#azriel multi part fic

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 19

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

a/n: so frustrated with tumblr—this didn’t save anything the first time so ultimately I had to spend forty five minutes re-editing everything

warning: a lot of head nodding

word count: 7,723

-Part 18- -Part 20-

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Tentatively, you raise your hand to knock on the door. 

And pause. 

Your fingers are trembling faintly, a cool shiver sweeping down the length of your spine, a cold sweat beginning to prickle up from beneath your skin. 

You knock, lightly. 

Shadows dip at the handle, bringing the door open.

Hazel eyes glance away from the partially opened window, a cool morning breeze circulating through the room while watery autumn sunlight warms the floorboards. There’s a smell of dew in the air, along with something vaguely smokey and fresh, and it nips at your throat. You tug your sleeves a little lower over your gloves—made to conceal your skin, not keep them warm. 

“Are you…are you free to talk?” You ask, stood hesitantly on the threshold. 

“Sure.” He nods. “Have a seat.” 

You give only a small delay, space enough for a breath to pass in between moments, one that would have gone unnoticed by human minds and eyes. Then you’re covering the distance between you, taking a seat in the armchair that’s been pushed to accommodate longer visits to his bed. You try to take your time in organising yourself in the seat, making sure your skirts are flat and unwrinkled; sat evenly on the chair; split between facing directly forward as the seat would have you, or angling yourself to face him; but it’s all belied with that sense of hurry you get around him that causes your fingers to fumble and shake, for your heart to start a butterfly-flutter in your chest, throat tightening from being in his presence. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, hands settling in your lap, pinching lightly at the fabric to give yourself something to hold on to. You struggle to look at him, keeping your gaze averted. 

“…how are you?” You ask. 

Sheets rustle and you can hear the quiet shift of the wooden beams before he answers. “Good.” 

Toes cross in your socks, teeth tugging at the interior of your lip. “How…” —you swallow past the shudder in your chest— “Will you be up again, soon?” You ask, shifting in the chair. Eyes glance to the bedside table, peering at it for the sake of looking somewhere. 

“A few more days,” he replies, sounding as if he’s uncommitted to the time frame given. A fresh breeze rolls in through the open window, curtains wafting with the wind, and you hold down a shiver, pulling yourself tighter to keep warm. Fresh air’s probably good, right? 

“How are you?” He asks. 

“Good. Good,” you reply, nodding your head gently. “Up and about.” 

Another breeze enters, and the curtains swish against the wallpaper, scraping faintly against the vaguely abrasive texture. A book rests on the table, the edges faded yellow and for a second it strikes you how strange it is that there might not be a spell to prevent ageing. Perhaps he prefers the worn edges, though. You can imagine how they’d rasp against your fingertips. Like thousands of tiny cuts. 

“Feyre mentioned you were sick a lot, when you first woke up,” you say into your lap. 

“A bit.”

“But it’s over now?” You ask.

“It’s over.”

“Good. Good.” You nod your head faintly. “That's— I’m glad.” 

A glass of water is beside his bed, along with a candle that’s dripped wax over its silver holder, carefully welded vines making up the handle, small flowers flourishing around the rim. Lilies.

A leather-bound notebook rests beside the novel, a pencil set straight atop it, the tip worn down and blunt. 

“I heard your conversation with Mor,” he says, and your eyes flit away from the table, peering at your lap. You nod. 

“From a few days ago?” He prompts, and you nod again. He sighs. “It was good that you took initiative. Maybe a bit too soon, but she’ll need some time to process what happened.” 

You nod, accepting each slice across your skin. He’s known her for much longer than he has you, and he’s loved her. The blessed moments when you forget those unreachable likes of his only make the moments you’re reminded more staggeringly painful. Of course he’ll be on her side. But would it be so difficult to…

Don’t I deserve a little affection? 

“Why did you…” you falter over save, disagreeing with its narrative. Lick your lips.

Just a small bit of care? 

“Why?” You ask, looking at him. Tone rising at the end.

…please…

The bandages are clean across his middle torso, obscuring fractions of the ink on his chest where they curl beneath the wrappings. You know exactly where the wound lies, despite not having had the time to really study it when it happened. Just knowing it sits opposite the tiny scratch over your heart, formed into a scar. So tiny nobody would spot it unless they knew to look. 

“Instinct, I suppose,” he answers after the quiet passes. 

“Instinct,” you repeat, a touch faintly. You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but that makes enough sense. Maybe you’d at least been wondering if it was something more emotional than that. At least an, I couldn’t let you die. But instinct will do. Blind, indifferent instinct.

“Have you spoken with Rhys?” He asks after a pause. 

“We spoke in the kitchen a couple of days ago. …he said I should speak with you…?” 

“Okay,” he nods, waiting patiently. You blink, unsure where to put your eyes. You don’t know what Rhys had wanted you to visit him for. No idea if it was to try and clear up the mess that’s tangled itself between you and the male on the bed; whether he just wanted you to take the first step in improving something, to clear the air, to get things on the mend? 

“Would it help if I asked you some questions?” He prompts tentatively. 

You flush, lips parting slightly as you peer down into your lap, fingers pinching your skirts to keep out their tremble. You’re not…speaking about what happened; the arrow; the deep darkness that’s been cloying at your mind for the past few months… Years… 

But if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be him. 

Your lip is pulled between your teeth, blunt enamel prodding at the full flesh of the interior of your mouth. The idea of speaking about it…why you aimed the arrow at yourself…a lot of it wraps around him in a way. So if you’re going to share that with anyone…  

Lungs shake when you inhale quietly, but you manage to sit a little straighter, steadying yourself. You have to learn to take the first step.

All you have to do is answer. And be honest.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He nods. “We can go slowly, to start off. I would appreciate answers, but if you aren’t ready, tell me so and we can move on.” 

Your heart thunders in your chest, but you agree, gloved fingers twining together in your lap, legs crossing themselves apprehensively. But slow, and easy breaths. Keeping calm, and steady. Answering as truthfully as you can bear.

“Okay,” he says, “what can you do with your magic now?” 

You nod a little to yourself, swallowing, “…I think, sometimes, I can…I mean, I think I can bring it out by myself sometimes now?” He nods encouragingly. “…it didn’t hurt the last time it came out. I hardly even noticed it, actually, compared with how it was before.” 

“And when was the last time it came out?” 

“Oh…” you falter, quieting. “Yesterday. With Mor.” 

“With Mor?” 

“We had a…an argument, I think,” you answer, wanting to shrink into the floor.

“What happened?” 

You fumble, there. “Can we…can you ask something else?” 

“Okay.” He nods. “I can ask Mor, if that would be easier?” Your lips part, glancing at him in surprise before your eyes flit away again. “I…we just bumped into each other after dinner, and she…she asked why I went to…” You trail off, shifting uneasily in your seat. 

“Did you tell her?” 

“We spoke about it…yes,” you hedge, peering into your lap. 

“That’s great,” he says, voice sounding softer than before, and you look at him hesitantly. “You should have mentioned that to start with. I can speak with her about it, when she comes round. If you come back tomorrow we can clear up anything left out. Will you be okay with that?” 

You nod, unable to do much else as you attempt to digest and process what’s happening. 

Please ask.

Hazel eyes glimmer faintly and his mouth softens, as if trying to show he’s proud with you for managing the conversation. “Was that fine for you?” He asks, watching you quietly while thousands of tiny eruptions occur beneath your skin. You manage a nod. 

He glances at the clock mounted on the dresser pushed against the far wall. “I think Feyre mentioned you’ve been seeing Madja around ten, haven’t you?” He asks, and again you manage a nod, not really thinking about the occurrences. 

Please don’t leave it here. 

“She’s been keeping an eye on me, yes. Making sure everything’s working right.” Your voice is distant to your ears, feeling as though you’re being pulled back into your skull, watching from somewhere further away. 

Ask me. Please.

“Ah. Have they been okay for you?” He asks, and you nod your head. “Fine.” 

He nods. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.” 

You stare at him through the surreal moment. 

Show me you care. Even a little bit. 

But he doesn’t, so you stand, watching distantly as your skirts swish over the floor, and you turn to leave, feet carrying you to the door, obeying the dismissal. Heart feeling as though it’s being squeezed. A heavy pressure crushing down on your chest. It’s only when you reach the threshold that you pause, something making it impossible to leave without…

You turn. 

“Is it a deliberate choice?” You ask, voice shaking, hands curling in your skirts. He looks at you patiently, waiting for you to elaborate. “Are you—… Are you choosing not to ask me why I want to die, or has the thought plainly not crossed your mind?” You try to hold his gaze, but your heart fumbles, and you look away before you can even count to two. A hot wetness drips down your cheek. 

“I hadn’t though you’d want to tell me,” he answers. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You ask before you can think. “You were the only one who was there. Who saw how it happened. Why wouldn’t you be perfect to speak to?” 

He pauses, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed over the vulnerable wording. “I don’t think you should make me the person you go to for that kind of solace,” he answers at last. “I don’t wish to give you reason to believe me the best choice for that.” 

“Who else?” You ask, staring at him. “Who else can I go to?” 

“Your sisters will always be there. I’m sure they want you to go to them. So don’t share with me that part of yourself. They’re the ones who have been there for you.” 

“How can I expect them to understand? They weren’t there.” 

“And you think that I’ll understand? That I do understand?” 

“Yes.” 

He shakes his head; is the first one to look away. “You can’t expect them to know what you feel if you haven’t even tried speaking with them about it. You’re cutting them off before you’ve even given them a chance.” Hurt aches across your chest—you want to speak with him. Want more than anything to have that shared moment between the both of you. 

You open your mouth, but he looks at you again, beating you to it. “Speak with them first,” he says firmly, his features set. “If you try honestly speaking with them, giving them the chance to look after you…and if that doesn’t work, if you feel they haven’t understood you as you need them to,” he continues, making it impossible for you to look away from him, caught up in the connection. “Then I will speak with you. You may tell me about whatever you like, what you’re reading; how your day was; anything that has taken or caught your interest, be it from the Night Court, the Autumn Court, or anywhere else in our realm. But give them a chance first.” 

Your jaw is trembling lightly, a delicate heat simmering in your flesh as a cool sweat slides down your spine, overwhelmed and quietly trying to keep up. 

Again you open your mouth, but again he speaks before you do. “And I know you’ll instinctively want to speak with Elain, but you always pick her first. Nesta has been through what you are going through, or at least something similar,” he says, watching you with an expression you can only call imploring. “Speak with her.” 

You’re too stunned to reply, left staring at him silently. 

It’s probably the most you’ve heard him say. The most the two of you have spoken so intently without the conversation taking a sharp plummet. 

You barely manage a nod of your head before you acquiesce, then you’re turning from him, carefully bringing the door to a close, heading for your room while the conversation circles through your mind. 

————

Slim, pale fingers latch through the delicate ceramic of the teacup’s handle, thin and elegant, easily broken with an application of force, requiring careful handling. It’s a temptation Feyre resists every time she picks one up, refusing the urge to press her fingers together and snap the thin bone-like curve. How many things had she accidentally shattered after first turning? How many spoons had she inadvertently bent? 

She supposes it doesn’t matter now, but the urge is still there, stronger than usual. 

The two females are sat in the parlour, a fine silver tray perched between them on a dark-wood table with ornate swirls carved into its edges and swirling up its legs. A few pastries sit untouched on a finely decorated plate, a carafe of cool cream at the edge, three flavours of jam contained to glass pots that fit nicely to the dip of one’s palm. The sugar pot remains undisturbed upon the tray, its short, golden shovel tucked deep within the sweetened grains, nestled beneath and awaiting use. 

“Were you aware of it?” Feyre asks, raising the teacup to her lips, basking in the wet heat that’s rising from the steamy liquid. Across from her, Mor is cupping her own drink, heated and steaming like Feyre’s, idly swirling the thin spoon to stir in the milk. 

“No,” Mor answers honestly, gazing down at the swirl of her tea, clasped between her hands. Red nails squeaking faintly across the porcelain. 

“You had no right to tell her any of that,” Feyre says quietly, watching her friend from over the rim of her cup, before glancing down, and taking a sip, testing out the heat. Too hot. She takes another sip, feeling the tingling singe of pain as the scalding liquid trickles down. 

“I know,” Mor agrees, also looking at her tea. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Didn’t you?” 

Blue-grey eyes are watching keenly, a sharp wildness glinting just at their edge, one that’s been surfacing more and more as of late. Everything seems to have such unfortunate timing. A damn filling up to its maximum capacity, before breaking. Mor meets her High Lady’s gaze steadily, unwavering. “I didn’t.” 

The connection remains unfaltering, each not wanting to look away, one for the sake of appearing mistrustful, and the other for the sake of appearing too forgiving. 

“What do you think it is?” Feyre asks at last, and the two mutually avert their eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Mor answers quietly. “It doesn’t feel good, though.” 

Feyre sends a sharp glare in Mor’s direction, but her red lips purse. “You felt it, too,” Mor points out. 

“Briefly.” 

“And it set you on edge, too.” 

“I also only came into contact with magic a few years ago. Don’t give me excuses.” 

“I’m telling you the truth,” Mor grits out, raising amber eyes from her pale mug. “I hardly noticed it  having an affect until you appeared.” 

“Because you were too caught up in all the emotions you wanted to unload onto my sister.”

“I’m not trying to make you pick sides,” Mor says carefully. 

“Good. Then don’t.” 

“You know it’s a tender wound,” she whispers, lowering her mug. “It shouldn’t have come out like it did, but it hurts.”

“You know what else hurts, Mor?” 

The rest of that sentence lies unspoken between them. 

Feyre knows she’s being unfair, that she clearly is picking a side. But she’s speaking as Mor’s friend, and also a sister. Not as High Lady. 

Mor once again raises her eyes to Feyre’s blue-grey set, putting every ounce of sincerity, and truth she can find within herself behind her amber eyes. “I wasn’t myself,” Mor whispers, fingers paling from their grip on the cup. “I don’t know what happens with her magic, but it’s influential, even on me.” 

“You want me to let this slide, then?” Feyre questions, her jaw set but there’s an obvious conflict in her eyes. Neither of them are enjoying this fallout. 

“No,” Mor concedes, looking away. “My actions are my own, and I agree I went too far. But you felt it, too. You know what I’m talking about, Feyre.” The two females share a look. “Madja’s going to be here to check up on her soon, isn’t she?” Mor asks, earnestly. 

“Every day, at ten o’clock.” 

“Ask her to give her own opinion. What it feels like,” Mor urges. “I know my anger, I know how I hurt, and I don’t lose myself like that.” 

Feyre’s lips are pursed, her brow pinched. Fatigue lines beneath her eyes, the stress of a newborn unavoidable, even with all the support being offered. It’s not easy for her. For anyone. 

Not easy to deal with everything else, either. Not to mention a sister who apparently wants to die, on top of all that.

There’s so much to think about…it’s inevitable a mistake will be made. 

“I’ll mention it to Madja.” Feyre relents, drinking deeply from her tea, savouring the hot liquid on her tongue. “Maybe she can offer some insight to what’s going on.” 

Insight. If only it were available for the mountain pile of other problems plaguing their lives. That might crumble into an avalanche, if they aren’t careful. 

————

“It’s good to see you again,” Madja greets, her round face smiling as she enters your chambers. “How have you been?” 

You manage a reciprocating smile, hands tucking together in your lap as you shift on the bed. “I’m good, for the most part anyway.” 

“For the most part?” She questions, taking a seat, and you toe off your slippers to settle properly against the pillows. “I…my magic flared up a little yesterday,” you admit, glancing at your toughened, flaky skin. “It didn’t hurt like it usually does; I hardly felt it. Though I was a little carried away…” 

Madja nods gently. “Yes, Feyre mentioned something about that.” You look up at the healer with raised brows. “…she did?” 

“She requested I look into it, if I could; it’s something I would like to discuss with you, before we start with the checkup,” she tells you clearly, that gentle look in her eyes that helps keep you at ease. 

Your tongue flicks over your lips, but you agree. 

“Your sister spoke of your magic feeling deathly,” Madja begins. “I’d like to see if there are any abnormalities that appear while it is in use—if you think you can manage that?” 

“You’d like me to… You want me to intentionally use it?” You question, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “I don’t know…I…” 

“If you’re worried about it getting out of control, or that you might injure me, I will remind you that I am a healer,” she says solemnly. “And if you are still concerned, I can tell you that your sister and I agreed it might be better if the High Lord were present, should anything get out of hand. He is available should you wish for that reassurance.” 

Something sinks in your chest—you’d forgotten Madja is their healer, that she is theirs more than  she is yours. She’s just doing her job. 

“I…I should be able to do it on my own,” you hedge, looking at your palms. Nobody else can see how ugly your skin is. Your sisters…Madja…technically Azriel too, though he hasn’t seen it now that it’s crawled up your arms…you don’t want to have that humiliation with anyone else than you must. “If that’s okay with you?” You check, looking at her. 

Madja smiles, nodding her head. “That is fine by me. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Teeth worry the interior of your lip, but you splay your hands out, palms tipped upward as you recall their tingle, gathering what you can remember and bringing it to the tips of your fingers. There’s no more than a slight itch beneath your skin. 

It comes easier to you that it has done before, and you can’t help the breath of ease that slips into your lungs. Before it had felt stunted, like it was trying to squeeze a full, fleshy body through a windowpane of jagged glass, slicing itself as it attempted to crawl out. But now… “There’s no pain…” 

You stare down at the faint green glow, the golden shine at the edge of your skin. You could simply push, and— The light brightens, filling your flesh and shining from your knuckles, hands encompassed in the strong light. 

Madja opens her hands, fingers splayed as she approaches you gently, before you feel a slight company. Something else joining you. You try to push toward it, in the direction of her magic so she can examine it better, like you do when offering your hands, shifting yourself so she can better access them. 

Madja nods, and you let the magic recede back into your body, curling itself up into a peaceful rest. “I’m going to check your torso now, please hold still.” Her hands open over your body, palm settling firmly over your rib cage, that tingling warmth sinking into your skin. Her brows narrow. “You’re going to feel a brief surge of heat…” she murmurs, eyes closed in concentration. 

Sure enough, there’s a small spike in temperature, and a slight sting in the aftermath but it fades swiftly enough. Her palms inch over a bit, slowly making their way across your stomach, fingertips still faintly hot with power as she continues with the checkup. You keep yourself as relaxed as possible but your heart is beating faster than usual at the discovery.

“Another quick surge,” she murmurs, and you nod despite her eyes being closed. You feel a small ball of tension popping along with a careful, targeted burst of heat. You ease a full breath into your lungs. 

Her brows furrow as she settles her palms over the base of your sternum. “Will you activate your magic again?” She requests, voice faint while she concentrates. You do as she says, unspooling it again, and the heat of her palms intensifies in response to your own. “Can you bring it into your body? Away from your hands?” She asks, and your brows furrow. You’ve never tried to manipulate its centre before…but you can try now. 

Your eyes flutter shut, easing back incrementally into the bed, allowing the power to prickle up your arms, crawling between the bones, wrapping around your shoulders…the two of you recoil at the same time, though you flinch from the sting of pain that splits down your spine; lacerating across your chest; through your lungs, while Madja’s retreat is from shock. The corners of her mouth are slack. Her eyes dark. 

“I’m sorry,” you say frantically, trying to sit upright, “I didn’t mean— Are you okay? Did it get you?” 

Madja looks at your torso, then at her hands. Then she’s settling her palms back atop your ribs. “Will you repeat that?” 

You pause, looking at her as she gently guides you to lay back in the bed. “Madja…I’m not sure…are you okay?” 

“I’m very well,” she replies with a smile, voice as soft and smooth as it usually is. Carefully curated to put you at ease. “I saw something that I should examine in more detail, if that’s possible. Will you repeat it?” 

You look at her, lost. Concerned. Helpless. You swallow. “Okay…” 

Your lids slide shut, and you reach for the power again, feeling as Madja’s warmth begins seeping into your torso, filtering through your vessel as heat begins rising in a steeper intensity to your surface, as if being called to one place by her magic. Again, you own power sprawls itself across your palms, dragging itself higher, slinking between bone and muscle, threading itself through sinew and cartilage until it reaches your shoulders, and…

“Try and hold it steady,” Madja tells you, the heat from her hands amplifying at the peak, just as you power curls itself to strike down from your shoulders. 

Your throat shuts, eyes squeezed closed as you attempt to grapple with it, hands balled into fists as perspiration breaks on your brow. Trying to keep it from lashing at your internals, causing that familiar, piercing pain. 

“I want you to try pushing it back to your hands now,” she instructs, but you’re struggling enough as it is. Barely keeping it contained. You need to breathe. 

