossing and turning, so many sleepless night catching up to him. She opened the window with her heart on her throat, and he whispered to her to come with him. Only for a moment. He begged with his eyes, a desperation that was so painfully palpable, Elain’s whole chest squeezed at the sight of it.

Breathless, she took his hand that night.

It was the first time he took her flying, just for the fun of it. They had made it a habit now. He would knock on her window, she would open it, and he would scoop her in his arms, kiss her brow and marvel at her laughs when he would take off, holding her close to him, showing her the sky. It was those moments, that made Elain feel like she was actually free.

Elain opened the door to her bedroom, and froze at the threshold, her brown eyes going wide, her traitorous heart beating so fast it reverberated in her ears.

Azriel brought his index fingers to his lips and it was pure luck she didn't scream when she saw him; sprawled on her bed, boots still on, his wings so big they barely fit the mattress. She licked her lower lip, feet glued to the floor. He looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive, and Elain’s cheeks warmed up. He chuckled, darkly, softly and motioned for her to come forward with his hand, she shook her head like she couldn't believe what he was doing.

After taking a deep breath, Elain quickly looked over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. She didn’t have time to give a single step, before Azriel got to his feet, and closed the space between them in two exact and calculated steps.

“You’re insane,” she breathed, lifting her head to look at him in the eyes, he was so tall, it never stoped amazing her, so tall, and so beautiful. Azriel hands went to her cheeks, holding her so gently as if he were scared to hurt her.

“I missed you,” he simply replied, lifting a shoulder, one of his thumbs caressing her lower lip, his face getting nearer to hers, she could almost taste him. After a couple of weeks meeting in secret, delighting herself with his company, Elain had realized that Azriel liked to tease her. So much. He liked to take things so painfully slow, until she was barely breathing and begging him to touch her, to kiss her, to give her everything. “Just thinking about the fact that I have to sit on that dinner table, unable to touch you for hours, was driving me crazy.”

Azriel left a phantom kiss on her right cheekbone, then moved to the bridge of her nose. Elain closed her eyes at the contact, savoring the feel of him. Her hands roaming him from his shoulders, down to the muscles of his chest. She loved the way his Illyrian leathers felt under her fingertips. She dreamed of the day she finally would have the opportunity to peel them off of him.

But she couldn’t. They couldn’t.

Not yet.

It was too risky, everyone would to know they had been together, their scents would mix, there would be no denying it. And although Azriel was usually cocky and confident when it came to the fact the he most definitely would win a blood duel against Lucien, she couldn't even fathom the idea of Az risking his life in that matter for her. Az kept distributing tiny kisses along her face, like he wanted to pain it all with his lips. It was certainly torture having to wait until they were finally free to fall into the lust consuming their bodies, their souls. But she was completely sure it’d be worth the wait.

“So you decided to cheat and get a little taste before dinner?” She asked, and he hummed, as he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the right corner of her mouth. So soft, so gentle.

“Hmm,” he muttered, “I was actually hoping you wanted to skip dinner altogether.”

“Because that wouldn’t be suspicious.” He kissed the left corner of her mouth now, and a groan left Elain’s throat, Azriel ignored it and moved down to her jaw. “How long have you been here anyway?”

“About half an hour,” he replied, voice low, no more than a rumble, but she heard it perfectly, felt it everywhere. He kissed right under her earlobe and Elain bit her lower lip hard, tying to conceal the moan escaping her. “You smell so good.”

She melted against him the the words, reality crashing into her like a hard wave. Remembering where they were, who that house belonged to.

“Rhys could get home any minute,” she breathed, he groaned at the name of another male leaving her mouth when he was licking up the column of her neck, her hands grasping his uniform as if she needed it to remain standing. Cauldron, he was killing her.

“I don’t care,” Azriel replied, sucking gently at the sensitive, pale skin, his hands angling her head, exposing her neck just the way he wanted, the way he needed. “Maybe I should just leave a mark right here,” he whispered, and gently kissed right under her jaw. “Everyone can come to their own conclusions.”

“You wouldn’t.” She teased him, somehow, for some reason, the idea sparked something in her, something feral. She wanted him to claim her, to show everyone that she was his and he was hers.

