#hybern’s daughter

[ambivalence-is-me]

The Lost Princess

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Your life drastically changes after meeting Feyre. You don’t know how to help, you don’t know much of anything really so, how is your life going to be now? In a city you didn’t know existed with people you thought you hated.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: manipulation, perhaps some self-loathing issues, slow burn. This is just like a prologue of their first impressions of each other.

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by Glinda from Wicked. I’ve been obsessed ever since I saw it. I wanted that sort of superficial clueless character vibe and this came out. I’ve got so many other ideas so just hear me out okay lol

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You were a fool. A useless fool...and they knew that.

But you didn't want to be one. No, you wanted needed to prove you weren’t a fool. Prove it to them and to yourself.

It wasn’t your fault, even if they didn’t know it but you knew that it wasn’t your fault you had been so...lost.

They didn’t know about all the lies and manipulation you’ve gone through at the hands of your brother.

Your brother, who was probably the one male after the King of Hybern that was so hated, the Inner Circle’s number two enemy..Tamlin.

Let’s backtrack a little...

You are nothing like Tamlin, personality and physically speaking. The only trait you two seemed to share is the shade of green eyes. Hair, facial features, even height, seemed to set you apart from him. And you’ve never been more thankful for it.

Personality wise, while Tamlin seemed to damper every path and flower he passed, you had the opposite effect. A true daughter princess of Spring. You were bubbly, carefree, perky and just so full of life. It had annoyed Feyre at the start. She met you a few days after she had been taken from the mortal lands and forced to live at the Manor. You seemed to appear out of freaking nowhere in a pink dress, small tiara on top of your head and on your face a mask that seemed to be of a dove, beautiful white and gold interlaced throughout it. It was all sunshine and rainbows as if you had come down in a freaking bubble or something.

It irritated Feyre how you walked around and interacted with everyone with such joy when everyone else, especially her, seemed to be on high alert and tense but that tension seemed to leave whenever your presence was by. Feyre couldn’t get any answers from you whenever you conversed. She wanted to know everything about the fae lands, including how to get out, anything but you just didn't know. And later you both learned that it hadn't been Amarantha’s fault but your brothers’.

During Amarantha’s reign you had lived in a bubble (methaphorically speaking). You couldn't remember why one day you woke up wearing a mask, one you couldnt get rid of or even think about why you were wearing it. You didn’t know who was the evil red female who had proclaimed herself High Queen of Prythian or what she had done to all the lands and its people. Nor did you know of your father’s involvement in killing Rhysand’s family and especially didn’t know how he (and your mother and brothers) had been murdered by Rhysand’s father. All of this had gone underperceived by you for decades.

Truthfully, you weren't even supposed to be alive but were meant to suffer your mother’s fate at the hands of Rhysand’s father. And after learning the truth and re-meeting Rhysand properly, looking at the pain and grief hidden behind his violet eyes, you knew it too.

Tamlin, seemingly perceptive of what was coming after what his father had done to Rhysand’s mother and sister, suggested to your father to send you away, hide you far away where they couldn’t find and murder you. It had worked but you couldn't remember where you had been or with who, that part of your life was as if never happened.

After becoming High Lord and Amarantha starting her advances, he went even further to secure your protection and took you somewhere where he knew the sort of people who lived there would help him make sure that you followed every word and instruction he gave. He had them put a spell on you, he had cursed you.

Cursed to forget about the death of your family, cursed to overlooked Amarantha, cursed dismiss the danger they lived in, cursed to believe and follow every word he said, cursed to refrain from thinking too much, to question things, cursed to be clueless. For years.

Feyre thought it was an act. How you looked at everything so positively and nothing could go wrong but then she knew that it wasn’t.

It was never an act, you truly were clueless, but it wasn’t your fault. You were just another one of Tamlin’s victims.

Thats why Feyre gave you a chance. Besides the fact that everything seemed to go over your head, you are a nice, caring, empathetic female. After she was Made, Feyre gravitated more towards you, preferred your company over Ianthe's, sought you out after arguing with Tamlin or Lucien and while you never understood what she had gone through, the trauma and burden she carried (because of the curse), you never turned her away.

Tamlin had noticed how deep your friendship had gotten. And since he knew Feyre was to be taken away at one point by Rhysand because of that stupid bargain, he knew he had to turn you against Rhysand so you could in turn continue to feed into Feyre’s apprehension of the High Lord of the Night Court. How did he do that? He told you the truth...well, some of it.

He revealed the death of your family. He emphasized how merciless it had been and how Rhysand was the only one to blame.

You cried...for hours you wept and screamed. Your mother, your beautiful mother was dead all this time. You had thought she was off in another court with your father accompanying him with some lord duties but instead she had been murdered in cold blood, and you didn't even know.

Feyre knew then that she much preferred to see you smiling and laughing than to see you so heartbroken, to hear your cries was devastating.

And Tamlin had succeeded.

You became so incredibly fearful of the Night Court’s High Lord that you begged Feyre to break the bargain, to never look his way, to hate the cruel and soulless male who had taken your family away from you. And in return, Feyre had hated Rhysand, hated him so much for making you cry, for dimming your light. She also had fallen under Tamlin’s trap. But of course, that all changed.

It changed when it didn't get any better for Feyre, when Tamlin’s actions were feeding into her pain, when he locked her inside the Manor. You of course had no idea he had done this; you didn't even recall when Morr had rescued her. You heard the explosion and when you arrived at the scene, Feyre was already gone. Tamlin had been furious and told you Rhysand was to blame, that he had kidnapped your friend and that he had to find and bring her back.

You, of course thanks to the curse, believed him and you were extremely worried for her. Fear ran through your body and you prayed everyday to the Mother that no harm would come to her, that she weren’t suffering your mother’s fate.

Months passed and you remained none the wiser to what was happening outside the Manor’s walls. Whispers of war roomed the halls, some kind of Hybern involved, you hardly saw your stressed brother. Lucien being the one to accompany you at times for dinner. But he never revealed anything, of the war, of Feyre and you continued to stay clueless and out of the loop.

It wasn’t like you didn't want to know or that you didn't try. You did, you tried to ask around, to the servants, the sentries, but they all knew the spell you were under and knew better than to reveal anything Tamlin didn't want you to know. And you hated it. You felt so frustrated that you were doing meaningless things around the Manor while your friend, your only friend, was off in another court probably being tortured and you weren't doing anything to help her. After Tamlin had popped part of your bubble, you felt the need to be more hands on but you just didn't know where to start. At one point, you tried writing down the whispers you heard, along with questions you had, or any information obtained, and you tried to piece it all together by yourself. But nothing made sense. Nothing would continue to make sense when your brother had the power to take knowledge away from you.

Everything started to change for you with Feyre’s return. You were delighted that she was back, that your brother had rescued her from the Night Court. You hugged her so hard that for a second Feyre had forgotten her plan to ruin Tamlin. She remembered all the time both spent together, remembered and felt the care you had for her. And it was then that she knew that somehow she had to convince you to run away with her, to help you ruin your brother. After all of the things she went through in Velaris, all the knowledge and new perspective she gained, Feyre recognized you to be another prey fallen into Tamlin’s claws.

And you needed to get out. But by then, she didn’t know of the curse that was befallen on you. All she knew is that you believed every little word Tamlin uttered, that you blindly followed his every instruction, and she couldn't believe how she had never pieced the pieces together before. So, with more conviction than ever, under the wards and glamours in her bedroom at the Manor, Feyre told you everything. Of Amarantha's curse, what your family had done to Rhysand, what Tamlin did to her, of Velaris and the Inner Circle, Hybern, her mating bond, her sisters being Made and even of her plans to destroy the Spring Court. Slowly, Feyre took off the blindfold that had been forcedly put on you for decades. She talked and you listened, tears running down your face, for hours. Well into the night and again when the sun came up.

It was extremely difficult to believe her. How could you? When everything she was saying went against everything your brother had told you. Feyre knew that risk, that you wouldn't believe her but she held nothing back. She answered all your questions, worries and even hugged you.

You promised Feyre you wouldn't tell a word to anyone of what she had expressed. And you kept that promise but it didn't mean that you still full heartedly believed her. You wanted to, something inside you was screaming that it was the truth and that you had been an idiot to believe Tamlin.

But you couldn't understand, if Feyre was telling the truth then, why Tamlin had lied? Why had he kept so much from you? Tamlin, your older brother who fiercely protected you when you were a child, would read to you at nights, played with you, gave you attention when the rest of your brothers only ignored you. He was your favorite brother, your first hero, the first male you had told ‘’I love you’’ too. How can you change this image you have of him so fast when for all of your life he had been your rock? How can someone who claimed to love you do the complete opposite of love? You couldn't understand.

But then you remembered he lied about your family’s death, kept that from you. And using the same train of thought then that means, yes he could have hid so much more from you. And before making any decision in regards to following Feyre, you tried, just one more time, to get information out of your brother.

You asked him one question ‘’How did you find Feyre?’’.

He had looked up at you and said : ‘’It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s here now and that she’s safe. Keep her company and help in whatever she needs. You will do that right, sister?’’.

The spell made you nod without you even being aware that you were nodding and replied ‘’Of course, brother. I will help Feyre with anything she needs.’’