Madja releases her magic over your torso, and the weight of your power increases, your body straining beneath the tension when she removes that blanket that had been between you and this blazing magic. But then both her hands are firmly gripping your own, and you can feel as it filters through you, prying the pain away, dragging it back down into your forearms, then your palms, and eventually your fingertips, until it’s dissipated entirely. 

You inhale heavily, breathing ragged as you try to calm yourself. “What…what was that…?” 

Madja’s quiet, thumbs stroking carefully over your knuckles, keeping her magic to a faint pulse so she doesn’t upset your skin. “Will you breathe with me?” She asks. “Deep breath in…hold…one, two, three…slowly exhale…” She makes you repeat the process thrice before deeming your pulse to be relatively calmed. She offers you the glass of water that’s always sat by your bed, never draining, and you take a few sips to appease her, then a few more. A couple of small gulps, before handing it back to her. 

You lick your lips, finding them hot and crisp. 

She looks at you solemnly. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your magic, if you feel right enough to manage,” she tells you calmly. “I would like you to answer with as much clarity as you can. It’s imperative you’re truthful and don’t hide anything. Are you alright with that?” 

You stare at her, bewildered—where has this come from? Is it serious? Are you going to die? Is it going to be painful? Will you know when it happens? Or will you have no warning. Is it happening now? About to?

You inhale sharply, deeply, breaking out of those thoughts. Exhaling heavily, before managing to nod. 

“How long have you known you’ve had magic?” Madja starts with. 

“…I think maybe two months? I can’t remember exactly how long ago it was that I first realised what was happening…” 

“Perfect. And can you tell me what made you first realise you had magic?” 

“I think it was when…I had an altercation with someone, and felt upset and angry. My hands were glowing.” 

“Great. I believe you’ve mentioned a feeling that accompanies your magic?” 

“Yes. …It used to hurt a lot, but recently hasn’t? The past few times, at least. Not while it’s been in my hands, anyway.” 

“Lovely, you’re doing well,” she smiles. “You sister mentioned a deathly feeling to those around you, have you ever noticed that?” 

“No. No, not a deathly feeling. I had no idea it felt like that for other people.” 

“Okay, can you tell me how it feels for you?” 

“It’s…it used to be like burning? My fingers and hands would hurt a lot. They would sweat, and I would feel dizzy some nights…I used to get up to drown my hands in water, when it started.” 

Madja nods, her brows furrowed faintly as she listens carefully—believing you. Your heart tightens, and you avert your gaze. 

“And all of that has been happening over the past two months or so?” She inquires. 

“Well, no…I…” you pause, trying to grapple with your memory, get it into a coherent, linear form. “I’ve…I experienced the sweats, and nausea, and dizziness a lot when I first…after the…when we came to Prythian,” you answer. Madja nods her head encouragingly, and you wet your lips. “Sleeping was difficult, and it lasted for a few months before I could be normal again…I think we each had our own…moments, after the Cauldron.” 

“But you didn’t experience any feelings similar to what you now know is your magic?” She asks, offering you the full glass of water, that you sip from again. Hand it back. “No. Those have only been in the past couple of months.” 

Madja pauses in thought, her round face tightened as she thinks, though she doesn’t look unkind, or stern. She still looks like Madja. Then she looks up again, her warm brown eyes softened, an intent look on her face. “And how have you been feeling?” 

“Me? I...” You trail off, unsure how to answer. “I’ve…been reading a lot…?” 

She smiles, “that’s lovely, but I mean how have you been feeling internally?” 

Her lips twitch when your brows furrow in question, looking at her strangely. “You’ve been telling me about your physical senses, tell me about how you’ve been feeling these past few months. I can imagine it might be scary to go through this?” 

“Oh…I suppose…” 

“You sound unsure,” Madja speculates, “do you not feel fear is an accurate descriptor?” 

“I mean, I’ve been scared when it happens, naturally. It hurts, and I don’t know what causes it, or how long it will last, so I suppose in those moments it is scary.”

“But the rest of the time?” Madja prompts. “I understand you were staying up in the House of Wind, by yourself for the most part. Do you like being alone?” 

“I guess I do,” you hedge, “I don’t…there wasn’t really anywhere else to go. And I liked having my own space up there, so I think it worked well. Plus I could access the libraries, so I enjoyed that part a lot.” 

“You’re a big reader,” she smiles, nodding her head. “What do you like to read?” 

“Mostly whatever I can find, but I like the books that tell me more about the world. There’s a lot of information I never would have gotten access to as a human, like the different climates in each of the courts, some small accounts of what it’s like overseas, where the food we eat comes from too which I find particularly intriguing. The plants and flowers are engaging too—you can see correlations between the flora and fauna distinct to each court and the characteristics they each exhibit, which I find fascinating.” 

Madja’s smile broadens as she nods her head, eyes twinkling. “I remember first learning about their benefits, how different plants have certain properties too. Often plants endemic to the Dawn Court are the most potent, and it’s where we import a lot of the ingredients for medicine from.” 

“Yes! I remember reading about that! But that sometimes the riversides and shores struggle with overgrowth, and measures are made to make sure seeds don’t spread too far. I remember reading too about the animals there—that a lot of them seem more jovial, compared to their relations in other courts.” 

Madja’s smiling so wide you can see her teeth, one of her canines is slightly twisted inward, and the teeth on her lower jaw are a little crooked in places. You can’t see anything wrong with them—they’re just hers. 

“And who else do you tell all of this?” She asks, “I imagine you would have read a lot over the course of your time here so far, who do you share all of it with?” 

“I don’t…really,” you say, trailing off. “I don’t mind though. I love reading.” 

“Elain enjoys botany too, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, but to the extent that she can have, I suppose. She has a garden that she keeps alive, and she bakes, too. They’re similar interests but they ultimately lead in different directions.” 

“So you don’t speak with anyone about what you enjoy?” Madja asks, and you blink, fumbling a little. 

“I…I choose not to, so it’s fine,” you assure. “I like reading. And I speak with Azriel about…” You wet your lips, voice fading. “I mean when I was up in the House of Wind…we spoke a lot more.” 

Madja’s watching you quietly, listening to what you have to say. It feels like she’s expecting you to continue, and you don’t want it to be quiet, for the conversation to halt its flow, so you think of something to say. “We spoke a lot more…back then…” 

“Has something changed?” She asks. 

You look down into your lap, feeling a little far off. Distant. Not entirely present. 

“I like his company…” you say vaguely, “but he’s busy, and hardworking. …and I don’t think he…” Your lips curl at the edges like dried leaves tend to beneath the sun, then they seal together. “I think he finds me a bother, at times.” 

Madja’s quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to continue. Silence falls. 

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been feeling that way?” She asks gently, allowing pause for you to recollect yourself, should you wish. “I think a few months,” you murmur. 

“And can you tell me why you think he finds you bothersome?” Madja asks. 

Your lips part by a fraction, a small gap opening between the centre of your upper and lower lip, then you’re closing them again. “I…I make bad choices, quite a lot,” you answer quietly. “And I…I don’t make it easy to be around.”

“I think your company is lovely,” Madja says softly, palm resettling over your hand, drawing your attention back outward. “What makes you think you’re difficult to be around?” 

You open your mouth to give your answer, but your throat tightens sharply, lips forcefully being dragged down in the corners, and you crumple back into the bed. “I am,” you insist, eyes growing hot, then squeezing shut when they blur. “I don’t know how…I don’t know how to be normal around him. I feel like every time we speak I make it so obvious…and he doesn’t like it…and I just…” 

You pull your hands away from hers to try and hide your face, to push the tears away as they fall heavily. “I wish I hadn’t tried to tell him what I…how I felt for him. I never should have…”

“Does how you’re feeling right now have any reason to do with why I was tasked with looking after you?” Madja asks, voice softened to a tender effect, and you could weep from how believable she sounds. 

“He finds me a nuisance,” you whisper, hot tears dripping down your lowered face, letting them roll down your cheeks to collect at the underside of your jaw, before falling heavily into the crisp linen of the sheets. “I’m always causing him trouble of some kind. All of them.”

Heat wells behind your eyes, wishing you could go back and reorganise events so things wouldn’t have ended up like this. So you wouldn’t have caused him so much trouble, and given him reason to further distrust you. At least before he trusted you enough to give reliable recollections of your sister. If only you could go back to then. 

You could at least have a use. 

Madja’s thumb gently swipes across your knuckles, magic softly seeping from her fingertips. “You’re not a nuisance,” she replies solemnly. “You are not causing them trouble.”

You stare at her with a down-tilted mouth, and tears overflow from your lashes, dripping down your cheeks as your brows bunch, heart aching in your chest as small sobs break through your lungs. “I am,” you cry, head hanging as you try to inhale, but your body takes control of itself when it’s sad, and it’s not giving you chance to breathe. Madja, I am.

“Is this how you’ve been feeling these past few months?” She murmurs, stroking your palm, a hand at your shoulder as you curl your knees up to your chest, pulling them from beneath the duvet. You nod. 

“I thought it might be something like this,” Madja sighs, making you look up questioningly, pushing at the tears so you can better see her. She takes both your hands in her own, and looks into your eyes. “There’s no quick fix to matters of the heart. The way you’re feeling right now, the way you’ve felt in the past, and the lows you’ll experience in the future—I can do very little right now to give ends to those. But what’s going on with your magic, within your body—that we can work on. We can start somewhere familiar, and take steps from there. How does that sound?” 

But despite her good words, you shake your head. “I can’t, Madja,” you whisper. “I don’t want to.” 

“Sometimes you have to,” she says, squeezing your hands. “Do you believe I have any reason to lie to you?” 

You shake your head. 

“Then have faith that I’m telling you the truth: you are not troubling them.”

You watch her, a pained look in your eyes. “I can’t believe that.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, Madja,” you cry. “It doesn’t matter what you say, or what anyone else says. I am convinced. I know it like you know a bone will break under pressure, or that adding sugar to a tea will sweeten it. How I feel is not temporary, or fleeting, it is ceaseless and pervasive; it’s not something you can simply disprove like that—please don’t try to.”

“But in the same way I know a bone will snap with too much force, I know you are not as bad as you think you are.”

“Please, Madja,” you whisper. “If you can’t help me, do me the courtesy of believing me.”

The healer is silent, gripping your hands with her own warm palms, squeezing them gently but firm.  “I do believe you,” she says with conviction. “I believe you because I have seen what you are going through, and I know how you’re feeling is as real as a broken bone, or sweetened tea. But the bone will heal, and the tea will cool—can we both agree on that?” 

You cast your head down, eyes falling to your lap. “I chose poor analogies.” 

Madja thumbs across your knuckles. You can hear the almost sad smile in her voice. “Then I’ll return tomorrow and you can tell me what you’ve come up with.”

———

Outside, the wind bites at your throat, stinging at your nostrils with each inhale, burning on the way out. 

You clasp the scarf tighter around your neck, shoving your hands under your arms as you make the walk down the streets, careful to watch for ice on the cobbles. Winter is a while off yet, but the nights are becoming frigid enough for you to keep an eye out, particularly as the sun hasn’t yet gotten to her point in the sky where she could thaw any frost out. 

Before midday you find blues and purples lurking in the shadows, greens and yellows splashing where the sun spills across the exterior of coloured houses, shop windows shining viciously where the light is hitting just at the right angle to temporarily blind and disorientate. Though an upside of Prythian is the magic that’s infused into the land, sustaining special plants that thrive in this environment: frost lilies that bloom in the coldest months, taking their water from the dew that freezes on their petals over night; moon drops that have a pale, hanging outer shell of short petals that shrivel up and die if faced with an overdose of pure sunlight; the pale pink sprawl of the lengthened, stretching leaves that creep up from the earth between houses and cobble, settling narrow, capillary-like veins spreading across whatever they can cling onto. 

The long walk is enjoyable, despite the intrusive and unpleasant cold. Enough to look at, study, and recognise, to preoccupy your mind from the chill nipping at your skin, even beneath the gloves. By the time you reach the house however, your body is freer flowing, less stiff and disjointed though your extremities remain a little on the numb side, fingertips tingling faintly, and you have to remember to keep wiggling your toes in your shoes. But you’re warm enough you’ll be happy to discard the scarf once you’re inside—if she’s inside. 

Looking where the shadows lie, you would think it’s an hour or so from midday, so Nesta should be in… As far as you know for certain, training is the only activity that might be an obstacle, but that should surely be done by now.

Their house is a relatively new build, but finished enough for them to have moved into soon after their mating ceremony. While remaining naturally a little barren from its short-lived existence, there’re obvious touches already emerging in the patterns and style they’ve opted for, selecting things that catch their eye, taking time to build a home rather than to rush it in a year. 

A window of stained glass sits in a half-circle atop the wooden door, the panels that make up the imagery mostly clear. Dimples ripple in the crystal clear frames, while the neat cuts of coloured glass are smooth and flat, showing off the sprawling petals of a tuft of milk flowers—you realise with vague surprise milk flowers are endemic to the Night Court, but perhaps more interestingly are mostly found in Illyria. Exclusively found, rather. They’re rare, and symbols of endurance, due to the unforgiving and brutal environment they live in, remaining a small beauty amongst the barren rock of mountain. Compared to the wealth of information available on other plants, there’s little recorded about milk flowers, likely due to their habitat up in the Illyrian Steppes. 

You wonder if it’s a subtle way to hold onto Cassian’s history, without brutalising their home with architecture particular to the Illyrians: exhibiting traits expressed as sturdy and practical—an antithesis of that aspiration caught in the elegance of the stained glass. 

Maybe that’s a bit of Nesta’s humour bleeding through. 

You land three knocks to their door, starting with a hard strike to the wood with your knuckles then a sharp decrease in force when pain bleeds through your carpals, the final knock hardly louder than a soft tap, all but giving out entirely. You cradle your hands beneath your arms, regretting the bout of recklessness. 

No noise comes from inside, so you’re startled when the door opens, sharp hazel eyes peering at you from within the relative darkness, watching for a second before the door opens wider and a broad smile breaks across his face. “Well aren’t you far from home,” Cassian chuckles, shoulder keeping the entrance open, “what are you doing all the way out here? On a mission?” 

You swallow, managing a smile, understanding he’s joking but too drained to be believably reciprocative. “Somewhat,” you reply, trying to sound humorous, “is Nesta in, too?” 

“I should have known you’d be here to visit her,” Cassian remarks, sighing into the frame before gesturing for you to come inside. “Come in, I’ll go pull her from her reading.” 

You give an appreciative nod before following in behind him, catching the door as it closes with an oomf, surprised by its heavy weight, knocking you back a step. You gingerly step inside, crouching down to untie the laces of your boots, freeing your socked feet as you push the shoes to the rack before again standing, peering about the entrance hall. The walls are pale, having not yet been painted with whatever colour or wallpaper they’ll eventually settle on. From around the corner you can make out the faint pad of footfalls, and Nesta appears a few seconds later, sharp eyes finding you instantly. She greets you. Asks you why you came. 

You fumble. How does one begin a conversation like this?

“I…haven’t visited in a while,” you end up telling her. “I thought I might come by—if you aren’t busy? It’s not urgent,” you quickly add.

“I’ve nothing planned,” she replies, glancing to where the light is falling on the floor. “It’s a little early for lunch, but I suppose we can begin.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assure, “I don’t think it’ll take long.”

“What will take long?” 

“Nothing,” you affix, blinking once. 

Nesta hums, then turns in the hallway. “Then we can go to the sitting room. It’s still lacking some furniture here and there, just so you know.”  

You nod, forgetting she can’t see you with your head turned, then follow after her as she makes her way down the hallway and to the right, entering through an empty doorway that leads to the living room. She takes a seat in a chair with a dipped pillow, guessing it was where she’d been before you interrupted. You take a seat adjacent. 

Ataraxia lays upon the table like a discarded shopping list, except much bigger, and much deadlier. 

“So,” Nesta muses, “what did you want to speak with me about?” 

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

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

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay

[readychilledwine]

Bound by Fate - Part Two

Part 2 Summary - just a short little filler after Kaylee finally wakes up.

Warnings - slight self harm/rage fit, references to sexual assault, some sexual tension

Word Count - just over 2000

Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Deep voices caused Kaylee to stir. She was somewhere soft, warm, and there was something strong wrapped around her. "She's waking up," a smooth voice said. "Come on, Kaylee." 

Another set of hands brushed her hair and sweat from her forehead. Soft, large, slightly calloused. Rhys, her mind whispered. "We are all right here, honey. You are safe." 

Scarred hands ran up and down her back, her arms, her neck. They laced into her hair and scratched her head as if they knew a headache was starting. "She is overwhelmed." Kaylee snuggled further into the source of that voice, of those hands. "We have food downstairs, Kaylee. I know you're hungry. Just open your eyes and we will get you downstairs." 

Kaylee finally stirred enough to peek one eye open slowly, keeping the other screwed shut to ensure that this wasn't another cruel joke. "You are safe," Rhys whispered again. 

Kaylee opened both of her eyes before beginning to stretch and accidentally tapping a wing behind her. The hand in her hair tightened and Rhysand chuckled lightly. "Sorry." 

Rhysand pulled Kaylee's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "He's fine. There's dresses in the closet. I'm going to leave you two alone. Dinner will be served in 30 minutes."

Kaylee rolled into Azriel's chest, immediately noticing how she could now actually place his scent. Cedar and Night air. He held her silently. Allowing her to process being awake, allowing her to process where she was. 

The silence between them was comfortable, despite the numerous questions he had. He remembered her at the King's feet. Pale, broken, lifeless. As if every ounce of joy and youth had been drained from her. He knew what had happened there, but he needed answers on how deeply that emotional scar ran. 

He finally broke the silence between them, "When you're ready, I need you to show Rhysand what all happened. We do not have to talk about it, but we need to know who all was involved." Kaylee just nodded against him as a soft pull came from her ribcage. "I also need to know where boundaries are with us now."

She processed that sentence as if it was being drug through mud. "I don't think there can be an us right now, Azriel." The words stung him. The bond aching at the slight rejection. "I don't think I can just hand myself to you after-" he watched as her eyes squeezed shut again, as if blinking hard enough would erase those memories.

Azriel kissed her forehead gently. "I do not want you to hand yourself to me, Kaylee." The soft timber of his voice made her relax significantly. "I want you to heal. I want you to grow. I want to be by your side and in your corner as that happens." 

Warm wet tears began to run down her face as she finally looked at Azriel. His hazel eyes were studying her as he wiped the tears from her cheekbones. "I can wait forever, Kaylee. But I can't stay away. All I ask is you do not push me away. If this is as close to intimacy as we ever come again, I can live with this. I can live knowing you are safe in my arms, happy, and healthy. Okay?" 

She nodded again, love overfilling her heart. Pulling him closer to her, she just laid in his arms. "I'm sorry," her voice was broken. Her hands and body were beginning to tremble. The weight of what was between them hit her. This constant connection between the two of them hit her. She felt his anger, his sorrow, and his self-loathing. She felt his relief and joy. She felt that string of emotions running through him. 

"You NEVER apologize for what that asshole did to you ever again. Do you hear me?" Azriel forced her to look at him. "Nothing that happened was your fault. You owe no one an apology."

"He-"

"Will pay for what he did to you. He will suffer for every second of it." Azriel pulled her in again. "Even if it takes me 900 years, Kaylee. He will suffer."

It was a promise that had Kaylee leaning impossibly further into his body. Silence fell between the two again as his wings wrapped around them and shielded her from the outside world. 

Kaylee's stomach interrupted the silence this time. "I'm really hungry." Azriel hid his smile in her hair. "Really really hungry."

Azriel looked down at her again before holding his hand out and grabbing the dress his shadows brought to him. "I'll let you get dressed and then take you downstairs." Azriel pulled himself away from her, painfully slow, and Kaylee's eyed widened. "What?" Kaylee shook her head. "Does me being shirtless bother you, honeybee?" 

It did. It bothered her a lot actually. Azriel was beautiful. Muscles sat under tanned skin, dark swirling tattoos covered his arms, chest, and shoulders. "I-" Azriel just smirked as her mouth shut. He approached her slowly and leaned down to her now sitting height. "Hi." 

"Hello," he kissed her nose softly. "The bathroom is right there," she watched as his hand motioned towards the open doorway. Her eyes trailed the veins in his arms. He watched as she bit her lip. Studying her reaction to him as if he was someone he had locked in his dungeon. He knew he would have to tell Rhys what he was figuring out very quickly. 

They all knew from their experience with the sexually assaulted priestess, and from Rhysand, that victims fell into a few different categories, and he was quickly figuring out Kaylee's. Shame and guilt flooded the bond from her end once the arousal hit. "It's perfectly fine and normal for you to still have wants and urges." Azriel kissed her forehead again before leaving the room to go change. 