That they had chosen one another.

Damn the consequences.

“Someday I will.” He told her, making it sound like a threat. He couldn’t hide the smile of surprise when she let out a breathy moan, as if she could just picture the idea in her head and loved it.

Elain was about to just grab his beautiful face, get on her tippy toes, and steal a long kiss from his lips, when Azriel stepped away from her, so fast she almost lost her balance. A knock on the door had her spine straightening, her heart jumping.

“El, are you there?” Feyre. It was her sister’s voice, still sleepy from the nap she had been taking with Nyx.

She turned around, the door was behind her, she had been pressed against the wood by Azriel's solid body. She swallowed hard, running her fingers through her hair, her face, her neck, she could still feel Azriel lips on her skin, the wet strokes of his tongue, the little painless bites. She was definitely flushed.

She looked over her shoulder, Azriel was nowhere to be seen, but in the corner of the room, right under the door that connected to her dressing room, a little shadow was peaking, sharp like a knife, as if getting ready to attack if she needed it to.

“Elain?” Feyre knocked again, and Elain forced herself to take one, two long breaths before turning the knob and opening the door.

“Sorry,” she told her sister. “I was about to change my clothes. They’re covered in food... you know, from cooking and all that.”

Feyre yawned, her eyes were glassy and her cheeks rosy from sleep, Elain tried to block the view of the inside of her rooms, just to be sure. But Feyre ignored it, putting one of her hands on her sister’s shoulders and going inside, to lay face first on the bed.

“Dinner smells so good,” Feyre murmured. “I’m so hungry the smell woke me up. Also, Nyx started to cry. He was hungry too.”

“You had a good nap?” Elain asked, her voice sounded strange even to herself, but Feyre didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Yes, I needed it.” After a beat, Feyre sat on the bed and looked at Elain, the relaxed look on her face from the last couple of seconds going away in a blink. “Actually, I came to talk to you about something.”

Elain took a couple steps towards her sister, sitting beside her on the side of the bed. “What happened?”

“I just spoke with Rhys, mainly to asked him what time he was coming home for dinner, and he mentioned to me Lucien is in the city. He came because he has some reports he need to give Rhys, and …” Feyre grimaced, she looked worried, almost guilty. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, so I told him to not even think about bringing him tonight before asking you.”

Elain couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t breathe.

She hated this. Hated that cursed mating bond so much.

All she wanted was to be free of that male, but it was like he didn’t know when to give up. No matter how many hints she sent his way, or the fact that she made it her mission to stay as far away from him as possible. He wouldn’t budge.

She couldn’t understand how he could continue to pursue her, knowing that it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Lucien couldn’t be so naive to believe she’d change her mind with a couple of expensive gifts and awkward dinner parties where he didn’t even make the effort to see her, understand her.

But, even if she wanted to say no, this wasn’t her house. Not really.

It was her sister’s, and her mate’s. She was living there because they were kind enough to let her. Because they cared about her, yes, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, she wished she could have something that was entirely hers.

Just hers.

“Lucien is your friend, I don’t want you to not invite him because of me,” the words tasted wrong on the mouth, and the shadows slowly started gathering in the corners of the room, like steam from a boiling pot.

“Are you sure?” Feyre’s face changed, glowing, “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, I don’t want to ruin your night.”

“You won’t. It’s fine.” She tried to give her sister a smile. The truth was, at this point, after everything Feyre had done for her and their family, Elain was willing to do, to endure, absolutely anything for her sister. It was the least she could do.

No sacrifice seemed great enough. Not after everything Feyre had lost, suffered through for them. For her.

She could be an adult and enjoy one evening with Lucien. Put on a smile, pretend everything was perfect and delicious, and she was happy. Because she was happy. More than ever. She just had to remind herself that once the dinner party was over, and the guests went home, she could return to her little room, and maybe, just maybe, Azriel would be waiting for her.

And if he was, she’d ask him to take her flying.

Feyre threw her arms around her sister and kissed her temple.

“Everyone is getting here in fifteen minutes.” Feyre stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Elain closed the door as soon as her sister left, and rested her forehead on the cool wood. She felt the spymaster presence at her back, his eyes piercing, his shadows surrounding the four walls of her rooms like he wanted to keep her there, all to himself.

