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acotarxreader · 2 days

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Other Worlds part Two

Azriel x reader

Synopsis: Nesta accidentally pulls you from our realm into theirs and a certain Spymaster can't help but be enamoured.

Original Request: "So I was wondering if you could do like Reader is from the modern world but ends up in the ACOTAR world, and ends up like falling in love with one of batboys."

Warnings: Angst, super fluff, my silliest wordplay

A/N: You guys! Welcome to part 2, I'm so so happy you gave so much love to the first part (which was meant to be a oneshot but ye said no!) and I hope you are ready to tolerate even more of my silliest carry on! Let me know what you think (I hope you love it just as much as part 1).

Part 1

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

“So then what happens?”

“So then Marley di-lives happily ever after”

“Wow, that’s a great story YN" You offer a smile to Elains kind eyes as the two of you lounge in the front room of River House, awaiting the rest of the group. You had been in the Prythian for almost a month and had found your way with great help from Azriel, teething problems aside.

“I’m just gonna get a drink from the kitchen, want anything?” Elain shook her head as you left for a cup of your favourite floral tea, growing tired of waiting for the others.

“We are going to be late, I swear to Taylor Swift those males better hurry up!” Feyre rushed into the room, haphazardly buckling her shoe before collapsing on the couch alongside her sister.

“Who’s Taylor Swift?”

“YN said she’s like their God of war and karma” Elain nodded in understanding, eyes landing back on the small coffee table in front of them.

“Do you think YN will be okay visiting Hewn City?”

“What do you think is keeping our lovely friends so long? They’re arguing about it upstairs” Feyre sighed.

“Amren is really not going to be happy with this when she comes back from her travels”

“Yes but Elain, have you ever seen Az so happy?” Elain exhaled in agreement before you re-entered the living room to your new best friends. The three of you spent another half an hour before the three males arrived on the scene from Rhysand’s office.

“How wonderful of you to grace us with your presence, are we ready to go now?” You say with a sarcastic drawl as Azriel places a gentle kiss on the top of your head before sinking into the plush chair across from you.

“Cass your hair looks different, so shiny?”

“Thank you for noticing Elain, YN has taught me the so-called curly girl/Illyrian method” he beamed with pride that you matched before you turned your attention back to Rhysand.

“Cass and I are going to go ahead with Feyre, we don’t think you’re quite ready for Hewn City YN”

“Correction Rhys, Hewn City isn’t ready for YN” Cassian laughed back, you looked between the two males before looking to Azriel’s soft gaze as he rested his elbows off his knees, head on a hand. He gave a small smile before leaning back fully into the chair, the room silent momentarily.

“This was your idea wasn’t it?” Azriel feigned offence, hand on his chest before giving a small huff of air.

“Yes…but YN you’d hate it there”

“So, I hate lots of things and deal with that, like Cassian's outfit right now!” you found your feet again along with your sharper tone.

“Ouch!” Cassian cut across you with a half laugh.

“Sorry Cassian honey sweetie baby, I’m mad at the wrong bat” Cassian folded his arms across his chest, he too hated his Hewn City clothes but he nodded in acceptance of your apology.

“I understand YN, I even wore the boots with the shoelaces you like!”

“Oh, the ones from the president?” you gave a small laugh to yourself.

“Yeah!.....Whatever that means” Cassian furrowed his brow in thought.

“Anyways, I’m going to Hewn City with you guys!”

“YN, it's really not like here-”

“So? I want to see the whole of Prythian and I don’t want to beg you to take me anywhere” Feyre’s head shot towards her mates at your somewhat desperate tone, a knowing look shared between the two.

“She’s coming” Rhysand and Feyre said in unison, gaining a shocked expression from both you and Azriel.

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

That was the end of it, the group was on its way, Azriel sulking for the duration of the journey. The air was knocked out of you at the full scale and odd sense of beauty at Hewn City, it had a different kind of charm to it than Velaris, one that was much less obvious. You felt the group's easy-going nature completely dissolve as you crossed the threshold of a large ballroom-like space where Feyre and Rhysand held court.

You walked at the rear of the group alongside Elain, her timid deamour growing tenfold, your eyes traced the crowd all bowed to the ground before your eyes landed on the back of Azriel and Cassian ahead of you. The whole sight made you feel ill, an entire world away from your realm or even how the residents of Velaris acted.

You felt the cool familiar touch of Azriel’s shadows trace along your lower back in soothing circles easing you into the new harsh environment. You fought back a laugh when the room sank lower to the ground as Rhysand and Feyre entered, the idea of bowing to Rhysand was humorous to you but the somewhat goofy demeanour you so regularly saw from him, completely evaporated.

You sat to the side of the dais while the High Lord and Lady discussed various topics of the Court, Azriel fighting every bone in his body not constantly to check you over to make sure you were okay.

“I’m going to get a drink” You slipped from your chair and down the stone steps, leaving Nesta and Elain to debate book characters. You pushed away the feeling of Azriel’s eyes burning into your back as you reached a group of staff. One reached out an almost rattling hand towards you with the tray and you smiled, she remained unable to reach your eye.

“Thanks…nice party huh?” You raised an eyebrow when she didn’t reply to you, the others seemingly also nervous.

“I used to be a waitress at this fancy restaurant, I get how it feels to be suffocated by pompous energy like the kind that comes from Rhysand” you offered jokingly, her eyes darting to yours in surprise before snapping back forward, her slight tremble growing.

“Ah and who are you lovely creature?” Your head whipped around to a tall, broad male with golden hair and deep brown eyes that examined you with fine focus. He outstretched a hand to yours and you took it reluctantly, something twisting in your stomach.

“Keir, Steward of the Night Court”

“YN, newest stray of the Night Court” You gave a sarcastic smile, moving to go past him, his grip tightening on your hand.

“Oh YN, please stay and chat” He placed his empty glass harshly down on the vibrating server’s tray, throwing the balance of the silverware. You flinched at the feeling of the golden bubbly liquid covering your dress. The sound of the smashing fine crystal and the female dropping instantly to the floor to try to recover from the dire situation drew eyes from all over the room.

“Oh fuck” You jumped back slightly before bending down to help the panicking fae, Keir’s grip on your wrist harshened further, pulling you back up.

“Disgraceful scum” he spat downwards at the female before snapping his fingers. Two giant guards seemingly appeared from nowhere to haul her to her feet and drag her back, she shouted slightly in pure terror, only to be smacked across the face by a guard.

“What the fuck?!” Fury rising in your eyes, Azriel began to make his way through the commotion.

“I know YN, she ruined your lovely dre-”

“Not her, prick! You! Where the fuck do you get off treating people like that?”

“I beg your pardon” his face darkened, his grip burning into your wrist, you swore you could feel the joint rearranging itself. It suddenly lessened as Azriel finally met your side and you yanked your arm downward away from him entirely.

“Keir, YN didn’t mean-”

“Eh yes YN did mean it” you bit back at the Spymaster before storming away from the two males, the room’s volume swelling back to full volume as if this was a normal occurrence.

You marched out of the decadent building and into the streets of the Court of Nightmares, stumbling slightly in the long midnight blue dress that clothed you. You hiked up the dress slightly before continuing to stomp through the streets, gaining a few quizzical glances from the residents. You were struck by the difference of character that occupied the course of your path, the slightly crumbling infrastructure, a stark difference to the building you just left.

“YN, there you are, it's not safe to be out here alone” Azriel jogged to your side, collecting his uncharacteristic panicked expression before you faced him.

“This place…this place...”

“I know YN, it’s its own beast”

“But it's under Rhysand and Feyre’s control?” he nodded in confirmation.

“So they could fix it right?”

“It's a bit more complicated than that YN”

“How!? There seems to be endless wealth at home” Azriels heart warmed at the word home, the thought of you feeling so comfortable in his world filling him with pride.

“It… it's just how it's always been” he offered softly, reaching for your hand, a dark ring of marbling growing across your wrist joint, Azriel’s eyes bore into the marking.

“He hurt you”

“Az, he’s just an asshole, I’m more concerned about that girl” he ran a thumb over the maroon, Cassian landing alongside you both.

“Come on we’re leaving, Nesta is bored and I want to keep learning that Hot-to-Go dance” you let a slight laugh leave you as he made the shapes of letters with his arms, Azriel still unable to tear his eyes away from your wrist.

“Bring YN home, I’ll follow you” he didn’t give you much of a choice as he dissolved into shadows.

—--------------------------------------

The group sat around the dining room table in the Town House, all in the usual state of exhaustion that a trip to Hewn City brought about, Azriel noticeably absent.

“I just don’t know how you can all just pretend that place doesn’t exist” you cut into the wearied silence, the Inner Circle pushing their dinner around their plates.

“YN...” Rhysand’s tone was warning as he took a sip from his glass of wine.

“I mean Feyre how can you just sit here and-”

“YN!” Rhysand barked again and you sat back in your chair, dropping your fork and entering a staring contest with the High Lord of Night.

“You were outraged at the tits in Spring Court but this you accept!?” you continued on, Mor choked out a laugh through the sip of wine she drank.

“Tithe YN, the tithe” Cassian gently corrected with a wide grin.

“I think she meant what she said, Tamlin was acting like one-” the table hummed in amused agreement to Mor.

“-We’re working on it but it's a gradual process YN” Feyre offered softly, ending Mor's comment before it could continue, her kind eyes softening the edge of anger in you slightly.

“This is why you people need democracy!” you huffed, remembering the look of terror on that fae’s face from earlier.

“What’s that? A swear word?” Rhysand asked genuinely.

“I’m sure to people like you in their ivory tower it is!” you stormed out for the second time that day.

“This house is made of stone, what is she talking about ?I thought we were over her riddle stage” Cassian raised an eyebrow.

—------------------------------------------

You threw yourself down on your giant bed, feeling every bit a part of the problem you took such an issue with. You sat up again, dragging your hands down your face before something caught your eye. You ambled over to the dresser, the deep red of your university sweatshirt sleeve hanging out of the large drawers. Your thumbs ran over the well-worn fabric, and you smiled down at it. Your dress slipped from your shoulders to your ankles and you replaced it with your beloved sweatshirt, filling you with a warm fuzzy feeling.

“Hey YN” you span around to Azriel, tugging the end of your sweatshirt down a bit further to cover yourself more.

“Hi Azriel” You said faintly, sitting down cross-legged on the bed. Azriel looked drained, your eyes dropping to his hands coated in a fine layer of crimson.

“Where were you?” you spoke cautiously, Azriel rolling his shoulders before moving into the adjacent bathroom, the sound of his clothes hitting the marble sending an electric shiver through you.

“No one treats you like that” he called out to you, your head tilting. He returned to you in his loose-fitting sleepwear before climbing into the bed, his wings fully relaxing.

You crawled back up the bed to lie the length of him. He looked down at you, rested in the crook of his arm, his wing curling slightly to bring you in further. Your arm traced up his abdomen to rest on his chest until he took the hand, inspecting it again, the maroon having deepened further, if you were honest you were surprised it wasn’t broken.

“Yeah...I’m not finished with him” he placed your hand back down and moved to leave the bed, only to be stopped by your weight on top of him.

“Az it's fine” You laughed, unsure how to handle someone having such unending care for you.

“Rhys told me about dinner-” you groaned at his words after a moment of silence, rolling off of his chest back to his side “-He said he didn’t realise we had adopted a grumpy teenager” he laughed and you hit him in the chest, whilst not taking your eyes from the ceiling above. He kissed the top of your head and you turned upwards to meet his lips, a slight groan of his own leaving him. His mouth tasted of mist and mint and you found it so entirely addictive, he rolled slightly to kiss you further, your hand tracing up his abdomen and across the top of his shoulder.

“I was kidnapped, not adopted” you teased.

“What’s that thing you always say? Flamingo tornado?”

“Tomato, tomato” You laughed fully and he couldn’t help but trace every contour of your face.

“Probably best not to bring up Tamlin around the two of them, although Mor really enjoyed the show”

“Did you ever notice how Tamlin sounds like tampon-” he raised an eyebrow at your words “-nevermind, for another day”

“We have so much to learn from one another” he gave you an excited squeeze.

“I know, I think you would have liked where I'm from"

“Yeah? Do you regret not trying to get back?” you pulled back to look at his face fully, his worried tone coating your ears.

“I miss somethings about home” home, but not you didn’t mean Velaris this time, a twinge of sadness washing over Azriel.

“Like what?”

“Emm coffee, my clothes, college to some degree ehhh tv, I don’t know the shower, people understanding my sense of humour”

“You have a sense of humour?” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter anyway Azriel, I happily gave it all up for you, graduation and all” You yawned the words out, rolling into a tight ball against his side.

“You never did that exam so how’d you know you’d have graduated?”

“Wooooooow cold” you laughed into him, eyes closing now. Azriel watched you fall asleep with a smile across your face, his favourite sight, a plot beginning to form in his eyes.

—----------------------------------

You stretched your arm into the empty space in the bed, sitting up on an elbow to look around to find Azriel long gone from your shared space. You threw on a dressing gown around you, your sweatshirt still lovingly clung to your curves. The hallway was mostly quiet when you entered it, only the sound of distant whispers filling the airways.

“Azriel?” You called out from the top of the stairs, the whispering silencing immediately followed by what could only be described as scurrying. You traipsed slowly down the staircase, stopping at the bottom to find Cassian stood in the now almost bare living room, only a single desk and chair alongside him.

“Cassian what the fuc-”

“Eh that’s Mr. Cassian to you Miss!” he spoke with a fake authoritative tone and you could have sworn you heard Azriel whisper that it was a bit overkill.

“Right…is this some kinda sex thing you and Nesta have going on?” you laughed lightly, following your feet into the nearly barren room.

“Well it might become one-” he winked before coughing to clear his throat “-now ehh, sit down for your exam”

“What?” you chuckled as he pulled out the chair for you, gesturing for you to sit so you did. You looked down at the scrap of paper, ‘Physics Final’ scrawled across the top in Feyre’s penmanship. You looked back to Cassian confused and you could tell he was fighting a laugh, you turned the sheet over to find one question scribbled across the breadth of the page.

“What is physics?” You laughed the words aloud, Cassian's hand banging off the desk in front of you.

“No talking during the exam!” he barked before covering his mouth to shield his laugh.

“Right… well you didn’t give me something to write with Sir” you said sarcastically.

“Oh I like it when you call me Sir-” a shadow bolted into Cassian's chest, knocking him back slightly “-okay okay sorry, busybody!….emm just tell me the answer then”

“Okay well very broadly, physics is the science of matter, motion, and energy”

“Emm sure let's go with that, congratulations!” he pulled you up from the chair by the arm and through the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house, your laughs of utter confusion filling the hallway.

“Surprise! It’s your graduation!” You hand covered your mouth in astonishment, your new family stood with their arms up around the kitchen island, a large cake sitting in the middle of them, banners and streamers covering every surface. Azriel passed a large bunch of flowers into your hand, kissing the top of your head as he did so, the whole scene bringing tears into your eyes.

“Oh no did we do it wrong?”

“I told you that question was too difficult!” Nesta snapped towards Feyre but you cut her off before she could refute her sister.

“No no you guys this is absolutely perfect, Jesus Christ-”

“I think another one of her friends, potentially related to Xanax?” Cassian whispered to Mor at the sight of her confusion.

“-this is everything” You ignored Cassian, hugging Azriel tightly.

“And because now you’ve graduated, you’re getting a job!” Feyre beamed and you turned to face her, Azriels arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Yes, I have been thinking a lot about our…discussion yesterday YN and I’m sorry, you’re right, we aren’t doing enough and so, we would love it if you could help us to level the playing field throughout our Court. We’ll set up an office there for you and perhaps begin distributing our resources better. Azriel…took care of Keir so he won’t be an issue, what do you think?” Rhysand seemed almost nervous making the offer, it instantly melting from him when you nodded in agreement. Cassian practically jogged to your side, your favourite mug outstretched in his hand.