Cassian was leaned against his bedroom door and pushed off of it. "How is she?" They entered his room. Cassian immediately took a seat on Azriel's bed, wings stretching slightly and his face lightly wincing. "Fucking wings."

"Stop doing that before you hurt them again. She's numb outside. Terrified inside." Cassian nodded. The same feelings he was constantly experiencing from Nesta minus the anger. "She likes my arms," Azriel shrugged at Cassian. 

Cassian laughed loudly. "You are attractive, Azzie." Azriel felt his face heating up, only furthering Cassian's laughter. "Is it okay if I go say hello to her?" 

Azriel nodded and watched as Cassian left the room. It was then he allowed the absolute rage he felt to come forward. He was staring at himself in the mirror, buttoning the front of his shirt up, and without even knowing what was happening, his fist collided with the glass surface shattering it into thousands of tiny pieces.

He threw a few things to the ground, rage spiraling in him for longer than he was proud to admit. Hands found his shoulders and spun him into a tight hug. He breathed deeply, clinging to the soft jacket and scent of citrus and sea as Rhysand used that one spot in his shields to enter his mind and calm him. 

"It's okay, Az." Rhys felt Azriel begin sobbing into his shirt. "Everything will be okay. She's in the dinning room with Cassian. It's just the four of us tonight. She's smiling, she's laughing at his shitty jokes. She's okay right now."

Azriel nodded, refusing to drop his hold on Rhys. "I want to kill him." 

Rhysand understood. He wanted the King to suffer as well. He wanted him to suffer as payment for the years Rhys spent locked in Amarantha's bed, for the torture Feyre went through at his general's hands.

He wanted to kill him after he allowed his brothers to bleed and almost took them both from him. He wanted the king to suffer for every single moment or fear, pain, and devastation the Archeron sisters had been through.

He wanted to kill him for the nightmares that Rhys had watched plague Kaylee. The acts of cruelty forced upon a mortal girl barely entering her adulthood. He wanted his head on a spike, delivered to her by Azriel after the Spymaster had stripped the King of every shred of hope the way he had Rhysand's poor little sister.

"We will, Az. We will skin him alive if that's what you need. Right now, though, Kaylee is taking a big step her sisters have not yet, and she needs support. She needs you." Rhys paused to heal Azriel's hands, the House having already picked up and repaired the rest. "Let's go eat. There's brownies. The ones Cerridwen makes with the salted caramel swirled in it. Kaylee might eat all of them before you get there if you don't hurry." Azriel pulled away. His face fell as he took in Rhysand's serious features. "Her sweet tooth puts yours and Cassian's to shame, brother." 

Azriel instantly moved out of the room, yelling down the stairs as he stalked towards them. "Kaylee, I swear on the Mother, if you eat all of those brownies we will fight."

Cassian's loud laughter filled the house immediately, mixing with one Rhysand and Azriel could only describe as soft. It felt like rain falling on the roof of the House. Like a gentle breeze on a hot day. Rhysand tapped his shoulder, and they looked toward the windows lining the room. 

Countless animals scurried, birds flapped their wings happily, soaring carelessly in celebration. Rhys felt his jaw tighten and Azriel felt his stomach drop. 

Her laughter was the final confirmation that the sudden increase in wildlife around the Night Court had to do with Kaylee. They took their seats calmly as Kaylee and Cassian continued to giggle. 

Azriel watched as Rhysand looked over Kaylee. She looked beautiful in the pretty off the shoulder cotton dress, her hair braided by Cass. But power that continued to beat off of her, echoing through the halls that had Rhysand's interest and attention.

He finally said into Azriel's mind, She has powers over nature and animals. We need to be careful. If she can summon little things unknowingly with just her laughter, Gods know what she could bring with practice.

Azriel's jaw twitched. There were countless possible answers for what she could be. Amren had been searching for days now, only finding more questions. Questions they'd only be able to answer by using Kaylee's powers. He looked over at Kaylee. Her smile was beaming as she laughed at whatever Cassian just said as he pushed more food on her plate. Rhys, we have no clue what she actually-

I know. Rhys interrupted the thought. His own cut off as Kaylee reached for Azriel's hand and held it. It was a subtle movement caused by the bond. She had felt Azriel's need for comfort and offered it to him instantly. We just have to be careful. 

Taglist:

@impossibelle

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 43

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The Townhouse was enveloped in a tranquil stillness. Seated at the elegant dining room table, you were surrounded by scattered papers and blueprints of grandiose city plans. Maps of once-glorious buildings, now fallen into decay, lay alongside deeds, titles, and contract agreements waiting to be scrutinized. Despite the overwhelming workload that would keep you occupied well into the evening, the peacefulness was a comforting companion. You had been sitting for so long that your hips now protested with a persistent ache, and the ice in your tea had long since melted, diluting the bright golden liquid into a murky brown. Frustrated, you leaned back in your chair and ran a hand through your hair, causing your meticulously drawn notes and diagrams on the map to scatter and fall to the floor. None of it seemed to make sense - there simply wasn't enough space in any of the buildings on your list to accommodate all the families in need of housing. With a resigned sigh, you closed your eyes and reclined against the intricately carved wooden back of the chair, feeling the strain on your neck begin to ease.

The creaky metal of the mail slot clanged open, its rusty hinges protesting. Letters cascaded down onto the foyer carpet with a soft thud, and then the slot shut again with a metallic clang. Your head tilted to the side. From your vantage point in the dining room, you could see through the open door to the hallway, where an array of papers lay scattered on the floor. You stretched your arms high above your head, feeling your spine crackle as you arched left and right in an effort to loosen your stiffening joints. With a push against the table, you rose up and twisted your neck, trying to release any remaining tension. As you made your way towards the hallway, your bare feet sunk into the soft, plush rugs that lined the floors of the Townhouse. Leaning down, you picked up the pile of mail and began to sift through it. Letter after letter addressed to you from various Pleasure Maker’s applying for support and accommodation. Each one elicited a mixture of both excitement and trepidation.

As you sorted through the stack of letters, one caught your eye with its pristine appearance. The envelope gleamed in the light, adorned with a single golden maple leaf wax stamp in the corner. Your name was elegantly written in thin, flowing handwriting. Intrigued, you furrowed your brow as you gathered the other letters in your arm and reached for this one. Sliding a finger under the flap, you carefully pulled out the contents written on delicate paper with the same thin pen.

My esteemed daughter,

I extend my well wishes to you, though I pen this letter with a perhaps unpleasant request. It has been brought to my attention by Caelum, a distinguished male of the Night Court, that you and he are mated. Your impeccable taste has not gone unnoticed and I would like to congratulate you on finding yourself mated to someone of such strength and charm. It is expected that your union with Caelum will produce many wonderful heirs for our Court.

However, it seems that there has been a misunderstanding, leading you to purposely avoid his presence. While I trust that this is simply an oversight on your part, I must insist that you return to your rightful place at the Autumn Court immediately. Not only does Caelum grieve over your absence, but as your father and nobility within the court, I cannot tolerate any deviation from the path set by the Mother for our people.

Nevertheless, I hold no ill will towards you for any perceived misstep, and I am committed to rectifying the situation. I am aware that your upbringing has not been within the walls of the Court, but being young and undeniably influenced by your past experiences, I cannot hold you entirely accountable for your actions. However, it is now time to rectify this mistake.

Do keep me informed of your plans, though they should involve returning to fulfill your duties as an heir to our esteemed court and future mother of heirs. Your compliance in this matter is non-negotiable.

Awaiting your swift return,

Your Father, Philip Vanserra

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you read and reread the letter, your heartbeat quickening with each passing moment. Your blood boiled with anger and fear as you struggled to calm your trembling lips. How could Caelum know about Philip? Had you been too careless lately in keeping your walls against Caelum up? What other details did he know? The thought sent shivers down your spine. And now, Caelum was using it against you in a twisted attempt to lure you back home. You felt bile rise in your throat at the mere idea of it. There was no way you would fulfill his request, but even worse, there was no telling what lengths Philip would go to in order to make you comply. You frantically checked the clock, knowing that Azriel would be home soon. But the thought of being alone with your racing thoughts for even a few more hours made you want to scream.

You were practically tripping over yourself as you descended the steps of the Townhouse in haste. Your feet hitting the pathway to the street with a resounding thus. The letter was clutched so tightly in your hand that your knuckles turned white. Each step heavier than the last, your footsteps echoed through Velaris as you made your way to the edge of the city. The vibrant shops and colorful buildings blurred past as you raced towards the River House. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of your chest as you ran down the pathway and up the grand stairs of the manor. Your fists pounded on the door with such force that they stung and throbbed, but you barely registered the pain. You waited, hands shaking uncontrollably as your throat constricted with each passing second. Every breath was a struggle, like you were drowning on land. Sweat dripped down your back, making your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin. You couldn't stop fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot as you tried to find some semblance of calm amidst the chaos inside you. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs and you were about to pass out, yet at the same time, an overwhelming urge to run away gnawed at your insides. Your stomach churned with a mix of nausea and fear, threatening to make you sick right then and there. Tears welled up in your eyes, burning hot against your skin as they threatened to spill over at any moment. You needed someone else to know about this, anyone, before it suffocated you entirely.

As the heavy door swung open, Elain's kind face came into view, a tea towel thrown over her shoulder and an apron tied around her waist. The immediate smile on her lips twisted into concern as she took in your disheveled appearance. "Y/N," she gasped, her eyes widening with worry, "What's going on? What's happened?"

You tried to speak, but the words became jumbled and incoherent as sobs shook your body. Elain stepped closer, her hands reaching out to steady you. "Just breathe," she cooed softly, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

But you couldn't slow down. Every part of you was trembling and shaking as you struggled to get the words out. Tears streamed down your face, hot and wet against your cheeks.

Elain continued to hold your gaze, searching for answers in your frantic eyes. "Honey, I can't understand you," she said gently, placing a hand on your arm. "Please just take a breath."

Elain's eyes flickered towards the letter in your hand before returning to yours. "Y/N," she whispered gently, "Sit down." With her hand still resting on your arm, she guided you down to the floor, her long dress pooling around her knees as she knelt beside you. Your body hit the ground with a thud as you fell to your knees in front of her, tears pouring down your cheeks as you begged and pleaded for some sort of relief or answer.

Elain pressed her forehead against yours, trying to soothe you with her calming presence. She wrapped her hand around the back of your head, gently stroking your hair as she took deep, exaggerated breaths. You struggled to match her rhythm at first, but slowly, your breathing began to synchronize with hers, and your heart rate started to slow.

“Good.” She whispered. “Just keep breathing.” You felt your body heave up and down in synch with your breaths as you opened your eyes, looking into Elain’s gentle gaze. “Good job.” You stayed like that for a moment, protected in Elain’s arms and gentle embrace as she pulled you in for a hug. “Just calm down.” She leaned back, brushing year hair that was hot and wet away from your face. “Let’s go inside.” She whispered, smiling lightly. You nodded, whimpering slightly as she helped you to your feet.

As you crossed through the entrance into the foyer of the River House you realized suddenly that in your haste to get there you hadn’t put shoes on. You looked down to see your feet, reddened and raw, bleeding slightly as Elain urged you forwards. You paused, stammering slightly, “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

Elain looked down at your feet and then back to your face, “Don’t worry about that.” She cooed. “It will wash out. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You felt terrible, each step leaving splatters of blood behind you as you continued down the hall to the sitting room. “Feyre!” Elain called out. “Feyre, come here!” She called again.

“Just a second!” Feyre’s voice echoed out from the upstairs balcony.

“Now.” Elain called back, rather firmly.

Elain led you into the sitting room, her arm still linked in yours supporting your body as she sat you on the velvet couch. As you almost collapsed down into it, still breathing shakily, Elain dropped to the floor in front of you, pulling the towel from her shoulder and wrapping it around your bleeding feet. “Just keep breathing.” Elain reminded you as you tried to take a few more breaths.

Feyre rounded the corner into the sitting room, “Elain what did you-” but she stopped as soon as she saw her sister sitting on front of you and your own distressed face. “What’s going on?” Feyre asked, taking a few steps into the room.

Elain turned to her sister only giving her a swift command to bring warm water, towels and bandages. Feyre turned on her heel, her footsteps retreated as Elain turned back to you, smiling softly, “Let’s get these cleaned up first and then we can talk.” She whispered. You nodded as Feyre returned, a bowl of steaming water, a heap of towels and two rolls of gauze. She dropped to her sisters side and the two began working in tandem, taking the rags, dipping them into the water and wiping your wounded feet. Each rag coming away almost blackened with dirt and blood. The two continued until the rags pulled away only slightly pink before wrapping them in the bandages. Feyre brought an ottoman in from the adjoining library, propping your feet up onto it as you winced slightly.

Elain stood, wiping her hands on her apron as Feyre turned to look at her sister. “What’s going on?” She asked looking between the two of your. Elain looked at you, assessing if you were in a state to answer, her eyes glancing to the piece of parchment still clenched in your hands.

You tried to steady your breathing more as you swallowed. Finally it seemed you were able to get words out, “I got a letter.” You started, “From Philip.”

Feyre’s expression darkened, her attention now fully on the letter.

“He knows about Caelum.” You managed to choke out, feeling fear rising in your throat once again.

Feyre stood reaching a hand out. “Can I see the it?” She asked tenderly.

You nodded, holding an unsteady hand out as you released the paper to her. Your fingers ached and you realized you’d gripped it so tightly your nails had dug into your palms and made them bleed. Feyre took the blood splattered document as Elain brought a rag down to your palm, rinsing it gingerly. Feyre opened the letter eyes racing over it with an emotionless facade. When she finished she looked up to you and asked, “Does anyone else know about this?”

You shook your head no, and Elain’s worried gaze shifted between you and her sister. Without hesitation Feyre declared, “I’m going to get Rhys here.” She then turned to Elain and added, “And I’m going to take Nyx to the studio for now, just to get him out of the house. Can you stay here with Y/N?”

Elain offered to take Nyx herself but Feyre shook her head. "No, I'll winnow him there. It'll be faster." She turned to call out for Nyx and called over her shoulder she would get Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel, and that Elain should call Lucien to come down as soon as possible. While her own voice remained calm and collected you could sense the urgency with which she spoke and you worked hard to keep from completely falling apart again.

Elain took a seat on the couch next to you, having still not read the letter, she hadn’t a clue what all of this was about, but her concern was more focused on how you were doing than on the circumstances that brought you there. “Can I get you anything?” She asked quietly, “Water? Tea? Something to eat?”

You shook your head, unable to even think about eating or drinking in this moment.

You didn’t hear Azriel enter the house as much as felt it, like a storm coming across calm waters. You heard the door open with a slam, as though it had fallen from it’s hinges and the entire house seemed to shy away from the force that had entered. You heard Rhysand calling out Azriel’s name, attempting to calm him down, but as the heavy, purposeful footsteps came down the hall, and Azriel turned into the room, you knew there would be no calming the rage behind his eyes. Azriel’s shadows whispered around him as though his own anger was causing them to be frantic and disrupted as he crossed the room to you, his eyes heavy with concern. Azriel immediately stopped by your side, dropping down into a crouch to your feet, still propped up on the ottoman as he inspected the bandages. “What happened?” He asked, his voice breaking with emotion.

Elain answered before you could, “She walked here without shoes.” Azriel’s eyes flicked to Elain who immediately followed with, “But she’s alright.”

Azriel’s attention returned to you, his scarred hands running gently up and down your shins as he looks at you with pain mirrored in his own eyes. “Why would you do that, my love?” He asks softly.

You croak out a response, admitting that in your frantic state, you didn’t even bother putting on shoes before rushing here.

From behind him, Rhysand entered into the room with Lucien, the two speaking in hushed tones with one another as Lucien held the letter in his hand. His russet eyes that looked strikingly of his brothers met yours and were already whispering apologies to you, but you broke your stare with him as soon as Nesta pushed past behind him, followed by Cassian and Feyre. You watched as Feyre’s eyes met Rhysands and they exchanged unspoken words, both of their faces trying their best to hide the concern bubbling underneath.

It’s clear that Cassian and Azriel were both pulled from a War Camp somewhere, both their boots and armor are covered in a thick coating of dried mud and there is grime settled on both of their faces, but it seemed that they had dropped everything and immediately come here. Elain rose from the couch, crossing to Lucien who she immediately slid into, his shoulder wrapping around her arm as she hugged his side. Nesta immediately took Elain’s place next to you, her hand meeting yours and giving you a reassuring squeeze as she kept her eyes on Rhysand. Cassian joined Rhysand and Lucien who continued to whisper to one another. Azriel only kept his eyes on you, his hands continuing their slow patterns up and down your skin as though he was worried if his touch left, you might disappear. He only broke his focus on you when Rhysand cleared his throat, settling into the sitting chair opposite of yours, leaning forwards on his forearms. A silence falls heavy into the sitting room as Rhysand and you meet eyes. His stare isn’t reassuring and that alone is enough to make that fear that courses through your veins peak again.

You can feel the tension in the air as you finally gather the courage to speak up, your voice trembling with unease. "What does this mean?" you demanded, eyes locked on Rhysand.

His gaze shifts slightly, his breaths coming in controlled puffs. "It means that Philip is trying to control you, to manipulate you into living in the Autumn Court," he replies, his tone filled with a hint of warning.

"Well I won't do it," you declare, your voice laced with conviction and defiance.

Rhysand's expression remains steady, but you can sense the underlying frustration in his voice. "I know," he says, "but Philip knowing about your bond with Caelum changes things."

"Why does it matter what he knows?" you snap back, anger bubbling within you. "He has no right to dictate my life or force me to go back to Caelum."

"Unfortunately," Rhysand continues, "the Autumn Court is known for its traditionalist ways. I'm not surprised by Philip's request."

Your mind reels at this revelation, confusion and fear mixing together in a potent cocktail of emotions. "Surprising or not, I’m not going back with him.”

But his response only adds to the growing turmoil inside you. "It's not that simple," he says gravely.

"Fuck if it's not," you retort angrily and Rhysand pauses considering his next works carefully.

Lucien's voice cuts through the tense silence, his words dripping with bitterness and resentment. "Listen," he interjects, all eyes turning to him now. "My brother is a master manipulator, always looking out for his own gain. And trust me when I say he never makes a request that doesn't benefit himself in some way."

"I don't give a shit," you snap back, your frustration and anger boiling over. "I won't do anything he tells me to."

"Y/N, you need to understand that we cannot trust Philip's motives. We must tread carefully and gather all information before making a decision," Rhysand warns, his eyes flashing with concern.

You shoot back, anger simmering in your voice. "I don't care what he wants or why. I will not go back to that place."

"That is not the desired outcome for any of us," he stresses. "But we cannot simply reject him without knowing the full extent of his intentions or if he has any other plans."

Nesta interjects, her tone sharp and urgent. "So we just sit around and wait for another letter? Or worse?"

"I believe it would be wise to wait and see if we can figure out more about what’s going on under the surface.” Rhysand replies, his answer calculating and cold.

"I refuse to be a pawn in someone else's game," you spout, venom lacing your words.

Rhysand fixes you with an intense gaze. "As a daughter of the Autumn Court High family, you are already a pawn whether you like it or not."

"I have no interest in claiming the throne," you protest.

Lucien adds, "But as an extension of the High Lord, you could offer potential heirs for the next ruler after Eris."

Your throat tightens and vomit rises as you think about that possibility.

"How did Caelum even know to reach out to Philip?" Cassian questions, arms crossed against his chest.

"It's possible that the wall that Y/N has against him isn’t as solid as we may have thought, allowing Caelum glimpses into her thoughts," Feyre suggests grimly.

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, heavy with guilt and regret. Despite the walls you’ve built up and the lessons from Rhysand, you couldn’t keep them safe. All because you let yourself be happy for a moment. You vow to punish yourself later for your weakness, but seeing Azriel’s concerned gaze on you only adds to your inner turmoil. How can you face him when you've failed to protect those you love?

Rhysand's voice cuts through the tense silence like a knife, "We stay silent for now. We reach out to Eris and bring him into the fold, making sure he knows the truth about his brother's actions. And if necessary, we will meet with him to strategize. This issue affects all of us and I refuse to keep anyone in the dark, especially when it concerns Philip." His words hang heavy in the air as he continues, "And I think it would be best for you to distance yourself from us for the time being."

Your eyes widen in shock and confusion as you protest, "What?!" But Nesta's outraged shout echoes your own sentiment.