He smiled and dismissed you.

That did it for you. You couldn't explain why you had accepted his truth so fast, why you didn't question him further, why your mind seemed to be battling itself. It was maddening.

And so, you agreed to be part of Feyre’s plan to run away. She told you she was to accompany Lucien, the twins and Jurian to the forest. As per usual, you were expected to stay in the Manor while everyone did, well, everything else. But this time, when everyone left, you were to grab a bag with essentials and leave. Feyre pointed out a meeting spot where you were to wait for her there and then continue the path to the Night Court.

It was the most terrifying thing you had ever done.

‘’What about my guard?’’ You asked her, worried about your escape since Tamlin had appointed a sentry to be your guard whenever he or Lucien weren't in the Manor.

‘’I’ll take care of it. Just meet me there and wait. No matter what you hear, wait for me there. I will come find you, I promise’’.

And she had been right. Whatever she had done to your guard well, she took care of it since there didn't seem to be any near you, making your exit far smoother than you expected. Even if inside you were terrified, every neuron in your brain screamed at you to go back inside the Manor and wait for Tamlin. But you pushed through, for Cauldron’s sake did you push through. Every step away from the Manor, from Tamlin seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, making it hard for you to continue, as if there was an invisible force trying to pull you back (the curse).

When you made it to the meeting point you cried. You were feeling an immense amount of fear of this new life you were heading towards to. You were also feeling proud of yourself for committing and making it there but then the fear came back when hours went by and there was no sign of Feyre. You waited, just like you said, no matter if you were terrified of being alone in the woods. In the same woods you now knew ran part of Amarantha’s creatures. You were honest to the Mother about to piss yourself out of fear when you heard her. Feyre, she was coming. And she was not alone.

Lucien ran with her and they both looked worse for wear. You barely managed to speak when she grabbed your hands and urged you to run, tagging you along with them. You saw Lucien’s expression; he was probably confused by your involvement in all of this and he was worried of what would happen to you since he knew of the limitations of the curse. And yet, he stayed quiet and ran along with you both.

It was extremely hard for you to keep along with them. They were fighters, they were fit, they’ve been in battle before, but not you. You were just..well...a princess. You knew nothing of survival or fighting skills and they all knew that but they also knew they couldn't stop if they wanted to stay alive, to fulfill Feyre’s plans.

And made it you had.

With some great trouble along the way involving Lucien’s brothers but thankfully two Illyrian soldiers quite literally fell from the sky and rescued the three of you out of there.

Azriel and Cassian, Feyre had introduced.

And you of course took one look at them and nearly fainted. You were trying so hard not to show your fear but knew you were failing spectacularly. You’ve heard of their kind, from your father and Tamlin, of how ruthless they were, how they had no respect for females and enjoyed tearing them apart. But no, Feyre trusted them, had expressed there was nothing to fear, that they wouldn't harm you. And while everything inside you that was holding you back in Spring was telling you that it was a lie, you tried and believed her.

And now here you were. In this city you’ve never heard of, in a court where only bad things have been said, with only two other faes you knew, surrounded by others who apparently aren't evil at all. After all, in their eyes, you were the evil one, you were the villain in their story.

You met them all, the inner circle and they all stared at you. It was clear that they didn't trust you nor Lucien. But the way they treated you was different. With you it was like they didn't know how to treat you, as if they didn't know what to do with you. And well, you didn't know what to do with you either.

You were a fool, a useless fool.

They figured that out the moment Morrigan began asking questions and all you did was stare at her, mouth a bit open. Because of course, you didn't know the answer to any of her questions and you could see they were growing exasperated with you.

They all showed it differently. Rhysand hadn't met your eye once since you’ve been in the room, his jaw firm and looking anywhere else but you. The Morrigan vividly rolled her eyes at you and instead moved her attentions to Lucien. A smaller female than you with silver glowing eyes had taken one look at you and shook her head. Cassian, the big male with long hair and red jewels, was openly glaring and eyeing Lucien with distaste. And then, Azriel.

The most handsome male you’ve ever seen in all your life. While Rhysand and Cassian were also handsome, Azriel was a different type of handsome. One you couldn't quite explain. The best way your heart could capture it was by thinking that he was like the prince you always thought you’d end up married to. The handsome male described in those romance books you read. The one you hoped had a dazzling personality you longed for, to swept you off your feet and leave you breathless. And he did definitely leave you breathless but not in the way a female wants.

Right off the bat you’ve noticed that Azriel was quiet, the quietest of them all. He seemed to be analyzing everything, blending into the shadows that followed his every breath. And although he hadn't spoken your way once, his body language screamed that he wanted nothing to do with you.

And that hurt.

These people didn't owe you anything. On the contrary, you were the one invading their home, their safe space, you were the enemy so the least you could do is...what? Exactly what were you expected to do?

This only seemed to aggravate you further.

They don't know you, they don't know your heart, quite frankly besides existing, you’ve done nothing to harm any of them. Your hands and your heart were clean. And you didn't know this but that is exactly why Azriel, Rhysand and the rest had a hard time looking your way and accepting you.

You’ve done nothing. While they’ve gone through hell and back, what have you done? In their minds, you’re just a perfect little princess that can do no wrong.

And were they? Were they wrong? They weren't. Tamlin made sure you stayed pure, innocent, protected from danger so that you didn't need to lift a finger if you ever needed anything. But that was it, all your life had been dictated by someone else. Your thoughts, opinions and ideals were implanted by Tamlin.

It was time to start thinking of your own, to start creating a life of your own without Tamlin’s influence.

Without his curse.

The curse that only Lucien knew the existence and Feyre suspected of.

It was time to start battling everything you’ve been taught and fight for what you want. While you still needed to figure out what exactly it is that you want, you were going to do it. It was time to prove to yourself and to these new people that you were capable of more, of being more than just a foolish lost princess.

How were you going to do it? You had no idea, but you hope that the beautiful male with hazel eyes and scarred hands would wait long enough for you to give you a chance or perhaps, he could be the one to help you.

[achaotichuman]

@praetorqueenreyna One of my ideas is that Dahlia's mother is the Weaver, she was absorbed into the earth and came back from the dead, as she is a Death-God and therefore cannot be killed by a simply beheading. Anyway, now free from the constraint of her cottage she went to Spring on the night of Calamnai by sheer coincidence. The magic chose her for the rite.

And ten months later, the Weave dropped Dahlia off at the Spring Court manor and disappeared never to be seen again.

Dahlia looks exactly like Tamlin, literally a female version of Tamlin, but has Death-God powers.

My other idea is Dahlia's other parent is the new King of Hybern. Tamlin and the former King of Hybern had a blood deal where Tamlin would offer himself and his services to Hybern for fifty years. Fifty years because he by all technicalities, served Amarantha for fifty years, but Hybern reaped none of the benefits, so to equal it, Hybern would help Tamlin get Feyre back only on the basis he served them.

This deal continues into the next King's reign, who decides Tamlin's service will be in a marriage alliance. Tamlin marries him, and lives in Hybern for a year in order to learn more of their customs.

This new King turns out to be very similar to Tamlin. He is trying to restore Hybern to glory and attempting to create a new world for the people living there. Like Tamlin, he will fight for freedom, no matter who's he is defending, unlike Tamlin he was trained for this position, so he ends up helping Tamlin to restore Spring. They restore their respective Courts and fall in actual love as they do.

Anyway, one night Tamlin decides he's going to shapeshift in the form of a female, just for funnzies, just for a party so he can wear a sparkly dress. Tamlin's husband really, really likes this new form.

Ten months later Dahlia is born.

Alternate ending, the new King of Hybern carries Dahlia cause Tamlin's dick is just that good.

Actually, Tamlin has a daughter, her name is Dahlia. She is chaos incarnate, super buff and is general of the Spring Court armies. She plays the guitar and fiddle, can't sing for the life of her, but boy can she dance like you've got no idea. Everyone thought she would be a super dainty little princess but she's actually taller than Cassian (definitely not shape-shifting, no sir).

She has tattoo's and once in the middle of the night she shaved off all her hair. She's best friends with Nyx who everyone thought would be a super buff Illyrian warrior, but he's actually a super dainty little Prince, he does ballet and hates fighting. He's a third of the size of Dahlia but has the attitude of someone five times his size.

Dahlia is happily married to Aisling, a woman from the Hewn City. They have three kids, two girls and one boy. Tamlin sings them songs and teaches them poetry by the firelight. Dahlia is Tamlin's size, but sometimes she sits in his lap the same way she used to when she was a little girl. Tamlin refuses to admit his baby girl is all grown up now.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales II

Summary: Princess!Reader makes a deal with the Emperor to try and save her mates.

Content Warnings: Violence, Blood and Gore, Gladiator Tournament, Physical Abuse.

Part One

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I can’t breathe. The world spins in dizzying swirls around me. Mates.

Not one.

Not two.

Three!

All of them enemies of the Empire. Rebels scheduled for execution. Fate has always been a cruel bastard in all matters concerning me, but this feels like a personal attack on my existence. Someone in the Celestial Plain is laughing at this twisted attempt of a joke. How could I be so close to happiness and be forced to sit here and watch it be ripped from me one blood splatter at a time?