“Oh and, I made you this!” You exchanged the flowers for the mug with a smile, it faltered slightly when you looked to find a thick brown sludge coating the inside of the crockery.

“Ehhh”

“It’s coffee! Or at least my understanding of what coffee, bean water right?” you looked from the mug to his face that radiated pure pride.

“Emm yes Cassian thank you I love it!” you lied through your teeth and felt Azriel shake with laughter from behind you, your elbow shooting back into his stomach.

“Actually, Azriel you can have the first sip”

“Oh no no YN, I couldn’t-”

“I insist” you turned, passing it into his scarred hand. His gaze bounced from your smug face to Cassian’s eager one as he gulped before taking a small sip of the slush. He fought every instinct to spit it back out.

“Lo-lovely Cass thank you” he managed, putting the mug out of arm's reach, Cassian turning back to cut up the cake.

The group hummed with laughter, unadulterated happiness radiating and you looked around at each of them with such an overwhelming sense of home. You looked to Azriel, who had the same expression you had when looking at his family that he had when he looked at you.

“Look at our family YN” he said so only you could hear, you turned to wrap your arms around his neck, his going to your hips.

“I’m so glad I fell into this world”

“Fell from the sky like an angel” you tilted your head back with almost a disgusted groan at his cheesy words only gaining a laugh from the Spymaster.

“I should have just risked going into the snow that night”

“I would have followed you, I will follow you anywhere, from this world, into the next”

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Whatcha think?

Tags (which for some reason is working intermittently): @phoenix666stuff @lees-chaotic-brain @dreamscourtgirl @gabby234lopez @chairofchaos @ariaaira

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sherell-x · 3 days

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This is legit my face when the Feysand, Rhysand & Feyre stans say something along the lines of this when it comes to Tamlin not being able to help Feyre UTM

Them: Tamlin could have helped Feyre, could have done something & not just sit there & watch her suffer

Me: erm…Tamlin sent Feyre BACK OVER THE FUCKING WALL BECAUSE HE KNEW HE WOULD’NT BE ABLE TO HELP HER, WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE HIM DO??!!

Them: I don’t know do something to help her

Me: are you slow? What part of HE WAS IN NO POSITION TO EVEN REACT TO FEYRE MUCH MORE GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO HER TO HELP HER DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!! He literally sent Lucien to aid her because he could not & as a result of that Tamlin had to whip his own best friend for trying to aid her, before that Lucien told Feyre that Tamlin couldn’t get anywhere near her because he was being watched like a hawk, did you also forget Rhysand REITERATING THE EXACT SAME THING LUCIEN SAID FIRST?!?!!! Did you forget what Amarantha did to Clare Beddor when she thought Clare was the one Tamlin loved? How did Clare end up? Oh yeah that’s right DEAD, DEAD AS ONE CAN FUCKING BE, more than that DID YOU FORGET THAT TAMLIN HAD NO ACCESS TO HIS MAGIC, why?…BECAUSE THE SHE-DEVIL TOOK THEM!! How do you expect someone who is practically being tied to the hip to a sadistic psychopathic tyrant, who has no access to his magic & to our knowledge minimal knowledge of his way around UTM to get himself out ALIVE & the love of his life out ALIVE?! Not to fucking mention RHYSAND STILL HAD ACCESS TO A PART OF HIS MAGIC & DID NOTHING TO GET HER OUT!!

Them: he still could have done something

Me: he wha-🤬🤬🤬😤😤😤🫠🫠🫠😃😃😃🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #anti rhysand #Rhysand #Feyre #Tamlin #pro tamlin #like be so for real #sjm critical #SJM #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar

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surielstea · 2 days

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Ruined Ice

Pairing: hockey!Azriel x figure skater!Reader (fem)

Summary: Az shows up early for practice and catches reader in the middle of her program, rutting up the fresh ice.

Warnings: cursing | name calling | fluff

A/N: Guys I know nothing about hockey or figure skating so please don’t come for me if some of this is wrong lmao 😭

2.3k words

The blades on the bottoms of my skates could cut through steel they were so sharp. I had made the mistake of running my thumb pad across the toepick and nicked my skin, no bigger than a paper cut but I barely even touched the metal before blood began to bead at where it had made contact.

My mood, however, was improved to its full extent when I stepped onto the ice and realized it was untouched.

I beam wildly as I begin to glide on my smooth blades around the rink, beginning my warm-ups and leaving light trails with every move I make.

Warming up took a quarter of my rented time in the rink, and the next two quarters were spent practicing my program. The state tournament was close, and approaching all too fast. My coach wasn’t able to make it tonight, yet he practically ordered me to practice anyway. I wasn't complaining, well I had been, but on this fresh ice with the cold wind nipping at my cheeks in an empty rink, I had never been more at peace.

That was the case, at least until the Hockey Players began showing up for their practices. I still had fifteen minutes left of ice time but none other than the infamous Azriel Teller was lacing up his skates on the sidelines, staring at me as I went through my routine, doing my best to ignore his gaze.

It was hard though, the man was so damned observant and I swore I could feel his eyes tracking me across the ice.

I finish my routine in my final pose, heavy breaths escaping me as I let the stance fall and I go back to my phone on the side of the wall where I can restart my music.

My phone that happened to be right in front of Azriel.

I ignored his stare and kept my eyes on the wall, making sure to go slow, knowing my freshly sharpened skates would force me straight into the wall if I went any faster.

I grab my phone with cold hands but before I even get the chance to unlock it, the male in front of me speaks up.

"You're ruining the ice," He hums and I look up from my phone, glaring at him, silently asking him if he was serious.

"Your whole team ruts up the ice every chance you get, don't start," I wave him off, scrolling through my phone to find a song to cool down to since my ice time was coming to an end.

"We rut the ice? You and your fancy twirls practically make holes straight through," He defends and I wince because I knew he was right. Especially since my skates were extra sharp tonight.

"It's not my fault you can't evade them like some bad skater," I taunt, picking a song and letting it blast over the speakers to drown him out as I skate away.

Calling Azriel a bad skater was absurd, he must've been the fastest on the ice when compared to the rest of his team, not to mention his accuracy when it came to scoring goals was outmatched. I had heard from Feyre— my best friend who was dating the team captain, that Azriel was the brains for the whole team as well, always the one planning the strategic plays, but apparently, he wasn't allowed to be a captain since he got into one too many fights during his first season.

When my cooldown music ended, mostly everyone else on the Velaris Bats had shown up for practice, staring at me as I stretched my leg up beside my head like I was an animal in the zoo. I still had five minutes left of ice time, so I made sure Azriel was watching when I practiced doing my ‘fancy twirls’, the exercise had exhausted me but it was worth it to see the look of silent rage on his face.

I continued to grin, using him as my spot as I whipped around in the air and landed gracefully down onto the ice, at such an angle that it left a horrid chip in the ice I'd have to avoid for the rest of my routine.

I spot some of the other boys noticing this as well, scowls on their faces as I give them a wink before they rush off to what I assume is the locker room to get their equipment.

Again, leaving only Azriel and I. He steps onto the ice before my time is up and I glide past him with a smirk and he returns it, something in his gaze telling me he knew something I didn't.

I brush it off and continue with my spins and jumps.

I had just come out of a lutz with enough momentum to push a boulder down a hill when suddenly all the lights in the rink shut off. I freeze, my legs buckling at the sudden change, my eyes not used to the atmosphere and before I know it I'm speeding towards a wall, incapable of scrambling to a stop on my skates that were far too sharp.

I shrieked, attempting to pivot on my toepick but it only sent me tumbling forward. I blanch at the realization that I was about to slam into the ice over such an amateur move.

But before I make contact with the frozen ground, hands come to my waist and pull me away from my sudden doom. I gasped, catching my breath as a figure steadied me, gliding along the ice along with me until I managed to come to a stop.

I look up to my savior only to find Azriel standing in front of me, his hands still on my waist as if we were pair skaters. Why was he so effortlessly graceful in the rink?

"Thanks," I mutter, my skates making a crisp sound as they halt against the ice.

"Don't thank me, it was my teammates who turned off the lights," He said, looking down at me, his hands still on my waist as we stood in the center of the rink with the lights shut off.

With the absence of his pads, I could feed his abdomen pressed to my chest, I had been panting from my restless jumps but he hadn't seemed affected when he saved me, like he knew I'd panic.

"Still, I can't afford to get any more bruises," I say through heavy breaths. He cracks a smile.

"I know the feeling," He hums, making no move to let go of my waist, and I'd be lying if I said he wasn't heavily supporting my tired limbs at the moment.

"Usually I'm better at stopping, I just got my blades sharpened," I explain and he arches a brow, his gaze almost amused.

"You don't have to make excuses, Princess, you could just admit you wanted to be in my arms," He taunts and I roll my eyes, pushing him away to which he glides back.

"Quit calling me that," I toss at him as I slowly make my way off the ice, returning to the solid ground as I put on the guards over the blades of my skates. Snow Princess had been my stage name when I was younger, it was my mom's choice, and I had been happy with it at the time, Azriel liked to remind me of it every waking moment he saw me, in fact, I couldn't remember the last time he called me by my actual name.

"Not in a million years, Princess," He continues his teasing and I huff, untying my laces and shucking my blades off, favoring a pair of tennis shoes that felt like walking on clouds compared to the tightness of my skates.

The lights turn back on and I look out at the rink, seeing just how much damage I did with my turns. I smile in triumph as I watch Azriel avoid the chips in the ice as he practically soars throughout the rink.

The rest of the players came out onto the ice only a moment later while I shrugged my coat on, losing interest in the others once it wasn’t just Azriel. They had all pushed him off the rink, telling him to hurry up and change so they could start practice already.

I ignore their raucous laughter and crude words as I make my way into the locker rooms, eager to get my stuff and then go home. I could already feel my legs aching with soreness and it's barely been a few minutes off the ice.

I opened my locker just as Azriel strolled in.

I hadn't known his locker had been situated directly next to mine until he opened it and took out all his pads and equipment, then, right then and there to my utter shock he began changing right in front of me.

"You know there's changing rooms, right?" I avoid looking at him, my eyes pinned straight to my locker as I clean it out, stuffing things into my bag.

"I'm in a rush," He said and I could see him shrug from my periphery. "I was too busy saving you from the wall," He remarks and I whirl to face him, then immediately regretting it because he was still shirtless.

"You didn't have to do that," I wished my words came out a little more sour but instead they trailed off, similar to how my eyes dipped from his face to his exposed skin, the cut of his abdomen, the ripples of muscle in his arms, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When my eyes meet his again, I'm also met with a stupid smirk on his lips. "Seems like you wanted me too," He teases, leaning dauntingly closer. I swallow thickly. He was so damned near I could practically feel the heat from his skin. "Seems like you want a lot more from me than just my arms wrapped around you," His gaze was entirely predatory. I swallowed thickly, heat staining my cheeks and I knew that I was blushing. "Do you want to wrap around something else?" He arched a brow and I pushed him away, my hands feeling like they were burning the moment they touched his bare skin but he stumbled back and the look of surprise on his face was priceless.

"You're such an asshole," I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.

"That wasn't a no, Princess," He crooned.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that?" I frown. I could leave if I wanted to, I have my bag, I was ready. But he knew I'd rather sit here and argue with him than go home.

"I thought I told you no?" He retorts, taking a long stride forward and pinning me between him and the lockers. "It suits you," He surmised. "A stuck-up, prudish, princess," He leans closer with every word, and by the time he finished speaking his nose was nearly brushing mine. I maintained eye contact, holding my ground.

"I'm not stuck up, and I'm definitely not a prude," I cross my arms over my chest defensively.

"Is that right?" He tilts his head, his voice low. His eyes flick down to my lips, then so leisurely trail back up to my eyes.

"I'm not kissing you," I scoff, I hadn't meant to say it aloud, but now the bastard's smirk was wider.

"I don't remember saying anything about a kiss?" He taunts and I grit my teeth. “Is that what you fantasize about to help you sleep at night?”

"Oh, just shut up already.” I crash my lips onto his.

He immediately reacts to the movement, his arm wraps around my waist while his other cups my jaw, pulling me into him, not wasting a second before we have to pull away for air.

I melt into him, my cold body from the ice immediately heating as my fingers press against his bare abdomen, sliding my hand up his chest.

His hands find their way to my hips, slipping to the backs of my thighs and lifting me up, my back pressed against the lockers as my legs wrap around his torso. My arms wrap around the nape of his neck as I taste him deeper, every flick of his tongue over mine sending waves of pleasure down my spine. "We shouldn't be doing this in here," I whisper against his lips.

"I don't care," He confessed, his hands gripping the underside of my thighs tighter.

"Someone could walk in," I argue, but I don't bother pulling away.

"Are you nervous about being seen with me?" He taunts and I hit his shoulder playfully, kissing him deeply as a reply before pulling away a fraction to say,

"You're going to be late," I try to defend but I swear he could barely hear me with how drunk he was on my lips because as soon as I was done speaking his mouth was back on mine and any other words I could conjure were swallowed by his all-consuming kiss.

"You worry too much, Princess," He grumbled.

"Yo, Az!" A familiar voice shouts through the doorway of the locker room, and gods we were lucky that he had me pinned to the wall. "What's taking so long hurry up," Cassian calls, and Azriel slowly pulls away from my lips.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a second," He retorts and my head slumps back against the lockers while Azriel slowly puts me back down onto my feet.

"You're lucky we didn't get caught," I glare up at him but he only returns it with a smile. He grabs his equipment bag and slings it over his shoulder.

"This," He gestures between me and him. "Isn't over, alright?" He leans in close and I only nod. He pecks my lips before leaving the locker room, the door creaking as it shuts and leaves me standing there utterly speechless.

What the hell just happened? And why did I enjoy every second of it?

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darkdawn01 · 18 hours

Text

❝ HEART RATE HIGHS !! ❞ – azriel x reader

✭ pairing: gym rat ! azriel x archeron ! reader

✭ summary: you swear you only have a gym membership for self-improvement. it’s definitely not to see the cute guy you have a crush on.

✭ contains: modern au, f!reader, college au, but age is vague, fluff, anxious!reader who can’t see that azriel is already a little in love with you, gym culture, alcohol, meddling sisters, because reader is terrible at talking to guys, mutual pining.

✭ word count: 3k+ ✭ a/n: i absolutely love gym fics and i couldn't stop thinking about azriel in a compression shirt, so if i have to suffer, so do you <3

“wait, did i hear you properly? you’re going to the gym?” nesta’s voice cuts through the quiet murmur of the lecture hall. heads turn, and the professor pauses mid-sentence, frowning at the interruption. you cringe at the sudden attention and whisper an apology, slouching in your seat to avoid the stares.

“you’re acting like i’ve just sprouted wings,” you respond, trying to keep your voice low.

nesta blinks, her surprise melting into scepticism. “well, it is out of character for you. the gym, are you sure?”

“yes.”

“really?”

you nod.

you can’t blame her for being doubtful. among your sisters, you’re the most averse to exercise. even elain, thanks to her gardening, could likely outlift you. but –

“i don’t know if i should be offended that you’re so surprised.”

“hey, it’s not personal,” nesta replies, her voice softer as she glances around the room. the professor had resumed teaching and students were slowly returning their attention to their notes. “it’s just... unexpected. i mean, last time i suggested going for a jog, you looked at me like i’d grown a second head.”

“yeah, well, i just figured it’s about time i start taking better care of myself.”

“what brought this on all of a sudden?”

you shrug, trying to put your thoughts into words. “i guess i just realised that i’ve been neglecting my health lately. with school and everything else going on, i haven’t been feeling so great.”

nesta nods in understanding, letting you continue. neither of you really cared about this class, after all, and it wasn’t the first time you’d been called out for talking through a lecture.

“i just thought it might be a good way to clear my head, you know? like, a chance to zone out and focus on something other than deadlines and exams.”

“if you turn into a gym rat and only eat chicken and rice, i’m disowning you.”

“you’d have to pry ice cream from my cold, dead hands,” you say, nudging nesta with a grin. “nothing can take away my love of carbs and cheesy fries.”