Rhysand's hand shoots up with ferocity, silencing the two of you before you can protest. "You will stay away until we have a solid plan in place," he commands, his eyes fierce and determined. "Caelum has found a way past your defenses and is using you to gather information for Philip. We cannot risk your safety or ours by keeping you near us."

Azriel's jaw clenches in anger as he grips your leg tighter. "She's supposed to be isolated?" he growls, his gaze burning into Rhysand.

"She won’t be cast out," Rhys answers quickly. "She can stay at the Town House while we figure out what to do."

Azriel's voice rises in protest. "You promised her she wouldn't be kept in the dark anymore."

"It's not about fairness right now," Rhysand counters. "It's about protecting our family and Y/N from harm. And Azriel, as my spymaster, I would hope you could see past your own wants when it comes to the safety of all of us."

As much as you long to be near Azriel, your focus wanes when you're with him. If it means keeping him safe by staying apart, then you are willing to make that sacrifice.

"I won't make Azriel leave the Town House," you interject firmly.

His gaze snaps back to yours, confusion etched on his face at your lack of protest. But you stand your ground. "I can stay at one of the housing units," you suggest. “I understand the risk that me being around poses.”

"No," Azriel responds immediately, shaking his head. "I won't have you hiding from us."

“I cannot bear to see anyone else suffer because of me, Azriel,” you choke out through trembling lips, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. You refuse to cry, not now, not in front of him. “Even if it means being alone, I will make that sacrifice.” Your heart breaks at the pained look in Azriel's eyes, but you turn away and face Rhysand, determined to stay strong. “I can leave this afternoon.”

Rhysand nods solemnly at you. “Only until we can find a solution or ensure your walls are impenetrable. Until then, I will come visit you and work on strengthening your defenses, finding any weaknesses.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Nesta's hand tightens in yours, her tears cascading down her cheeks like the glittering jewels of a shattered crown. Her chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, her body trembling with grief. You can feel the weight of her pain as if it were your own. As you sit with your family, trying to push back the looming questions of how long you will be away and how much of Nesta's pregnancy you may miss, a sense of guilt gnaws at your gut. You know that inside, Nesta is mourning the loss of your steadying presence through this whole ordeal. Lucien refuses to meet your gaze, his shoulders slumped as though he bears the weight of his family's actions.

And then there is Azriel... the sweet, broken male who holds your heart in his hands. His once composed expression now shattered, his hazel eyes a storm of emotion as he begs for you to stay, to fight for your love. But you know deep down that this sacrifice is necessary. You've already lost too many loved ones and the thought of losing him, the one who has held you through all the nightmares and pieced together your shattered soul, is unbearable.

You can feel his fingers trembling against yours, silently pleading for you to look at him. The warmth of his skin sends a rush of memories flooding through you - the late nights spent wrapped in each other's arms, the whispered promises of forever, the shared laughter and tears. But you can't bring yourself to do it, knowing that one glance into those hazel eyes will break your resolve. You refuse to let the tears fall, to show any weakness.

But for now, keeping him away means keeping him safe. And even though it feels like your heart is being torn apart with every step that separates you from him, you are willing to endure the searing pain of losing him for a moment in order to protect him from a lifetime without his love and presence by your side. You will stay away from him, feeling the weight of his absence like a physical ache in your chest, all in the hopes that the delicate babe you see in your dreams, with eyes just like his and tiny wings that flutter with promise, may someday be born into a world where they can thrive and grow strong. You will stay away so that the declaration of your love to one another will not simply fade into a distant memory, but will be nourished and allowed to flourish. You will stay away, making sacrifices for the sake of living, not just surviving, as Azriel has pleaded with you before. You will live, clinging desperately to the hope that one day, when the time is right, you can finally be reunited with the one who holds your heart in his hands.

Readers: Hah. Hah. Hah. *clears throat* sorry about that one.

@sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00 @caninne @weepingwerewolfparadise @that-one-bibliophole @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @caroline-books @slytherintaco @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx

[hunnyrants]

How would anyone feel about an angsty, multi-part, azriel x cadre!reader?

I'm having so many thoughts...

[outoftheseine]

-AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS-

i am so obsessed with him it is not even funny | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the trials of aphrodite • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @milswrites (unrequited love, so much pining)

unrequited love | part two • azriel x reader

↳ by @lyssasdrafts (angst)

a field of dandelions • azriel x witch!reader

↳ by @prythianpages (made my heart warm, some angst, smut)

bloodied bonds | sinner’s sacrifice • azriel x rhysand’s sister!reader

↳ by @ellievickstar (hanahaki au, angst)

if it all fell • azriel x reader

↳ by @pellucid-constellations (angst, comfort, i feel for azriel :()

the silent one | 2 | 3 | 4 | azriel x fem!oc

↳ by @feyreswaterybowels (found family, slowburn, angst, fluff, comfort, mute!oc, tw: past sa)

lonesome | part 2 • azriel x reader

↳ by @assassinsblade (angst)

ocean eyes • azriel x reader

↳ by @redheadspark (very fluffy, angsty at times, smut, dad!azriel)

crush • azriel x reader

↳ by @writingcroissant (so so fluffy, smut)

i laugh like me again… she laughs like you | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 • azriel x reader

↳ by @azrielbrainrot (very angsty, grief, violence, torture)

was any of it true? | full throttle | alt. ending • badboy!azriel x goodgirl!reader

↳ by @flickering-chandelier (modern au, angst, happy ending, smut)

pushed to the edge • azriel x seer!reader

↳ by @stormhearty (oh boy hurt me so good)

baker!reader x azriel

↳ by @imaginesmai (so fluffyyy)

and so, the stars aligned | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 • azriel x archeron!reader

↳ by @offthepages

finding home • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @parkerslatte

sweet like sugar • azriel x reader

↳ by @writingsbychlo (fluff, angst, smut)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

tiny shadows • azriel x reader

↳ by @xmalfoyweasleyx (fluff)

his shadows know • azriel x reader

↳ by @daycourtofficial (fluff)

he feels safe with you • azriel x reader

↳ by @florencemtrash (warm, fuzzy fluff)

the quiet between • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @thewulf (mean!az, angst, fluff)

you drew stars around my scars • azriel x reader

↳ by @flickering-chandelier (fluff, slight angst)

arcane • azriel x death god!reader

↳ by @serpentandlily (fluff, tw: alludes to sa)

butterfly kisses • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @itsswritten (fluff, suggestive)

threads of hazel • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @itsswritten (oh beautiful angst)

laborious activities • azriel x reader

↳ by @writingcroissant (fluff and labour things)

marriage-life • azriel x reader

↳ by @delulustateofmind (sooo fluffy)

baby blanket • azriel x reader

↳ by @sapphicmsmarvel (fluff)

implode • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @daydreaming-nerd (really angsty)

blinded • azriel x reader

↳ by @lady-of-tearshed (oh so angsty, unrequited love)

scartlet-tipped secrets; peonies, for you • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @angelshadowsinger (hanahaki au, unrequited love, angst)

totally annoying and not funny at all • azriel x reader

↳ by @sillymercury (fluff, little angst, literally idiots in love)

never yours • azriel x reader (lucien x reader)

↳ by @really-fanny-longbottom (angst, stupid azriel tbh, fluff)

let me keep you company • azriel x reader

↳ by @utterlyazriel (so so fluffy)

you found me • azriel x reader

↳ by @pit-and-the-pen (angst, blood, comfort)

pretty little shadowsinger • azriel x reader

↳ by @illyrianbitch (fluff)

happy ending • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @milswrites (fluff and a little angst)

pancake • azriel x reader

↳ by @acotarxreader (fluff, comfort, tw: panic attack)

domestic bliss • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @bat-boys (very fluffy, slightly suggestive)

and yesterday you were here with me • azriel x reader

↳ by @dawneternal (angst, comfort, tw: miscarriage)

(what if?) all i need is you • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @empiresofstorm (whipped azriel, comfort, fluff)

baby mine • azriel x reader

↳ by @thisblogisaboutabook (angst, comfort, fluff, tws: sa and trauma)

calypso • azriel x reader

↳ by @solbaby7 (fav kind of female rage, mentions of blood)

the girl who cheated death • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @utterlyotterlyx (fluff)

the tormented & the unforgiven • azriel x reader

↳ by @lucysstoryworld (very angsty, graphic torture)

tattoos older than you • azriel x archeron!reader

↳ by @surielstea (age-gap, suggestive)

“you were flirting with me?” • azriel x fem!reader

↳ by @thehighladywrites (suggestive, fluff, humour)

[yearning-for-autumn]

So, here is my humble request 👀:

Reader is afab Illyrian, got her wings clipped (because we hate this tradition that’s why and because I am too much into enemies to lovers) and the Bat Boys consider her something close to a little sister.

When Eris was making a deal with the NC to get their help to kill Beron and that shit, his bond snapped with reader.

Obviously problematic for him because he has been insulting Illyrians since his mom popped him out about 500+ years ago.

So…bonus points for: smut obvs.- go as filthy as you like, Lucien absolutely mocking Eris for FUMBLING desperately to get his charm going, reader being oblivious.

I hope this sparks some ideas and creativity 🥰🤞🏻

Would That I -- Part 1

A/n: This was too good not to make into a multi-part fic, so expect more soon. Smut will be coming!

Pairing: Eris X Illyrian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to smut, pining, mentions of mental health

Word Count: 3,638

Summary: You hate him. You hate the very thought of him. And yet he's your mate. The Mother has a cruel sense of humour.

Part 2 Part 3

Fury rippled through your body like a forest fire. You were livid. And Cassian had the nerve to laugh at you. Well, stifle a laugh. Rhysand was watching him with a worried look as he tried to give him a silent warning to stop. This progressed to warning him mind to mind when you got up from the sofa, flinging a pillow so far it almost landed into the fireplace. Azriel flinched.

“Him!?” You seethed, finally breaking the silence you had kept since your return from that damned High Lord meeting. Cassian snorted softly and you rounded on him with a deathly calm. Rhys made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Is this funny to you, brother? I’m shackled to that evil, pompous, ginger-haired freak and you’re laughing?” His smile had dropped and a look of fear was quickly overcoming his rugged features. You stepped closer to him, your finger in his face. “Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.”

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to accept the bond. We can make sure you never see him again.” The bond snarled through you at that and you growled.

“Sure Rhys, because you were so calm when you found out Feyre was your mate.”

His brow furrowed.

“So you want to be with Eris?” The name seemed to physically disgust him. Azriel scoffed, abruptly rising from the sofa and marching out of the room. Cassian eyed the doorway in his wake. You turned to Rhys.

“No!” You groaned in frustration, pacing up and down on the carpet like a caged animal. Cassian’s eyes darted between Rhys and you. Finally deciding to break things up he manhandled you into a hug. You fought it for a few moments, before giving up and collapsing into your brothers embrace, hot angry sobs wrenching through you. Rhys took this as his cue to leave, and winnowed—probably to his office—out of the room. Cassian rubbed soothing circles on your back, careful to avoid your wings that were ever more sensitive after the clipping.

You were clipped at thirteen, which is how you had come to live with the three brothers. In Windhaven, they clipped your wings the day you started your cycle. Once grounded there was no escaping your duties, nor any chance to leave the camp. Unless, of course, you had grown close with the High Lord’s son, who had a mother with a habit of collecting strays.

You were there through all of it, the highs, the lows, and Morrigan’s tumultuous relationship with one Eris Vanserra. The male you were now mated to.

---

In the Forest House, Eris was pacing. His throat was still sore from the memory of Azriel’s scarred hand, and his cheek burned from the slap that had earned him from his father. But all of that had been overshadowed. He knew as soon as he saw you. His heart had lurched in his chest so hard he had thought he might throw up. You were the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on. And of course, you were from the Night Court. The Mother truly did have a cruel sense of humour.

You had walked in, looking as arrogant as the rest of them, sharing a secret smile with the shadowsinger before sitting down next to the High Lord. Eris, next to his mother, couldn’t rip his eyes from you. Your doe eyes, sharp and intelligent captured his attention first. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them, to find out everything about you: What you liked to read, your favourite food, how best to pleasure you and have you screaming his name. He was pulled from his fantasies by your wings. Cauldron, your magnificent wings. Their beauty stole breath from his lungs as they unfurled, getting comfortable on the chair. You had smiled at Feyre, warm and supportive, and Eris knew he was utterly lost.

He finally stopped his pacing, locked inside his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat there, holding his head in his hands until he heard the scratch of claws at the door. Getting up with a weary sigh, he opened it only to be knocked to the ground by his oldest and most loyal smokehound.

“Cheddar.” He chided as she licked his face excitedly. “Cheddar Biscuit.” He said, sternly, and she leapt off of him, waiting by the door expectantly.

“Yes alright, I suppose it’s time for a walk.” Cheddars tail thumped faster against the door frame and Eris couldn’t help the smile that grew. “Go and fetch your brothers and sisters then.” He said, grabbing the leashes off the wall. A walk was one way to clear his mind.

---

As you had predicted, Rhys was holed up in his office when you went looking for him. He barely looked up at you as you entered.

Rhysand’s office was always meticulously organised, but as you came up behind his chair you noticed how messy his desk had become. Letters and notes were piled on every inch of space, his childhood stuffed bat sitting atop one pile as a makeshift paperweight.

He loosed a breath.

“We are going to war, Y/n.” He said quietly, and any thoughts of Eris Vanserra eddied from your mind. Rhys looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. Guilt coursed through you for ever caring about something as trivial as a mating bond when you and your brothers were set for battle. You had only just got Rhys back from under the mountain, only to potentially lose him again.

“Is it certain?” You asked, leaning down to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Is Cass--?”

“Leaving for Windhaven by first light.” He answered.

“Ok.”

Rhys turned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew what you were thinking, though you wished you weren’t.

“Eris is an awful male, Y/n. You know I could never support the bond between you. Azriel is...well, I’m sure you already know.”

You did. The moment he had stormed out of the room you had known this was the beginning of a negative spiral for Az. Not to mention the upcoming war. You stood up straight.

“That being said.” Rhys continued. “Eris is ensuring Autumn allies with us against Hybern. There is a certain political advantage to the match.”

You scoff.

“Like there was with Mor?” Rhys turned green. “What did Eris bargain for in return for Autumn’s support? What did you trade away, Rhys?”

Rhysand looked every bit five centuries old when he turned to you.

“Our support in his bid for the throne. Whenever that may be.”

Hatred for the male burst anew in your gut, fiercer still now that you were mated to him.

“That power hungry bastard.” You spat.

Rhysand sighed.

“He could never deserve you, starlight. I will make sure that he never sees you again. I will not lose another sister.”

---

It wasn’t until midnight that you saw Azriel. The last of your brothers to approach you. He let himself into your room, waking you, tattered blanket draped around his shoulders. Rhys’ mother had sewn it for him years ago, before you had come to live with them. It had helped him through many hard nights. So much so that it was threadbare and faded. Rhys had enchanted it not to break further as a solstice gift one year.

You sat up worried.

“Az? Are you ok? You didn’t—”

“No,” He assured, and you relaxed against the pillows, “I’m ok.”

You shuffled over in your bed to make space for him, and he laid next to you, blanket over the both of you.

“I hate him.” He said into the darkness. “I hate what he did to Mor. I hate everything he stands for. I will not let him have you.” He declared.

You snuggled up to your eldest brother.

“I don’t know why you all seem convinced I’m going to somehow fall for this prick.” You said, and he snorted. “I hate him as much as you do.”

Azriel tucked you under his arm.

“I know.” You smiled tiredly, somehow understanding the words Azriel left unsaid. The words Rhys had been able to express. Azriel’s shadows settled over your heart, confirming, and the two of you fell asleep.

---

Months later, Eris sat in a tent, head between his legs to stop from throwing up. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were surely destined to die. Two of his brothers, and his mate, fought on the battlefield.

He only had a moments warning before he was violently sick into a bucket.

Asher, his youngest brother before Lucien, chose this moment to enter his tent unannounced, scowling at the sight of Eris hunched over and retching.

“Can’t handle the bloodshed, brother?” He teased, though he sat next to Eris and put a warm hand on his shoulder. The gaping wound on his neck was healing quickly, as it should with the High Lords power coursing through his veins, but the sight of it set Eris off again. He heaved into the bucket, choosing to ignore the gagging sound Asher made.

“Eris you need to pull yourself together. Father is only a tent over.”

Eris rolled his eyes.

“Just show me your plans, Ash.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m better off keeping them to myself, seeing as you’re battlesick.” Asher grimaced when Eris finally sat up and pushed the bucket away from him.

“Asher.” Eris’ voice held all the command of General, and eldest brother. Asher groaned petulantly as he handed over the plans.

In Eris’ opinion, not that Beron took any heed, Asher should never have taken on as much responsibility in this war. After Ceres had died, Ash had taken over as Eris’ right hand. Ceres had been more naturally suited to the role, Beron’s bloodlust had run as deep as his bones, and he had a sharp mind for strategy. Eris still mourned the boy he had raised—a quick witted, chess loving, boisterous child—but he had to accept, he had lost Ceres long before he had died. And Eris wasn’t keen on losing anyone else. Asher wasn’t comfortable with a sword, the gash in his neck clear evidence, and he had a wife and child that weakened his resolve. This is what Eris had to work with. And he had a job to do.

He let Asher discuss his plans, though he was unable to rip his mind from providing a hundred different ways that he could die, that Ash or Lucien could die, that you could die.

It took every ounce of training ingrained in him not to falter in his attack the moment he had caught sight of you, fighting your way through the onslaught, Mor by your side. Cauldron, you were ethereal. Your silken wings were spread as if they could carry you into the air, though he had long since guessed that they could not. You cut through your enemies with a frightening ease. Catching his eye, you hesitated just a second, then your face had turned to rage and the next Hybern soldier to cross your path had been beheaded so brutally that even he had to avert his gaze.

When he had looked back up, you were gone, lost in the chaos.

Asher sighed,

“You’re not listening.” He said, and Eris had the decency to feel bad. He looked at Ash wearily.

“Come back in the morning. I’ll be more attentive.” Ash just peered at him over his notes.

“It’s her isn’t it. It’s Y/n.”

“Yes.” Eris said, lacking the energy to lie.

“She’s Night Court. She’s not one of us. One day you’ll find a nice Autumn girl to marry and when you’re High Lord she can pop out a few Autumn court babies.”

“She is my mate.” Eris growled.

“Mate’s aren’t always meant to be Eris. It’s only a biological match, not a political one. When you find an Autumn Court lady you’ll wonder why you ever spent time worrying over some Night Court harlot.” Eris snarled, despite himself. His brothers words were wrenched straight from Beron’s throat and he wouldn’t stand for it. Not from Asher. Not from his kind, loving Ash.

“Get out.” He said. Asher looked surprised, and—Eris was pleased to see—ashamed. He made no moves to leave, so Eris repeated himself, sharper this time.

“Get out.” He snapped, “Come back in the morning with more sense.”

Asher, chastised, fled from the tent, and Eris buried his head in his hands. What use was there protecting you from his brothers when it was certain your own said the same about him. There was no denying the cruel twist of fate the Mother had pulled on the both of you, destined to crash and burn. He imagined you in your own tent, laughing at the thought of him speared on another males sword. Mor sat next to you whispering all the terrible things he had done that day, terrible things to twist your mind and poison the very notion of him. He was too late, he was nothing but soot in the deep pit of your heart, choking the both of you.

He felt blindly for the bond, and found it, rotten.

---

The war was over, but the scars it had left were red raw and bleeding. Rhys had died. Your brother. The one who had sheltered you, loved you, given you a home and a family for a few agonising minutes had been gone. Gone. And yet that Cauldron damned bond had been chafing in the back of your mind. You sat in your bedroom riddled with guilt as it plagued your mind. Eris. Eris. Eris. He infested your mind, your senses, you were consumed by the very thought of him.

Walking through the streets of Velaris had started to feel claustrophobic, being around anyone beginning to suffocate you. You felt safer on your own. Recently you had taken to sheltering in your room, only emerging to eat. Your brothers eyed you with poorly concealed worry every time you walked, ghostlike, through the house, shuffling to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers then retreat hastily to your safe space.

Nesta was struggling too, after the war. It had left its scars in all of you. You could feel Cassian’s heart breaking the day Rhys sent her away with him, but all you could think about was whether your brother would do that to you. You thought you knew the looks he gave you.

Disgust.

What use was a flightless Illyrian female, who couldn’t train, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. He was dead. Rhys was dead. And then he wasn’t. Why were Seren and your mother not afforded the same luxury. You grieved, and cried, and screamed. It truly was a sick thing, to use to the miracle of Rhys’ living to guilt yourself into believing there was hope for them. But then, everything in your mind had twisted of late.