The Game Maker starts speaking again, his voice booming across the arena. I can’t make out any of the words; they’re all muddled together in my ears. This cannot be happening to me! It’s not fair! I’ve been the perfect daughter, even when it shattered me; I was a model student; I’ve upheld the law to the very letter; I make weekly sacrifices to the Mother; I built my own lararium to offer nightly prayers to the gods. I have been devought and loyal to both the gods and the Empire and this is the thanks I get?

I can’t tear my eyes away from where the three of them stand in the center of the Pit, waiting for the gates to open again. The violet eyed one, Rhysand-- gods even his name is pretty--won’t stop staring at my Father, challenging him to speak, to fight, to do something other than sit there like a coward while someone else kills for him. 

My Father must understand the challenge in that gaze, because he finally stands and goes to the edge of the booth, weathered hands splayed out against the worn stones bearing a flag with his crest embroidered upon it. “Citizens of the Empire!”

The crowd gives a raucous shout.

I simply scoot a little closer to Brannagh to be able to see around Father.

My movements do not break the silent battle happening with Rhysand, but it does draw the eye of Azriel, who’s bloodied head tilts to the side quizzically as he takes me in. I feel a blush creep its way up my cheeks, the booth suddenly too hot as I try to meet his gaze. That hazel gaze bears an intensity that keeps me in place, but I cannot help but feel like I’ve been stripped bare, as if he can see straight into my chest, where my heart still pounds an uneven beat. 

“Before you stands that which threatens our peace, our security, and most importantly the prosperity that our people hold so dear.”

The tall one, Cassian frowns at that, but Rhysand grins, as if he has won whatever silent battle he’s been having with my Father. He tips his head back and bellows, so that not a single soul here misses it, “There is no prosperity or peace in the Empire! There is only enslavement and death!”

The boos that had started coming from the crowd die, as if someone had collectively cut off their air supply. 

The muscles in my Father’s back tighten as he realizes what is happening.

“Outside these walls we all starve! Supplies to every corner of the Empire have dwindled to single bags of grain, meant only to feed the soldiers that terrorize us in every corner of the world. You do not hear from your families in the far reaches because your mail is censored. Your loved ones have been dragged from their beds and crucified without trial. The only prosperity in this Empire is for Hybern himself.”

I finally tear my gaze away from Azriel’s silent study to look at Amarantha for confirmation that it is true. 

“You should have slit his throat on the battlefield,” Dagdan snarls in her direction. 

The power seeping from my fingers tears a hole through my skirts, singing across my thighs. The errant strand only hidden by the way I keep the fabric bunched in my hands. I do not allow myself to wince against the sting and give myself away.

“Those were not my orders!” Amarantha snarls, her teeth flashing as she stands. Her slaves jump out of her way, cowering against each other for safety. “Your Highness, silence him before he incites a riot!”

No! No! No! This can’t be happening to me! Not again. It is like watching my Mother be taken away all over again. I had just stood there. Unable to cry or scream or fight. I could only watch. That was what she trained me to do. She had even nodded her approval to my stillness as they’d dragged her away, as if it had been right. None of it was right. None of this was right!

“Your Master will tell you pretty stories but we are all his slaves in the end. Illyria has had enough! We will not sit by and let our women and children starve! If that makes us rebels and traitors to the crown, so be it! But what would you do if it was your children in the streets? Your wives being carted off to service foreign elites? Your sons forced to kill and die for an Empire that can’t even feed you?” Rhysand screams.

My Father, silently, motions to one of his Praetorians, a crossbow already swinging from the clip at his back. 

The pounding of my heart in my ears will swallow me. Everything in the world slows and narrows into the motion of an arrow being fit into the crossbow.

Move! Move! Move! A dark ether of my power slithers up my wrists, catching Brannagh’s attention. She must make some snide remark about it, because I, distantly, see her lips move but no sound ever reaches my ears. I have to stop this. I have to do something!

I’m on my feet without conscious thought of what I’m doing. “Father, wait!” My hands reach for him, the sizzle of pain as my power skitters across his skin enough to make him turn and face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m saying, the words spew as if they have a mind of their own.

“If you kill him now like this you will incite a riot!”

His face twists, a snarl slipping past his clenched teeth. I have royally pissed him off, disgraced him here in front of his Inner Circle, where they watch from nearby booths. The thought would usually send me cowering like a dog with its tail between its legs, but the fear I feel for him is nothing against the fear I feel for them. The thing that links our souls together burns and rattles beneath my rib cage, needing to defend, to fight.

“Call off your guard!” I hiss, reaching out a hand and letting that dark power that lives inside me show. I’ll strike him dead if he so much as moves a finger towards the trigger. “Let us be diplomatic about this.”

“Who are you,” Father snarls, taking an advancing step towards me. The booth shakes as his own dark power rises to meet mine. “To challenge me, child?!”

I hold my ground, even though my body trembles. It is only the dutiful teachings of my Mother that keep my chin up instead of bowing it to my chest as every muscle screams for me to do. “I am not challenging you, I am trying to think about our people.”

I clench my fists again, dimming my power in feigned submission. “Go about this a different way. Show the people that ruthlessness is not always the answer to our nation’s problems.”

“Are you suggesting I spare an enemy?” Father snarls.

I honestly don’t know what my plan is here. I’m just throwing things against the wall and hoping something, anything, sticks, otherwise my only option is to fling myself down into the Pit and hope the power thrumming in my veins is enough to save my mates.

“No,” if I am to keep all of our heads, I must be crafty. I must play the games my Father plays. My gaze flicks to where Amarantha’s slaves remain huddled together, a desperate thought forming in my head. My stomach turns at the mere idea, but if it can save them…?

“You mean to entertain the people and quell all possible chances of further rebellion, but we have seen time and time again that no execution or crucifixion has done that. We merely make martyr after martyr. We encourage others to take up the cause.”

“Let them fight,” I’m going to be sick! It feels like there’s a knot forming in my chest. “And if they survive, let them live, let them be gladiators.” It’s unthinkable, it puts them in danger time and time again. “The betting will be astronomical. The people will return time and time again in hopes of seeing them fall. That money can provide support to the edges of the Empire. Prove him wrong by sending extra aid to those outside our walls.”

To his credit, my Father does listen to me ramble. The Mother has smiled on me for once, if he had been in one of his fits today he would have had Amarantha kill me where I stood. It is a miracle the Praetorian didn’t take me out for wielding so close to him in the first place.

 “And you would have them what? Live in the slave quarters where they can incite a riot with all the dregs?” Amarantha hisses.

I’ll lose him if I let her forked tongue keep whispering in his ear. I am not blind, I know that she has more favor with him than I ever have. “No. Leaving them free to whisper with the other gladiators would be a mistake. Let someone claim responsibility for them.” 

The plan forms in my mind as I speak. I don’t like it. I’m not sure that it’ll even work, but I have to try and save them. I cannot let them die while I stand here uselessly watching as I did with my Mother. I will never be useless or silent again. “Give them to me.”

Brannagh chokes on her wine behind me.

Amarantha’s jaw actually drops in shock.

“I will take responsibility for them. They will be monitored by my guard. To our people it will look  like you mean to humiliate three great warriors, by shackling them to me. It is no secret what our people think of me.”

Dagdan’s snort is proof enough how weak I look in the eyes of our people. I am nothing but a sheltered, pampered princess to them. Up until today they didn’t even know that I’d inherited my Father’s powers. Good, let them all think me weak and useless and meek, they will never know the claws and fangs that hide beneath my skin until it is too late. Father included.

“She is not strong enough to keep them in check,” Amarantha hisses. “If you are to do it, give them to me.”

I barely reign in my powers, barely keep my teeth behind my lips. They are mine and I will be damned before I let her put her grubby little paws on them! 

“You may monitor them as often or as random as you wish, Father,” I speak over her instead, fighting to keep his attention. “I will move back into the Palace. I will sit in every meeting. I…” There is one sure thing that will guarantee his approval of this awful plan of mine. “I will marry whoever you choose for me.”

His dark brows raise in surprise. “And what would prompt this sudden loyalty to me, child?”

I raise my chin. “I have sat too long in the dark, and I could not see it until…” I have already bartered my soul, what will some more empty words mean in the end? “I could not see it until you removed that traitor and her poisoned tongue from the house. I see it now. I have failed our people and I mean to make it right.”

He flicks his gaze over his shoulder, down into the Pit. “The gorsian stone should keep Rhysand in line. And with enough guards, you might be able to keep them locked up. If they should survive the fight.”

“Sometimes death is a mercy,” I say, the words tasting like bile. 

He takes a step closer, so we’re nearly nose to nose. “And if you fail to keep them in line, it will be you that dies in this arena, do you understand?”

Better me than them. 

“You cannot be serious, Your Highness!” Amarantha squeaks, her voice shrill.

I nod, trying not to gloat in my victory over her. “I understand.”

Father grins, pleased with himself as he snags my hand and brings me back into view of the arena. “Please forgive the delay, the Princess and I were just discussing what our guests had to say about the state of our Empire.”

I feel three sets of eyes settle on me like a brand. The bond, still so new and raw in my chest, feels like chains rattling against my ribcage. I cannot tell if it is their anxiety or my own. 