“uh-huh, sure. that’s what they all say until they’re posting pictures of their meal prep on instagram.”

“you have no faith in me, do you?”

“none whatsoever,” she replies with a grin. “but hey, if this gym thing helps you feel better, i’m all for it.”

“if i ever mention a juice cleanse, you have full permission to stage an intervention.”

“deal. and if you lecture me on the importance of pre-workout supplements, i’m kicking you out of the apartment.”

after your year abroad, you found yourself back at the university of velaris, settling into a new rhythm with your three sisters. the four of you had decided to share an apartment, a decision fuelled by equal parts necessity and nostalgia. it wasn’t long before familiar routines took shape amidst the chaos of unpacked boxes and endless debates over furniture placement.

besides, feyre had been spending most of her time at her new boyfriend’s apartment, leaving a bit more breathing room for the rest of you. you hadn’t met him yet, but you’d heard he came from money and his penthouse had skyline views, so you could hardly blame her.

nesta wasn’t a fan, muttering something about “trust fund babies” under her breath whenever his name came up in conversation. but feyre seemed happy, and ultimately, that was what mattered most, even if a twinge of jealousy occasionally crept in.

“you should come with me.”

“i would rather die,” she snorts. “doesn’t mor work out? you should ask her.”

“no way, i’d look even more unfit next to her. i have some pride.”

“wow, so you ask me instead. you’re such a bitch,” she laughs.

as luck would have it, the gym was just a 10-minute walk away, conveniently offering a discounted price for students. the only downside was going alone.

“but i don’t know how to use the equipment,” you groan.

“and you think i do?” your sister retorts.

“well, no, but at least i wouldn’t look like the only idiot.”

“just find someone with muscles and ask them,” she suggests.

“right, of course, because i’m so great at talking to strangers.”

nesta raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “so, what’s your plan then? to stand in the corner and hope the smith machine starts talking to you?”

“maybe,” you mumble, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. you didn’t even know what a smith machine was until this morning.

nesta lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “stop being such a baby and put a cute workout outfit on. you’ll be fine.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you were very much not fine.

the blonde girl at the front desk, with her bouncing ponytail and bright smile that could probably power the entire gym, was very nice. she had given you a tour of the gym, showing you the rows of gleaming equipment and weight racks, and enthusiastically pointed out the array of classes available, from yoga and spin to high-intensity interval training.

she had, however, assumed you knew how to use everything, and you hadn’t been brave enough to correct her.

you had nodded along, trying to absorb the barrage of information she threw at you, but each machine seemed more complicated than the last, and you were positive some of them belonged in a medieval torture chamber.

but you could do this. if guys who couldn’t even spell “midterm” could end up looking like greek statues, surely you could handle a single gym session. you were smart, you were pretty. everything was going to be just fine. besides, you had watched enough fitness influencers on social media to have a vague idea of what to do. with a deep breath, you reminded yourself that everyone had to start somewhere – or at least that’s what your therapist had told you.

deciding to start your session with something familiar, you made your way over to the row of treadmills. incline walking was hard to mess up. the downside was that it made you feel like you were dying.

thirty minutes later, you were profoundly regretting your decision as you clung to the handrails, legs burning with exertion. sweat had beaded on your forehead, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath.

with shaky legs, you made your way to the weights, steeling yourself against the familiar wave of self-doubt. this part of the gym was always crowded with an excess of men flaunting their egos, their grunts and posturing only serving to make you feel even more out of place.

you think of nesta and how she would never let anyone make her feel small. she would have your head if she thought you would let any man intimidate you.

deep breaths. everything is fine.

as you attempt to adjust the resistance on the leg press machine, your fingers fumble over the pin that holds the weight stack in place, causing the plates to clang noisily against each other. flushed and annoyed, you would love nothing more than to slink away in embarrassment.

“here, let me.” he crouches beside you and effortlessly rectifies your problem as if you hadn’t been struggling for the past ten minutes.

oh god, he looked like he could go viral on tiktok or be on the front cover of a fitness magazine.

and he was helping you.

stay calm. just ignore the fact that this might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

you couldn’t help but steal glances at the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his black compression shirt, each movement highlighting the definition of his arms and chest.

he was so pretty. you just hoped you didn’t look like you were dying.

“thanks,” you say, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended.

oh god, just breathe.

he flashes you a soft smile, “no problem. we’ve all been there.”

you’d like to say you committed to a gym membership for self-improvement.

(you would be lying.)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

before ever stepping foot in a gym, your taste in men was somewhat predictable.

you liked nerdy computer science guys you could play video games with and pretentious english lit students who gave you good book recommendations – the indoor sort.

they all tended to look like a light breeze could push them over. not the kind where you could steal their hoodies. and that was fine. you didn’t care, honest.

but then the cute guy at the gym completely ruined your usual type in men. you never imagined you’d be that into muscles, but he looked like he could toss you around like a rag doll, and you soon realised that you actually quite liked the thought.

you initially thought your crush would be harmless – glancing at him from across the room and playing out scenarios in your head.

but then he started offering to unload your plates, and showed you how different machines worked when you looked particularly confused. he would ask you to spot him, despite you both knowing you would be of zero help, and would refill your water bottle when he noticed it getting low.

he would even help to correct your form so you wouldn’t injure yourself.

that, however, had you so flustered you couldn’t even complete the full set. his hand grazing your waist made your heart pound so loudly, you were certain he could hear it. you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

you told him you had to leave early to finish your essay.

and then, like the gentleman he was, he had asked you about it the next time he saw you, and let you ramble about your major for far too long. the worst part was that he seemed genuinely interested.

you didn’t even know his name and yet you were pretty sure you wanted to have his babies.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“are you sure you really need protein powder?” elain questioned, picking up a bunch of celery for her green juices. “you can get all the vitamins and minerals you need from real food, you know.”

“but it’s so much easier to hit my protein goals with it,” you whined, clutching the tub of powder defensively.

“she’s only doing this because her crush drinks the same brand,” nesta teased, a sly grin spreading across her face as she tossed a box of granola into the cart.

“oh my god, keep your voice down,” you groaned, glancing around nervously. it was 10 pm on a wednesday. the grocery store was practically deserted, but you think you might cry if anyone overhears. “besides, it’s not just because of him. it’s practical!”

“practical,” nesta repeated, her grin widening. “sure, that’s the reason.”

“what’s his name again?" elain said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“i hate you,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up. you tried to focus on the nutrition label in front of you, but nesta’s laughter made it impossible.

“come on,” nesta said, nudging you playfully. “you’ve been pining over him for months. when are you going to actually talk to him?”

“never?”

“you should accidentally bump into him and spill your protein shake all over his expensive gym clothes. it would be a brilliant conversation starter.”

“please don’t jinx me.”

“oh, and then you could do his laundry as an apology, and he’d buy you a coffee because he thinks you’re pretty!” elain chimes in.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you’ve been working out long enough now that you knew the basics of gym etiquette. namely, don’t be creepy. a simple thing, really, but too many people struggled to act like sane, well-adjusted human beings capable of basic manners. it was as if the gym was some bizarre alternate universe where leggings made men’s brains short-circuit.

so you try very hard to not stare at your gym crush doing pull-ups.

but his biceps are flexing, his shirt is riding up, and you never knew you could be so attracted to someone’s back.

you feel like you’re twelve again – you want to write his name in a heart in your diary and talk about him for hours on the phone.

for the first time, however, you’re grateful you don’t know any concrete details about him. you would’ve stalked his social media, found out he had a girlfriend or horrible political opinions, and then cried yourself to sleep.

you’d really rather not know. hopeless yearning is much more to your taste.

but then he notices you across the room and smiles, and you realise your gym crush is very much not harmless.

you decide that you’ll be brave and actually initiate conversation for once.

a horrible idea, really.

“hey.”

“hey,” he responds.

“what are you listening to?” god, you didn’t think you were this awkward.

“oh, i don’t listen to music when i work out.”

“right, yeah, i totally get that.” you actually don’t understand that at all. the idea of exercising with just your thoughts sounds like a special kind of torture, but he doesn’t need to know that.

you fidget with the hem of your shorts, desperately searching for something else to say.

“so, uh, how’s your workout going?” he asks.

“it’s going okay,” you reply, the words tumbling out. “you?”

you want to disappear.

“yeah, it’s good too.” you swear you see a hint of pink in his cheeks, though it’s probably just from finishing his set.

your mind is blank and you have no idea what else to say. “great.”

you hope you look like you’re smiling and not grimacing.

this was quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had. you’re never speaking to a man again.

even if they are very pretty and look like they could pick you up without breaking a sweat.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

getting ready with three other girls in a cramped apartment was always a challenge. you loved your sisters, but if feyre didn’t get away from the mirror, you would scream.

feyre, always meticulous with her makeup, was painstakingly perfecting her eyeliner, ignoring the sighs from nesta.

“can you possibly move any slower?” nesta hisses, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms.

you exchange a knowing look with elain, who was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling through her phone. she had opted to stay behind, and you were growing increasingly jealous of her decision.

“why don’t we just take turns?” you intervene, hoping to avoid a fight before you even got to the party. “feyre, you finish up, then nesta, and i’ll go last. sound fair?”

feyre finally steps away from the bathroom and nesta wastes no time in taking her place, muttering something about how she could do a better job in half the time.

feyre had been persistent about attending one of rhysand’s house parties for weeks now, and despite your and nesta’s reluctance, she had managed to wear you down. it wasn’t so much her persuasive arguments as it was the promise of free alcohol that ultimately swayed both of you. plus, you were a little curious. feyre had been gushing about her boyfriend for months now.

as you stood in front of the mirror, giving yourself a final once-over, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. feyre, radiant in her navy dress, was practically buzzing with excitement. nesta looked as though she’d rather be doing anything else, despite begrudgingly admitting that the three of you looked good.

you had opted for a short, tight-fitted black dress. shocking how regularly going to the gym could actually help your confidence.

feyre led the way, practically dragging you and nesta out of the apartment. elain, now comfortably nestled on the couch with a book, waved you goodbye. “be safe, and don’t drink too much!”

“it’s so cute that you think i could survive the night without being drunk,” nesta laughs.

the cool night air is a welcome change from the stuffy apartment as the three of you step outside to wait for the cab. feyre was already chattering about rhysand and his friends, while nesta had shot her a look that could wither plants.

you really needed a drink.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

rhysand’s apartment ended up being a thirty-minute drive away, nestled in the wealthier district of velaris, and you could see why feyre spent so much time here.

you could hear the music before you even enter, and it smells so strongly of alcohol you already feel a little lightheaded.

it can hardly be called an apartment in all honesty, it’s nicer than most houses and certainly surpasses anything you’ve ever stepped foot in before. it’s spacious, with an open layout that flows effortlessly from one room to the next. plush couches and chairs face a glass coffee table that is currently covered in red plastic cups and half-finished bottles of vodka. luckily, all his furniture was black. you winced at the thought of cleaning the stains that were bound to appear after tonight.

you noticed the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a pretty view of the city skyline, the twinkling lights stretching out like a blanket of stars against the night. you weren’t the jealous type, but you had the sudden urge to strangle feyre.

she had navigated the apartment with ease, her eyes alight with familiarity as she disappeared in search of rhysand. left to fend for yourselves, you and nesta exchanged a glance before setting off in the direction of the kitchen.

as you weave through the throng of people, you catch sight of mor, effortlessly manoeuvring between guests as she pours drinks. she seems completely at ease, flashing dazzling smiles and looking stunning as ever.

mor’s eyes light up with recognition as she spots you among the crowd. with a beckoning gesture, she calls you over. “i didn’t think you two would be here!” she seems genuinely happy to see you, despite only talking to her after class a couple of times.

“our sister is dating the host, so naturally, we’ve been dragged along,” you reply. “she’s off hunting him down now.”

mor’s gaze shifts between you and nesta, realisation crossing her features. “rhysand is actually my cousin,” she explains with a smile. “so, i’ve met feyre a few times now.”

“that’s unfortunate,” nesta laughs. you’re pretty sure she’s only half-joking.

you elbow her. “come on, don’t be mean. i don’t want to be kicked out after five minutes of being here.”

“are you sure? we could go get pizza and ice cream and not wake up feeling like we were hit by a car?”

“are you seriously the voice of reason right now?”

“hey, if you’re going to the gym, then i can be a responsible adult.”

mor perks up, her eyes brightening with interest. “you work out?”

you smile sheepishly, “i only started a few months ago.”

“you should join me sometime!” mor suggests eagerly. “i usually go with rhysand and a few others, but one of them hasn’t shown up in ages. it’d be great to have another girl!”

“speaking of which, i should introduce you to them,” mor adds with a grin before calling out, “azriel! cassian! get over here!”

and then you spot who is walking over.

“mor, what’s up?” a very familiar voice asks.

because, you realise, it’s your gym crush. it’s the guy you’ve been pining over for months.

your brain is really struggling to comprehend that he’s here, and he knows mor, and apparently rhysand?

has he met feyre too?

he’s wearing all black, like usual, and his biceps look even better in this lighting, and oh god, you want to melt into the ground before you somehow think of a new way to embarrass yourself.

your mind is racing a hundred miles per hour and you’re suddenly realising you’re going to have to avoid feyre’s boyfriend forever if he’s friends with him and –

and as your eyes meet his, and realisation flickers across his features, you’re really wishing you had stayed at home with elain.

or vanish into thin air. that works too.

“az, these are feyre’s sisters!” mor’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

you’ve finally learnt his name, you suppose, but you’re pretty sure you’ll have to find a new gym.

204 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 20 hours

Text

Bloodlust.[*]

Azriel x reader

a/n: thank you, anon <3, I had a lot of fun writing this 😌

warnings: smut, spitting, hate-sex, slight power imbalance?

word count: 4,170

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

“Where’s your report?”

“I thought you were doing it.”

The look Azriel gives you is filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twist into an expression of silent hatred.

“You have thirty minutes to get it written up and on my desk,” he says shortly, words icy and clipped in the exact way that has irritation scratching at the back of your mind. “That’s completely unreasonable,” you reply bluntly. “Besides,” you say, holding his dark gaze, “I thought you were my superior. I was just there to offer assistance, so there’s no need for me to submit a formal report.”

“My desk. Half an hour,” he repeats coldly, his tone blunt and unforgiving. “Not a minute later.”

Then he turns, closing the door with enough force it creates a distinct hissing noise on the way shut, leaving you to struggle with the deadline.

————

Twenty-nine minutes later you deliver three forceful knocks to his door, blood hot as it boils in your veins, report still stuck to your clipboard which is in turn tucked beneath your arm.

“Enter,” he calls, and a muscle in your jaw ticks at the tone. Curt and demanding. Still, you step inside, allowing the door to click shut, dropping the clipboard on his desk on top of a file he was writing in, hopefully smudging the ink as the board clatters upon the surface. “Good enough?” You nearly spit, but manage to tone down the venom just enough.

Thunder claps from outside as your eyes meet, and he picks the report up, leaning back in his chair as he begins to read through the hurried scrawl. You bite down a snappy remark, hands clasped behind your back in proper fashion as you’re forced to wait for him to complete his review. You get the distinct impression he’s taking his time.

His dark eyes pause a third of the way down the page, brows narrowing before dragging his gaze to yours. “The disposal was rushed and excessively violent. Diplomacy would have been preferable, and much more suitable?” He reads aloud, voice rough and gravelly with barely restrained ire.

“You asked for my report,” you counter lowly, unable to help the disagreeable twist of your features as you glare at him. “Diplomacy did not guarantee the mission’s success. It would have been a waste of time,” he replies.

“That’s just like you to rush into violence,” you hiss, nails digging into the skin of your wrist with the amount of restraint you’re using to keep from doing something you’ll regret. “You resort to slaughter at the slightest inconvenience,” you seethe, nails piercing the skin. “Fucking Illyrian,” you spit.

Ire blazes behind his eyes, reflecting the hatred burning in your own gaze.