Nesta began training. Nesta began healing. And you were stuck in your room.

Every morning without fail, Azriel came to check on you. He stroked your hair until you woke up, then retreated when you once again rejected his invitations to join them. The Valkyries, they were calling themselves. You would have been proud of Nesta if you could feel anything anymore.

Occasionally, you could feel a light tug on the bond, on the shackles that kept you bound to Eris. The first few times you had thrown up. Now it was little more than an annoyance. You were his dog, disobediently pulling your leash as you fell further and further into nothingness. His face in your mind was as cold as it had been on the battlefield as he yanked you back, choking you. You spluttered. Standing weakly, you made your way down to the kitchen, setting water on the stove to boil.

“Sister.” Cassian’s voice rang out behind you and you flinched, dropping your teaspoon. He bent to pick it up and set it down on the counter. “Azriel says you’ve been ignoring him. You’ve been ignoring all of us.”

You shrugged, the familiar pang of guilt squeezing your chest, making it difficult to breath. You braced both hands on the counter top, taking a ragged breath. Cassian was beside you in a heartbeat, holding you in his arms.

“Y/n, I’m worried about you. We all are.” He squeezed you closer to him, closer than you had allowed anyone in months. “Come and stay with Nes and I. Az is a terrible chaperone, and I need to see you. You could be wasting away down here and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

You shook your head, though you no longer knew why you resisted him. Your body melted against him, muscle memory taking over as he enveloped you in his wings. You swore you heard him sniffling as you hugged him back.

“Please, y/n.” He said, voice shaking. It didn’t take much more convincing.

A few days later, Rhys was helping you unpack your bags in your new room in the House of Wind. You took the room next to Azriel, who—Cassian had explained—was falling into bad habits again: Not eating, not sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat when he did finally drop off. Cassian wasn’t doing as well as he wanted you to believe, either. Twice in the following week you woke up to find him taking things from your room. And once, when you had floated downstairs in a miserable haze, you found him throwing up in the kitchen sink, an empty plate that had once held a batch of Elain’s cookies sitting on the table.

Nesta had dragged you to Valkyrie training a few times, and whilst you were beyond their current skill level, it had taken your mind off of things. Cassian’s eyes gleamed with pride everytime Nesta mastered an attack or a block. He touched her affectionately, he teased her, he lingered as she passed to breath in her scent. Watching them together was as painful as it was sweet. How simple love could be.

Would that you could be half as lucky.

Slowly you were emerging from your shell. You could smile again. Nesta invited you to read with her and the Valkyries, and in the silence you found firm friendship. Emerie was a gift from the Mother herself. You bonded instantly, both of you clipped, grounded, but neither broken. Many late nights were spent talking, about books, your brothers, or about Eris. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn knew little of the Autumn prince, but you appreciated their outside perspective on the bond. It was still a bitter taste in your mouth, but it was becoming more bearable with each passing week.

---

There was a ball approaching in the Hewn City and Rhys had asked Nesta to attend. Not long after, she asked you to join her.

“I can’t do this alone, Y/n, please.” She said one night, sitting at the end of your bed. You bit your lip, unsure.

“Eris will be there.” You said.

“I’ll be the one dancing with him. Rhys wants him falling madly in love with me. He won’t look your way, I promise.” Nesta said. You knew she meant well by that. You had never wanted him anywhere near you before. But something about her oath left a sting. You frowned, which she took to mean you were still unconvinced.

“Please, Y/n. My sisters will be there, Rhys will be there. I’m not ready to face them all on my own, not yet.”

And so you found yourself stood atop the stairs the following week, draped in a black dress with a slit so high up one side your whole leg was practically exposed. The back scooped so low the dimples at the bottom of your spine peeked over top. You were devastating. Death in midnight silk. Rhys’ smile was that of pure brotherly pride as you walked down the steps, your hair pinned in braids and curls.

Nesta stole your breath away as she appeared in the hallway, but it wasn’t your gaze she sought out. You looked towards Cassian and could have sworn he was drooling. Eris would be blind-sided by her, of that you had no doubt.

In the Hewn City, they danced like lovers. Nesta as dangerous in the ballroom as she had become on the training grounds. Every move was calculated, every parting of her lips a dance of the mind, designed to ensnare Eris in her dastardly web. Eris was caught. And you burned.

Standing next to Azriel, heat rolled off you in waves. He took a step towards you, perhaps to offer you a drink, but found something in your eyes to make him change his mind. You hadn’t taken your eyes off of Eris all night. He was sinful. A courtier and a Prince. His hair pooled over his shoulders, one strand to the front neatly braided. You reminded yourself that this was the male that left your cousin for dead at his Court border. Biting your lip, your mind wandered to see yourself lying prone beneath him as he stood, smile widening, cock hardening in his—

“Get me a drink.” You ordered Az. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the magic word.”

“Azriel.” You growled, and he turned on his heel. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eris as he led Nesta across the dancefloor in a tantalizing waltz. His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a fraction of surprise before his emerald eyes darkened. He licked his lips, eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s neck.

A/N: I have to thank @fandomsmultiverse for talking to me and giving me about 100 ideas to flesh this story out, I really hope you like it! There will be a part 2 coming soon! I wouldn't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that. We will see more of Eris and Reader interacting, and maybe.....some smut...

[highladyivy]

Fic Recs

💕 Fluff

❤️‍🔥 Smut

💔 Angst

📚Multi Chapter

📖 WIP 📒 Completed

Be Yours by @writingsbychlo 💕

Forever my love by @bat-boys 💕❤️‍🔥

Overwritten by @illyrian-dreamer (11 parts) 💔❤️‍🔥 📚📒

Hobbies by @milswrites (12parts) 💕💔📚📒

Notice me by @heartless-tate 💕

Teach Me by @solbaby7 (brief Elain x Reader) 💕

Always by @redbleedingrose (9 parts)💔💕📚📒

Not again by @fanwarriorfictions 📚📖(Rowilen Daughter)

An Education in Malice by @illyrianbitch ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

A Court of Soul & Shadow by (AO3) 📚📖

When the heart is still longing by @illyrianbitch 💔

I’ve been waiting for you by @prythianpages 💕

You drew stars around my scars @flickering-chandeliers 💕

I heard your voice in a dream by @flickeringchandelier 💕❤️‍🔥

A Place For Dying by @illyrianbitch 💔

A Court of Healers & Plotholes by @witchysquirrel 💔❤️‍🔥📚📖

Mama Mia 2 by @assriels 💔💔💔

Knocked Up by @tadpolesonalgae ❤️‍🔥

The bonds that break us by @daydreaming-nerd 💕💔❤️‍🔥📚

To Be Wed 2 by @bloodycassian (AzrielxReaderxRhysand)❤️‍🔥

Handmaid by @littlestw01f (NestaxReaderxEris) ❤️‍🔥

Blurred Lines 2 3 4 by @solbaby7 (readerxRhysand&Azriel) ❤️‍🔥📚

Double Duty by @azsazz (RhysandxReaderxCassian) ❤️‍🔥

If you should die by @azsazz (BatBoysxReader)❤️‍🔥

Tender by @shadowdaddies (batboys x reader) ❤️‍🔥💕

But Home Is Nowhere by @mirandasidefics 💔📚📖 (endgame pairing undetermined)(Ruhn, Azriel, Lucien)

Lucien x Reader by @gothicbabydollz ❤️‍🔥

Care for you by @shallyne 💕(Feyre x Lucien)

About Last Night By @readychilledwine ❤️‍🔥

Nothing But A Curse by @stormhearty 💔💔💔

Coming soon

The Dilemma by @shadowdaddies (Az & Cas present) ❤️‍🔥

Happiness in the heart by @munsons-hellfire 💔💕

Love and Lust by @surielstea ❤️‍🔥💕

Gust & Flame by @invisibleanonymousmonsters 💔💕📚📖

Remember Me by @thelov3lybookworm 💔💕📚📖

The Fox and The Fawn by @utterlyotterlyx 📚📖

[utterlyotterlyx]

Masterlist

Updated on - 20.05.24

Requests are currently closed whilst I work through the requests on my list🫶🏻

Series and Multi-Parts

A Fate Inked In Starlight - Ongoing

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight (coming soon!!)

When I Kissed The Teacher - Ongoing

Azriel x Teacher!Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Another Love - Complete

Azriel x Fem!Reader and Eris x Fem!Reader (Intermission)

Original Alternate Ending Intermission

New Pages - Paused

Modern!Az x Fem!Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

The Fox and The Fawn - Ongoing

HighLord!Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve (Coming Soon)

One Shots and Drabbles

Eris

Wicked Game

Eris x CassianSister!Reader

Here

Dark Paradise

Eris x DayCourt!Reader

Here

Can't Keep My Hands To Myself

Modern!Eris x Reader

Here

Lost In The Fire

Eris x Fem!Reader

Here

Azriel

My Tears Are Becoming a Sea

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Constellations

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Darkest Hour

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Work Song

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Reckless

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Moth To A Flame

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Worthy

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Say Yes To Heaven

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Little Thing

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Sparks

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Sweet Creature

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

In This Shirt

Azriel x Rhys!Sister!Reader

Here

Shine

Azriel x Fem!Reader - SMUT

Here

You Are My Shelter

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Here

Cassian

Skin and Bones

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Here

White Flag

Cassian x Rhys!Sister Reader

Here

These Hallowed Halls

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Here

Arsonist's Lullaby

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Here

Helion

Precious Gifts

Helion x Fem!Reader

Here

Crescent City

Ruhn

10:35

Ruhn x Reader

Here

Upcoming

When I Kissed The Teacher Part 5

A Fate Inked In Starlight Part 8

'These Hallowed Halls' - Unnamed Eris version

Unnamed 'Princess of Hybern' Fic - Azriel x Reader pairing

[thisblogisaboutabook]

I would just ask for angst fluff and smut with azriel 🫶🏼🙈

Maybe where reader had a crush on azriel for a really long time. She lives in the court of nightmares and her parents wanted to sell her of. Rhys gets wind of that and has to intervene because reader has powers that would help them win against koschei. Since they already found someone to marry for her they won’t let her go just like that. Rhys ask azriel to step up and he is mad because he wanted to pursue a relationship with elain. But rhys says its an order so he gets through with it. Reader is happy when she finds out who she is marrying but then azriel makes it clear that he isn’t marrying her out of love but because of his duty to his high lord. On their wedding day she is completely distant to him and only talks when others are around, but in this time azriel realises that she is one of the sweetest and kindest people he has ever met. When they return to his home she goes to the guest room and turns around and says to him “ i don’t expect you to love me or to be loyal. I just want respect and be treated as a person. You can have as many lovers as you want, i know that is not a marriage of love and it will never be one.” When she closes her door a tear slips down azriels cheek and he knows that a lot of people have let her down and he is already one of them. So he makes it his mission to be the best husband ever. Thats when the fluff starts and then the smut 👀👀

( maybe when reader and az met the first time the bond snapped for her thats why it hurt even more when he said that)

If it’s to long for you you don’t have to write it. 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Working on this AMAZING request right now and cannot wait to share it with you all! I’m about 4K words in and we’re just now at the wedding. It may end up being a multi-part fic. Would that be of interest to you all? Vote here!

Fic title: “DARK THRALLER”

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Winner Takes All

Azriel x Original Character (Celeste)

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary : After returning from a girls retreat weekend at the cabin, Nesta and Celeste find out the Bat Boy husbands have made a bet they are sure to lose.

Author's Note : Azriel and Celeste are the pairing from my in progress multi-part fic. This can be read as a standalone and takes place after the events of that story.

Warnings : light swearing, explicit sex described - masturbation, p in v

Celeste had just settled herself into the plush sofa in the living room. Tucking her feet under her, she grabbed her latest novel from the table. 

“I’ll be upstairs.” Azriel said as he leaned over the sofa back for a kiss. “I have a lot to catch up on.”

She leaned her head back to meet his lips above her. Landing a quick peck, Az pulled back and flashed her a quick smile. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Celeste frowned at the kiss she was expecting to linger, but before she could complain a sharp rap sounded from the front door. 

Az sighed, “I’ll get it.” 

From where she sat, Celeste could see the face that stormed through the door before a word was even uttered. 

“Hi, Nes,” she called from her seat. 

“You,” Nesta stalked into the room with a scowl on her face. “Come with me.” Grabbing Celeste’s wrist with no explanation she pulled her to standing and started yanking her down the back hall towards the kitchen.

“Yes, hello Nesta.” Az drawled with an exaggerated nod in her direction as they passed. The scowl on her face only deepened.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, Nes?” Celeste asked, trying to keep her silk slippers from falling off her feet.

Nesta just carried on in silence until they reached the kitchen. Stopping abruptly, Celeste nearly slammed into her from the change in speed. Nes only shoved her gently to the side before peering out the door.

“Nes?”

Satisfied that they were alone, she whipped around. “Has Az been acting…strange?”

Celeste’s brow furrowed. “Strange? What do you mean?”

“You know, strange. Weird. Not like himself. Like — sexually.”

A shocked laugh left Celeste’s lips. “Nesta! That’s a bit forward don’t you think?”

A miniscule movement in the shadow cast across the cabinet front caught Nesta’s eye. “Out!,” she demanded as she whipped her head towards the movement. A quick fluttering of mist promptly zoomed back through the kitchen door. 

“What exactly is going on, Nes? Should I be worried?”

“I knew it was a terrible idea to head out on a girls weekend all together,” she stated, shaking her head. “Leaving the boys alone all to themselves always starts some kind of trouble.”

Feyre, Nesta and Celeste had just returned from a three day girls retreat at the cabin. The husbands had been left behind in charge of the domestic duties and themselves. 

“I’m confused. What does leaving them all alone together have to do with my husband’s sex life?” Celeste giggled.

Narrowing her eyes, Nesta leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Apparently a bet has been made between them. Except it doesn’t just involve them.” 

At Celeste’s apparent confusion she continued. “They seem to have made a bet with each other about which one of them can go the longest without having sex.”

“Those sneaky bastards,” Celeste breathed out in shock. She immediately thought of all the quick kisses and restrained touches she had gotten since coming home two days ago. Az hadn’t even ravished her like he normally did after time apart, claiming to be feeling unwell. Celeste hadn’t been able to find anything remotely wrong with him through her healer’s touch but had let it go. He had buried himself in work ever since. 

“Does Feyre know?” she questioned.

“It doesn’t matter. Rhys apparently didn’t even make it through the night we returned. I’ll tell her later. I only know because Cassian thought maybe if he told me why he won’t touch me that I would play along and help him win,” Nesta scoffed. “Honestly, I’m so mad about the bet that I might just let him win out of spite.”

Celeste didn’t reply right away, a look of concentrated contemplation on her face. 

“What if we make a little bet of our own then?” 

A sly grin crossed Nesta’s face. “I’m listening.”

“What if we do our best to undermine their bet and then we commandeer the winnings and take ourselves out to a nice dinner. On them.”

“Doesn’t really sound like much of a bet if there is no downside,” Nesta laughed. 

“Exactly,” Celeste declared. “Just a little harmless fun. You in?”

Nesta cracked out a laugh. “Harmless, sure. I’m in.”

Celeste laughed along with her. “Who do you think we can break first?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta thought aloud, “It’s down to just Cas and Az now and you know Az has one hell of a competitive streak.” She winked at Celeste with a smirk. “This close to winning, I think he might be the hold out.”

“We will see about that,” Celeste said with a smirk of her own. “Where is Cas now?”

“He had to run out with Rhys, something something — I wasn’t listening. He said he’d be back in a couple hours.”

“Well, how about this? Double or nothing. I can break Azriel and end the whole silly bet before Cassian even makes it home.”

Another sharp laugh echoes through the kitchen. “You’re on.”

******

The door had barely clicked behind her friend before Celeste was up the stairs and digging in the wardrobe in the bedroom. Finding just the thing she was looking for, she quickly changed before donning her lightweight house robe. Taking a quick peek in the mirror in the bathroom she pinched at her cheeks and watched them bloom with color before adding a swipe of a colored gloss to her lips. 

Tucking her book under her arm, she made her way down the hall. The door to Azriel’s office was closed tight but she didn’t even bother knocking.

“Mind if I join you?” she questioned as she peeked her head in.

Azriel’s gaze lifted from the stack of papers in front of him as he sat behind the large oak desk. “Of course not. If you don’t mind me working a bit longer that is.”

“That’s fine.” Celeste meandered over to the sofa sitting in front of the fireplace. “I brought a book. I just wanted to be in your company.” She smiled at her husband sweetly.

With nothing but a nod in response, Celeste settled herself down upon the cushions. The sofa angled perpendicular to his desk, she made sure to lean her back against the sofa arm that had her facing him directly. Azriel hadn’t even spared her another glance before returning to his work, pen in hand. 

With her legs stretched out before her, she opened her book and propped it in her lap. The next several minutes ticked by in silence. Only the scratch of Az’s fountain pen and the crackling of the fire sounded as Celeste did actually commit herself to reading some before enacting her plan. Suddenly, she gave a small gasp of surprise as she pulled her book closer.

Az’s eyes flicked up from his work without even raising his head, pen still in hand.

“Sorry,” she smiled sweetly once more. “This book is just getting really good.”

Not even a nod this time as he returned to his task.

“Ohh,” she purred out after two more minutes had passed. 

He flicked his gaze up again, his chin following this time. “Must be a pretty interesting book.”

“Oh, it is.” Celeste responded as she ran her hand over the collar of her robe, pulling at it slightly.

Az gave a lopsided smile before once again returning to his work.

Ok, time to get this show on the road. She thought to herself.

Celeste allowed another minute to pass before she snapped her book shut, placing it on the table next to her. The sound caused Az to twitch with a start as he watched her leave her seat to stand. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

It was so quiet that she could hear the whisper of silk as the robe slipped from her shoulders and pooled onto the floor. Underneath she was clad in an absolutely scandalous outfit. A pure white baby doll style nightgown graced her ample frame, although calling it a gown was generous. The hem barely grazed the top of her abundant thighs and the entire thing was practically see through. She had purposely left out the matching panties. 

“That’s much better,” she said with a saccharine smile and bent to retrieve her book, making sure to exaggerate her bow in the right direction before settling herself back onto the sofa.

“Now where was I?” She thumbed at the bookmark she had placed and settled the book back in her lap without even a look toward her husband. 

“Celeste.” Azriel’s dark rumble seemed to skitter over her skin as he spoke. It wasn’t a question.

“Hmm?” She feigned innocence as she dragged her eyes from her book to look over at him.

The heat in his eyes told her she was definitely on the right track. His pupils had nearly blotted out the entirety of his light hazel eyes. “What are you up to?” 

“Me? Just reading. And you are working,” she narrowed her own molten eyes at him. “So don’t mind me.”

She nearly giggled as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his wings twitching. “That doesn’t look like just reading,” the low rumble of his voice was still there. 

“And it doesn’t look like you are getting much work done,” she says sweetly, this time allowing herself a small giggle. 

They held each other’s stare across the room, both of them as still as stone. Celeste waited for him to make the move from his seat but it didn’t come.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” she questioned. 

Azriel narrowed his eyes at her and his head gave a small shake of confusion. 

“Normally you’d have me pinned to the furniture by now. Have you been struck lame?”

She didn’t miss the shudder in his breath as he heaved a sigh. “Celeste, sweetheart, as much as I would love to, I really do need to finish these tonight.”

“Alright.” She shrugged as she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Don’t let me stop you.” 

It took nearly a full minute before Az dropped his own gaze back to his desktop. Within seconds, Celeste began sliding her hand over her collarbone.

“Mmm,” she purred as she flipped the page, bringing her hand back up to her chest and sliding down the space between her breasts. Azriel’s eyes landed on her once more but she didn't stop to acknowledge it. Gliding her palm under one breast she weighs it briefly before sliding her fingertips to the puckering dark tip. With a quick twisting pinch, she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.

“Celeste.”

Her hand was now at the edge of her hem, toying with it for just a second before she pulled it up. The downy tuft of her core was exposed as her hand continued its journey over it. 

“Azriel.” She practically moaned his name as her finger slipped into the joining of her folds, brushing against her aching clit.

The creak of the office chair snapped her attention back to him but she didn’t stop her movements. Noticing he had pushed himself back from the desk some, she gave a seductive smile in his direction. Staring practically into his soul, Celeste slid one foot from the cushion and planted it firmly on the floor, opening her knee wide. 

“Ohhh – Az,” She moaned again, gathering her arousal on her fingers. Tilting her head back one more she said breathlessly, “This book. It’s just – too good.”

The sight of her glistening sex open before him did the trick. Within the blink of an eye he was at her side, standing between the low table and the sofa. 