“Let it be known that this Empire is a democracy, and that I, as your Emperor, care about the state of affairs that all of our people live in.”

 I try to meet the gaze of the senators and highly decorated soldiers sitting in the booths that line the upper ring of the arena. These will be the most upset by the news. The next ring of wealthy merchants and shopkeepers, tradesmen and fleet keeps will be the ones that take what they hear here back to the streets. Word will spread. The people will know what happened here, how the Emperor suddenly decided to care about them. It will be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I try to not look down at the Pit; try not to think about the life I’m condemning them to. 

“Our beloved Princess is very concerned about your well-being,” Father continues and there’s a collective cheer from the lower levels. “And so, we have decided not to execute these rebels today.”

The tone immediately shifts to one of confusion.

“They will compete as gladiators. Should they prove resourceful enough to survive, they will be branded as gladiators, and sponsored by our Princess.” Great, not only do they have to survive the damned arena, they have to survive any threats from other gladiators who will seek to take out well-sponsored competition. 

Even from our vantage point I hear Cassian curse in disbelief. 

“She has so graciously decided that all their winnings will be sent to any hurting corners of the Empire, should there be any to be found.”

The crowd takes a moment to process what he says. It even takes me a minute to comprehend the last part. He’d really send all the money that I’d earn as their sponsor to the poor? That’s a hefty bit of charity, even for him. There has to be some sort of catch?

“So, let these males fight! Let’s see how far they are willing to go for their people.”

There it is. They could choose to sit down and die in the arena, making themselves martyrs as Amarantha thinks they intended, and then, instead, they would look like they were not willing to make sacrifices for their people. If they fought, competed for whatever earnings were bet on them, then they would be heroes. A symbol of strength only the great Emperor Hybern could make. Father really is the best at these political games.

The crowd roars as trumpets blow three times.

Father motions me back to our seats.

“You don’t really think they can win, do you, cousin?” Dagdan questions.

The ground shakes as a giant strolls out of the tunnels. The creature is so large he has to bend over nearly double to fit. When he stands to his full height, his bald head is practically even with the edge of our booth. Terrible scars crisscross over his body like spiderwebs. Hybern went to war first with the land of Giants, the war had lasted decades. My Grandfather had taken many giants as slaves and forced them to kill each other in this arena. Some gladiators were able to earn their freedom, but the devastation that the Giants had wrought on our people made my Grandfather declare that no Giant could ever be made free. The poor creature had probably been chained here, fighting in the Pit long before I was even born.

“They survived Amarantha,” I retort.

The General bristles. “I thought you didn’t place bets on the first day?”

I reach for another glass of wine, trying to settle my nerves. “There’s a first time for everything.” Perhaps making an enemy out of her is unwise, but the bond chafes against my ribcage at the thought of her being anywhere near any of them. Better to keep her attention on me than on them. 

Another horn blows, prompting the giant to move and I hold my breath as he reaches a meaty hand down to grab one of the Illyrians. The males scatter, Cassian going into a roll between the Giant’s legs, using the blind spot to his advantage while Rhysand drags Azriel out of the way with an arm around his waist. He’s practically carrying Azriel now, who’s broken wings seem to be getting heavier by the minute. 

Cassian roars as he stretches out a hand, a wave of red tinted energy blasting from his palm. The arch or power slams into the Giant’s calf, blasting away a chunk of skin and muscle, splattering blood across the nearest wall. 

The Giant roars as he falls to one knee.

Cassian sprints behind him, out of reach of the hand that comes sweeping down at him. This time, he’s the distraction as Rhysand uses the hand not holding Azriel upright to unleash a blast of dark, obsidian power. 

My own magic flares in response. It is a darkness so like my own, the sight of it a siren call that has me leaning forward in my seat. If he can unleash a blast powerful enough to leave a gash across the Giant’s bare chest with those gorsian chains around his neck, how much damage can he do without it?

The Giant’s cries of pain echo throughout the amphitheater; using the distraction, Cassian continues to blast away at it’s leg while Rhys throws blow after blow at it’s chest. They fair far better than I anticipated they would, but I know better than to let hope get the better of me. It is far too easily ripped away in this arena. 

As if on cue, the gates open again and a pack of wargs come sprinting into the arena.

The crowd erupts in cheers, and my heart once again thunders in my chest. What have I done? It takes all my training to not start chewing on my thumbnail. How am I supposed to save them from this?

Amarantha claps gleefully as one of the wargs breaks away from the pack to lunge straight for Azriel’s throat. 

No! No! No- Azriel raises a scarred hand to blast the beast backward with a wave of blue tinted magic. There isn’t enough time to sigh in relief, not as the rest of the pack splits in two, one circling Rhysand and Azriel, the other taking a shot at the Giant. Those rows of razor sharp and needle thin teeth sink into the Giant’s already bleeding leg, momentarily distracting it as it swings wildly around the arena, arms pinwheeling as it fights to balance on one leg while the other flails in an attempt to shake the beasts off. 

“They’re not supposed to attack the Giant!” Brannagh whines. 

I gulp down my wine, hoping it will push the wave of nausea that rolls through me down. I’ve signed their death warrants. I’ve gotten my mates killed. 

Cassian, in the chaos, has managed to find half of a spear, the blade rusted from the recent rain, but he hurls it with acute precision nonetheless, piercing through the oddly shaped skull of a warg snapping at Azriel’s wings. 

Rhysand and Azriel have moved to stand back to back, their varying shades of magic weaving between their fingers as they prepare to strike the snapping beasts that circle them. 

The Giant topples over as the three wargs held tight to it’s wounded calf find a nerve. There’s not enough room in the arena to let him fall without incident. The poor creature topples right into the wall opposite us, knocking away a section of stone and nearly dragging a Senator and his mistress into the Pit.

The Praetorians launch from our booth to aid the screaming couple.

It might have been funny under different circumstances, but I cannot peel my eyes away from my mates as the blast beast after beast away with their magic. Even wounded, even stunted by the chains, they are the most powerful wielders I’ve ever seen. Even if Cassian’s and Azriel’s magic sprays with less precision than usual without the siphons Illyrians are known for, every blow is calculated. They do not miss. Warg after warg falls, their leathery skin blistered or blasted away from multiple blows. Even wounded, the males remain in perfect sync, filling in any gaps the other might lack. They manage to kill five of the eight beasts, the other three still mercilessly tearing through the Giant’s leg, even as the guards try to push him off the wall.

Brannagh laughs at the tears that fall from the Giant’s eyes as he swats uselessly at the beasts. No matter how many times his massive fists slams against them, they will not let go. His blood runs like a river through the center of the Pit.

Many of the crowd laugh too.

These are my people? This is what I am to inherit? This misery and suffering and apathy towards the suffering of others? We are monsters!

As soon as I can get my mates out of this godsforsaken Pit, I will find a way to get them far, far away from this place, where it can never hurt them again. And then, when I know they are safe, I will make sure that this place burns.

Rhysand seems to take pity on his opponent, as he steps away from Azriel’s back to blast one of the remaining wargs off the Giant’s calf. From the distance across the arena, the blow is not a killing one, and aggravated, the warg turns its attack to Rhysand.

My breath hitches in my throat as he lowers himself into a crouch, hands splaying in the damp earth. There is a sword a couple feet from him, if he runs, he might make it there first. But he doesn’t run, he waits until the beast gets close before hurling dust in it’s eyes. While it’s distracted, a rope of star studded magic unfurls from his palm and wraps around the beast’s throat. Instead of killing it, he hurls it back at the others, knocking all of them free from the Giant’s leg.

The crowd boos.

My heart clenches in my chest. He could have let them end this fight now, could have let those beasts tear clean through the Giant’s leg and won by default, but he didn’t. He chose to fight fair, to do the dirty work himself.

The three beasts turn on him as he sprints for the sword. There’s just enough time for him to get a firm grip on the hilt before the first lunges, its claws tearing through his forearm as he fights to get the angle he needs to win. Blood splatters, those handsome features twisting in pain as he adjusts his stance. Cassian runs towards him, but he won’t make it in time. 

There’s no more wine to distract me, I’ve fully bitten through my lip now. Please if there are any gods left to hear me, don’t let him die here!

Rhysand moves with the grace of a well-practiced swordsman, each step flowing into the next like a dance as he cleaves through one beast's head, and severs the paw of a second. In mere seconds, he manages to dispatch the rest, leaving the mangled bodies at his feet. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and under different circumstances I might have been too distracted by his beauty to notice the Giant move. 

Rhysand might have been the better male, but that didn’t save him from the Giant’s hand as it swatted him across the battlefield like he was a pesky fly. I bite deeper through my lip to keep back a scream as his body bounces across the muddy floor until he meets a wall. 

Cassian and Azriel roar in outrage and the tether that sits in my chest rattles so hard against my rib cage I think it might rip right out of me. This can’t be happening!

The Giant rises on shaking legs, then falls back onto its knees, using its meaty fists to bash against the arena floor, in what looks like the world’s deadliest game of Whack-A-Mole. Red and blue magic flashes across the arena as the Illyrian’s throw blow after blow, leaving bleeding gashes in the Giant’s fist. Across the arena, Rhysand rolls onto his back, forehead covered in blood as he struggles to get upright. He’s alive at least. Barely. But alive.