Not breaking eye-contact, he reaches for a blank sheet of paper and places it before him on the desk, jabbing his finger once down atop the page. “Rewrite it. Now.”

A startled laugh barks from your throat as you stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

You stare at him longer, furious indignation boiling your blood, able to feel as your temper begins to bubble over with blatant provocation. “You’re a spiteful piece of shit,” you seethe lowly but he doesn’t buckle beneath your rage. You wouldn’t hate him as much as you do if you could so easily get the better of him. “You just want me to write a report in your favour. You can’t stand that you might have made the wrong call.”

“It was the right call,” he replies harshly, a hiss in his voice, “your lack of experience is limiting your understanding. I knew you weren’t fit for this mission—I’ll have you moved to a more suitable position.”

“You’re the one in the wrong position,” you spit, stalking forward so you’re right before his desk. “You’re too prone to excessive violence. You needlessly took a life that could have been saved. It would have been of no consequence to us if he lived.”

“His existence would have only perpetuated the problem,” Azriel repeats lowly, his own temper beginning to show as he stands from his desk, palms flattening across its surface as he leans forward. “Purge from the roots, or it will only return. Now write the report.”

Gritting your teeth any tighter would have surely caused one to crack beneath the pressure, and you can perfectly imagine how it would feel to launch yourself across the desk and wrap your hands around his throat. To squeeze until he’s thrashing beneath you, that indomitable figure writhing beneath you as you begin to pry the life from his body…to set him alight and watch him scream.

You ease out a breath, soothed by the surprisingly violent imagery. You aren’t one to generally resort to that kind of solution, but with him it seems almost irresistible…the call of violence, how good it would feel to watch blood bead on his skin.

Frustration slightly abated, you drag the paper from beneath his hold. “Give me the clipboard.”

“You’ll complete it here, where I can see you,” he replies icily.

“Fine. Give me the clipboard,” you bite out, rage already rising again.

“You don’t need it. You’ll write it here,” he says, gesturing to the desk.

A tinge of red creeps into your vision, and it takes all your discipline not to reach for the blades tucked beneath your clothes. Stiff with rage, you drag the paper to the side of his desk, walking around to his side as you take a pen from the pot, making a point of reaching through his personal space. Then, as you’re retracting, you decide you’ve had enough of restraining yourself. “Illyrian scum,” you hiss out, gaze piercing into him as your hand tightens around the pen, clutching it as though it were a blade.

His pupils narrow into slits and his fingers crush at the soft skin of your throat. Your entire body contracts beneath the brutal touch, the tip of steel already poised to slice into leather and cut through his blackened heart. Stalemate.

“You’re a fucking piece of work,” he snarls out gutturally, expression twisted into picturesque wrath, ignoring the stinging pain as you slide the blade deeper, sharp enough to pierce the leather with ease, poised to cut into flesh. He seems to remember himself, hold lightening only marginally…enough you have to pull back on the blade or else he’ll be justified in his hostility.

“Infighting is forbidden,” you manage to get out, making sure to keep the steel close enough to his flesh he knows you won’t hesitate anymore. “You broke a rule, Spymaster.”

“And what will you do?” He asks, cruel mirth glittering in his dark hazel eyes. “Will you try for diplomacy now?” He hisses, squeezing the sides of your throat painfully.

“Why would I bother with a brute?” You rasp back, neither of you bothering to conceal the venom in your voices. “Clear aggression is the only language you’ll understand, so I’ll just have to act in a way that’ll get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Brandishing a weapon against me is enough to have you permanently removed from your position,” he hisses down at you.

“Fine,” you breathe, coming to the same conclusion as he has for the expulsion of rage that’s been building up inside of you. “Hand-to-hand combat it is.”

His hand releases your throat at the same time the blade falls from your fingertips, his grip sliding to the nape of your neck as your arms snake over his shoulders, nails raking through his hair as you’re magnetically snatched against one another, hardly a breath of air to be found between your bodies as you’re crushed against one another. Teeth flash as canines scrape, but his fingers dig into the tendon at your neck, forcing you to seize as he pries you apart with his tongue and mouth. Your lip curls in a snarl as he pushes into you, able to see how his wings have instinctively flared at his back, shadows writhing and deepening with unsuppressed fury.

Without giving him a chance to defend your arms surge further down his back, nails brandished as they scratch across the intimate skin of his wings, slicing the leathery surface jaggedly. He recoils, a vicious snarl cutting through the room that has satisfaction blazing across your chest. Rage bleeds across his features and his hand returns to your throat, shoving you down onto his desk, papers flying as ink spills across the surface, pens clattering as they drop to the floor. Your hands fly to his wrist, scratching at his scarred knuckles but his mouth has already descended over yours again and you move to grip at his hair, silky and soft beneath your violent touch. Heat swarms your skin as his shadows pin you down, writhing pleasantly across your body in a way that has your insides fluttering.

Azriel again pries your lips apart, tongue sweeping in as his mouth slants invasively over your own, flicking and stroking while his fingers hold your jaw in a vice-like grip. A strange feeling skitters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, minimising the space between your bodies as he presses flush against your centre.

You can feel him.

Oh Gods, you can feel him completely.

Your mouth parts as you push against him, tongue sweeping across his own, the kisses hot and wet as each of you refuse to lighten your grip on the other and your thighs squeeze him closer, determined you won’t be losing this battle.

Azriel pulls away abruptly, and you look up at him, watching keenly for any move he’ll make, aware what kind of beast you’re taunting. “Keep still,” he commands roughly, voice like gravel as his shadows swarm your body, and you snarl as the hand that was pinning your throat to the desk drops to the hem of your shirt. Before you have a chance to counter he’s lowered to your neck, hair having fallen back onto the surface so he has plenty of room as his shadows shove your face to the side.

You inhale sharply as his teeth graze the sensitive expanse, grip tugging on his hair to get him closer, eager to have him working his mouth over the intimate area. “Hurry up,” you hiss, eager to be rid of the burning heat as soon as possible.

“I’ll go at whatever pace I like,” he replies darkly before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave more than just a mark in his wake. A noise of pleasure seeks to slip from your mouth as he palms at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as he targets a spot just beneath your ear, kissing down your neck as he makes his way to your collar bones, littering your skin with deep bite marks that will surely remain for days, even with accelerated healing.

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that,” you pant, putting as much venom into your voice as you can manage, thighs tightening around his hips so you can feel him more acutely, the thick length of him rubbing over your centre. “And you’re turned on by that?” He counters sharply with a hungry glint in his eyes.

Heat flushes your skin as you make to deny his claim, but his shadows have been untying the laces of your trousers making it easy for him to roughly grip the waistband and shove the material away, dragging it over your thighs and off past your ankles, leaving you with only your underwear to conceal your lower half. “Slow down,” you snarl, searching for a way to regain control of the situation. You hate that he’s the one in charge.

Azriel grips the underside of your thighs, guiding them to wrap snugly around his hips again as his hand slips beneath your shirt again, settling over your breast, fingers skimming your nipple tauntingly. “Hurry up. Slow down. Which one is it?” He goads, something that looks too close to male satisfaction passing through his expression for you to stand. Your lip curls and before you can second-guess yourself you’ve spat at him.

He freezes for a moment, motion halting and you find yourself holding your breath, keeping entirely still beneath him. Waiting for the storm to break.

Fury engulfs his eyes, features twisting in a snarl as he grips your jaw, fingers squeezing at the muscle as he forces your mouth open, spitting down between your lips. Your eyes widen as arousal flutters violently in your lower abdomen, unable to help the way your hips buck as you swallow. Sadism glints in his hazel eyes, his own arousal beginning to filter through into your lungs but to your surprise you don’t hate it.

“Like that?” He croons lowly, leaning over you while still gripping your jaw, eyes dark and dangerous yet there’s an unmistakable heat that he’s not quite able to entirely suppress. Rage pierces through your mind and your palm smacks across his cheek, nails catching on his brow and temple as you snarl lowly. “Try that again,” you hiss in warning, “I’m not against walking out right now if you pull something like that again.”

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” he replies icily, syllables dragging from his throat.

“Prick,” you snarl.

“Brat,” he bites back.

You make to smack him again but his shadows snare your wrists faster than you can blink, slamming them painfully back onto the table, the impact ringing through your bones but you refuse to show your wince. You open your mouth to hiss something at him—what, you haven’t yet decided—but the intention dissolves on your tongue as you feel him cup you through your underwear. Heat unravels in your lower stomach, liquefying into a torrent as arousal breaks all at once across your skin and you find yourself breathless. Cruel, dark hazel eyes pierce into yours, watching intently as he rests the heal of him palm over the apex of your thighs, his middle finger running tauntingly over your entrance, applying a light pressure to the dip between your legs.

Male satisfaction is written across his features but you find you can’t think of anything to knock it away: your hands are pinned, your legs slung over his hips, and you’re in no state to control the small amount of magic you possess. Azriel’s mouth remains in a loathsome cut, but you can still make out that heat in his gaze, the slight ember that’s the cause of this whole mess—you wonder how clearly it’s showing in your own eyes.

“Nothing to say?” He asks lowly over your mouth, silky hair brushing against your brow like a tender caress—the gentlest touch either of your will ever share between one another, and entirely unintended. “Don’t worry,” he rasps coldly, thumbing your underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel his cock slide through the wetness that’s coalesced between your thighs. “I’ll make sure to fuck the brat out of you.”

“At least my negative traits can be removed,” you manage to hiss out ruefully, wishing to be able to rake your nails across his skin somehow. “There’s no changing what you are.”

You don’t need to remind him of your earlier comment. He’s been hearing the words repeat through his mind since you spat them out: Illyrian scum.

Icy fury glitters in his gaze, fingertips biting bruises into your hips as he lines himself up and swiftly pushes in, the entrance made almost effortless by how wet you are; you’re somewhat relieved when he makes no comment about it.

Your spine arches helplessly, lips parting as he pushes in, filling you up in a way you hadn’t anticipated or even considered. Satisfying the ache that had been thrumming between your legs, giving you something long and thick to squeeze. Your only saving grace is that he seems to be as breathless as you are, brow lowered to the top of your sternum, lips grazing between your breasts as his hands remain firmly on your hips. From another angle you’d think it looked reverent, but then you’d also look in the heights of pleasure, and no matter how Azriel might be able to make you feel physically, there’s no removing the guttural hatred that burns between you.

“Move,” you whisper, panting softly. “Move.”

His wings twitch almost imperceptibly at his back, then he’s dragging himself upright, pulling away from you to stand to his full height as he looms above. You swallow thickly, having enough sense to squeeze your thighs around his hips, legs locking as you urge him to move; to give more. “Hold still,” he breathes, and your muscles instinctively relax, giving him room to shift.

“So you can follow orders,” he muses lowly, holding you tight as he draws back.

“Fuck o—” you begin to say, but he rolls his hips firmly to yours and your head tips back onto his desk, falling to the side as his cock rubs so delightfully against you, pleasure brimming at your edges from being so full, so spread out. He doesn’t give you time to recover. After another firm roll of his hips, as if testing you out, he finds his rhythm instinctively. Hard, punishing movements that allow him to pound into you, shoving the breath from your lungs as he repeatedly slams into you.

Your spine arches, writhing on his desk as you tug at the shadowy constraints, desperate noises being forced from your chest as his cock drives into you over and over again, thoughts practically falling out of your mind as it turns to mush beneath the utterly overwhelming onslaught of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can concentrate only on the purest part of the sensations, zero in on the flutter of arousal between your legs, the rightness of being so full up, of having him pressed so tight between your thighs.

You allow yourself to fall deeply into the pleasure, allow yourself to be washed away entirely, submerged in the heated waters as you keep just enough of a hold on him to prevent your legs from falling off the desk. A moan slips from between your lips as your control begins to disintegrate, content to bask in the pleasure and forget who’s providing it. Azriel doesn’t make it that easy, though.

“Things would be so much better if you just learned to shut up and take it sooner,” he mutters down at you, shadows crawling leisurely over your body, pushing the fabric of your top up over your chest so their master can watch as your figure moves with each of his thrusts. Pleasure blossoms as his darkness teases the sensitive peaks of your breasts, pinching and playing with your nipples, and you try to dig your nails into your palm, teeth pushing into your lower lip to keep the noises from becoming louder.

“You’re so well-behaved now,” he muses lowly, and even if his expression wouldn’t show his pleasure, you can hear it the rich timbre of his voice, the satisfaction he’s feeling at getting you to shut up. “So docile,” he taunts, and your eyes snap open to shoot him a furious glare for trying to disrupt your pleasure. For succeeding. But no sooner than you open your eyes, his thumb presses over your clit and any resistance is utterly obliterated.

Azriel hadn’t anticipated how it would feel however, how your body would respond to the intimate kind of stimulation he was subjecting you to, and is unable to bite down on the rough groan that drags viscerally from his chest as you tighten around him, as if trying to pull him deeper so he’ll never leave.

The both of you are near your breaking point though neither wants to admit it. But the signs are there. Your panting breaths, the gleam on his skin, the heat to your cheeks, the tension in his body—it’s all there for the other to read. He rubs against a spot and despite subduing your reaction he somehow knows where to aim, targeting it repeatedly as his thumb soothes over your clit, the pad sliding effortlessly over top from the slick that’s coating the both of you. It’s so much that your discipline slips for a moment. “Azriel…”

It’s softer than a breath, quieter than a whisper, but he hears it. Of course he hears it. And he finds that he likes the way you moan his name. Especially while getting to take his tension out on you so roughly. It’s probably more satisfying than any method he could have thought up on his own.

His grip tightens on your hips, angling them slightly upright as he leans over you. “Say that again,” he commands quietly, but firmly. An intensity in his demand that has your throat rolling. You don’t want to, but you can feel his concentration piercing down on you, the intensity of his focus weighing so heavily that you feel like your skin is prickling.

“Piss off,” you manage to get out, but you can feel how swiftly release is gathering, how close you are to that wonderful high that will knock you clean from your feet.

For a moment he continues with his punishing movements, but it seems like he’s committed now. You hadn’t fully understood what it would mean to have his entire attention upon you, but when he roughly rips you from his desk, jerking you up against his chest as he turns the two of you around so your back is shoved up against his wall, you feel the consequences dawn on you.

From this position you’re forced so much closer, the physical intimacy catching you off guard as your breasts press flush to his chest, staring into cold hazel eyes that can be no more than a few inches from your own, able to feel each puff of breath that’s expelled from his body as it brushes over your lips. He takes up all of your vision, wings flared slightly at his back as shadows crawl up your body, pinching at your nipples, pressing against your clit as his hips buck roughly to your own and you feel yourself unravel.

The orgasm pulses through your body once, before crashing down on you in its entirety, and your mouth parts in silent ecstasy.

His hand slides through your hair, your own having found their place on his shoulders, and he angles your head so you’re forced to look at him. “Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours, and your world is thawed enough that you yield.

“Az…riel…”

A heavy sigh warms your mouth, then his teeth grit, head dropping to your shoulder as you feel him find his release. Your hips buck, hands grappling to reach over his shoulders, pulling him into you as the waves of pleasure continue to pulse through your body, muscles turning custard-like beneath the overpowering sensations. Reaching weakly over his back, you have enough energy to lightly skim the pads of your fingers over the ridges of his wings, and if it wasn’t for his proximity to you, you’re almost certain you would have missed the soft moan that involuntary parts from his lips. He tenses briefly, the only sign that he was caught off guard before his teeth settle over your shoulder, biting lightly at the side of your throat.

Breaths pant between you as you ride out the aftershocks, basking in the waning pleasure for a few moments longer before your hold relaxes on him, and he steps back, hands still keeping your hips pinned to the wall despite your feet now being on the ground.

You bite back a hiss as his cock leaves you feeling slightly cold and empty, but you’d rather take a near-lethal dose of faebane than tell him that. His gaze meets yours and for a second you’re unsure what you could possibly say to one another. But his expression remains cold, your own features shifting habitually towards neutrality.

“You have until tomorrow morning to redo the report,” he mutters, already having his clothes back in place as his shadows push your trousers to your stomach, and your hands wrap around the bundle of fabric.