“I have work to do,” his voice was all gravel but nowhere near convincing.

Looking up at him, she paused her hand. Slipping it from her wetness, Celeste pushed herself up to sit facing him, knees primly together.

 She leaned forward slightly as she reached for his front, noting the breath he was now holding. “Is there something you want to tell me?” 

Her hands slid briefly over his belt buckle and he released his breath with a hitch. With a quickness her palms met his hips and with a gentle pressure she guided him down to sit on the table. “Maybe something about a little bet perhaps?”

“Damn it Rhys,” Az releases the entirety of his breath now as he scrubs his hand down his face. “Celeste, I can exp–”

“It was actually Cassian who snitched,” she smirked wickedly at him. “But it seems he is still in the running, according to Nesta.”

Leaning back and releasing her hold on his hips she allowed her back to meet the sofa. Slowly, she dragged on foot along his shin before planting it firmly on the table edge beside his hip, watching as his eyes flared and dropped to her lap.

“I would hate..” 

The other leg repeated the motion.

“For you to lose…”

Her hand slipped down to her dripping folds.

“All that coin.”

“Devious,” Az growled with a predatory grin, running one hand up her leg. “Positively unfair.” 

Leaning forward he attempted to bring his face closer to where Celeste’s hand was gliding. Before he could get far, one pointed foot landed on his shoulder pushing him back upright.

“No, a bet is a bet,” her voice firm as her fingers return to their task. “You can watch.”

“Fuck the bet,” his voice deepened. Trying once more to lean himself forward, she pushed back against his shoulder harder. 

“Now Azriel, where is your competitive spirit?” She slid her fingers over her throbbing clit and gasped, dropping her foot back to the table. 

“Besides,” she said breathlessly. “I expect a really nice present with the winnings.”

Sliding a finger over that aching spot, she moaned loudly before slipping the digit inside herself. Her hips bucked off the couch just as Az grabbed a hold of her ankles on the table, holding her in place. 

“Fine,” he grunts out hardly above a whisper. “As long as you tell me what it is you are thinking about.”

With a smile she continues. “I’m thinking about your tongue,” she panted out, staring at his face. “Right here.” She circled her thumb around her clit.

“And the way you slip it inside me,” she gasped as a second finger joined the other inside her.

“How you curl it.” Celeste’s fingers mimicked the movement inside her. “Over and over, right on that one spot.” Her hips bucked again as she sucked in a shuddering breath and threw her head back. 

“But mostly,” she started as she pulled her fingers back out, returning them to her clit in the familiar pattern she knows will make this light work. “I'm thinking about what comes after.”

“How your body feels pressed against mine when you push inside me,” she moaned.

“Especially when you do it slow,” she whined.

“Oh gods, so slowly, stretching me as you go,” she cried. 

The sudden displacement of air as he stood and the ringing clank of Azriel’s belt buckle broke the moment. “This won’t be slow, sweetheart,” he growled.

In an instant, his pants and underwear were pushed down and kicked to the side, knocking one of Celeste’s legs off the table. Swooping down, he caught it and used it to swivel her to lay fully reclined on the long sofa. Az planted one knee on the cushion as Celeste hooked the leg over his hip. 

“Thank the gods,” she laughed, bringing her hands up to his shoulders.

He caught the hand that had teased him so mercilessly before she could place it. With a groan he pressed her sodden fingers to his tongue as he angled himself at her entrance. With a flick of his tongue he tasted her arousal at the same time he slammed into her in one jolting thrust. 

“Azriel!” she cried as he picked up a punishing pace. 

Every thrust pushed out a mewling sound from her throat. Az leaned down as he moved her arm to the back of his neck with the other and pressed his lips to her ear. 

“Wicked,” he grunted with a hard thrust before pulling her earlobe between his teeth. 

“Yes,” she panted in his ear. “Punish me — harder.” Her nails were digging into his shoulders.

Bracing himself with one hand on the sofa arm, Az granted her wish as she cried out in ecstasy beneath him. The force of his thrusts shook the furniture and threatened to knock over the lamp next to it. 

“Oh yes,” Celeste screamed. “Gods. Az. Fuck – I’m —”

With a bellowing shout, Azriel came at the same time Celeste fell apart around him. The pulsing of her core around his cock had him hissing through his teeth as he continued to thrust into her until every last drop was wrung from him. With a final grunt he collapsed on top of her, their galloping hearts pressed together as they gathered their breath after release.

“Well, looks like my pockets are going to be a little lighter,” Az sighed as he pushed himself up with a kiss to her neck. Celeste let out a ringing laugh.

“What’s so funny? I lost the bet,” he smiled at her.

She just laughed again, louder this time. “Maybe you did, but I didn’t.”

******

Later, after leaving Azriel to the work that he actually did need to complete that night, Celeste slipped into the library before heading to bed. Digging through her desk drawer, she found what she was after. One of the enchanted pads that she had spelled to deliver directly between her and Nesta in the House of Wind. With a quick scrawl she scratched out her note before watching it disappear.

Dinner. Tomorrow. 6 o’clock.

Don’t be late.

[clockwork-ashes]

Of Fire and Poison - Part I

Read on Ao3

Summary: Prompted by one of Elain Archeron’s visions, the Night Court decides it’s time to remove Beron Vanserra from Autumn’s throne. Azriel must learn to tolerate being in the presence of his oldest enemy, but he comes to find that spending time with Eris is not what he expected.

Note: My first time writing a multi-chapter azris fic!!! I’m very excited about it, so thank you for reading <3

Tag list: @the-darkestminds / @secret-third-thing /

Azriel’s shadows whirled around him, dancing in time to the low music that seemed to float in an eerie echo from the ballroom. The howl of the string instruments rose and fell like waves against the shore, creating an effect that inspired even the most unwilling of guests to participate in a waltz. 

Azriel had always found it captivating, but even his undivided attention remained on the strained interaction between his brother and the heir to the Autumn Court. 

The High Lord of Night walked with a feline grace, maintaining his carefully crafted role while in the confines of the Hewn City. He offered his spymaster a subtle nod as he approached, stopping just in front of the carved wooden doors of the large room. 

Azriel inched towards him, protecting his brother’s back and using his own body as a way to block the entrance. 

Careful. 

The one word scraped against the iron wards of his mind and Azriel had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

Rhysand ignored Azriel, speaking to Eris just as his hand came up to grip the silver doorknob. He didn’t look back at the other male, but without a doubt, his brow was arched and his chin was tilted in question. “I trust you’ll behave,” he drawled. There was a warning in the tone that only Azriel seemed to recognise. 

Eris shrugged even though Rhysand couldn’t see the gesture. It was a smooth lift of his shoulders, the expensive fabric of his jacket pulling with the movement. “I make no promises,” he said, voice rich as whiskey. 

No more words were exchanged as Rhysand swept through the doors, shutting them behind him with a soft click, the lock falling into place shortly after. Eris scrunched his nose, most likely annoyed at the lack of faith 

Azriel was expressionless, waiting in a silent battle of wills to see if Eris would be the first to break the silence. 

Eris traced the rim of his wine glass with an elegant finger, golden rings flashing. He seemed to wait until Rhysand’s footsteps faded completely and the only sound that lingered between them was the orchestra’s haunting music. A vicious scowl tugged at his full mouth, familiar. 

Azriel watched, observing the way his shadows twisted and spun eagerly at the prince of Autumn’s booted heels. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and his wings tucked close to his back, silently conveying his confusion at their strange behaviour. 

Eris seemed content to pretend that the shadows weren’t even there, treating them as if they were nothing more than a gentle wind. “You have nothing to add?” He asked, snorting in a way that was unbecoming of a male in his position when Azriel didn’t respond. He lifted his glass, the muscles in his throat working as he drained its contents. Red curls kissed at the sharp cut of his jaw, striking against the bone white pallor of his skin. 

Lips stained crimson, Eris licked at the wine. Azriel watched the slow path of the other male’s tongue, forcefully dragging his gaze upwards to meet clever amber eyes. The torches in the small space flared, and his shadows scattered at the brightness. 

Eris raised an auburn brow, a knowing expression falling over his sharp features. Flames flickered, and the scarlet of his hair shifted so that it looked wine dark. “You’re going to help me kill my father.” 

Azriel frowned at the ease with which Eris declared his plans, no remorse in the steadiness of his voice. It was enough to make him uncomfortable, being spoken to so directly. “My High Lady wants Beron to be stripped of his power.” 

Like the woven sounds of streams and breezes, Autumn shifts to Winter. 

Of fire and poison, dry leaves rustle when a king falls.

The cold earth sleeps, and the breath of night flows like death. 

Azriel didn’t add that it was one of Elain’s visions that had prompted the Inner Circle’s urgency. 

“She believes I’ll be a pawn, easy to control?” The way Eris asked his question revealed no bitterness, simply interest. 

It took Azriel a moment to remember they’d been speaking about Feyre. “She believes you have Prythian’s best interests in mind.” 

Eris scoffed, tilting his head like a wolf, predatory. “And so the Night Court only upholds their end of our bargain when it best suits them?” 

“Be grateful, prince.” Azriel couldn’t help the rough growl that escaped along with the words, but Eris didn’t seem too bothered by the obvious disrespect. 

Azriel watched as the other male tilted his glass, glancing into its empty depths briefly. The diamonds along the arch of his ear sparkled like stars in an evening sky as he placed the glass onto the ancient table that separated them. 

Eris dipped at the waist in a mocking bow, holding Azriel’s gaze as he spoke, his words meant to be a taunt. “I expect you’ll be the one coming for me.” 

Azriel nodded once, feeling his face heat at the comment. “I’ll find you so we can work out the specifics.”  

Eris winnowed from the room without answering, nothing but embers remaining in his wake. Shadows whirled in the empty space where the prince had just been, and Azriel was left with the impression that they hoped to see him again.  

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 16

Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: kind of pleased how simple this chapter is compared with the last one

word count: 7,892

-Part 15- -Part 17-

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

Feyre paces quietly through the halls of her home, bare feet sticking slightly to the waxed wooden floors as she repeats the corridors. Her throat is raw and hoarse, already short nails bitten shorter, eyes red and swollen as she tries to think past the turmoil in her stomach, ringing in her head. 

Footfalls approach her, steady so as not to startle her, but she jumps anyway until the familiar scent enters her lungs, and she turns to find those deep starlit eyes gazing back down at her, a hint of worry passing by. Warm palms graze up her bare arms, pausing at the roundness of her shoulders, thumbs stroking faintly as Rhys watches her quietly. She knows he’ll understand how distraught she is, devastation written across her gaunt features, harrowed by the past months of being torn between her family and her court, her mate and her baby. He reads the words she can’t bring herself to voice, hands moving to cup her jaw, thumbs brushing the skin coaxingly, violet eyes soft with an understanding she can hardly bare to recognise—to acknowledge where that understanding comes from is a wound she’s only beginning to understand the depth of. 

“She’s alive,” Rhys tells her quietly, keeping her gaze locked and focused, her own trembling hands wrapped around the bone of her elbows. “Madja will be free shortly to perform an analysis on her current state, but she’s still here, Feyre.” 

“She tried to kill herself.” 

The words are cold and raspy, voice hoarse from disuse, and it cracks through her again—who had so nearly been ripped away from her. “She tried to kill herself, Rhys,” Feyre rasps, and his eyes shine before he’s dipping down, lips brushing the skin of her cheek as he kisses away the tears that must be falling. She falls into the sure lines of him, forehead resting against his chest helplessly, too tired for any more sobs to come up yet she feels the sting of her throat closing up, the ache of pulling a muscle stuck in her neck, trying to swallow past the lump. 

“She’s alive, Feyre,” he repeats gently, palm settling over her hair, having lost its silky shine, a little knotted at the ends. “She’ll live.” 

————

The room is so dark you struggle to recognise anything, and for long, stretching moments, you don’t. 

The bedroom isn’t yours, the light-ish sheets unfamiliar to you, the entire layout strange and unknown. But you can recognise that scent, or at least a few small notes of it—you’ve been moved into the strange sanctuary of the River House. It’s your room. 

Silently, you push the duvet back, bones aching with the movement as fatigue remains thick in your mind, making it difficult to stand. But you manage anyway, quietly making your way across the floor to the heavy curtains draping thickly on the ground, exerting surprising force to push them aside, wide enough for you to be met with— the night’s sky. It’s night. 

You ease the window open, allowing the crisp air to wash over you, kissing along sweat-dampened skin, and you soften beneath the tender touch, craving the gentle caress so deeply you worry something might crack open inside of you. Swallowing thickly, you have to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth, craving water. Turning for the door, you hope everyone will be asleep at this time, you aren’t ready for any sort of confrontation. After being alone in the House for so long, you’re unsure how to behave in a shared building—with fae hearing do you need to worry about being quiet, or are they used to sleeping through things in the night. 

Twisting the handle, having grabbed a shawl from the top of a chest of drawers, you squeeze your eyes shut at the small creak, freezing as you pray nobody will have heard. When no footsteps sound, you release a silent sigh, pulling the door open and quietly stepping out into the corridor. Keen hazel eyes greet your own, and your breath catches, causing you to cough slightly as you press back into the door, hand on your chest as your heart thunders beneath your palm. 

Cassian watches you silent, sat on a chair set beside your door, wings folded peacefully at his back, a book held between his giant’s hands that he’d been reading by candle light. “Something you need?” He asks. It’s quiet but not unfriendly, and you aren’t quite sure what to do. All at once you’re staring at him, eyes flitting fearfully across his features, darting from his gaze, to the edge of his lips, the set of his brows, the tension across his skin—what’s going on? Are you in trouble? Why are you here? Why is he outside your door? Is Azriel okay? Oh Gods, is Azriel okay? Did you kill him? 

Cassian is unable to answer you unasked questions, so waits patiently in the quiet dark of the hallway. 

“I…was getting some water,” you murmur hoarsely, unsure whether to continue or to run back into your room. Cassian nods slightly, hazel eyes flicking back to your closed door. “There’s a glass by your bed,” he supplies, and you blink. 

“I didn’t know if that was for me or not…” you hedge, wondering still why he’s outside your door. What your situation is. Why isn’t anyone telling you anything? 

Tension wells in your chest but you swallow it down, the questions about Azriel pushed away—how are you supposed to ask something like that? Like you’d be deserving of an answer. But is he dead? 

“Is… How is…?” You ask hoarsely, words croaking from your throat, too afraid of insulting him to speak his name. “Been through worse,” Cassian asks, a slight gleam in his eyes, but it fades swiftly and you feel your temperature cool further. “Okay,” you reply, giving a small nod. “Goodnight.” 

You hurry back into your room before he has a chance to reply, heart pounding in your chest as you slide down the door, sitting on the floor as you stare blankly across the room. Breathing shallowly, the night air making your skin shiver. You aren’t sure how long you sit there before emptying the glass of water, heading over to the window to open it a little wider, disliking the scent in your room. Your fingers fumble with the latch, unable to push it any further than a few inches wide—the hinge must be stuck, or rusted. You don’t want to go out there again. 

Reluctantly, you settle back into bed, falling into a restless sleep. 

————

When you next wake, it’s light. Foggy, grey morning sitting just outside your window. 

You lean back into the deep cushion, falling further into the soft heat of the bed, wishing the world away—or to at least have it pause temporarily so you don’t have to worry over—

Three soft knocks are landed to your door, but you nestle further into the bed, limbs curling up into a ball as you pretend not to hear anything. Muffled voices come from the other side of the door, jarring with their unfamiliar hurry, words flurrying in whispered rasps between mouths from behind the wooden slab. Male and female—you can’t make out what’s being said and neither do you particularly want to, but you can hear the distinct sharpness of the female’s tone, cutting and harsh as it quietly hisses like steel through the air. The second voice then is likely still Cassian, but you bring the pillow over your head, trying to block out the analogy. 

After long minutes, the knocks repeat, and your name is called softly from the entrance of the room—it’s Nesta. She’s asking if you’re awake. You keep very still, hardly even breathing so as to hopefully fool her into thinking you’re still asleep. She sighs. “You need to eat something,” she says firmly from the doorway, “Madja says it’ll help if you have something in your stomach.” You tuck yourself a little tighter, hiding away from the world beneath the cream covered duvet, dipping into the softness of the mattress. 

She calls your name again, but silence follows. 

The door clicks softly shut, like an arrow clicking into place, and tears drip over the bridge of your nose, sliding back into your hair as they dampen the fresh sheets. 

————

By what you guess is lunchtime, you’ve managed to prop yourself up, though it took three tries to be successful. 

On the first, you’d peeked over the hem of the covers, mind aching and eyes straining, everything a little blurry and bleary at the edges but preferring to be upright rather than remaining on your sides for the rest of the day. You’d managed to get as far as shifting in bed when you’d glanced down at yourself, wrapped in a long nightgown, but you could make out the pastiness of your skin. Up to your elbows, the skin was flaky and grey, flesh bumpy and lumpy in places, small swellings of tissue grouped together with crusted edges. To have taken over so much more of your body from that brief release of magic… You’d fallen back into the bed, unable to look at yourself, the gross wrongness of your skin. 

The second, your head had been pounding enough you’d forced yourself to roll through the tangle of sheets to reach your bedside table, but as soon as you’d stuck your arm out to hold the glass then tears had been rolling again. Arm so speckled with flakes and lumps, grey and ugly and so distinctly not yours you’d almost spilled the water over the floor on bringing it to your mouth. On your chest had been other small lumps and bumps, though closer to the size of spots, and your stomach had sunk further, disgusted by the state of your own body—what illness could ravage you in such a cruel way? 

The third, you had resolved simply to not glance down at yourself at all, resolutely shoving your arms out of sight as you pushed yourself up, propping yourself against the pillow and pulling the duvet firmly up to your shoulders so you wouldn’t have to even think of the ugly state of your flesh. It had been then the knocks had come again, and the door had opened slightly, silver eyes finding your own across the room. “May I come in?” She asks. 

You look away uncomfortably, unsure if you’re allowed to ask her to go away. Would that be too much? This would be so much easier if any of them were being openly hostile to you, but it feels like they’re hiding it away, silently encouraging it from the light, harbouring and nurturing it where you can’t see until resentment is strong enough to slither out and strangle you with a single, venomous bite. 

Nesta pauses, then pushes the door open with her foot, coming in with a tray of food and setting it on the bed. There’s a brief silence, then, “how are you feeling?” You dip your head slightly in a vague answer, but it sends an ache through your skull so you decide you’ll try not to do it again. Silver eyes drift from the tray then back to you. “Madja will be here this evening to have a look at you. You should eat.” You swallow thickly, not looking at her. 

“I’m not hungry,” you manage softly. Another silence passes, and you hope she’ll leave soon. “You need to eat,” she says firmly, a touch gentler than before. 

But you stay quiet, not looking at her. 

She moves abruptly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, making to reach gently for your hands beneath the duvet. You flinch, recoiling to the other side of the bed, upsetting a small carafe of cream as it spills across the tray, bleeding into the toast and pastry, softening them into mush. Your eyes unwillingly flinch as they meet her own set, sharp and silver and hurting, her brows curved, but she puts it away swiftly, recovering.

Nesta nods her head faintly, wordlessly, standing elegantly from the bed, collecting the tray in her warrior’s hands. “I’ll go find you something else. Just rest here, okay?” She requests softly. But you’ve already torn your eyes away, looking low elsewhere. “I’m not hungry.” 

————

Nesta had returned with another tray of food, instead setting this one on your bedside table so there would be no risk of it getting upturned. You don’t look at her, keeping your gaze to the floor on the other side of the room until you’d heard the door click shut, and again the memories swell across your skin, and you fall into sadness. 

Madja appears in the evening, Elain accompanying her, and you can’t help but be certain she’s been kept this long attending to Azriel. You have no idea what state he’s in, only that he’s been through worse, according to his brother. Little assurance that gives, knowing what’s probably a small fraction of the things he’s experienced. And now you’ve added to that list. Shame tugs at your gut, guilt starving hunger away. It would be better if you didn’t eat, at least that might be some way to begin atoning. 

“Will you show me your hands?” Madja asks gently, having brought in a chair to sit by your bedside. Reluctantly you pull them out, apologies naturally falling from your mouth as they’re presented to her, and you’re embarrassed by their stark ugliness in contrast to her own withered hands, but she shakes her head, assuring you there’s nothing to be sorry for. But you suppose that’s part of her job, too. To make even the most unnatural creature feel seen and reassured. 