“Did you know he was on the city?” She asked softly, turning around to see him standing right outside her dressing room.

Azriel shook his head.

“Rhys ordered me to take care of other business today,” he replied, his voice lethal, scarred hands curling into tight balls, shoulders tense. She approached him, and softly put the pads on her fingers in his hands, willing them to relax, to open up for her and let her in, hold her.

“It’ll be okay.”

“I can’t stand it,” he groaned. “I can’t stand the way he looks at you. The smell—“ Azriel took her hands into his, closing his fingers around hers tight, the muscle on his jaw flexing.

“It’s not easy for me either.”

“Then let’s not go,” he looked at her like he wanted to whisk her away, show her everything, run and run until no one knew who they were. "Let's go somewhere else, just you and me."

“Az…” His name sounded so charged coming from her lips, like a prayer, a promise, the sweetest of secrets, something she only said when it was the two of them, alone. “We can’t.”

He let out a long sigh, and rested his chin on top of her head.

“Don’t ask me to be nice, then,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

————————————

this is going to be a 3 part little one shot so enjoy <3

#pro elriel #elriel #elain x azriel #pro elain #azriel x elain #acotar #azriel #elain archeron

107 notes · View notes

vacant--body · 1 year

Text

stay with me pt 4

part one, part two, part three, part five

warnings: ANGST, graphic description injuries

✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°

Something was wrong. Azriel didn’t know what, but he could no longer feel Ophelia as strongly on the other side of the bond. Her presence was just a flicker of energy, like a spark that refused to light.

“We’re moving in. Now.” He quietly growled.

Mor, Cassian, and Nesta had all deliberately disobeyed Rhysands instructions to not enter the Autumn Court territory without his permission. They would all surely pay for it.

But at this moment, he didn’t care what Rhysands punishment would be. He could cut off Azriels wings, set his hands alight, and throw him into the Sidra and he would take it. As long as he got Ophelia back. He was beyond grateful that his friends were risking their own lives and Rhysands wrath to find her too.

His shadows cast the corridor in front of them into darkness, snuffing out the fae lights lining the walls. They moved silently, as a unit. Quickly and quietly taking out any guards that they came across. What was more blood on Azriels hands? As far as he was concerned they were all complicit in this crime.

Gaining access to the Forest Palace wasn’t easy. It had taken them entirely too long. They had to wait for changing of the guard and had to slaughter their way through just to get in. It was messy and harsh, but they did it all without raising alarm.

Azriel led them through twisting and turning hallways, going farther and farther down into the lower levels. He didn’t know where he was going, it was just a feeling. He could feel that tug at the bond growing tighter and further down they went.

None of them questioned him, and thank the Mother for that. He wasn’t sure how he would respond. They all were calm and quiet around him since departing from Velaris, as if a single word would set him off.

He supposed it would. After departing the River House, he had flown out into the forest and taken out several acres of trees with his siphons before collapsing. He had been trembling, barely containing the anguish and rage that was crawling under his skin. It was nightfall before Cassian found him, telling him that they were leaving to find her.

Suddenly, the feeling in his chest exploded into a frenzying warmth, spreading across his body. Azriel halted in front of a small, dingy cell, and his friends stopped at his heals.

“What is it?” Mor whispered.

The metallic scent of blood was so overpowering that it almost masked hers. Almost.

He would know that combination of scent anywhere. Jasmine, lavender, and chamomile. With just a hint of lemon. Before it had calmed his wildest nerves. Now, it ramped them up, dreading what he would find in there.

In two strides, he was at the door. He grasped the lock on the cell and the faint blue light of his siphons illuminated the space. He barely heard the metal hit the ground as he flung the door open and rushed in.

What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Ophelia was slumped against the wall, hands chained above her head. Small, precise cuts littered her mostly naked body. Deep burn scars around her neck, wrists and ankles. The only thing that covered her was a red see-through chemise. No. The chemise was white. It was stained red. With her blood.

And Azriels heart stopped beating at the sight of the dagger embedded to the hilt in Ophelia’s side.

“Cauldron-” Cassian gasped, coming to stand beside him.