“Want me to write a report on this, too?” You reply, relieved that the heat is beginning to cool, sensing you’re back in control of yourself.

His brow narrows, the hollow beneath darkening with loathing. “You’re more trouble that you’re worth,” he mutters, stepping back to give you space.

You meet his icy gaze, a sharp glint in your own as victory sparks darkly across your chest.

“Liar.”

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

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az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel smut #azriel x reader smut #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses

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stormhearty · 2 days

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✨ pairings: Azriel x Reader, former Lucien x Reader

🔮 preview: He had always noticed you — your pain, your anguish. You had seen him too, but you had thought he had always just tolerated you — you were his High Lady’s friend, of course. But when Azriel found out that your suffering had been due to an unfulfilled mating bond with the youngest Vanserra son, he couldn’t ignore your pain. His shadows also couldn’t ignore your pain. You noticed that the Shadowsinger started to grow closer to you, and you to him — but was it nothing but a duty for his High Lady… Or was it due to feelings that were always hidden in the shadows?

📣 trigger warnings: fainting 🔎 rating: PG-13 | 🔏 word count: 6.6k

💜 masterlist + notes: This is a one-shot sequel to the “Nothing But A Curse” Lucien x Reader fic, but it can be read as a standalone! I needed some happy ending for my reader, and some people have wished for a fluff Azriel fic. So why not kill two birds with one stone? Also based on this little gif, just imagine how tender Az is in this fic with how he holds the reader. I do hope you all enjoy this!

A sob wracked your body, your thin form shaking due to the pain, the heels of your palms pressing onto pristine marble. The wind blew through your hair, helping soothe the nauseating feeling that bubbled in your stomach. You pinched your eyes closed as you focused on your breathing.

In and out.

You didn’t care what was going around you — didn’t care that the reception was still in full bustle downstairs, didn’t care that you could hear the happy congratulations for the newlywed couple.

Didn’t care that the chance of happiness was ripped away from you.

You let out a shaky breath, your whole body shivering at the action as your stomach finally started to settle and your body wasn’t paralyzed due to your illness and the pain. With languid movements, you moved to attempt to sit on your claves when your body swayed, lightheadedness clouding your mind.

At this point, you didn’t care if you passed out — didn’t care if anyone didn’t find you. All you wanted was to be in peace, to be free from your pain.

But it seemed that wish couldn’t even be granted.

Cool tendrils of darkness wrapped around your middle and up your arms, steading your wavering movement. You allowed those whisps of darkness to ground you, letting out a sigh of relief — those tendrils cooling your heated skin, distracting you from the pain as you bowed your head, pressing your forehead to the cool marble.

“(Y/N)…”

Azriel.

“… I’m sorry you had to see me like this Azriel…” you croaked out, a broken and self-deprecating chuckle escaping your chapped lips.

You were found in such a compromising position that you felt the trickle of humiliation bubbled in your throat. You didn’t know whether to cry or laugh anymore — it didn’t matter anymore.

You had become so broken… so tired, that nothing made sense anymore. You had no idea why you were still on the ground like this, you had no idea why you were still in so much pain, why you still felt like you couldn’t breathe — those damned flowers that filled your lungs depriving you of the luxury of breathing. You didn’t know why you even felt embarrassed anymore… Mor, Feyre, and Rhysand had seen you in similar states — where your illness takes you. And so why would you be humiliated if Azriel sees you?

It didn’t matter anymore.

You didn’t care anymore.

Another mixture of a sob and chuckle escaped your lips as you tried to push your body to a sitting position, only for your arms to give up halfway, your form about to crumble onto the floor. Gentle hands caught your body, your cheek pressed against leathers as your body slumped against Azriel’s.

Your body pinched with pain, a grunt escaping your lips as bright hot flashes of pain burst behind your eyes. Oh, how your body ached — whether it be from being in one position for far too long, or just the echo of pain from your illness, from the unfulfilled mating bond gnawing throughout your body — you couldn’t tell anymore.

You couldn’t care anymore.

Those gentle hands, ones you could feel callouses and scars against your own, gently helped you into a proper sitting position — moving your body to sit on your bottom, your back pressed against the railing. You felt those tendrils of shadow dance against your skin, especially where Azriel’s hands lay — as if the contact between you made them swirl excitedly.

Your mind couldn’t dwell on such a thought, as another shock of pain coursing through your body, a whimper escaping your lips as your back stiffened. You felt that bellow of pain rising in your lungs, the inevitable feeling of nausea, and the taste of flowers building in the back of your throat.

You couldn’t understand why the pain and your illness hadn’t subsided — Lucien was long gone, happily celebrating with his new wife, leaving you behind.

Was it because you were still thinking about it? Was it because his scent was still lingering around you? It was hard to tell — but all you wanted was for it to stop.

Whorls of shadow slithered up your arms and shoulders, frantic in their movements, as if distressed by your pain. They slithered over your eyes, the cool feeling calming the raging ache and pound of the pain that flooded your system. Some others curled around your neck, while others remained swirling up your arms and legs, attempting to distract you.

It worked… slowly, but the pain was still there.

But when those scared hands came up to cup your cheek, the pain melted away and your body slumped against those railings, feeling his other hand gently wrap around your back, pressing against the middle of your back — as if to catch you from completely passing out.

“…Az…” you whispered his name, one that was full of relief and comfort.

There should be millions of things that raced through your head — why did your pain stop, with Azriel’s touch? Why was he so worried about your condition? Why were his shadows so attached to you?

But all you could think about was how the pain… stopped.

Your body ceased and relaxed, your lungs allowing you to breathe, gaining your consciousness back.

Eyes fluttered open, blinking away the dark spots at the corners as you stared up into hazel eyes — ones that were filled with worry, as they stared back at yours.

“…I’m fine…” you slowly comforted him, reaching up with shaking hands as your head lulled back, feeling his fingers slip around your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you gently in his grasp. You pressed your palm against his cheek, feeling his skin cool against your touch.

“…I’ll be fine…” you muttered, the same three words repeating themselves over and over again as if a mantra that you had trained yourself to tell people. You felt darkness creep at the corner of your eyes — and you were unsure if it was his shadows or your subconscious finally giving out on you.

But it didn’t matter, as you felt your body pass out in Azriel’s arms, his voice calling out to you.

“(Y/N)!”

He brought you close, shifting his body weight so he could pull you onto his lap, your body across his own, hazel eyes assessing you. He watched as your breaths evened out — not the staggard, painful gasps you were in moments earlier — but one of calm and serenity. His shadows glided over your skin, assessing you as well, as if they needed confirmation that you were anything but hurt.

Safe, she’s safe, just passed out.

She was in so much pain… so sad, so broken.

Her illness is bad… so bad.

They all repeated, crying out and wailing at how distraught you were not too long ago.

He stared at your face, calloused hands gently shifting your locks away from your face so he could gaze at your features.

Azriel could tell that your sickly complexion had worsened over the past few years. Whatever illness that has taken you, had taken away your radiance, youthfulness, and innocence. And what it had left behind was a shell of your former self — you didn’t smile to your eyes anymore, didn’t laugh with your whole heart… didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve.

You placed walls around your heart — both physical and mental. You never left your room, aside from the occasional family dinner that his High lady had all but begged you to come to. Or when his High Lord had brought you out during Starfall, insisting that you would feel better after the festivities. Or when Mor practically dragged you out of your room, hoping to help her find a good Winter Solstice gift for the family.

Other than when those three pulled you out, you had remained in your room — alone.

He didn’t know anything about your illness. It had remained a secret between those three — not even Cassian or the Archeron sisters knew what illness plagued your mind, soul, and heart. When he had asked his High Lord once, Azriel watched those violet hues darken — a protective nature radiated from Rhysand at the question about your illness.

“You will not ask about her illness ever again… All you have to know is that (Y/N) is unwell… We are doing our best to care for her.”

Was the answer that Azriel got from the High Lord. Even his High Lady shook her head lightly, begging him to think nothing of it.

He couldn’t understand why they had to protect the truth from him, he was worried for your health, for your safety. He watched day in, and day out how this unknown illness had taken away your beauty — both inside and out. He watched as your ethereal features dull, how your eyes tend to look so far away that Azriel was afraid you’d never return to the present. How you’d look at him and give him that small simper of a smile, one that didn’t shine with happiness.

Azriel watched as you lost yourself in your pain, your anguish.

“Oh (Y/N)… what kind of illness has taken you so deep in the darkness that all you know is pain?” he couldn’t help but whisper, gently caressing your cheek.

“—- A kind of illness that connects two souls in a mating bond but never to have that bond be reciprocated back…”

His shadows fled from your body, slithering away into the shadows, as his back stiffened slightly as he snapped his head over his shoulder to the threshold of the balcony entrance — Feyre.

Hazel hues looked at his High Lady, as those sapphire eyes stared at him with a delicate raise of her brow. Azriel watched those all-knowing eyes shifting from him to the female in his arms, watching them soften — worry and sadness filling those sapphire pools.

“Did she hurt herself when she passed out?”

His mouth felt dry and all he could do was shake his head. Azriel swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to regain his voice again, “—- I was able to catch her before she fell…”

Feyre’s gaze shifted back to him, “…Why were you here, Azriel? We had specifically stated no one was allowed here…”

He felt his grip on your body tighten slightly, his shadows slithering back out towards their master, wrapping themselves up your legs and arms in a soothing fashion.

“…I was not the one who broke that rule, Feyre,” he stated, keeping his voice as even as possible, even though he felt anger bubble in his chest, “Both Lucien and Elain had entered this room before I did. They had done something before I had come in… When I did, (Y/N) was already hunched over in pain.

“I couldn’t just leave her here to deal with it herself… Am I right?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, hazel eyes staring into his High Lady’s as he watched her contemplate, her head eventually shaking — a sigh of resignation escaping her lips. Feyre glanced back down at your form before she gestured with her hand for Azriel to stand up, “…Bring her back inside, she will get a fever if she stays out there for too long.”

With such a command, Azriel heaved himself onto his feet, carrying you bridal-style back inside the warmed room. His shadow slithered from his feet and locked the door behind him. They glided back across marble floors and up the bed as Azriel laid you down. Both he and Feyre watched as they wrapped themselves around you, Azriel hearing them echo softly on their wishes for you to get better, to wake up from your slumber.

“… She has a disease that kills her from the inside…”

Hazel eyes snapped up to his High Lady, eyes wide as he watched her sit at the edge of the bed, reaching over to hold your hand.

The confession was quiet but still so deafening that he felt the wind knocked from his lungs.

(Y/N)… is dying…??

Azriel looked at Feyre, hoping for her to elaborate more, trying to catch her eye. He watched as a tiny simper of a smile tugged on her lips, her gaze shifting from you to him. He could tell that she was a breath hesitant to tell your story — especially since you were sound asleep, healing from your relapse.

But all he wanted was to help — and Feyre saw that.

Another sigh escaped his High Lady’s lips before she gently caressed your hand, her sapphire hues dimming as she told your story.

“Do you remember the day, when my sisters were doused into the Cauldron? When Lucien and Elain were made into Cauldron-bound mates?”

How could Azriel forget?

That day had been emotionally and physically taxing to everyone — they weren’t able to break the Cauldron from the clutches of Hybern and the Archeron sisters were forcibly drowned in the Cauldron, taking them away from the mortal life and forced into living as immortal fae.

But he also remembered how broken (Y/N)… And no one knew why.

He didn’t know what was going on, even his shadows barely whispered what happened behind the doors of your room. Azriel wanted to help. But how could he? When he barely knew what was going on with you. His High Lord and Lady keeping everything about you a mystery.

Cobalt blue hues stared into sapphire ones as Feyre continued her monologue.

“…We didn’t know until she told us. She had kept it to herself for months until I noticed it,” Feyre whispered, her voice shaking as hands gently gripped your own, “The cauldron blessed Lucien with two mating bonds—-”

Azriel’s eyes widened.

Two mating bonds? For the Vanserra son?

“—-But Lucien only felt the one with Elain… (Y/N)… Has suffered for months from an unfulfilled mating bond. Me and Rhysand had asked everyone in secret — Helion, even Thesan and Kallias, if they knew anything of her illness… And we only found one line:

“A devastating illness that, if a mating bond is not found nor completed, will force flowers to grow inside the person’s body, slowly suffocating them from the inside. They are practically dying without your mate’s love.”

Azriel’s head spun as he tried to piece together what his High Lady had told him.

You were in a mating bond… with Lucien Vanserra, but he had only felt the golden bond with the middle Archeron sister. And because of the mating bond you had with Lucien, an uncomplete mating bond at that, you had been suffering — for months — from a rare disease… that is slowly killing you from the inside.

Azriel felt his fingers dig into the mattress, curling around the soft comforter.

“…And no one bothered to tell that bastard about his bond with her?”

Teary sapphire hues looked at his own and his High Lady shook her head.

“—- She wished for us not to tell him. She said, in her own words—-

“There is no point in telling him. He does not feel it anyway… He is in love with her, his eyes have never left hers.”

The Shadowsinger felt a pang in his chest, the whispered resignation. The fact that you had given up already without even trying.

All Azriel wanted to do was find the Vanserra son and yell at him for not noticing— your pain, the bond… for not noticing you out of all people.

And how dumb the Vanserra son was for not doing so.

Azriel had always noticed you. He had always watched you as you stood at his High Lady’s side, as her best friend and confidant.

How could he not notice you?

“… And you didn’t want to tell your family about her condition because—-”

“—-It was her choice to make. Everything was her choice. We tried Azriel. Myself, Rhysand, and Mor had tried for years to get her to open up, to tell everyone about her deathly illness. But she wanted to remain in silence… to suffer it alone. And we followed her wishes. You cannot lecture me on what I did not do, Azriel… I wanted to help her, I have been trying to help her. But her choices were her’s alone… And all I could do, as her friend and confidant, was to be there for her… To help her with the pain.”

Teeth bit into lower lip as eyes averted Feyre’s and returned to yours. Azriel watched as your chest rose with every breath you took; on how your complexion got better — how your cheeks dusted with a light pink color, blood returning into them; and how your expression was one of tranquil.

Azriel couldn’t bear to see your face contort into something so pained — to one that he had seen earlier. His heart hurt at the sight of you, hunched over in so much pain. If he had to see it again —-

He couldn’t handle it.

“… What can we do?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Feyre shook her head.

“… We’ve tried everything. No magic or potion could help her, nothing to stop the illness from killing her. It’s the damned mating bond that is doing this to her.”

“—- What if she—-”

“If you suggest breaking the mating bond, Azriel, then I can assure you we suggested that. Helion advised us not to do so… If she breaks it, she will die right there and then. It has such a strong grip on her soul, that without it, she is nothing…”

Azriel cursed under his breath.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like the fact that they were all going to sit around and do nothing, while this damned curse took your life. He wasn’t someone to be so passive — especially when someone’s life was slowly being taken away from them.

Eyes drifted to his shadows, ones that were gently caressing your arms and moving your hair away from your face. He heard their whispers, begging their master to help you — to save you from your pain, anguish… and loneliness.

His brows furrowed — why were his shadows so attached to you? There were moments in the past few years when his shadows and you interacted. Small moments when they would slide away from him, without him knowing, and they’d be wrapped around your leg or arm, laughter tugging from your lips.

Azriel would apologize profusely for those moments, and you would give him a bright smile, shaking your head.

“I like them… They’re not scary at all, they’re sweet..”

It had taken him aback multiple times — people were usually afraid of his shadows, especially those who were unfamiliar with them. And yet, you were unfrighten by the tendrils of darkness.

Every time you and Azriel were in a room, he watched as his shadows zipped through the room to wrap around your legs, earning a laugh from you. He’d look on with something pulling at his chest before it would go away when he summoned his shadows back.

The two of you would make eye contact, you smiled at him before turning away to do whatever you were doing.

As time went on, those moments would become smaller — especially after the Cauldron incident.

And now Azriel knew why.