I vow to the Mother and any other god that can hear me that if they survive the fight I will find somewhere safe for them. I will do whatever it takes to keep them out of this arena for good. 

“They are persistent, I’ll give them that,” Dagdan muses. 

I feel rather than see my Father’s frown as he takes in all the chaos with the experience of a seasoned strategist. I know that he is calculating their odds, mapping out every possible outcome. I wonder if Cassian launching into the air, wings beating so hard to get him airborne that I feel a gust of hot air on my face, was part of his calculations? If he could have foreseen the blast of energy Cassian’s hurls into the Giant’s eyes, blinding him?

The Giant abandons his attempts at smashing them to grab at his eyes, large hands clawing at his sizzling flesh. The whole arena can smell burnt skin, but Cassian doesn’t let up, he aims blow after blow at the Giant’s head, until he finally falls over backwards, neck slamming hard against the already broken stone.

I look away, stomach in my throat as the resounding crack fills the amphitheater. 

The crowd roars in disbelief as Cassian tucks in his wings and descends back into the Pit. He hits the ground running, footfalls heavy in the mud as he rushes to Rhysand’s side. Azriel is not far behind him. With their combined strength, they manage to get Rhysand back on his feet. 

I pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. They’re alive!

Father stands and makes his way to the edge of the booth again. “For whatever reason, the Goddess has smiled upon you three today! Today, you will live. Let us hope you remain in Her favor.” He doesn’t sound super thrilled by the prospect as he turns his back to the crowd, slate gray eyes pinched as they fall to me.

“Walk with me.”

I stand, trying to keep my singed skirts in my hands so he cannot see the damage I’d done. Or the blood from my palms. If he suspects I was at all nervous for the outcome, I could ruin everything. I must keep my composure.

And not run down the stairs to the gates and throw myself at my mates like every fiber of my being screams at me to do. 

The guards follow as we exit the booth. In moments there will be chaos as beings scatter to find the Games Keepers and collect their winnings, or pay their debts, but for a moment, the crowd lingers in their seats, watching as the Illyrians are led out of the Pit.

“You embarrassed us today,” he hisses once we’re out of Amarantha’s earshot. The anger in his tone is enough to make me try and take a step away from him, but he throws an arm around my shoulders to keep me against his side. To any onlookers, we are just father and daughter having a chat. His voice is low enough that no one will hear the threats he hisses in my ear.

“You hide away in the River House for months, mourning a traitor who was plotting to overthrow me and now you make a spectacle of yourself! I should have you cast out into the streets!”

My only way out is to placate him. “I am sorry, Father.”

“Sorry,” he snarls, fingers digging tight enough into my shoulder to bruise. “Your apologies mean nothing! I swear, if you do not do everything you promised to do today, I will throw you into this arena! And I will use your own advice to keep you alive long enough to ensure you have a couple matches to prolong your suffering.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I meant what I said, Father.” Mostly. Perhaps I can secure passage for all of us out of here and we never have to think about the Empire again. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am with the idea. Yes, I just need to make it look like I am taking them as slaves, and once we’re out from the watchful eye of my Father, we can all run far, far away. Maybe I am more clever than I thought.

He leads us down the steps to a door that will eventually lead us to the gladiator cages and a guard swings open the heavy iron for us. Once we’re out from under the eye of the people, the rough stone walls closing in tight--a means to ensure none of the larger gladiators can make a run for the door and escape--he releases his grip on me. 

Torches line the walls casting his face in near shadow as he pauses at the bottom of a second, smaller, set of stairs. I shiver despite myself as the door slams shut, sealing me in. I suppose at this point I should be prepared, but I’m not, and when his open hand slams across my cheek I lose my balance and slip down the last two steps of the staircase. 

“Don’t ever question me again!” He hisses.

The guards pretend to not notice, as they always have.

I grit my teeth against the ringing in my ears, against the hot tears that threaten to escape me, focusing instead on carefully getting back on my feet. Stay down too long he’ll kick in my ribs like he used to when I was a child. Get up too fast and he’ll assume he hadn’t hit me hard enough. I put over emphasis into finding a handhold in the wall, making sure I keep my stinging cheek against my shoulder. The tremor in my hands is not feigned fear, I’ve been terrified of him my entire life, but I do exaggerate it just as my Mother taught me. 

“Spoiled brat!” He grumbles as he stalks forward into the tunnel. “I coddled you too much.”

I glare at his back once I’m sure he’s no longer looking at me. I hate him! I’ve hated him my entire fucking life. He’s ruined everything. Taken everything from me. Everything I’d ever loved he’d wiped off the face of the earth, all because I had the misfortune of being a female. All because he couldn’t have a precious son.

I grit my teeth so hard they hurt as I brush my skirts off and follow after him. I will be glad when I am finally out of his sight. Far, far away from this stupid Empire. At least I have mates; someone out in this Mother forsaken world who will care about me; who won’t hate me just for existing. At least there is one thing he can’t ruin for me.

I am too distracted with my thoughts to note the paths we take. I distantly hear the sound of injured men groaning, catch a whiff of filth and animal waste, but it’s all a blur. This will all be a bad dream soon. Soon I will have my mates and I will never have to deal with him again. I can be happy. I will be happy.

By the time he finally stops walking, I’ve schooled my features into a perfect mask; have brushed a few loose strands of hair in front of my face to hide the red mark across my cheek. He will suspect nothing until it is too late. Then he can have his precious Empire. It will be the only thing left he can control.

A guard opens what looks like a cage door, the iron old and rusted, and the guards that have been trailing behind us step in first.

“Against the wall!” They bark. 

There’s no light in the cell, just the flickering of the torch on the wall behind us. I don’t know what to expect.

“Fuck you, Imperial Pig!” Cassian.

I bite my tongue to keep back the grin that threatens to escape me, my mask slipping. He’s not so hurt that he can’t put up a fight. The thought warms something in my chest. Headstrong, stubborn, if the sound of scuffling coming from inside the dark cell is anything to go by, and sarcastic--everything I need to counter my reserved nature. I need that energy. I need him. The surety of that makes me square my shoulders. 

“Easy, Cass.” Rhysand. His voice is smooth as silk, even if the words are a little slurred. “We don’t want trouble.”

“The fuck we don’t!” Cassian shouts. “I’m no one’s fucking pet!”

The guard at the door, once sure the others inside are secure, steps away to grab the torch off its perch in the hallway, and sets it into an old rung on the inside of the cell, bathing the room in its soft glow. 

Father steps in first.

For a moment, I hesitate, heart in my throat. I need them. I need that strength I saw in the arena. Need that fire Cassian spews. The surety that Rhysand carries himself with. I need them. And if I show any sign of that, they're dead.

The guard, now back at the door, eyes me quizzically.

I draw a shaky breath and school my features back into a perfectly bored mask. 

I can do this.

I will do this.

I won’t let Hybern take anything else from me, no matter the games I have to play. 

I tell it to myself over and over as I step into the cell.

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

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[purple-haired-faerie]

Family pt 1

Azriel x reader

Future fic, Family fic, established relationship

Word Count: 800

You had thought this time would be easier. You were only given birth to one Illyrian babe this time, rather than two. However your daughter seemed to have other plans. According to Madja, the babe had was at an angle they shouldn’t be at, and a wing had gotten caught. Madja was confident that you’d be fine, as long as she was carful and got the babe out soon. Azriel had been in such a state when Madja had initially broken the news, that it had taken both Rhysand and Cassian to drag him out the room, realising he wasn’t actually helping the situation. They had taken him to look after your teenage sons, saying that they needed their father whilst their mother was bringing their baby sister into the world. Feyre had promised to stay with you and assist Madja.

I have no idea how long my labour lasted after that point, or entirely what happened after Azriel left. I knew pain, I had fought in the war against Hybern, and had delivered twin Illyrian babes before but having a babes wing rip me from the inside out was on another level, and I was loosing a lot of blood. But then a cry broke out, a cry that wasn’t mine. It was a babies cry and Feyre was placing my daughter in my arms. Madja checked me over, and gave me some medicine to help with the injuries, and Feyre cleaned me up before quietly, Madja following her out, supplies all packed up. They were replaced with Azriel, and our sons where hot on his heels. Axel and Elias immediately came over, cooing over their baby sister.

As soon as Azriel and I had told them I was pregnant, they had become even more protective of me, taking after their father in that regards. It was sweet, but having three overbearing Illyrian males playing mother hen could get a lot at times. I shouldn’t complain, it wasn’t a guarantee that teenage males would want to spend time with their Mum but Axel and Elias had proven that notion wrong. They had gotten worse when they had found out I was having a girl, becoming even more protective of me and telling me how they were going to protect their baby sister. I’d spent a lot of time with Feyre, who understood all too well what it was like to be a boy mum and pregnant. She’d has Selene five years ago and had to content with a seventeen year old Nyx and Rhys following her around all over the place.