“Help me.” His voice was tight, despair laced in every word. Azriels eyes stung with unshed tears. No, he couldn’t do that. Not here, not now.

If she didn’t make it-

Cassian braced Ophelia up, mindful of her wounds, as Azriel broke the chains around her wrists. He stooped down and took her small broken form from Cassians arms, careful of the dagger. A soft, broken whimper came from the bloody mass that was Ophelia. It shattered his heart even further.

But she was alive, she was still alive.

“We have to get her back to Velaris.” His voice was raw, full of the promise of death and bone deep despair.

“Winnowing could move the dagger around.” Cassian responded quietly, looking down at her.

“We could take her to the Winter Court-” Mor started.

“No.” Azriel snarled. “She needs to be home, not in some frozen waste land.”

“But the risk-”

“I know the fucking risk!” He was starting to panic now. It was rising to the surface, the pressure building and building against his too tight skin.

“Whatever the decision, it needs to be made now. We have company.” Nesta hissed from the front of the cell.

“Go to them. I’ll meet you back at the River House.”

His shadows swirled around them, Cassian disappeared from sight, his brothers eyes full of sadness and quiet rage. He knew he would make them pay for what they did.

In the cold emptiness, he brought Ophelia closer to him. Praying to the Mother that she would make this, she had to make this. If Azriel needed anything in his life to go right, it was now.

Azriel swore to the Mother and to the Cauldron that when she had recovered, he would tell her everything. About his messy emotions, the feeling of how unworthy he was to her, and that they were mates. He was hers.

But oh, the Mother was cruel.

His feet hit the solid ground just outside the River House, the world swimming back into focus. Panting, he looked down at Ophelia.

His mate.

She almost looked like she was sleeping, if it wasn’t for the agonizing pain he felt on the other side of the bond. It was so intense that he momentarily swayed before reality gripped him by the throat. The dagger was no longer there. It laid several feet away in the grass.

The panic he had been barely keeping at bay finally bubbled over.

Blood was pouring from the wound, fast. Too fast. Gasping, he went to his knees, laying her in the damp morning grass. His scarred hands pressed into her side attempting to staunch the bleed, but it was no use. Blood seeped past his fingers, coating his hands.

Rhys. Rhys I need you.

“Phia? Phia, I need you to open your eyes.” He whispered.

“It hurts.” She whimpered. The pain he heard from her snapped something deep and vital in his head.

“I know, I know sweetheart.” Azriels cheeks were wet with the tears he had been holding back for weeks. No- years.

“Azriel?” Her eyes fluttered open, squinting up at him. “You’re here.” She sounded so relieved, he wondered if she thought this was a dream.

“Yes, Phia. I’m here with you. Now stay with me, help is coming,” He sobbed.

Rhysand!

She muttered incoherently, and it wasn’t til later til Azriel would realize what she was saying.

Stay with me.

The familiar scent of Cassian, Mor, and Nesta invaded his senses, momentarily taking over the smell of blood. He heard one of them cry out, felt their grief slam into him. But he couldn’t look away.

He whispered small encouragements to her, begging and pleading with Rhys in his head to fucking hurry.

Almost there.

“He’s almost here Phia. Just hang on.” His eyes swept down her body, examining the wound. It was ghastly, deep and jagged with infection just starting to set in. Mother, how long had that been in there?

He looked back up to her face and his gut twisted. Her eyes were shut, her lips unmoving. “Hey, hey! Do not shut your eyes. Please,” A painful sobbed ripped from the depths of Azriels chest. “Please open your eyes!”

“So tired.” She whispered, struggling to open her eye lids. “Az, I’m so tired.”

Hands suddenly replaced where Azriels were. Someone was talking, shouting at the others but he wasn’t sure who it was, and he didn’t care. Maybe it was Rhysand, or was it Feyre?

Moving carefully, he cradled her head in his lap. The back of her scalp was sticky with blood, the entire ground around them was drenched in it.

“Stay. Stay here with me.” He whispered to her, smoothing her hair away from her sweaty and sallow forehead.

“You’re my mate.” Azriel choked out in broken sobs. “Ophelia you’re my mate.”

She inhaled to speak, but her chest stilled

The bond went silent.

And Azriel screamed.

168 notes · View notes