With one last look towards you and his shadows, Azriel had a set determination in his cobalt hues.

A groan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering open, blinking away the darkness from your vision before you stared up at the ceiling of your room. You didn’t even know what to feel at that moment.

Your mind was just — empty.

You didn’t know whether to be sad or to cry.

Or to be angry at the Mother.

But you didn’t have any energy to do so.

Your illness to every ounce of your being.

And besides, there was no reason to do any of that… You were far too used to your illness taking over you.

“…(Y/N)…”

Your head snapped towards your left, not even realizing someone was in your room. Your hues locked onto cobalt ones.

“…Azriel…” you croaked out, your voice dry.

You attempted to sit up, your body screaming at you from your movement. All you wanted to do was flop back down, to let your bed take you; but when you felt a dip in the bed and gentle hands wrapped around your shoulders, helping you into a sitting position, your head looked up to watch Azriel’s features contort into concentration.

And you couldn’t help but let out a breathless chuckle.

“…I’m guessing Feyre told you…?” you asked him, your breath nothing but a whisper.

You felt his hand stiffen on your shoulder, and you watched as his shadows leave his side, whirling around in slight panic before zipping back onto your side, as if trying to apologize. A small smile tugged on your features as you glanced up at the Shadowsinger, who looked at you with a worried gaze.

“Don't look like that, Az…” you murmured, resting against the headboard with a sigh, eyes fluttering closed, “Everyone is bound to know… I'm not mad at you anyway…��

His hand slipped away from your shoulders, but you could still feel his presence next to you. You felt those tendrils of shadow slither up your arms and legs, gently caressing your skin.

“—- Are you okay…?”

The question hung in the air momentarily, as you tried to figure out what to say for such a heavy question. You debated — whether to tell your usual answer: I’m fine….

Or to tell the truth.

“—-No, I'm not okay…”

The impact of your answer weighs heavily in your chest, the ache of the bond and your heart resonating through your mind and body.

How long has it been since you accepted that you were not okay? How long has it been since the curse-of-a-bond that you've voiced that you were not okay?

Tears lined your eyes and you tried to blink them away. You couldn't cry, not when Azriel was in your room. You could cry in private — like you've always done.

When a tear slipped down your cheek, you reached up to wipe it away but a scarred hand cupped your cheek to wipe it away.

Your eyes locked onto cobalt ones, your breath held in your chest.

“…It's okay, (Y/N)… You can cry with me.”

The dam burst and a sob escaped your lips, your hands coming up to press against your eyelids as you cried.

Cried about the pain.

Cried about your illness.

Cried about the bond.

Cried about everything.

You felt the dip of the bed again, and gentle and warm arms enveloping you in an embrace and all you could do was lean over, resting your head on Azriel’s shoulder as you sobbed for the rest of the night.

“I don't feel like it Az…” you muttered, fingers gripping the skirt of your dress as you stood at the threshold of the gardens.

Eyes glanced up at the bright afternoon skies before they shifted to the fae standing before you, his hand stretched out for the taking.

It had been a few months since Lucien and Elain’s wedding. A few months after Azriel had found you bent over in pain from your cursed illness.

And a few months after Azriel had seemed to weave his way into your life.

Every day, since that day, Azriel had been visiting you in your room — whether to bring your meals, sit in each other’s presence, or, much like today, coax you out of your room.

You had opted to lock yourself in your room since the reception, not wanting to run into the newlywed couple who had decided to stay at the River House for now. You had desperately wished to remain wrapped in your bubble — you didn’t want to hurt anymore.

But it seemed that Azriel wouldn’t let you do that to yourself.

“…You need fresh air, (Y/N)…” he sighed, “You know—-”

“—-I can’t be holed up in my room forever… I know…” you finished the sentence for him, and you watched as a tiny smile tugged on his ethereal features before he schooled into a stern one, moving his hand slightly to indicate for you to take it.

Teeth bit into your lower lip, looking up at him through your lashes, hoping to get away from your daily dose of sunshine, but the look on Azriel’s face said everything — you were not going to get away so easily.

With a resigned sigh you reached over and slipped your hand in his and a soft smile tugged on his lips as he gently tugged you past the threshold of the large doors to the garden, pulling you close to him as he tucked your hand into the crook of his arm, like the gentleman he was. You felt his shadows slip over your shoulders, acting like a light cooling shawl in the middle of the afternoon. A soft chuckle escaped your lips feeling them curl around your form, the tendrils tickling your skin.

You were so preoccupied that you didn’t notice the soft look in Azriel’s features as he watched you with his shadows.

Another sigh escaped your lips, one of contentment as your eyes fluttered close, allowing the wind and fresh air to take over you, allowing Azriel to lead you through the gardens. You had felt so comfortable being around Azriel the past few months. It felt so natural to grow closer to him — especially since his shadows always seek you out. Your illness seemed to minimize as the time you spent with him grew — that golden bond in your chest slumbering peacefully inside of you.

As if the bond knew that Azriel was someone that you could be safe with — someone you were meant to be around.

And that confused you so much.

You had thought that the bond would sing when you were near your mate — you had hoped that it would do so when you were around Lucien; however, pain and that damned illness was the only thing that came from your wish of being mated to Lucien.

And yet, being with Azriel was much the opposite.

You were happy.

You were content.

You were safe.

You felt him pause mid-step and you tilted your head, eyes opening to look at him. Your eyes locked with his own as he surveyed you momentarily, “…I called your name a few times, (Y/N)… Are you okay?”

A smile tugged on your features and you nodded, “I’m fine… Just content right now…” You slipped your hand from the crook of his elbow and slowly moved to the nearby garden bench. Sitting down with a sigh, you leaned back, eyes staring at the bright blue skies. The sun was high in the sky and she was about to cover her eyes from the bright light when Azriel hovered over you from behind the bench, successfully protecting you.

“Thank you Az…” you hummed out and all the Shadowsinger did was give a hum.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence, allowing the fresh air to consume you. You can’t help but always be glad that Azriel makes you go outside, to bask in the sun and wind.

“It seems that you are having fewer flare-ups of your illness…” his voice reached your ears.

A hum escaped your throat, nodding as your eyes fluttered close, “I think… it’s because I haven’t been near him as much anymore…”

“—- That might be true… But what if it’s a whole different reason…?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes blinking open to look up at him; who, in turn, was looking at you intently with those cobalt hues. The silence between you, now, was suffocating. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you shifted, standing on your feet as you turned to face him.

“…What are you trying to say, Az…?” you felt your voice was shaking, your whole body was.

Azriel stepped around the bench to face you properly, his body close to yours as he looked down at you.

“What if I was your mate?”

It was as if your whole world stopped right in front of your eyes — a ringing echoed in your ears and it seemed that the world became silent. You faltered, stepping back as Azriel reached to steady you on your feet, his hand grasping your forearm.

“—…What—- What do you mean by that?”

Cobalt hues looked at you with sadness and pity, and most of a twinkle of hope resided in the depths of those pools.

“…I talked with Helion recently,” he breathed out, trying to formulate words to explain his revelation, “—-And he said that mating bonds are not all the same. Some bonds radiate and sing, so to speak, when they’re near their mates. Some bonds can be a physical connection, allowing them to tug and pull at the string. Others — and Helion thinks this is what you, we, have — enable them to feel comfortable with their mate.

“I talked it over with Feyre and Rhysand…” he gently held your hand in his, those cobalt hues looking down at him as his thumb gently caressed your knuckles before they locked onto yours. You felt your breath get caught in your throat, and you waited for him to continue, “We believe you were hurting because you thought Lucien was your mate. You felt it with your whole being, and your bond did not like that — that is where your illness came from—-”

Your mind raced. The ringing in your ears started to grow and you could barely listen to the other words that Azriel was telling you.

Your mate wasn’t Lucien.

All these years, your pain was because your golden string wasn’t tied to Lucien — but Azriel instead.

Azriel noticed your eyes were out-of-focus, and he gently cupped your cheek, watching them focus up at him.

“—… Have you noticed how my shadows adore you?”

The question brought you back, feeling those tendrils of shadow gently caress your skin, soothing the anxiety that was slowly building in your chest.

“—- They knew, (Y/N)…” he whispered, lifting your intertwined hands to press a kiss on your knuckles, “They knew we were mates… even before I knew. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I never realized… But I’ve always noticed you, I’ve noticed your pain, I’ve noticed your happiness. When your eyes with wrinkle with happiness when you laugh, or when you’d hide in your room when you’re suffering.”

Cobalt hues stared into yours, gently squeezing your hands. Your breath picked up, waiting for your illness to burst — something to wake you up from this wonderful dream. Your mind couldn’t keep up.

That all this time.

You had a mate.

“…How long have you’ve known…?” you whispered, fear in your voice.

Were you not good enough before?

Why did Azriel not tell you?

Why did he let you suffer that long with your illness?

“—-Not that long…” he said, voice desperate to have you understand, seeing your mind turn with negative thoughts, “I would have never let you suffer this long, (Y/N). After the wedding…”

You felt yourself stiffen at the memory, the pain echoed through your body.

“I couldn’t—-I couldn’t let you be in pain again…” he whispered, gently pulling you closer to him, his forehead pressing against yours. You felt his breath against your face, warm and comforting.

The shadows that were resting against your skin, swirling excitedly at the contact between the two of you. A light giggle escaped your lips at the movement, eyes moving back up to look up at Azriel, whose gaze was soft and loving.

It threw you off for a breath.

You never realized on how Azriel looked at you. You never noticed him.

But it seemed he had noticed you.

Always.

“I went looked and looked — looked for something to help you with your pain. And when Helion suggested the comfort mate bond… I hoped that was my answer. My shadows loved you, my eyes are always looking for you… Give me a chance, (Y/N)… Let me show you that I have and always will be yours…”

“You look so much better, (Y/N)…”

You looked over your shoulder after smoothing out your Starfall dress and saw Feyre standing at the threshold of your bedroom. That gentle smile on her features told you everything that she was thinking — that she was happy, that you were finally happy.

Cheeks dusted pink as a shy smile tugged on your lips, “—-I feel better, you know?”

And you were better. You started to regain color in your complexion, you started to eat better and you were often out of your room.

The pain that you were so used to, was nothing but a distant memory of the past.

And you wouldn’t exchange this peacefulness for that.

Feyre stepped into the room, gracefully moving so she stood next to you, in front of the large mirror you were standing in front of. Her sapphire eyes looked over your form, watching how Azriel’s shadows curl around your shoulders, whisps of shadow acting like a shawl that kept you protected.

“He’s protective over you isn’t he…” she mused, amusement in her tone.

You chuckled and swirled a finger around one of the shadows that hovered over your shoulder, “—-He is quite overprotective, but so are his shadows. They haven’t left my side since Azriel started to court me…”

It was true. Ever since you agreed in giving Azriel a chance, all those months ago, his shadows had never left your side. Whenever Azriel was not around (which was rare), his shadows would stick by your side, curl around your arms and legs, as if tattoos that were imbedded into your skin.

Your eyes locked with Feyre and both of you let out a laugh, the melody echoing in your room and you could feel the shadows swirl against your skin, excited of the sound.

“Are you happy, (Y/N)?”

The question was heavy — much heavier than you had expected it to be. It was simple words, and yet, it made your chest tight. You looked at your High Lady for a moment, trying to formulate words in your mind on how you felt.

You were happy.

You were content.

And most and foremost, you were absolutely in love.

Azriel made you feel as if the whole world was in your hands. He courted you slowly but surely, made you smile and laugh. He would bring you treats from your favorite bakeries and try them alongside you, bring you to Valeris and allow you to shop to your hearts content. Azriel would be content in bringing you to the gardens where the two of you would lay on a picnic blanket and bask in each other's presence with a book in your hands. He would carry you up to the skies at night, to see if you could reach the stars above as you had told him you were in love with Valeris' skies.

He made you forget any of the pain associated with falling in love. You were on cloud nine every time you were with him.

You have Feyre a smile, one that made the stars twinkle in your eyes, “I am very happy… He makes me very happy…”

Feyre let out a content sigh before she intertwined your arms together, giving you a smile, “Well come on then… We can’t keep him waiting.”

You chuckled and allowed your High Lady to lead you out of your room and down the grand staircase of the River House. There at the bottom of the staircase, you saw your High Lord dressed in all regality. But he wasn’t the one you felt your heart thump for; next to him, Azriel stood in his suit – the color a darker shade than your own. The two of them stood conversing to one another, until Feyre decided to clear her throat, causing them to turn their heads your direction.

You watched as cobalt hues widen when they looked at you, his body stiffening before relaxing. The shadows that clung to your skin spiraled around your arms and legs, showing their excitement despite the stoic nature of your mate.

Feyre led you down the staircase, until only one step was in between you and Azriel. From the corner of your eyes, you watched a please smirk tug on your High Lady’s lips as she was in her mate’s arms, Rhysand tugging her close to her side.

“We’ll leave you two alone. Do enjoy Starfall…” Rhysand commented, mirth and laughter echoing behind the two of them as they left to join the festivities on the balcony.

Cheeks tinged with a dark pink as your fingers crinkled the skirts of your dress, only to have Azriel reach and grasp your hand within his own. He gently tugged you close, allowing you to step down that final stair until you right by his side. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he pressed a kiss on your knuckles, a simper of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

“You look absolutely stunning…” he muttered against your lips, before placing your hand at the crook of his elbow, leading you across the hall.

You watched as he leads you away from the crowded balconies, to the other side of the River House where there was little people around. Both of you stepped onto the empty balcony, the large doors closing behind you.

You were in your own little bubble, your own little world. And all you could focus on was the man that made your heart beat wildly against your chest.

“You look handsome as well, Azriel…” you complimented him and the Shadowsinger just chuckled, pressing you against his side.

“Not as stunning as you. You’re more stunning than the stars that would streak against the night sky…”

You felt your eyes roll, and you playfully shoved Azriel to the side, causing another wave of laughter from the fae. His arm wrapped around your waist again, only to maneuver you so you were looking up at him. Those cobalt hues stared down into your own and your heart thumped harder against your chest.

“Have I proven to you that I’m yours?” he whispered, pressing his forehead against your own.

A light giggle escaped your lips, your hands sliding up his arms so you can gently cup his cheeks and all Azriel did was snuggle his face against your palm, eyes closing to feel you close to him. Your eyes fluttered close, focusing on his breathing as you reached deep within you to feel that golden string – it was calm and glowing inside of you. And you only noticed it when you were with the fae in front of you. You realized, when you were around Lucien or even just thought about him, all you could think about — despite the love you felt for him — was pain, and the burn of the bond in your chest. But with Azriel, you were calm — and happy.

Eyes fluttered open and you noticed him looking at you with so much anticipation, you smiled softly up at him.

“Yes, you’ve proven that you’re mine… But also Azriel…” You leaned up and pressed a chase kiss on his lips, “I’m yours as well…”

The brightest smile tugged on his face as he leaned down to capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss as the skies above the two of you streaked with multicolored stars. The Mother above rejoicing.

👑 General Tag List: @prythianpages . @strangelygreat . @honeybeeboobaa

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #( .one shot : i'm yours )

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vincentsambershades · 3 days

Text

Grey shorts

Azriel x reader drabble

Warnings: mostly fluff, azriel teasing, suggestive

Word count: 0.4k

Soft fingers woke me by caressing the area below my bellybutton, right above the waistband of my pants. Lips I had kissed countless times were pressed in the same area and a soft laugh escaped me. My chest vibrated with every deep breath I took.

"Your morning appetites never cease to amaze me, Az..." I whispered, my voice deep from sleep. After all, it wasn't the first time he woke me like that. I let out a satisfied sigh before speaking up. "What do you have in mind for today?"

He chuckled and I felt his warm breath on my sensitive skin. I shivered and planted my hips in the mattress anticipating his response. The sweet scent of him offering me a familiar safety.