“I’m sorry I freaked. You were the one in labour and yet I was the one who couldn’t handle it. If anything happened to you…” Azriel’s babbling brought me out of my thoughts. It wasn’t often the Shadowsinger of the Night caught babbled, but when he got spooked in regards to his family, the babbling started. I gave him a reassuring smile saying “you were exactly where I needed you, with the boys. And anyway it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rhys lost his cool when Feyre had Selene and need I remind you what Cassian was like when Nesta had Clarissa? I’m okay Az. And so is our little Esther”. We’d decided on the name Esther as it meant star, and I had found out I was pregnant on Starfall. I could tell Azriel wasn’t convinced but decided that now wasn’t the time to have that conversation. Instead, he asked “so who wants to be the first to hold their baby sister?” which only caused squabbling between the two brothers.

Despite being twins, the boys were non-identical. Admittedly they had inherited all the Illyrian features from their father, but there were differences. Axel had more green in his eyes and had a slight height advantage over his bother (they were still 6 foot tall at fifteen and still growing) and had inherited Azriel’s shadowsinging abilities. Unlike his father, he was an extrovert and had the ability to make friends with everyone. Elias had inherited my healing abilities, and was more introverted. He had a slight stammer and hated talking to people he didn’t know, terrified they would bully him, mocking him for his ‘inability to speak properly’. Azriel and I had always told him it was nothing to be ashamed of, and Axel pointed out that he and Nyx would always sort out anyone who was mean to him.

Somehow they came to an agreement and Axel was cuddling Esther, and Azriel had me cuddled into his side. I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face. After all the pain and trauma we had all been through, the reward of being married to my mate, and having three beautiful, healthy children whilst living in Velaris.

Tags; @romantasyreader28 @suppppp97

[whimsicalazriel]

Evermore → Azriel x female!reader

summary: in which Azriel stumbles upon your cottage.

warnings: mentions of forced marriage, High Lord Beron because that man himself is a warning lol. hints at psychological abuse from parental figure. other than that? just fluff.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: english is not my first language. this is not my main blog but merely a test to challenge myself when it comes to writing. hopefully I’ll do these characters justice. if not, please forgive me, constructive criticism is very much appreciated! 🤍 (do not repost my writing anywhere).

You weren’t sure if it was fate that made you run into the mysterious Shadowsinger, hazel eyes and hair darker than the night sky or if it was the sheer will of the cauldron who pulled him to you, shadows and all.

You have always been called a lone wolf, a nobody who contented herself with books and silence. Hence your cottage in an undisturbed part of Autumn Court. Nestled deep into the woods.

You never dared to seek out your family, a prestigious household of high fae, itching to marry off their own daughter to one of the brutal High Lords sons. They never specified whom, and you never stuck around to find out. Simply walking to your room to pack what you could carry and left your home the same night.

Your father looked for you, cursing your name to the skies. You heard him on his stallion as you hid in a tree, leaves of red, orange and yellow hiding you.

Soon after, you stumbled across a dilapidated cottage, the front door askew and windows missing, but it slowly and surely became your home, your comfort.

You learned to forage, your hands now calloused from your hard work. You built your own garden, so full of life that your solace never bothered you when you kneeled on the cold rich dirt. You couldn’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of the smell or the feel of it, so comforting yet so cold. You lived off of your garden, not daring yourself to venture out of your comfort zone to hunt, so you delighted yourself in trying new dishes with the vegetables and herbs you grew, lying to yourself how you didn’t miss tender and juicy meats.

You lived by yourself for 20 years until the spymaster of the night court stumbled across your quaint home, on a mission to spy on the high lord of Autumn Court, Beron.

Azriel would’ve thought it to be abandoned if it wasn’t for the warm candle lights shining through the fabrics covering the broken windows, and the lush garden shining in the moonlight. He silently trekked forward, Truth-Teller in hand as he approached the broken door. His shadows creeped up before him, scouting the cottage for danger. They came back and whispered of a harmless woman. ‘It’s her’ they hissed and a shudder crept up Azriel’s spine from the implication.

He felt the knot in his stomach tightening as he creeped closer, stopping at the threshold.

“Hello?” A timid voice asked.

Azriel didn’t dare to breathe, the knot in his stomach pulling him, urging him to enter the cottage.

“I know you’re out there!” A smirk grew on his lips as he heard the cluttering of utensils. “I have a knife!”

Azriel’s fingertips touched the rotted door just as Rhysands voice asked him to come back home. Azriel backed away with a sigh, his chest heavy as he traveled back to Velaris.

.･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙ .･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

Every night the Shadowsinger visited your cottage, hidden in the shadows, simply keeping an eye on you, despite having never seen you before. His shadows always reminded him the moment he stood before your door, ‘mate, mate, mate!’ They hissed.

He kept you a secret, kept you as his nightly routine, until the war with Hybern.

You felt off one night. The tug in your stomach wasn’t urging you to venture outside into the dark. The dark which wasn’t as scary as the other type of darkness surrounding it. But you knew better than to go outside. And then the darkness disappeared for a while, leaving the scary dark to keep you company until dawn.

You didn’t have anyone to talk to about it–something that tore into your chest as pressure built up each and every day. So you resorted to telling your crops.

‘It’s weird,” you muttered as you brushed away the colorful leaves and tugged away the weed. “I fear I am losing my mind, imagine that,” you laughed. “Missing darkness. It’s probably a being trying to lure me, and I’m finding myself missing it.”

“I apologize if I made you fear me.” A dark voice spoke. Azriel.

You jumped, your hand grabbing your gardening trowel to defend yourself. You stopped short as your eyes connected with his hazel ones. The tug in your stomach grew stronger as you stared at the man before you, an Illyrian, you realized.

His membrane wings tucked tightly behind him. And shadows covered his skin as he stared at you with a sheepish smile. “Once again, I apologize.”

“Oh!” You could only stare at him, not minding the voice in your head chastising you for being rude. “I-Uhm, I-“ You stuttered.

You stood up quickly, too quickly as the ground below you felt like gentle waves. Warm calloused hands took a hold of your arms to steady you. “Careful.” He murmured, his shadows escaping his grasp to caress your skin, cool caresses that sent shivers down your spine. His hands were a stark contrast to his shadows.

‘Mate, mate, mate!’ They hissed in his ears. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“Oh-I’m so sorry,” you felt yourself flush, your face burning in embarrassment. “I’ve been kneeling for hours–I should know better than standing too fast.” You chuckled awkwardly, trying not to think about how the man in front of you hasn't let you go.

“I’m Azriel.” He spoke quickly though quietly. His eyes staring into yours. He looked like a painting coming to life. His ink black hair shining despite his shadows doing the opposite.

You clumsily introduced yourself. Your tongue felt foreign in your mouth as you understood who stood before you. Yet fear wasn’t what you felt. Instead the tugging in your stomach roared and instinctively your hand raised itself to settle on his chest. His chest was firm, though he wasn’t wearing any armor. He wore a black blouse with trousers and boots; a simple attire for the most beautiful man you’ve seen in your 247 years of living.

Azriel took a deep breath in from your touch. You both know what this meant. Azriel didn’t doubt the cauldron this time as he had when Elain had mated with Lucien. This time it felt like a puzzle as he took you in.

Tattered dress with different patches of patterns sewn in here or there. Your hands were encased with dirt and a smudge of it had found its way to your cheek.

You were the most beautiful female he had ever seen.

A smile grew on his lips as he watched you squirm, your hand leaving his chest as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“Are we-“ you cleared your throat, not meeting his eyes. “Are we mates?” You wanted to bolt the moment the words escaped your mouth. What if he wasn’t, and you were perhaps getting sick. You didn’t know the difference.

No one alive in your family had met their mates. And your father had told you countless times how dense you were. ‘She wouldn’t know the difference between a horse and a mule’.

A deep sigh left Azriel’s lips as he stared you down. “Yes, we are.”

The foreign feeling of pure joy grew in your chest as you took in his words. “Really?”

He let out a soft laugh. “Yes, I am yours and you are mine, if you’ll have me of course.” He bowed his head slightly and put on a gentle and genuine smile though his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

“I-of course, but if I could suggest, can we get to know each other first, as friends?” You asked timidly. You knew your mother was betrothed to your brute father, a marriage where she was nowhere his equal.

His view on females was that of a monster. ‘Females shall not speak until spoken directly to!’ He always screamed in your ear when you were a small child.

Azriel himself softened, his shoulder relaxing further. He thanked the mother and cauldron for your suggestion, not wanting it any other way.

“Of course, my love.” He smiled before glancing behind you to look at your cottage. He found it charming, and he could see the personality of his mate shining through, despite the rotting wood and broken windows. You had made this your home despite. He found himself admiring you now even more.

He stretched out his hand to you. “Would you like to see my home?” He felt vulnerable for the first time in a very long time. He could almost hear Cassian snorting at him.

You took his hand in yours, relishing the feel of him–your mate. Undoubtedly yours, two souls made to fit.

“Of course, you’ve seen mine, it’s only fair I see yours.” You joked and laughed when he did.

“Then shall we?” He gestured towards the overgrown path leading into the woods, his gesture a promise of a better future.

“We shall.”

snip snap snut så va sagoberättelsen slut :)

[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350 Chapter Music Inspo: End of It - Friday Pilots Club

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

XxXx

Prologue

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle.

It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

...one year and a couple months later....