A faint warmth ghosts across your skin where she’s touching you, and Elain watches from beside, a wariness in her cocoa eyes as Madja’s brows narrow in concentration. “Is it—” You swallow thickly, heart pounding in your chest, “can you fix it?” You scan her features eagerly as she opens her eyes. It would be nice to not have to find arm-length gloves. But Madja offers a quiet smile, “let me finish with my examination, then I can tell you my findings.” 

You flush a little at your haste, but nod briskly, leaning back into the pillow as one hand settles over your forehead, the other over your sternum. Elain meets your eyes, and you give a small smile that belies your excitement. None of the nurses you had as children could hold a flame to what Madja can do, the experience and knowledge she has, and it’s exciting being treated knowing you’ll be able to get better. You’re in a land of magic, after all. They have a cure for every known illness. 

That tingling feeling sharpens into something a little uncomfortable as it passes over your lungs, but Madja makes no reaction so you guess it can’t be anything bad. Her hand drifts over your stomach, Elain having helped to push the duvet down, and her middle and second finger begin pushing and prodding at different parts of your abdomen, feeling either side of your ribs, above your belly button, close to your hips, gently over your stomach, each time keeping that faint tingly warmth in her touch. At last she pulls away, gently settling her hand over your sternum again, eyes closed as she does her work, and you give Elain another excited look. She smiles faintly back, and an unfamiliar warmth tingles across your chest, independent from the magic of Madja’s fingertips.

When she’s done, you look at her expectantly, arms resting more easily at your sides. You look at her with eyes more bright than they’ve been in a while, and her features remain peacefully neutral, kind. She takes your hands in hers, and you cast a hasty glance at Elain to make sure she’s watching with as much attention as you are. “You asked me if I can fix your hands at the beginning of this session,” Madja begins, watching you kindly, and you manage a small nod, all your attention on her. Madja shakes her head a little, “I cannot.” 

You blink, the smile fading from your mouth, heart picking up in your chest. “What? You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?” You ask in a quiet flurry, confusion muddling your thoughts. Madja gives a patient smile, squeezing your hands lightly, “your skin is exactly as it’s supposed to be. There’s nothing wrong with how they are.” 

“There definitely is,” you urge, panic creeping into your voice as you stare into Madja’s warm brown eyes. “Madja they look…” you flush, humiliation creeping in as you lower your voice, “Madja, it’s hideous. You can’t tell me you can’t fix it. You must be able to… There has to be something wrong for you to fix.” 

She gives you another smile, this one sad but understanding, but you don’t feel understood at all. “I agree it might appear as though there’s cause for concern, but there’s nothing in your body I can identify as wrong. With wounds or bruises there are clear patterns within someone to follow that have been damaged, and that is instinctively how a healer knows what must be corrected without causing external changes or mutations. But with your skin, it’s simply different. There’s nothing wrong standing out to me. I can only assume this is the way your skin is meant to be, possibly to facilitate the use of your magic.” 

“What do you mean assume? Possibly? Do you— Don’t you know what’s happened to me?” You ask quietly, frantically, hold tightening on her though she doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Madja you can’t tell me I’m alright,” you urge, pointedly forcing yourself to look over the lumpy, discoloured flesh. 

Madja gives a pause, glancing down at your arms, before again returning her calm gaze to yours. “I have never seen something like this; all I can tell you is at this moment I can only observe what is happening inside of you. I cannot tell you whether it is good or bad, only what it is doing. I will continue with these check-ups—if you’re okay with them—and document your development so we can learn. Though my instincts are leading me to believe this is a phenomenon caused by however your magic is choosing to manifest. I would guess learning more about your magic will give us some insight into what’s happening, but for now all I can offer is to report on what I find in you over these coming weeks.” 

————

Another day has passed, it having started with you awkwardly wobbling over to your bathroom to throw up, heaving saliva into the toilet as flaky fingers gripped the pristine porcelain-looking shine of the seat. The grey sheen to your skin stands out more against the blinding white of the bathroom, and you feel like grime clinging to the tiles. 

————

Your next visitor is Feyre, and your stomach hollows out when she steps through the door. She looks worse than you do: her hair isn’t as resplendent as you remember, looking slightly greasy at the roots, little light in her eyes, slight lines carved beneath them and around the edges of her mouth. Indeed, she looks older than when you last saw one another, haggard and strained, and guilt kicks you hard in the unprotected soft part of your stomach—it’s your fault she looks like that for at least partly contributing to her worries. 

Feyre manages a small smile, walking over to your bed like a ghost and you watch silently, how she’s changed. “Hi!” She says softly, eyes crinkling at the edges as she pauses at the edge of the mattress, looking at you expectantly. “Hi,” you manage, hardly more than a horrid whisper as you stare at your younger sister. She looks like she’s been dragged from one end of the world to the other. “Can I sit down?” She asks, and you remember the last time you spoke together, alone in your room. You aren’t sure if she’s remembering too, but you manage a small nod and she smiles, crawling onto the foot of the mattress and crossing her bare feet over her lap. “So?” She asks gently, conversationally, “how have you been?” 

“Fine,” you answer instinctively. Both of you pause at that, unsure which of you should call the lie. “I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to speak it into existence, and Feyre watches you quietly, something changing in her gaze. It might be sorrow, but you look away before you have time to examine it. 

“How was the visit from Madja?” She asks at last, switching to an equally awful topic, and you shift beneath the bedsheets. “She doesn’t know what’s wrong,” you reply. At least you can be truthful with this answer. “She thinks…” you almost tell her Madja encouraged you to look into your powers, but after what’s happened… “What does she think?” Feyre asks when you’ve seemingly drifted into space. You blink, then sigh, “that this, is— that’s it’s fine.” 

Feyre’s brow furrows, a look of concentration settling over her features. “Does any of it hurt?” She asks, but you shake your head. 

“Not anymore.” Her expression shifts at that, concern deepening and you internally shrink away from the small lines deepening on her face, how you’re carving the worry lines into something more clear. “It used to hurt?” You sink into the pillow—you don’t want to burden her with all those strange pains and sharp discomforts, the blood and pasty flesh. “It’s fine.” 

Quiet passes, full and heavy, but you have no interest in continuing the stunted conversation. 

“Feyre, I’m tired, so…” You begin, but she speaks abruptly, looking directly into your eyes like she’s been preparing herself for this question. “Why did you do it?” 

As soon as the question is out however, her eyes are filling with tears, shining in the early light, her nose reddening as she hastily wipes at her cheeks with the sleeves of her top, trying to pull herself together. Her own tears make your eyes heat so you look away, sniffling so you don’t have to wipe your nose on the sleeve of your nightgown. “I don’t know,” you mumble defensively. “I don’t know. I was just— I was just scared, and tired, and I—” You cut yourself off, realising you’re mumbling out nonsense that you aren’t properly thinking about. “I don’t know,” you settle on, hardly a whisper. 

“Were you,” —Feyre stumbles, drying her eyes— “I mean, did you not feel like…like you could speak with us?” She manages, voice wet with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you cry softly, covering your face. “I just—… I didn’t want to be forced to…to kill someone. I didn’t want to be a murderer, Feyre. I just— I didn’t know what to do, so I guess I just figured it would be easier if I…if I wasn’t here…” your voice breaks on the last part, shoulders shaking as you try to muffle your sobs. “It would’ve been easier,” you whisper. 

The mattress dips as she crawls further up, settling at your side, and her arms wrap around you, both of you shifting to face one another as you cry, hiding your face in her hair as her own tears wet your night gown. “Please,” she whispers. “We’ll find a way through this. We’ll get through it. It’ll pass, and things will get better. You have to trust that they will get better.” 

“I can’t,” you whisper hollowly onto her shoulder. “What is there?” 

“So much,” she breathes, clutching you tighter, “there’s so much out there. And some of it’s awful, but a lot of it’s good, too. You just have to find it.” 

“I’m tired,” you cry quietly, fingers shaking as they hold onto her, wary of leaning too much on her. “I can’t. I don’t want to.” 

“Please,” she repeats. “Please.” 

You’re quiet, allowing tears to fall as she holds you tight, refusing to back off even as your own hold lightens, and you lean closer into her, both of you settling against the pillows for support. “I’ve been so worried,” she admits softly. “I thought you wanted space.” 

“I did want space,” you whisper back. “I still do,” you cry, grip tightening on her a little. 

“Should we— We should have been around more. I should have visited you more,” she murmurs, sniffling lightly. You shake your head, more tears falling, “you couldn’t’ve done anything. It wouldn’t’ve…it wouldn’t’ve worked.” 

“What about…what if it happens again?”

“It won’t.” 

She gives you a slight squeeze, and you know she doesn’t believe you. “Feyre, it won’t. I was just— I thought I was going to kill him,” you plead quietly. 

“So you tried to kill yourself first? Why? That wouldn’t have solved anything,” she cries, and guilt washes through you. As well as something like relief… She pulls back, gripping you firmly by the shoulders. “You would have been missing instead of him,” she breathes, pain-soaked words like a balm to a wound you didn’t know you had. But you still shake your head, “it would’ve been better.” 

Feyre’s brows curve in pain, and she looks like she wants to continue the conversation, but a soft set of knocks come from the door, and you raise your head enough to spot gentle cocoa eyes peering in, silver looking from overtop Elain’s silky, ringleted hair. “Can we come in?” Elain whispers, pausing at the door as Nesta watches from a little further back. Your lower lip wobbles as fresh tears fall, and you nod your head, allowing the other two to enter, closing the door behind them. 

They settle seamlessly on the bed, arms tangling as bodies are pressed together in a familiar mess, leaning back into the plump cushions as tears fall heavier. Both you and Elain are pressed in the centre of the bed, Feyre hugging close to your back with one of your own arms wrapped around Elain and the other in Nesta’s hand who lies solemnly close behind Elain. It’s so strange to be lying like this again, and you feel so stupid crying that you try to muffle your sobs, embarrassed by how you want to grip onto all of them now that they’re here. You hadn’t been aware of missing them, but now they’re lying at your side, and you can feel the heat of skin and the familiar press of joints and limbs you wonder how you’d made it this long without them. 

Everyone seems to be holding the others equally tightly though.

It’s not just you who’s scared of losing. 

————

The evening has come, and you’re feeling surprisingly awake. 

Despite having spent the afternoon locked inside you bedroom, spending the time lazing with your sisters, you don’t feel at all fatigued. Maybe some weight on your eyelids, a slight stiffness to your joints, but you’re awake. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you search the cupboard for a mug, having departed from the group temporarily to find yourself some tea—the others were fine without. It feels good to get along with them, though you know it won’t stretch for longer than a day. This is your one small blessing, which makes it precious. There will be no reason for you to spend time so lazily together tomorrow, nor to sprawl inelegantly upon your bed, nor play cards until your mind hurts from all the schemes being cooked up. 

Footfalls come quietly into the kitchen, and you turn, expecting to find Feyre, only to find Rhysand stood at the threshold, just the other side of the border. His features are neutral, but there’s something different in his eyes that you don’t know well enough to make out. You stiffen at his presence, temperature cooling suddenly as the warmth leaves your body, smile dropping from your mouth. 

“Rhys,” you greet anxiously, wondering if you can get away with excusing yourself now while the tea is still steeping. You can drink it without milk…without sugar…there’s no way he wouldn’t notice your rudeness, and after the mess you’ve made for all of them…you push your hands anxiously behind your back to hide their tremble as you try for a friendly look, forcing a strange curve to your mouth, hoping your eyes will reflect the smile. He inclines his head in greeting but remains by the threshold of the kitchen. “You look well,” he remarks. 

You blink. Because you don’t. You know you don’t. Is it just a compliment? Is he trying to make you feel better? Is it a test to see how you’ll react? See if you’ll try and play up how ill you are in attempts to excuse yourself? What if he’s waiting to see if you’ll ask about Azriel? Or Cassian? You haven’t seen Cassian since you were first brought to the River House. Are you supposed to ask after him? Or should you just reciprocate the compliment? But what would you say to not sound insincere? Or what about Nyx? Should you apologise for causing Feyre to worry? Should you apologise to him for causing Feyre worry? For causing him worry? But what if he wasn’t worrying? You don’t want to assume care where there’s only duty? Maybe you should try and make normal conversation? But what about the House of Wind? Is it wrecked? Did you ruin it? Should you ask about that? Oh gods does he know where you were? Nobody’s mentioned Eris yet, is that what this conversation will be about? Mother above can he read your thoughts? Feyre mentioned sometimes thinking loudly. Are you thinking loudly? Goodness, is this weird? 

“Thank you,” you manage to choke out, though it sounds obviously strained, and you clear your throat. 

Rhys smiles faintly, then enters the kitchen, and you swiftly turn back to your tea, stirring the cup. You nearly spill some liquid, and slow your rotations of the spoon. Are you stirring too slowly now? Can you stir a cup too slowly? Everyone has their own pace. It’s fine. Out of everything that’s happened surely he won’t decide to call you out on this. You’re fine. It’s all fine. Everything’s fine. 

A silver ringed hand waves lightly at the corner of your vision and you blink, realising he’s speaking, flinching slightly how you hadn’t heard him. “Sorry, pardon?” You ask, peering at him. He smiles again, and you wonder if he’s doing it for your sake, if he’s actually incredibly irritated and busy. He totally is. Your temperature cools further. “I asked if you’re feeling well-rested,” he repeats, opening a cupboard and glancing inside. “Oh,” you swallow, nodding your head, “yes. I mean, no. I mean, I slept well, yes, but I’m still physically fatigued, I think?” Is that an okay answer? Was it too much? There was a lot of information he hadn’t asked for. Should you ask how he slept? No that would be weird. Or would it be polite? 

Rhysand nods, pulling out three mugs, and you wonder who they’re for. “Az said more-or-less the same, just more grumpily,” he replies lightly, and you glance at him. You’re lost. Is that an invitation to ask about him? Should you ask about him? Would it be rude not to? But given everyone knows how you feel about him wouldn’t it be weird? Kind of invasive? You don’t want to bother his space… “He’s well?” You ask hesitantly, metal spoon warming your fingertips. 

“He’s well,” Rhys confirms, catching your nervous gaze. “Well enough to receive visitors, at least.” 

Now what does that mean? 

His gaze is still on you, and you’re unsure whether to look away or to continue holding it. Is your tea ready? 

“It might be worth speaking with him,” Rhys says with a tone in his voice that you can’t figure out. “He can be tight-lipped when he wants to be. Though I suppose that’s what makes him excel at his position. It would be nice to know a little more about what’s going on, in my own Court though.” Do you tell him? Is he asking you to volunteer the information? Does he not know Azriel brought you back from the Autumn Court? Oh gods that makes everything so much worse. You had assumed they knew, and they might not be angry with you, but if he hasn’t told them… “Azriel hasn’t told you?” You manage to get out, fear crawling up your spine. 

“No,” Rhys replies, “but I can put some theoretical pieces together. One thing I can’t figure out, however, is what you were doing with a bow tipped with ash. I trust you know that’s our weakness?” You manage a small nod, ice practically dripping down your spine despite the pleasant temperature of the kitchen. “So? Would you mind elaborating?” He asks, setting the three mugs down to brew. He has the time to wait. 

“How much…did Azriel tell you?” You manage, voice strained, fingers gripping one another and you slide the ridge of your nail beneath the other, playing with the ring on your index finger. “Enough to lead me to believe you were somewhere in the Autumn Court,” Rhysand replies, violet watching you intently. You freeze beneath that look, words failing you. Why hadn’t the arrow flown true? Just another second…and everything would’ve—

“I don’t believe you did anything to intentionally harm Azriel,” he says quietly, and you want to tear your eyes away, feeling as though he can read something secret, something you want to keep hidden despite everyone already knowing. “You were in the Autumn Court, weren’t you?” He asks, voice a touch gentler than before. You answer with no more than a stiff nod, unable to lie to him. “And were you with Eris?” He asks. Your heart pounds in your chest, turning preternaturally still as you blink at the question, brows worrying slightly, too scared to answer—but it seems to be answer enough, as Rhys nods. 

“And the arrow?” He pushes, in the same quiet, light voice of his. 

“Eris,” you reply softly, panicking. Rhysand pauses, regarding you quietly. 

“Eris gave you the arrow? The ash arrow?” He questions, and you wonder if your mind is fabricating the note of doubt in his voice. You want to shrink away somewhere, hide in some dark corner, go back to your bedroom, sprawled across the mattress with your sisters. Why had you wanted to get tea? 

“And what did he tell you?” Rhysand questions, seemingly accepting your answer and not pushing for any more details. You’re glad, because you don’t think you could recall any in that moment. You blink, repeating the question in your head. “About what?” You ask nervously—was there anything he’d mentioned that’s rising to your mind now? No. Rhysand’s violet eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and you feel your feet itching to step away, becoming conscious of how little warmth the shawl is providing. “No one’s angry.” He says, watching you still with that look in his eyes, and he looks like he might speak again but you’re already shaking your head. “I— He didn’t tell me anything… or, nothing I can think that would be important?” Had he? Should you have listened harder? Was Rhys expecting you to have gotten something? Were you supposed to have overheard something? Seen something? You hadn’t thought to do any of that. Were you supposed to? Your stomach plummets through your feet, blood turning cool in your veins—is he angry with you? 

“Nothing?” Rhys questions, still watching you closely. You shake your head, trying to prove your innocence. He pauses, and you feel like your heart is thundering in your chest, slamming against your ribs. Will he be angry now? “I promise,” you try uselessly, “he didn’t tell me anything.” 

But Rhys nods, “I believe you.” Your brow furrows, perplexed and desperately confused. Are you okay then? 

Rhys sighs, running a hand through his hair, glancing absently at the three mugs of tea, and they vanish abruptly from the side. You blink, still not entirely accustomed to the minute facility of magic. “You don’t know why you were given the arrow?” He asks, and your shoulders slope, completely lost. Should you know? Either way, you shake your head truthfully, and he nods again. “Alright,” he murmurs, making to step away from the counter, sighing heavily. He glances at you before leaving, a gentle but slightly stern look on his features. “Rest well, and look after yourself. You gave us all a scare.” Then he’s walking away out the kitchen, letting you breathe away the remaining tension that had worked its way into your body while you were speaking. 

You add milk, and the right amount of sugar, stirring your tea and sipping at it, finding the taste to be pleasant and relaxing as its heat washes through you, able to feel as it spreads throughout your body. 

Your name cuts through the silence, and you flinch at the naturally sharp intonation, tea dripping over your fingers. You glance over your shoulder to find Nesta leaning slightly against the kitchen doorframe. “You were taking a while,” she surmises, glancing around the kitchen suspiciously, then her nostrils flare delicately and a look of distaste passes behind her eyes. “I thought I’d come and check on you.” You swallow, nodding your head, hastily wiping up the small mess you’d made before gripping the hot cup and turning to go with her. 

When you approach, her gaze sweeps over you analytically, and you pause, shying slightly from the cutting look. “Rhysand was here,” she states, a note of displeasure in her tone, and you nod. “Did you two speak?” She prompts, turning on her feet to head back the way she’d come, with you in tow, and you nod again. “It was a little unnerving,” you mumble quietly, keeping an eye on your tea to make sure none of it spills again. “He’s an asshole,” Nesta mutters under her breath, teeth flashing briefly, and you settle into step with her. “Feyre loves him,” you murmur, not entirely sure why you mention it. “Still an asshole,” she replies bluntly, doing nothing to soften her voice, and you wince, hoping fae hearing isn’t good enough he’ll be able to hear her. 

“He can be scary,” you concede quietly, taking another sip of your tea before ascending the staircase. 

————

Your head is quiet and buzzing at the same time. A dull drone having a cool sensation settling wetly against the nape of your neck as you make your way down the unfamiliar hall to the closed door on the right. Behind it, you’ll find out what condition Azriel is in. What condition you’ve left him in, after… You’d rather not think about the situation that had led up to now. The forced vulnerability is too much; it’s too soon for you to begin sorting through the events. 

Having been asked directly by Feyre why, you answered the first thing that came to mind—that you were scared, that you hadn’t wanted to murder someone, a choice she would understand with more clarity perhaps than any of them, having been forced to take the lives of three innocent fae to save Prythian while she was still human. Perhaps if Elain had asked, you would have instinctively chosen something relating to an embarrassment of rejection, of how it felt to be left to yourself out of disinterest and the humiliation of being pushed aside because you aren’t good enough. Perhaps if Nesta had asked why you would have answered with a dislike for yourself, might have told her it felt so wrong to continue you’d had no choice but to remove yourself, the strain of simply living far too much for you to struggle through each and every day. When every morning is spent wishing to return to sleep, and each hour is counting closer to oblivion, but knowing deep down you’ll never pass eternally…how could you resolve that restlessness? 