"To do the laundry for starters." I furrowed my brows. He chuckled again upon seeing my baffled and relatively annoyed expression.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I need to put some light color clothes in the wash and you've been wearing those grey sleep shorts for a while." I whined with a pleading whisper of his name. I was expecting something a bit more...pleasant. He felt my frustration and tried to soothe me through the bond. "Don't be mad. You have enough time to take another nap until I'm done with the housework." the idea was appealing but I'd rather he stay with me.

"Do you intend to make it up to me?" I cracked an eye open searching for an affirmative response. I was met with that warm hazel hue I was in love with.

He nodded and smiled sweetly. I closed my eyes again smiling smugly and settled more comfortably in our shared bed.

I lifted my hips and Azriel rewarded me with a "good girl" and an affectionate squeeze of my thigh. He pulled the shorts off me and held them tight in his clutch as he rested his weight on his elbows right above me. He kissed my neck and spoke lowly in my ear:

"There's not a single chance I'm not making it up to you now that I've seen how cute you look in those panties." I had enough time to lightly slap his arm before he gave me another kiss, on my cheek this time, and disappeared down the hallway.

I turned on my side and waited for him to return and make it up.

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lib-arts · 18 hours

Text

Cassian and Nesta 🧜‍♀️⚓️ Mermaid¡AU

art by me

NSFW comic here

#sjm #acotar #sarah j maas #sjmaas #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #nesta acosf #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #pro nesta #nesta archeron #nessian #pro cassian #cassian #cassian acosf #acosf fanart #mermay #mermaid

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toodelusionalforreality · 3 days

Text

Sanctuary

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: The mysterious bar becomes Azriel's hideaway over time. Despite his intentions, he finds himself drawn to its owner as much as the place itself.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. It's 5 in the morning and I'm sleep deprived. I've tried my best to edit it.

Word count: ~5.2k

Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

Previous Chapter: Rare

Three weeks later, Azriel stood in front of the red-bricked building again. Alone. He returned home from his latest mission, bruised and battered, and patched to perfection only a few hours ago. Madja had seen him off with an instruction—a thinly veiled order, to be precise—to take two days’ complete rest. Despite the vial of sleeping tonic he emptied in front of her strict eyes, Azriel was restless in his bed. And for some unearthly reason, he went to the one place he never thought of after that night.

The hag looked up at him with eyes so sullen and dead that for a moment, Azriel believed she had forgotten him. Then her lips stretched thinly and her eyes turned bright with excitement. Without a falter in his steps, he took a gold out of his pocket, dropped it on her desk, and reached for the doorknob. He ignored her smug gratitude as he pushed the door open.

The room looked exactly as he remembered. With its dim lighting and almost empty tables, it appeared bigger, darker, and hauntingly beautiful. Azriel went to the same corner he and his family occupied only days ago. A familiar blend of metal and spices welcomed him.

The sequence of events was reminiscent of that night. The same server tended to him with a more relaxed smile. Quiet chatter and waves of laughter filled the room. The band played music, calm and lulling, unlike the upbeat one they played that first night. For each of his emptied glasses, a filled one took its stead.

He felt filthy to have sneaked in alone in secrecy. He was exhausted. He needed a drink. It was a bar. All perfect reasons for someone visiting that place late into the night.

And yet, something felt wrong about his logic. By the time he was done, the soothing effect of the tonic and countless drinks had settled in.

The week Rita’s opened its doors again, even with its eerie elegance and overflowing liquor, Pharus couldn’t keep the crowds returning. Even his friends would never set foot in a place like this now that they had their favourite pub again, where the lights were too bright and the music was too loud. Leaving it all the more enticing to Azriel.

Time slowed down within those dark red-stoned walls. Hush fell over the room whenever the band paused between their ballads. Wines were more generous and sweeter each time he visited. Night after night, only regulars remained bearing their loyalty. The servers and bartender greeted them like an old friend with light banters.

Azriel frequented the bar in between his missions—more often than he dared to admit. Every time, he walked into the hall before he had the chance to doubt himself, went to the same table which by now had his claim on it, and Uri, his usual server, kept his glasses full while making polite conversations.

Pharus offered him refuge from his family, from his job, and from the world. Whenever he needed to recuperate in the quiet, he chose the hidden bar over the comfort of his warm bed.

His shadows embraced his new ritual with much ease. During his early visits, they ventured out to study the layout of the building, learning the nooks and crannies like they always did with every new territory. They familiarised and warmed up to the place sooner than he had expected.

They gave him company and scared away anyone who approached him, except Uri, who had grown immune to seeing them since the first night. Most days they stayed close to him, shifting on his shoulders like a cool wrap of darkness. And when eyes caught his presence, they curled around him until he became one with the dark corner.

Once in a while, they swarmed his shoulders, whispering nothing coherent, and wove around his hands until they drew his attention. But they had nothing to say or sensed no threat. Azriel believed it to be the effects of the drinks he had and noted which ones to steer away from.

His missions kept him away from Velaris often. He was even glad of this little hindrance, for he wouldn’t want his family to find out about his trysts. Over months, the routine only forged deeper into his muscles, becoming one with his mind. After every mission, before every mission, and sometimes in between, he found a reason to return to the bar.

He was stealthy about it, sneaking out only after his family retired for the night. If they knew their shadowsinger, quiet and reserved, visited a bar often, he would lose the one place he enjoyed other than his home sooner than he blinked.

Pharus was his dirty, heavenly secret.

Uri gravitated towards Azriel more than to his other customers. But he also always had stories to tell. And Azriel’s innate curiosity allowed the server to dish out gossip after gossip. The most interesting ones were of their owner. Nothing made sense about her, and yet Uri spoke of her life like it was a finished book—all chapters done and closed, with loose ends tied, pieced in perfect order.

Azriel never voiced it though, he rarely said a word. He preferred observing from the shadows, and so he did. Listened to every story Uri gave him, noticed the way the patrons perked up when N worked at the bar, and counted her footsteps on the other side of the door.

‘She is not here tonight,’ said Uri as he poured him another drink. Azriel looked up from surveying the room. ‘That’s why it’s packed.’ The server set the bottle down and slumped in one of the chairs at the table, clearly meant for more than one. ‘The moment she is out of Velaris, they come flocking in until she’s back.’

Azriel lifted a brow. How much did these people hate her or fear her if they went to such great lengths?

‘They feel powerful. It’s their version of rebellion,’ Uri continued, not realising the spymaster had gleaned that much already. He glared at the man who threatened Raya, the bartender, with a creepy smile. ‘To step in here after she humiliated them. But they don’t have the balls to do much else.’

‘Aren’t you afraid they might hurt you?’ Azriel usually limited his questions to one or none. But sometimes, his curiosity was a wretched curse.

Uri shrugged, and his lips pulled into a smirk. ‘They know she’ll hunt them down.’

Like he promised, the crowd thinned to the regulars again, the peaceful ones. After each of her trips, N tended to the bar—a sign of her return, a warning to the lurkers to crawl back to their pits.

‘Where’s she?’ Azriel had asked the server once when she didn’t show up for weeks. Even his shadows were alert to know the answer.

‘To get supplies, I guess,’ frowned Uri. For the first time, he hesitated to discuss N's errands. ‘We get tired of asking and keeping up with it. One time it’s for the bar, the other it’s for the shop, and then, there are personal reasons. And those are even harder to pry from her.’

’Shop?’

Uri toyed with the cork of a wine bottle between his fingers, eyes scanning for signs of a call from other patrons, out of habit rather than necessity. ‘Yeah, one along the banks. She has this blade business. Better than this one, really.’ Sensing Azriel's blank stare, he continued with a breathy laugh, ‘You don’t really think we get any money from this place, do you?’

‘I don’t know. Seems like a good place.’

Azriel swept a glance across the room—the elegant fissures, ambient lighting, plush seats and chairs, and beautiful shelves filled with bottles and bottles of liquor. Some would agree it had a certain charm to it.

But according to Uri, they lost a lot of their customers because of N’s rules. Many were kicked out, some with warnings, some with broken bones until the ones looking for trouble weeded out—the reason Rita’s still thrived a decade after Pharus opened, which was an ideal choice for the vain faerie folk.

What Uri called a misfortune was a blessing for Azriel, for he wouldn’t be visiting if not for the dwindling clientele.

Uri laughed. ‘You are the only good tipper we have. We barely make anything to keep the bar afloat. N pays us with her own money. From that shop. She wanted to have something simple, but Raya,’ he waved his hand in the general vicinity, ‘wanted all this, convinced her it would be good for business. N didn’t even complain. She put everything together and made a deal with Raya. She runs the place while N takes care of the expenses.’

He grew quiet with his words, his thoughts distant and his voice troubled. ‘Sometimes I don’t think she even likes it here. She prefers the quiet, you know. A bar is the last place someone like that will go looking, forget running. And here she is, taking care of one.’ After a brief breath, he added with a smile, ‘And us, too.’

Azriel had questions, but he kept them to himself. He always had other means to find out. If he wanted to.

Though sprinkled over months, others had grown accustomed to his visits. The hag stopped trying to sneak a word in as she only glanced at him, the small act still beheld a hint of eagerness. People shuffled to a different table when they spotted him at the door. Raya and Uri knew his preferences well.

Even when his missions weren’t as gruesome as the one that tempted him to find a sanctuary for himself, even when they were as mundane as a daily chore, Azriel returned. His own paradise to soothe his soul whenever the darkness began to slick in his veins.

Centuries later, longing still lingered in his chest—unknown and melancholic—a sort of emptiness that never truly faded away. A desperate call to be heard and acknowledged in the lonesome of the night.

Ripping the cool sheets off his body, Azriel got out of his bed again. He worried his visits had developed into an obsession of sorts, an addiction, as he readied himself for flight on a stormy night.

Cold seeped into the walls as he tucked himself away into the familiar corner. The golden lights from the overhead lanterns glowed warmer, but dimmer. The same scent of spices suffocated the room, sharp and intense in the thick, humid air, and yet it felt right. The patter of rain against the windows muted other sounds in the room, cocooned him in his own world, shielding him away in the solitude he had known all his life.

Loners, much like him, scattered across the space, keeping a distance from one another—the storm outside rousing a storm within their hearts and souls.

Uri sat on a stool at the bar, talking with Raya and the other server whose name Azriel never learnt. Their laughter was the only merry sound in the room. Uri split away long enough to offer Azriel his drink and returned to his friends. They seemed happy and content in their own world too.

Slowly, some made their exit after a few drinks, none too keen to linger for long. The way Raya eyed the ones still at the tables, she wanted to close soon. Azriel didn’t intend to stay either.

His shadows flitted along the edges of his wings, around his talons. They descended from his shoulders down his arms caressing, their coldness more acute than that of the weather.

Azriel opened his hands and set them on the table. The darkness wreathed around his wrists, slithered to his palms, and danced at his fingertips. They were starker and colder against the warmth of the lanterns. His eyes drifted up, just a glance, and found the door locked.

The liquor burned his throat, and Azriel closed his eyes. A fresh wave of scent hit his face—something he quite couldn’t figure out and spices. He drained the last of his drink.

The band fiddled for a moment before they began their next song, quiet and low. A voice, sweet and silky, sang along to the music. The one he had heard only once, and yet weaved into his dreams on some nights. He took a long breath and let the voice lure him—his eyes, his senses, his being.

She stood on the small dias, in the middle, among the musicians. The overhead lantern seemed to move with her voice, light shifting around her. An aura enveloped her lithe body with a golden radiance, turning her into a being of light and amber. With her eyes closed, she didn’t care if anyone listened to her song. Her weight swayed between her feet with the rhythm. Wisps of hair stuck to her wet lips that moved deliciously as she sang.

Everything faded away—the band, the patrons, the bar—except for her croon, gentler than midnight’s whispers. Even the rains lowered their cries to a murmur, letting her melody echo in the bliss of the night.

Her song told a story of love and yearning—a proclamation to her lover. Her voice held an emotion so pure and true that if he closed his eyes, if he let himself, Azriel could believe he was the one she sang to. He mused if others heard her the way he did. If they noticed the nuances of her breaths, the slight hum in between verses, the lilt at the words whenever a smile tugged at her lips.

Emotions stirred in his chest, ones he hadn’t felt in his long immortal life, ones he hadn’t known existed. Ache crept away as an ease settled in his heart, a comfort carried to him by her song. When a soft tremor shook through her voice, Azriel wondered how her throat would throb under his marred skin.

His eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a breath. He brought the glass to his lips, his hand trembling. Completely empty. He needed a drink. But he didn’t dare look up.

His shadows swayed, their movements as light as hers. They whispered in his ears as they sang with her, weaving themselves through the silences left by her breaths.

When the music ended, a quiet fell over. The sound of rain hitting the windows thrummed through the room. Slowly, with each step she took towards her office, the world emerged out of her trance.

A piece of him craved her attention. Look at me, it said, demanded, pleaded. His shadows stilled as they watched. She offered a smile to her friends at the bar before she disappeared behind that damned door.

Azriel sat there long after N was gone. Long after her voice was nothing but a phantom ringing in his ears. Listening to her footfalls above, as quiet as her breathing. Knowing he was closer to her than he had ever been watching her behind her desk or the bar.

Every secret revealed itself one way or another. In Azriel’s case, it was because of his wretched luck as a person or dumb arrogance as a spymaster.

As his family voiced their plans for the night at Rita’s, he shot down their pleas and left for Pharus after dinner, earlier than usual. Instead of finding his table empty and reserved, he was thrust back in time to that first night.

Mor’s bold red dress, Cass already with a filled glass in his hand, Feyre and Rhys in each other’s arms, Elaine’s open smile, and Nesta’s piercing gaze on her mate. Except for minor seating arrangements, the scene was uncannily the same.

Every pair of eyes at the table stared at him, expecting sudden news. Finally, realisation morphed into shock before Azriel could walk back out. He gave up hiding then.

Strolling to the table, he took the one seat his family left unoccupied. Uri immediately came to his side with his favoured drink, greeting him with a cheery, ‘Hey, you’re back!’ And explained in excruciating detail how long and often he visited.

Azriel could take the teasing and taunting of his brothers. But what he couldn’t tolerate was their plans to frequent and vet out the bar—his secret haven, to find the source that prompted the infamous shadowsinger to break out of his habits.

As each of them came up with one ridiculous reason after the other, Azriel sipped on his drink. He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. He settled in for a long night of interrogation. But he was a spymaster after all and had five centuries' worth of experience with those he called his family.

‘So you lied to us all those nights?’ Disappointment shone in Mor’s eyes as she asked, ‘When I begged you to go to Rita’s with me, you instead came here alone?’

Azriel didn’t answer. His finger trailed along the side of his glass, his eyes on the dewdrops breaking under his skin. He had grown used to the taste, the smell, and the air of the place like it was a second home already. He was acutely aware of every entry and exit point in the building, including the door in front of him. One which was perched open that night.

His shadows crawled up his shoulders, settling higher than usual, almost licking his ear. Their whispering turned incoherent again and with his family’s eyes on him, he didn’t particularly feel understanding of them. Yet they continued, growing impatient.

He felt a nip on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and looked up at Mor’s expectant eyes and then beyond her perfect blonde hair. N walked out of the office, ready to take Raya’s place at the bar. She had returned from yet another trip.

A smirk found its way onto Azriel’s lips for the knowledge he possessed, for the ins and outs he knew of her life while she had no idea of his existence. The power he held over her.

‘Now, now,’ Rhys said, his eyes sparkling. ‘Let him have a moment.’ When Azriel turned to him sharply, he glanced at N.

But not too subtle to go unnoticed. Every one of them turned to the bar, sizing up the supposed reason for his escapades. If N felt their gazes on her, she moved unbothered, as feline as ever.

And each of his friends had the same idea. Mor was the first to act on it. She headed to the counter and perched herself on a stool right in front of N.

By denying it, Azriel would dig his grave deep, and even deeper by defending N. He kept his lips sealed and eyes on the band while his shadows curled around his ears, narrating the scene.

Mor returned with a drink in her hand, spoke into Feyre’s ear, and turned to her other side, sharing her learnings with Cass. Feyre left her chair a short while after. N smiled at her the whole time she answered Feyre’s questions and made her a drink. Feyre returned. Cass shifted in his seat, ready for his turn, yet waiting to leave an ample gap in time.