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a little over a year into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, ���I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over a year of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over his naked chest.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remained.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

[utterlyotterlyx]

Cassian and writing prompt #21, “Stay”

I’m desperate for more Cassian x Reader fics!! Thank you :)

Arsonist's Lullaby

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary - Cassian thinks he knows best when he pushes you away, to protect you, but nothing prepared him for a threat on your life and no one can stop him from reaching you.

Warnings - angst, smut smut smut, fluffffffff, swearing, mentions of death

Word Count - 4.9k

Sunlight speckled over your skin, its warm embrace curling around like Cassian once did, glittering its unwavering love across your paled surface, willing it back to life.

It wasn't out of the ordinary for you and Cassian to fight, but something about that fight felt different. More final in a way.

Cassian was always worrying over you, his mate, and what harm his title could potentially inflict upon you. He had been pushing you away, had been spending more time away from you; you knew why, you knew he was scared of being the reason anything happened to you but that didn't mean that he had to shut you out.

Your mate had done everything to prepare you for any potential attack, any risk to your life, you were a skilled fighter thanks to Cassian, even Azriel broke into a sweat sparring against you and Cassian smirked with pride at the image.

Weakness was not a part of your vocabulary, he knew that, but he still treated you as a fragile swirl of winter warmth and you weren't appreciating it.

Confronting Cassian had ensued an argument that would shatter any unmated couple, you had both hurled abusive words to one another, you had called him spineless and unwilling to fathom your ability to be able to care for yourself like you had during the war against Hybern when you had used your rare gift of Solakenisis to hurtle spheres of radiating flame across the battlefield. In return, Cassian had called you weak and pathetic, he had called you reckless and immature, and landed his final blow of calling you jealous of the other women in your circle for having the freedom and strength that you would never be able to wield.

Such an argument left you both panting, with raw throats and wet cheeks, with snarls of hatred sculpted to your usually attached lips.

Cassian had left you then, had left you alone in your shared home with a bag in his hand without a word of when he would return to you. It felt final. It felt damning.

So you decided to leave yourself, but instead of leaving to escape the too-large-for-yourself home to the sanctuary of the residence of your family, you chose to leave the city altogether and chose to not tell a soul, not even Rhys as he tapped on the walls of your iron clad mind once he had felt your essence float through his wards.

Sunlight continued to kiss your skin as you lay in the familiar comfort of your Day Court bed, in the room Helion had promised to always keep for you. Helion was your older brother, well half-brother, but he wouldn't let anyone mutter a word about your bastard heritage, your shared father had been quite the rake in his prime, and such actions birthed you, his bastard daughter with the power to harness the destructive powers of the sun.

It was baffling for you to comprehend why exactly Cassian was so worried for you when you had the ability to unleash heavenly fire across Prythian if you so wished it. That, and the fact that the bond had snapped for Cassian one evening in Day was why Rhys had lobbied for your presence in his court in the first place all those years ago, long before Amarantha.

Amarantha was intrigued by you, you were the only individual she wasn't able drain power from, your abilities were other-worldly, untouchable. So, she gave you an option, stay uninvolved and advise her or watch your brother perish before your eyes. You chose the former.

All you have is your fire. Use it.

Amarantha erupted into flames when she had killed Feyre, unable to free herself from the bindings you had chained around her limbs. She had screamed, gargled in fact as you stood behind her, hands at your sides and your mind ripping her apart from the inside out. Boiling and burning her alive. Fire danced through your hair, it burned brightly in your eyes, sunlight pulsed around you, a blinding thing, a warning to others.

Your power was not yours to gift, it was not for anyone else to yield but you, Helion knew as much and was stern as he told Tamlin that you were not to offer up any of your power to save the human girl in his arms.

That said human girl, Feyre, now your High Lady, had grown to be a very good friend of yours.

Rising from the depths of the cream silken sheets, you touched your rough cheeks, crying for hydration from the tears you had poured upon them for the eighth night in a row. The bond had gone cold by your own foolish wish, you had locked it off, you had refused any attempts of contact, and Helion had obliged and denied your presence in his court when Rhys and Cassian had reached to him, Helion had even gone as far as to plant a seed in Feyre's mind that you may be in Autumn since Eris was a good friend of yours despite his relationship with the Night Court.

Autumn was the one place they would have difficulty infiltrating, and Eris was more than happy to play along if it gave you some peace.

Eight days was the longest you had gone without Cassian, without anything flowing through the bond, without seeing him, without being wrapped up in his body as he fucked you relentlessly into oblivion.

It was exhausting.

The Day Court sun brought some life back to you, cascading her glow upon you and enriching your skin with her gentle loving shimmer. She had always doted on you, the energy she bestowed upon you was unmatched, and you often found her watchful eye following you wherever you walked, whispering to you always.

The sun had chosen you, her vessel, to right the wrongs of the world, and Cassian always chose to look over that fact.

Your home court was known for its elaborate fashion, the ornate gold jewellery and accessories that you had found wrapped around your hands and feet, and the halo crown caressing the back of your head. The dress you had worn held a solid gold bodice of intricate swirls that allowed your skin to peek out beneath it, that attached to a pale shimmering skirt, and golden chains draped across your collarbones and fell down your spine. It moulded to your figure perfectly.

You were not weak or jealous, or reckless, you were a child of the sun, a strong and formidable creature. No one, not even Cassian, could take that from you.

Cassian had been cursed out by every member of your shared family when he had arrived at the House of Wind looking like shit with a bag between his fingers.

He thought he was right. He thought he was protecting you. But after having his ass handed to him by Azriel and Rhys, and Feyre and Mor's stern words, and Amren's glare of pure disgust, Cassian knew he had fucked up.

Cassian had raced back to your shared home, one that was a harmonious myriad of light and dark, of sun and night, and found it solemn and empty. He had raced up the stairs, he had looked in your drawers and saw everything still in place, then he had headed to your vanity and inhaled sharply when he saw that the small picture of your mother had gone, which meant you had too.

Screaming down the bond, Cassian was met with a stone cold wall of rippling silence, and he broke. Cassian fell to his knees holding one of your dressed between his fingers, it still smelt of you, of hot salted ocean breezes and fresh roses, and he cried.

He had spent the next week trying to locate you, being turned away from every court, even Helion had no idea where you had gone, but had told Feyre that you may have gone to Eris, your friend, as you knew that would be the one place he couldn't get to you.

Rhys had demanded entry to Autumn, which Eris had refused with a sly smirk on the boarder, his hounds circling through his legs. Eris was enjoying Cassian's pain far too much and had the gall to quip, "She doesn't want to see you, Lord of Bloodshed. Perhaps you listen to her this time, considering you have a habit of refusing to."

A spit in the face of his love for you. Cassian had gone to step over the threshold only to be held back by Azriel, Eris' hounds were snarling and barking at the three Illyrians trying to enter their home, "You would risk war?"

Eris grinned, fixing the lapels of his jacket, "A war would take y/n from you forever. I don't think you'd be that stupid," he turned from them, whistling for his hounds to follow, "As long as she's here, she will be fine. I suggest you go home and mull over the ways in which you have failed her."

Missions were the only thing that would give Cassian the opportunity to relent his frustrations, his force was sickening, he broke the bones of their enemies with his bare hands, he ripped them apart with his own self-loathing fury. Azriel had never seen Cassian in such a state, he blamed himself for your disappearance, and rightfully so, any of them could have told him that you were capable of destroying him if needed, let alone anyone else. Though, Azriel didn't blame Cassian for trying to protect you, for believing that your bond could bring harm to you, Azriel would think the same if he were in Cassian's shoes.

"Cass, we do need at least one of them alive," Azriel followed his brother on his war path, he watched him in concern as he drove his sword through the hearts of many soldiers.

Bodies lay broken around them, blood coated the ground and walls, it was a monstrous sight to take in. Cassian's hair lay unbound on his shoulders, matted with sweat that coated his brow, his wings were tense as he swung, they shuddered in fear of his force.

Cassian grunted to Azriel, whipping his air away from his face and facing him with a dead glare behind his hazel eyes, "Fine," he smirked and sheathed his sword, motioning to Azriel to approach the singular male who was moments away from death.

Blood coated his lips, his eyes had dimmed, but he still wore evil like a brooch on his heart, he spat the contents of his bloody mouth at Azriel as he bent down to grasp him by the collar, "You're going to tell me of your plans to attack Velaris, you're going to tell me and I may spare you."

The male chuckled low and sinister, hatred blazed in his faltering eyes and he smiled, toothy, but blood coated the once yellow tinged teeth. There wasn't much time to get answers, "We're already moving, you're too late."

Azriel cocked his head to the side, "I'm going to need more than that. I can make this much more painful for you," Truthteller dragged across the males bobbing throat, he knew of the Shadowsinger, he had heard to rumours of his ruthless torture.

The males gaze flickered to Cassian who stood behind Azriel, leaning against the bloodied wall looking disinterested, "You can thank him for that," his finger twitched in Cassian's direction, "Do you really believe that your High Lord is the protector of your court?" The male leaned forward, "Your greatest protector, the most powerful being in Prythian, is no longer being hidden by your court. She is elsewhere, we have been watching her, preparing for the perfect moment to snatch her away. With her power in our grasp, we will be unstoppable."