None of it would have been a lie, each answer would have offered a peek at a single shard, but there are lots of shards scattered inside of you. A complexity that’s been metaphorically shattered, so many reasons messily broken on your floorboards. It’s cruel in a way to be asked why, quite simply if she doesn’t understand you can’t hope to explain. It’s a heaviness that’s relentless, not always appearing as a deep sadness but sometimes just a constant fatigue each morning. When every day is grey it’s hard to remember the sun, even if there’s no storm. 

Would you have been able to tell any one of them the conflict between yearning for company and knowing you’ll never know the kind you desire? 

The door comes into view, and you steady yourself before it. You’re fairly confident Rhysand had wanted you to speak with him, or at least see him. You shouldn’t worry about what to say, the conversation will either flow or not on its own. But you will not thank him for saving you. 

You knock lightly on the door, easing breath into your lungs to help with the tension as you listen for a sign to enter. Instead you hear muffled footfalls, and your heart jumps in your chest, stepping back into the hallway and you smooth down your clothes out of habit, making sure your hair is a neat as possible—you should have checked a mirror before coming here to make sure you don’t look unpresentable. 

Instead the door opens halfway through trying to smooth your hair out, and you freeze when amber eyes meet your own through the break in the door. The breath catches in your lungs, and after a pause you remember to settle your hands to your sides, unsure where to look as your breathing quickens. “Is Azr—… Is he awake?” You ask softly, looking away as your hands join in front of you. Mor is silent for a beat before answering. “He’s asleep.” 

“Oh…” 

Since stretches between you, and you wonder why she was in there. 

To check on him, obviously. They’re close. They care about one another. Why wouldn’t she be there, even if he’s sleeping? 

“I—… Is he okay…?” You ask quietly, not wanting to cause any excess sound that might wake him. You’ve done enough harm already. 

Again Mor pauses, then she’s stepping out into the hallway, softly shutting the door behind her, and your heart begins pounding in your chest. She remains stood in front of the door, but makes no motion to speak, and you shift uncomfortably on your feet. You fumble for a conversation topic, unsure whether to try persisting or whether it would be wiser to subtly excuse yourself. 

You shift on your feet, fingers mindlessly playing with the ring on your left hand, twisting it around lightly, pulling it up over the knuckle then sliding it back down again. “I…thank you for…for when we went out,” you manage thickly, heart still pounding as you keep your gaze firmly on your ungloved hands. “I don’t think I…I’m not sure if I mentioned it, or really felt it at the time, but thank you. For just…being around. And—…trying. Thank you, for…” you trail off, nodding subtly. “Thank you.” 

She’s still silent, and if it weren’t for the fact that you can see her shoes in the tops of your vision, you’d think she walked away. You blink, and shift nervously, unsure what to do now—should you continue or try to excuse yourself? You won’t get anywhere if you don’t reach out for help. 

You shift on your feet, steeling your spine how Nesta would, meeting absent amber eyes. Swallowing, you know what you want to say. “I would…” the words choke you, warmth flushing your skin as your eyes dart away, before returning to her own. “I’d like to do it again, sometime,” you manage to tell her, heart pounding in your chest. “I’d like to go into Velaris again. With you,” you add on for the sake of clarification. 

Mor regards you quietly and time stretches far between you; you can feel your pulse thundering in your ears, blood rushing through your body as your heart pounds. But her eyes soften marginally, lips curving with a hint of a smile, and you permit the tension to ever so slightly drain from your shoulders. She closes her eyes briefly, glancing down as if finding something amusing, and you can’t help the way your own mouth begins to curve with relieve she isn’t angry. Or at least, not as angry as you had convinced yourself. 

Amber eyes meet your own, and you allow the smile to tentatively spread across your lips. 

“I’d like that,” she says quietly, but not softly. Mor sighs, then stands straighter, the amusement flickering out of her gaze. “You’ll pay this time though, right?” She asks, and the floor falls out from under your feet. She glances down at her nails briefly, examining them before again meeting your own gaze, distraught. She tilts her head, “I paid last time. It’s only fair, don’t you agree? And if this is your way of apologising…” 

You stare at her, the smile having dropped clean from your mouth, splattered on the floor far below. Mor makes no effort to change what she’s said, no attempts to amend the choice she’s made, but you can’t remove your gaze, staring at her, lost. She doesn’t take it back, but she doesn’t smile either. This is more than a small jab from her—it’s resentment. A line in the sand. 

A line you crossed without care, or even thought. 

You remove your gaze, lips closing as the understanding begins to settle into your skin, the way pain disperses through flesh after a blow is struck. There’s no changing how your actions impacted her, no cleaning the mud you’d mindlessly splattered on those around you from running so recklessly.

Neither of you speak as you turn from her silently, understanding the conversation is at its end. You know when you aren’t wanted, and you know not to push if you won’t be accepted—if you’d known that from the start, you would have been saved a life’s worth of upset. You hardly register the steps you take as your feet carry you away back down the hallway, unable to raise your eyes from the floorboards. Head lowered as you make the walk back to your…to the bedroom you’ve been assigned. 

“You know, it’s better this way,” Mor calls, and you pause in your steps, casting a glance over your shoulder. “Even if you hadn’t done what you did, even if we had become friends…you’d always have been second to Feyre.” She quietens then and shakes her head gently, some golden hair shifting over her shoulder with the motion. When she meets your eyes again they’re…pitying. 

Of you. 

“Maybe you just aren’t made for first choice.”

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

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[readychilledwine]

Bound by Fate - part 3

Summary - Kaylee's life has been filled with training. But as her mate is left with no choice but to distance himself, it allows another connection to form.

Warning - none really? At least I don't think so? There's fire at the end?

A/n- you know that one song from lion king? Reflections of Mufasa? All I can hear at a certain point in this part is that dramatic build and crescendo that starts around 3:55 mins into the song. Hopefully the writing shows that.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Kaylee was panting, her hands on her knees, and sweat dripping from every inch of skin. Despite the two-piece cropped tank top and leggings Cassian had her training in, she was still so hot. 

He handed her water his own sweat making his muscled forearm glitter in the sunlight. "You're doing great, Kaylee. The perfect little partner for me to spar with right now." She looked at his beaming smile, a brow raised, before sticking out her tongue and making the male laugh. "We're done for today, but Rhys and Amren will be coming to work on magic with you." Kaylee looked at Cassian, her brows raised, waiting for the information she secretly knew was coming. 

Cassian sighed before continuing. "Azriel is still holed up with Nesta and Elain at the House of Wind. He's the only one Elain will respond to. I'm sorry, Kaylee. I understand your frustration." She knew Cassian did just based on the distant look in his eyes. 

It had been two weeks since they discovered Elain would only speak or allow Azriel near her. It drove the new feral part of Kaylee's mind and soul to madness when he'd come to bed, reeking of Elain's soft floral scent. He would comfort Kaylee however he could those first few days, but at the start of the second week, a switch had flipped. Az stopped sleeping with Kaylee. He stopped eating lunch with her at the Riverhouse. He stopped sending his shadows to spend time with her.

Kaylee had never been a jealous person before this. She had never once questioned her self worth or value, but this had her wondering why her mate wouldn't spend time with her, why he actively avoided her, when she stopped being enough for him. 

A hand on her shoulder ripped her from the void she was allowing herself to fall into. "Stop doing that to yourself," a soft voice said. "He misses you too. She just-" Rhysand paused to turn Kaylee to look at him. "Elain only eats when Azriel is there, and therefore Nesta will eat. I know it hurts, little bee. I am sorry." Cassian muttered an inaudible phrase before kissing Kaylee's forehead and moving inside. "Take a bath and a nap, Cass. It's an order." Cassian lifted a single finger over his shoulder as he moved inside. 

Rhysand crossed his arms over the black t-shirt he was wearing. He was dressed casually today, indicating to Kaylee they were heading into the forest. "Once she is stable, Kaylee. He will be comfortable coming home." He offered her his arm. "Amren is already in the clearing we will be using." She took his arm, closing her eyes tightly as he winnowed her away.

They had left Kaylee in the center of the clearing meditating. She was acutely aware of every sound around her. From the rushing water in the creek, to every soft scurry of small rodents around her, Kaylee heard it all. 

Even with her eyes closed, she felt as though she was seeing clearly. She was watching the forest move past her slowly from higher than she had ever stood. Strong legs carried what felt like her body. A stable mind moved her without thinking about it's path. She watched as hooved feet moved into a crystal blue lake, enjoying the feeling of the cool water on warm legs.

Two heart beats became one as Kaylee tapped further into that feeling. She focused solely on that rhythm beating into her own chest until it overtook every sense she had left.

And then, to Rhysand and Amren's shock and horror, Kaylee disappeared.

Rhysand ran the clearing, searching in the air for any signs of her, before landing and looked at Amren. "Did she just shatter the shield we had in place?"

Amren smirked, her voice light and airy. "She did. I told you she would. You didn't listen. Idiot."

Rhys immediately called for Cassian and Azriel, cursing himself loudly as Amren smirked and began to walk along the forest line, watching for any indication of the young sister.

While Rhys was too lost in panic causing him to only look for obvious signs, Amren had predicted this day's ago when Kaylee's power first tried to tap into her own being, and then Rhysand's beast form, only to have both of them turn her away. And this was confirmation to one clear thing to Amren, their beasts only turned them away because sweet Kaylee was not strong enough, yet.

Her silver eyes locked on several butterflies and bees, dancing together, twirling together, and flying into the same direction deep into the trees.

Azriel appeared first, his face exhausted from lack of sleep. "What happened?" 

Cassian landed at the same with a loud thud, a brow raised at Rhysand. "It happened, didn't it?"

The High Lord nodded slowly before turning to Azriel to explain. "Amren and I have been working with Kaylee to distract her. She started almost tapping into the essence of an animal in the forest after she unknowingly attempted to tap into my beast form." 

Rhysand held his hand to Azriel as the shadowsinger immediately began to try to speak. The sun had begun to set, and finding Kaylee was going to be impossible in the dark.  "It was almost as if her powers made it so she and this animal could become one being, one mind, one body, one soul."

Rhysand paused. "Yesterday things came to a head. She almost tapped into it fully, but she could not sync something. She became frustrated and we could not figure out why, and she could not express why. Armen suggested quiet meditation today instead of us guiding her, and we learned today what it was. She needed to sync their hearts. As soon as she did, she disappeared. I could not tell what she was linking with before it happened, though."

Azriel felt anger setting in slowly and his shadows immediately left him to search for his mate. "So my mate with powers we do not understand is somewhere in the forest with Gods knows what? Why did no one tell me this was starting? I should have been here! I should have been with her! If you had not ordered me to take care of Elain, I could have been here."

Rhysand wanted to answer but he was interrupted as Amren whistled and pointed up and then to the ground. "The creatures are all heading the same direction." The ancient being began to slowly follow their path. "Are you idiots coming or are you just going to stand there with each other's dicks in your hands?"

They trekked for what Azriel's heart felt like was hours. Every snap of a twig, rustle of leaves, and song of a bird had him on edge. 

His Kaylee, his sweet defenseless Kaylee, was somewhere in this forest, a forest he, Cassian, and Rhysand rarely even entered because of the dangers that lay in it. Not even the trees themselves in this forest could be trusted. They almost moved with minds of their own at times, trapping fae within the hallowed ground that these woods have become. It was filled with wildlife that had a taste for blood, lower fae that enjoyed harming others, and countless predators. This was not a safe place for his mate who had hardly begun to use her magic and hardly knew how to fight. Azriel had already made up his mind. If anything happened to Kaylee while she was alone out here, he'd kill Rhysand, and based off the look his brother had just shot him, the High Lord knew that.

Amren was far ahead of them. Watching closely as each bird flew further and further into the heavy bush. She had no choice but to believe they would lead her to the High Lady's youngest sister. After another few miles, she finally paused, stopping them on the edge of another clearing that surrounded a quiet lake. 

They were all surrounded by countless animals who seemed to be watching with anxiety and anticipation. Rhysand moved to step closer for the ancient being to turn and growl slightly. "Not a single step closer, boy," her voice was hushed and tight.

There centered in the lake, her long blonde hair completely loose from the tie she previously had it in and blowing gently in the breeze was Kaylee. 

She was waist deep into the blue waters, the sunshine was kissing every inch of her skin in golden light. It was as if she was radiating, as if she was almost glittering in her power. It was intoxicating for all of them. Seeing her like this had a small smirk forming on Cassian's face, it had Rhysand's breath hitched in his throat as worry and pride set in, it had Amren feeling her own soul almost buzzing, and something primal and deep in Azriel began to stir, something he hadn't even realized was there until now.

The sight was beautiful, but it was what stood before Kaylee that had Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys on edge. A great  creature stood in front of her. It's head lifted in pride and dignity as it looked down at her form. 

It towered before her on long sturdy legs lean with muscle, its dark red coat shone with health. It was at least triple her size and could easily harm her if it had wanted to. she barely reached its cream underbelly. The beast released a loud call, making the other animals all seem to flutter with joy. Itss antlers were twisted and numerous. Had they been in Autumn, this would have been a prized buck hunted for sport and hung above a mantle. Here, in its domain, though, it was clear this beast was the King of this forest, and on his head did not sit horns, but a crown.

It commanded respect, and clearly was testing Kaylee to see if she would offer it. Kaylee's right hand slowly raised, and she held it in the air, waiting for the red stag to welcome her touch, allowing it to make a choice. She would not force the being to her, but instead let it decide.

Not a single word came from the fae or animals as the King studied her, evaluating if Kaylee was indeed worthy for him in all of her glowing power. Azriel almost laughed as Amren's hand gripped Rhysand's wrist almost anxiously until Cassian's hand found his, gripping it tightly as well in support and worry.

In minutes that felt like hours, the great antlered animal began to move its head lower to Kaylee, and his decision was made as he put his long nose to Kaylee's palm. 

Unknowingly to the four of them, the beast sent Kaylee a single message in the bond that was beginning to form between them. You are enough, little one.

Light came between the two as her skin made contact with his fur. It was white and almost blinding screaming of innocence, of untapped potential. It was warm, welcoming, but fierce in its own right. 

"Beast tamer," Amren finally said slowly. "Kaylee is the Cauldron and Mother's beast tamer."

The two beings began to nuzzle each other closer, and Kaylee's forehead came to rest on the King's. 

Azriel would have given the world to frame this moment. His mate shining as her powers were finally acknowledged and known. The happiness radiating from her soul. The tranquility between her and this monstrous animal was almost deafening.

His Kaylee, his honeybee, blessed with the powers long lost to the Cauldron. 

And in turn, his Kaylee, his mate, cursed by the Mother with powers so ancient they had not been seen  since the Gods of old roamed the lands.

Kaylee felt warm wet tears streaming down her face as the stag released another loud call, causing the other animals around them to begin to cry and call in celebration. 

It is time to step into your power and responsibility. A deep voice rang into her soul. I am glad to be your first companion on this journey, Kaylee. Now go to your mate. He is terrified.

Kaylee turned around, seeing Amren and Rhysand smirking behind her. Cassian was wearing a beaming smile as he smacked a hand to a stunned Azriel's shoulder.  The Little beings of the forest moved, creating a pathway. "Az, I made a new friend."

Azriel moved forward. Stepping into the water and getting close to her. "I can see that, my heart." He moved closer again slowly. "Am I allowed to come get you?"

The king, in response, pushed gently on Kaylee's back, throwing her into Azriel's arms. I will be in the clearing you normally train in tomorrow. He moved with another call, causing the animals to return to their normal lives. 

Azriel held Kaylee tightly as they flew back home. Amren had opted to fly with Rhysand ahead of them, looking back at the two of them and Cassian. 

Once they landed at the Riverhouse, Azriel did not give Rhysand and Amren a chance to ambush his mate and carried her up the stairs to her room. 

He slept in her bed that night, his arms locked tight around her, wings cocooning them in. He fell into a deep sleep, accompanied by dreams of them living in a cabin near that clearing with three small children and countless animals.

Meanwhile, Kaylee's dream was filled with darkness, the only light source coming from the lit torch she was holding. Her footsteps were the only thing she could hear aside from deep, heavy breaths and her own humming.

A huge creature with scaled skin was suddenly looking at Kaylee with one of its black eyes. It roared loudly, teeth bared to her before turning its large head and neck up. Fire erupted along the ceiling, allowing Kaylee to finally see its gargantuan body, rows of jagged sharp teeth, and massive wings. Kaylee woke up screaming in terror for Azriel. Her heart raced as she sat in silence, hand clutched to her chest, breath coming out in uneven shakes.

Azriel was immediately up, comforting his mate as Rhys ran into the room, his eyes wide in disbelief and locked on Kaylee. The high lord and shadowsinger held eye contact. "Kaylee," Rhysand began slowly. "Did you feel a call before you ended up in that cave? Did it feel similar to the buck?" She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart. "Kaylee, look at me. I need you to make sure you do not sync with what you just saw until we have a better understanding of your powers and more control. Bond with it in your dreams, speak with it, but you do NOT sync with it. Am I understood?"

The young sister just nodded. Azriel looked between his brother and his mate before gently touching Kaylee's cheek and moving her head to face him. "Baby, what did you see?"

Kaylee's eyes met Azriel's, they were filled with fear and tears causing his heart to clench. "A dragon." Kaylee took another still deep breath. "I saw a dragon."

Bound by Fate taglist:

@impossibelle @luvmoo @wallacewillow0773638 @nightless @cat-or-kitten @knmendiola

@holb32 @mis-lil-red

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone. 

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours. 

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

[lanitalay]

ACOTAR Masterlist

*indicates smut

Azriel:

Before I Say Goodnight- 21st century reader gets sucked into the world of ACOTAR in this multi-part fic. Slow burn, wholesome romance <3 (21 parts, completed)

Cowboy like me*

One Day- Series, completed. Based on the Netflix series.

In the dark, a light

Supernatural, supernatural 2

Eris:

Soon

Renegade

When a High Lord is powerless.

When a High Lord is powerless (for the first time)

Among Flames and Starlight - New multi part fic (forced proximity/enemies to lovers) (Eventual Eris x Oc) (love triangle)

Lucien:

In the woods somehwhere

What is Left and What is Lost

A Winter Night Made Fire

Rhysand:

At sea, part 2, part 3

Cassian

Back to the basics

In the cover of night, star-crossed lovers meet.

[erisweekofficial]

We're so excited to be highlighting @utterlyotterlyx tonight! 🥹

They write Eris x Reader oneshots and multi chapter fics at also include a Reader x Azriel romance too. Right now we're really enjoying A Fate Inked in Starlight!!!!!

And if you want something shorter, we really recommend Can't Keep My Hands to Myself and Dark Paradise! 🔥

There are so many great fics, so please check them all out!

Read under the cut to learn @utterlyotterlyx's favorite fics they've written and how Eris is finally stepping up to become High Lord

What is your favorite fic you've written and why?

I'd probably say my favourite Eris fic was the first one I wrote when I started writing again - it would be Wicked Game, or it would be my Eris series, The Fox and The Fawn (incomplete) - Wicked Game because I am a key angst writer and I just love the depth to Eris in this fic, it really makes the reader feel his pain in a way that they haven't before, it is a sad ending but it is something I'd consider doing an alternate ending to. With The Fox and The Fawn, the series just really goes in depth with Eris, him being a bit stand-offish but keeping an eye on the reader from afar, slow burn romance where Rhys is the villain which I'm still perfecting the last two parts for!

Which fic was the most challenging and why?

Most challenging Eris fic would be Can't Keep My Hands To Myself - probably the most difficult because it's a Modern!Eris fic and even though it's short, I did struggle in capturing him from a modern day angle but it went down a treat!

What are some of your favorite fan theories about Eris?

My favourite theories of Eris are that he is just as misunderstood as Rhys once was but because he has no 'Inner Circle' then people really do believe that he's a villain, and I also LOVE the thought that he's actually the good guy in the Mor storyline - I think he's been super abused all of his life and just really wants to A) save others from that life, and B) have someone to understand where he's been and where he's going, and to understand that the mask he wears isn't who he really is.

We’ve just gotten word that Eris is on his way to become High Lord at this very moment. How is he getting rid of Beron?

Ugh this is a difficult one, despite how awful Beron is, I don't think that Eris would take it upon himself to end his life, I think he would maybe plant the seeds of treachery and either let someone else do it and turn a blind eye, or turn the other High Lords to his side where they could maybe force Beron to step down.

Please give us a name for one of his brothers and one of his hounds!

I think one of his brothers would be called Phoenix, and I think one of his dogs would be called Maple - runt of the litter but his favourite just because of how loving and doting she is, like she can read his mind and know what comfort he needs because she knows that he doesn't have anyone physically there by his side.