Azriel stood up as Cass’s chair grated against the floor. He made a quick line to the bar and took a seat next to the one Mor and Feyre had chosen, a bit of distance between them to make it inconspicuous.

He mumbled his order under his breath, completely aware of his family’s stares on his back and the teasing laughs they didn’t bother to conceal. Soon, a drink appeared before him. Azriel didn’t look up, but he nodded. He waited long minutes for his family’s excitement to die.

‘You don’t like it?’ The question was as soft as the voice that spoke it, the words laced with tentative curiosity. Azriel lifted his eyes.

She had moved to stand in front of him. Her gaze was sharp like that first night when she studied him and his wings. Her eyes held a calmness that would terrify anyone who got too close to notice. Little specks of light reflected in them, flickering. Her hair flowed in soft waves over her shoulder, damp at the bottom from a recent shower, and yet it glowed under the golden light. Her smile was polite and a bit tight, born out of necessity. Her scent wafted to him, fresh and earthy. He wondered if she remembered him, and most did because of his shadows.

When he didn’t respond, she nodded at his drink left untouched. He lifted the glass and drank the whole thing in a gulp. A real smile appeared on her face.

‘You can tell me if you don’t like it.’ She sounded tender, like her song, unlike with that male all those nights ago. She reached for another glass and asked, ‘Want to try something else?’

Azriel nodded once. He didn’t utter a word, but didn’t take his eyes off her, either. He didn’t need his shadows to know of his family’s prying eyes and ears. A wave of darkness eased behind his back, hiding them. She placed a glass half-filled with a honey-coloured liquor. When she reached for his empty one, Azriel fisted his hands and tucked them closer to his chest.

‘Don’t worry.’ Her voice turned comforting, softer. ‘Your face is too distracting for anyone to notice that.’ Her hands returned the bottles she had taken out to prepare the orders as her eyes scanned the other patrons sitting at the far end of the counter.

Such words from a woman who only smiled at her customers like a chore. His nerves tingled from head to toe. He was glad for the drink in his hand to blame. When he looked at her, she had only a ghost of a smile, a remnant of the one she wore seconds ago.

He let out a low chuckle. He asked carefully, ‘Is that your attempt at flirting with me?’

She fixed him with a steady stare, a slight tilt to her head. ‘I’m guessing no one tells you the truth unless they get something in return.’

His breath stuck in his throat. While he spent months learning about her, however unintentionally, she unravelled him with a mere look.

With a shrug of his shoulder, he brought the glass to his lips. The drink was much sweeter than the ones he had before. When it reached his throat, the bitterness hit him, and then, the burn. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into a straight line.

Azriel wanted her to do anything but assess him. ‘Are you singing tonight?’ He gambled with the harmless one of his secrets to keep her from stumbling upon the deeper ones.

She stayed silent for a moment. Then she smiled again. ‘Are you asking me to?’

Azriel watched the lights scatter on the surface of his liquor as he toyed with the glass. He lowered his voice, wary of his family behind him, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you did.’

‘I only fill in when they need me. I’m usually in the office.’

Anyone who talked to him for the first time always caught themselves staring at his shadows. Always. But her eyes remained on his face. She only saw him, not the darkness shrouding him, not the shadowsinger. His shadows darted back and forth, wanting to reach for her and backing away. They listened when she talked and garbled words when she fell quiet.

I know, Azriel wanted to say.

A hush fell over. A few murmured before a soft cheer rippled through the air. Azriel glanced at the band as they prepared for their next number. When he turned back to her, she was looking at them. He lifted a brow. A silent question. She stared at him for a minute, a long minute. Azriel willed himself to hold her gaze. She stepped away from the bar.

He bowed his head. The last thing he wanted his family to see was the smile on his lips. After a few minutes of shuffling and trial chords, the music began. He refrained from looking over his shoulder. At his family, at her. He took a sip when her voice reverberated through the brick walls, soothing and sensual.

His heart tightened in his chest. She sang of love again. He asked her to sing, and she sang of love—naughty, brazen love. Azriel chuckled at the not-so-subtle innuendo in the lyrics. Her voice mellowed at the end of every verse, softer than a purr. He closed his eyes.

This time he didn’t stop himself from imagining how she would feel under him, if she’d sound as sweet or sweeter when she moaned for him. His shadows peeped over his shoulders. Her eyes were only on him. That damned minx knew what he was up to.

He dared to give her his attention. She smiled at him before she closed her eyes. She swayed to the music, almost imperceptible, but not to his eyes. He had watched her sing before. He knew how she moved.

Her every word was a caress to him. Her voice reached out, striking a chord in his heart that never existed until that moment. If she held his hand and led him to her home upstairs, he would follow, if only to trap himself with her in the quiet, away from the world.

She stood still for a moment with her eyes closed even after the music ended, just the way she always did. She didn’t return to him. Instead, she walked into her office and gave him a smile as she closed the door behind her.

Another few months of missions further limited Azriel from going back to Pharus. A part of him believed his brothers did it on purpose to test him. Between her strange business trips and his necessary missions, Azriel had the chance to avoid her. He embarrassed himself in front of his family to last a few centuries.

Cass and Nesta still teased him by singing her song whenever they received snark from him and didn’t have a retort. Impromptu vocalising, holding each other in their arms, eyes bulging out of their sockets as they pranced around him.

Fortunately, it was the worst they could do to him. Once he refused a healing potion and Madja muttered under her breath, ‘I bet he’d be downing it if she gave him.’ And he wondered how far the news of his non-existent affair with N spread in the court.

‘Where are you off to, brother?’ Cass would yell at his back each night he left the dinner table.

‘Far away from you,’ Azriel would mumble, ‘From all of you.’ And if he felt cheeky enough, he teased back, ‘To look at someone prettier than you.’

‘All I heard is that I'm pretty!’ Cass would shout back.

Echoes of her name rang off the walls interlaced with his family’s laughter some days and nights as he left the room with a smile on his lips.

The times he went to the bar, his brothers appeared by his side miraculously. On rare nights, they left him alone. But those nights weren’t rare enough. They sat beside him and spied the door, waiting for her to grace them with her presence.

For he was the one taunted, his family sure seemed to be more obsessed with her than he was. They invited Uri sometimes to gather ammunition against Azriel in his slow torture. If the server had shown no suspicion until then, he sure would soon.

Except for Mor, Nesta and Feyre, none of the others had talked to N. And Azriel was grateful for it. The catastrophe his brothers alone would cause if they ever met her was something Azriel tried not to imagine. The looks they shared that night still lingered in his mind.

A sigh left his lips unwarranted. Both his brothers turned to him with a look on their faces he didn’t bother to decode. The place offered Azriel peace once. And now, it was only a haunting place with a ghost, N.

The reveal of his secrets had tainted the peace of the bar, for it was crowded more and more on each visit. He could find a different hiding spot. He could go home and lie in his bed again. He wouldn’t need the scent of spices and metal of the place to lull him enough to rest peacefully later.

Uri filled his glass with a drink that looked like the one N had made for him. Even the server was glad to be anywhere but around his brothers.

One last drink.

Azriel took a long sip—not even close to how it had tasted. His shadows swarmed his shoulders, their weight pressing, as if they sensed his intentions. They did, they always did. The only ones who truly understood why he did or said anything. Maybe they had come to mourn the loss of their safe space too.

The door slid open by mere inches. Raya nudged it further with her foot as she walked in. N stepped aside. Her eyes went to someone in front of her, away from the door. Raya shimmied out with bottles in both her hands, a few tucked between her arms and chest, leaving the door open and wide behind her. Never once had she needed that much alcohol in one night before.

N leaned against the table and crossed her arms over her chest. Clad in only a simple white shirt, long and loose, and her legs bare past mid-thighs, she hadn’t planned to make an appearance that night. Her tousled hair was a graceful mess, as if she had been in bed for a while, or someone’s fingers had the pleasure of threading through them, over and over again. A darkening red scratch—thin and sharp—ran along her leg from thigh to ankle. It was fresh but healing, slowly.

Azriel didn’t blink. His brothers’ words faded as much as the rest of his surroundings. His shadows froze over his shoulders, deadly quiet unlike themselves.

Raya went back in. Then there he stood, the man N was smiling at. He leaned down and whispered in her ear before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. Close to her mouth. N shook her head and made for the stairs. She still smiled. The man trailed her, a hand on her hip and a smirk on his face. Raya walked out for the last time and closed the door behind her.

The glass in his hand dropped to the wood with a soft thud. The cool liquid sloshed inside and spilt over his fingers.

As if invisible claws clutched his heart and plunged him into icy waters, the haze deluding his senses and thoughts faded away in a blink. Every nerve in his body honed to one thought. Finally, the vision became clearer.

Azriel bared his teeth. A low growl rumbled in his chest. The incoherent whispers of his shadows finally took shape.

Mate.

taglist: @mybestfriendmademe

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar series

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crossfandomslut · 2 days

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At Peace in Your Fire (Pt. 1)

Summary: Y/n Archeron is an adaptable person. As long as there is a warm fire to breathe life into her soul, she can find strength. Even after all they've been through.

Pairing: Future Eris x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 1,400

Notes: This is my first fic ever and it is hardly proof read haha I have a lot of ideas for this story, so it will have a few parts ! There is no Eris in this chapter, but he is coming ! What do you think the reader's gift from the Cauldron will be ? Please give me lots of feedback and I hope you enjoy ! Also if anyone has a better title suggestion I'm open to them !

Credits: @enchanthings created the beautiful text divider ! And @reveriesources made the gorgeous 'comment and reblog" banner at the bottom !! Thank you both !

Y/n Archeron has always been an adaptable person. When their father lost their fortune, when their mother died, and when they were forced to move into that shitty little cabin with only one bedroom, she had remained positive. Her and her twin sister, Feyre, learned to hunt together, forage for berries, and steal bread from the baker down the road. Y/n prided herself on being fast enough to never get caught, but if there was ever a close call, Feyre was standing by with a distraction- usually a rodent she would release to run into the house and cause chaos.

If ever the family couldn't find her, she could always be found by a fire. It made her an asset to the family, to be able to always start a fire and cook whatever meat her and Feyre caught, but it also made her “secret” hideouts pretty pathetic. As a child, when she was sick or sad, she would be by a fire. It was the only thing that seemed to sooth her. When she was happy after a good day of hunting and gathering or an afternoon of flirting with the baker’s son to get free bread, she would want to have a fire to celebrate. She would dance around its edges well into the night, even if there was no music to be heard.

That desperate need for warmth and comfort almost had her knees buckling as she and her sisters were ripped from their home in the middle of the night, blindfolded, gagged, and dragged to a land they had only heard of.

When the blindfolds and gags were removed, y/n looked around the large room, to her older sisters, Nesta and Elain, and finally they fell on her twin. Feyre looked to scared and helpless. Y/n had never seen that look on her face. Feyre was so brave and the last time they’d seen her she was so determined and fierce. What the hell happened?

Feyre was nervous about being in the mortal lands with Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. She hadn’t seen her sisters since before she went under the mountain and becoming Fae. She hadn’t seen her twin since she was dragged to Prythian by Tamlin. Nesta told her that Y/n has been going out to search for her, only stopping at home for a few days at a time to make sure Nesta and Elaine had food to eat. Y/n was out on on one of her searches the last time Feyre was here, and she desperately hoped she would be home this time. She needed to see her twin. Not only to have someone on her team against Nesta, but because she relationship with y/n was the most important one in her life, and she needed to tell y/n everything that’s happened.

Making it through what she thought was going to be the most awkward part, the introductions at the door, Feyre and her friends found themselves in an even more uncomfortable position. Sitting at the table silently, Nesta staring daggers at them, and waiting for y/n to get home.

“She might not show up today. You know how she likes to take her time on her hunting trips. She could be out all night and getting back home in this weather would be a stretch. Travelling isn’t as easy for us humans as it is for your kind.” Nesta stated coldly, refusing to look at Rhys, Azriel and Cassian, the two Illyrians standing cramped in the corner, trying to make their wings as small as possible. “We might as well start without her. Tell us what you’re doing here so you can leave. Y/n can get caught up later.”

Rhys opens his mouth to pick a fight when the front door slams open.

“Nesta I’m back! You won’t believe the size of the deer I got! Can you help me clear the table so I can drag it in here?” At the sound of y/n’s voice, Feyre lets out a sob. “Nes?” The sound of footsteps fill the hall as y/n rounds the corner into the dining room. Her eyes scan the room, making eye contact with Nesta before clocking the three strange males in the corner, and then finally at her twin. Y/n fell to her knees.

Feyre is up in an instant, running to her sister and holding her tight. Y/n holds her just as fiercely as sobs wrack both their bodies. Either Feyre doesn’t notice the blood covering y/n from the deer sitting outside, or she simply doesn’t care. When breathing is once again possible, y/n cups her sisters face in her hands and just stares at her for a long moment. Feyre holds her breath as y/n takes in the delicately pointed ears and the elongated canines. “Fey…you look so beautiful.” Her hands fall from her face as she suddenly realizes what’s happening. “Are you okay? Why are you here? How are you here?” The questions start to become frantic as y/n also realizes that none of the males in front of her are the one who took her away. The one who Nesta had told her Feyre was in love with and going to save. She studies them a second longer and takes note of the dark hair, the violet eyes, and then the wings of the other two males. Wait- wings!? Y/n’s eyes dart between them and then settle on Feyre.

“Y/n, this is Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. His Spymaster, Azriel, and his general, Cassian.” The three males gave Y/n a small smile and a wave as she and Feyre rise to their feet.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Y/n looks just at Rhys then as she says, “Am I to assume that you are the reason my sister is glowing? Not that she wasn’t always stunning, but there’s something about you Faeries…”

Rhys smirks at Feyre as she rolls her eyes, but looks back to Y/n when he says, “I’m afraid so. But she is just as much to blame. Had to be the hero.” His eyes soften with the last part, almost something sad but proud flashed in his eyes before it was replaced by a self-assured, arrogant mask.

“Thank you.” Y/n says with all the sincerity she can conjure in that gaze, as tear once again form in her eyes, and she tugs her sister into another tight embrace. “I want every. Single. Detail of your story, sister.”

Now obviously being kidnaped was less than ideal, but again, Y/n is adaptable. She scanned her surroundings and tried to make sense of what lay before her. In the middle of the grand room, what looked to be in a palace, was a massive cauldron. Standing around the cauldron, on clearly opposing sides of the room, were Feyre, Rhys, and his Inner Circle as they called themselves, and on the other side stood who she predicted to be Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre had told Y/n the whole story. From falling in love with Tamlin, to going Under the Mountain. About Amarantha, the bargain with Rhys, Tamlin locking her away, Lucien standing by doing nothing, and their almost wedding.

With y/n and her older sisters standing at the front of the room, nearest to the cauldron, it was easy to piece the puzzle together. In a whirlwind, y/n fought back with Nesta to keep the Hybern soldiers from putting sweet, innocent Elain into the cauldron. Holding their breaths, they waited until a barely conscious Elain was tipped out of the dark waters. Feyre and the Inner Circle were in various forms of gravely injured, or being held down by the King of Hybern’s magic.

The next to be forced in was Nesta, but trust that she put up the fight of her life, along with y/n. It was of no use, and before she could be fully forced under, that wicked finger pointed right at the King. A gesture so full of wrath, the King had the decency to pale just slightly. When Nesta was dumped from the cauldron, she crawled straight to Elain and wouldn’t let anyone else touch her.

There was no one left to fight for y/n. She was so cold and she felt so helpless as she trashed in the soldiers hold that as soon as her feet touched the warm water of the cauldron, she let the water engulf her. Distantly she could hear Lucien calling out to Elain, but y/n wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t seem to care as she let the warm water embrace her and take over all her senses.

Taglist: @abysshaven @stained-glass-eyes0708

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x y/n #autumn court #lucien vanserra #eris vandaddy #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader

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