Cassian felt panic settle in his soul as the male continued, bitterly laughing as he spoke, "Y/N. A child of the sun, back in her home court, ready to follow her destiny. You can thank your Lord of Bloodshed for accelerating our plans."

Azriel turned to Cassian with wide eyes, eyes that Cassian matched. It was never about attacking Velaris, it was about capturing you, using your power for their own tyrannical plans, bleeding you dry and taking your power from your body.

"Cass-"

But Cassian was already moving, turning on his heels and pelting from the room as fast as he could, flexing his wings to ready them for flight whilst calling out to Rhys to meet them at the Day Court Palace as fast as possible.

Cassian flew as fast as he could, he would never be able to forgive himself if anyone harmed you, especially when he had made it so easy for them to reach you. He had to find you, he had to stop it, he had to save you.

Helion growled at the intrusion of the three Illyrians entering his personal library that was three times the size of the library at the House of Wind, but his snarl faltered when he saw the frenzied eyes and the blood coating Cassian and Azriel's armour. He rose from his seat quickly, not having a moment to say anything when Cassian paced over to him, "I don't have time for pleasantries. She's in danger. Where is she?"

Helion noted the fire in Cassian's eyes, the way his siphons glowered dangerously in awaiting answer, "How do I know that this isn't some elaborate ruse to take her?"

Azriel stepped forward, voice low in warning, noticing Cassian's fists clench and his chest seethe with anger, "Our enemies have been hunting her, they wish to drain her power and unleash it on the world. We need to find her."

Helion's language shifted, he faced Cassian with equal fury, going toe to toe with the Lord of Bloodshed and bit, "If anything happens to my sister, I will end you."

"I will end myself before you ever could, now tell me where she is."

A wild wind bellowed through the open arches, enough for Helion to wince at the forceful impact. That wind swarmed through the palace, it was wild and cold, it was a warning from the world to run and hide. Helion fought against it toward the balcony, his locks whipping around in the tornado that had encased his court, his eyes focused on the forest in the distance and he pointed, "She's in there."

Then, from nowhere, bright thunderous light quaked from the sky as large spheres of sun fire raced past them and slammed into the ground below, where you were. The trees lurched with the impact, splintering and sprouting in differing directions, wailing at their demise, and the ocean dragged itself back to a safe distance. Fire rained from the sky, but the wind was too forceful for any of them to fly to you.

"RHYS!" Cassian bellowed to his brother, their eyes locked and he nodded, catching Cassian with a free hand with Azriel in the other, winnowing them to where they needed to be.

The scene was sickening. Trunks lay cracked and broken, simmering fire trickled along the earth that rumbled beneath their feet with each impact of fire that slammed against the ground. They couldn't see two feet in front of them let alone much else due to the heavenly light that emitted from you, but Cassian felt you, for the first time in what felt like centuries, he felt you.

Cassian felt your fury course down the bond, it was mixed with fear and guilt, and it lead them straight to you. In return, he threw all of his love down the bond as another sphere of your fire hurtled down through the sky, and he swore he could have heard you gasp and pause.

The light dimmed, and their eyes adjusted to see you in the clearing metres ahead from them, surrounded by bodies, some bloody and other burnt beyond recognition. A dagger was glued between your fingers and you let our a shaky exhale, like you didn't realise you had been holding your breath all that time.

The clearing looked more like a crater, a once plush area of wildlife that you sought comfort in was now a crater of ash and broken souls, and Cassian watched your cracked eyes survey your surroundings, hating what you had done.

Cassian rushed to you, slamming his body into yours and cradling you into his chest, "Are you alright?" He pulled away and cupped your face in his hands gingerly, wiping away the ash that had settled on your cheeks, "Speak to me, my love."

"I'm okay," your voice was hoarse and quiet, your eyes connected and he saw the tears pool in them along with the devastation that coursed through the bond, "I'm sorry. You were right-"

"Don't apologise," he told you, wiping away the tears that spilled down your ashen cheeks, leaving streaks of sunlight flowing down them, "I was wrong, so wrong. You don't need anyone to protect you, you aren't weak or jealous, you are strong and more capable of protecting yourself more than anyone I know. You are your greatest protector, not me. I'm so sorry, I was just trying to keep you tucked away and safe. But you've always meant to shine, I never should have tried to stop it."

"You were trying to keep me safe, Cass," your voice trailed off and you examined the scene, paying no notice to Rhys and Azriel at the edge of your crater, "What have I done?"

Cassian's fingers ran through your hair, "You did what you had to, alright? It's okay. If I hadn't pushed you away then none of this would have happened. I'm so stupid. I'm so sorry."

Your hands lay on his chest and you sighed, "Take me home, Cass. I can't be here."

Cassian had doted on you the moment you were back in his arms, he ordered Rhys to winnow you both back to your shared home whilst Azriel stayed to assure Helion that you were fine and in need of some much needed time with your mate.

The searing heat of the tub wound around your muscles and soothed the ache in your soul. The water was far too hot for Cassian to climb into, so he instead sat on the edge of the tub and washed your hair, picking apart the knots within it and allowed his large hands to unwind the bundled nerves in your shoulders.

When the water had gone cold, he lifted you from the tub and dried your limbs, he brushed your damp hair and dressed you in a thin nightgown, and not once did he stop apologising to you, not once did his lips stop peppering kisses along your shoulders and forehead.

You stood before him, needing much more than just sweet kisses and kind words.

"Tell me what you need," he had said when he saw the look in your eyes, one that radiated doubt but also desire.

Cassian stood still in front of you, his hands resting on your hips and you stood on your tiptoes to capture his lips in a searing kiss, one that he hummed into, allowing his hand to cradle the back of your head as he deepened it. Cassian had missed your lips too much.

Against his own building desire, Cassian gently pushed you backward, "My love, you're hurting," he didn't want to take advantage of your vulnerability in that moment.

"Do you love me?"

Cassian frowned, and let out a disbelieving scoff, "More than anything."

"Good," you pressed your lips to his again, pulling back slightly and peering at him through your lashes, "Because I need you to fuck me like you don't."

His cock twinged at the words and he closed his eyes, opening them to see you push the straps of your nightgown over your shoulders, revealing your peaked nipples to him as it fell down your body. Cassian knew why you needed it, you needed to feel something other than the pain of destroying one of your most sacred places, you needed him in the most passionate way possible.

"Are you sure?" Fire spread through him when you used his forearms as leverage to capture his lips on yours again, in a starving embrace, one that sent blood pooling to his cock that throbbed against his leathers in knowing that where it needed to be was only inches away.

Cassian walked you backwards until your legs hit the back of your bed and you lowered yourself onto the mattress. Fierce lust was laced within you, you propped you heels up on the frame and spread your legs to your mate, that feral animalistic need to be rutted filling the room illuminated by flickering candlelight.

Wasting no time, Cassian ripped his leathers from his body and fell to his knees before you, his muscles contracted in the golden hue of the room, he grasped your thighs and dragged you toward him, his warmth breath fanning over your core as he placed kisses down your stomach and in the creases of your thighs, making you suck in a shaky breath as he placed a final peck to the bundle of nerve that were aching for his tongue.

"I've missed the taste of you so much, my love," the movement of his lips on your skin made electricity course through you, the stubble of his beard scratching against your inner thighs.

Whining, your back arched when he drug his tongue up your slit, the groan emitting from his throat vibrating against you threatening to blind all of your senses. He smiled against your core, winding his tongue around your clit and sucking on the nerves, his fingers dug into your thighs to stop your squirming as his pace became relentless. Sucking, biting, and swirling his tongue in the ways he knew made you turn into a mewling mess, he pumped his cock in his hand to relieve the building pressure, to allow him to focus on you, his beautiful moaning mess of a mate completely at his mercy.

Cassian lapped up your taste, groaning in pleasure at it as he pumped his digits in you, pressing down on your stomach with his free hand to make that rough spot inside of you meet every brush of his touch. He noted the hitch of your breath and the way your fingers found his hair, pushing his face into your cunt, telling him how close you were from falling from grace. Cassian kept his pace, taking your throbbing clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it as his fingers hit that spot again and again until you were crying out his name and tensing around his fingers.

Your mate continued his tirade, pulling two more orgasms from your lips before his pace slowed and he removed his fingers from you. Humming, he sucked your juices from one of his fingers and then slid the other into your mouth as he hovered over you, his cock ready and weeping on your thigh.

He threw your clenched legs apart and nestled between them, "You can thank me tomorrow," he told you, no doubt alluding to the fact that your lips hadn't found his cock yet, "I just need you."

Without warning, he pushed into you, and his delicious cock stretched you out, you threw your head back and moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he lowered himself and captured your lips hungrily against his own, transferring the taste of you to your tongue. He moved, slowly at first, and you met his hips in the rolling rhythm he had created, then he became more desperate and picked up his pace, biting and sucking at the skin on your neck, no doubt marking it for everyone to see once he would allow you out of your bed after fucking you on every surface possible.

Cassian groaned into the crook of your neck, his fingers held a bruising grip on your hip as he slammed into you, the tip of his cock smacking against that rough spot inside of you, "I love you, y/n. I love you so much," his brows were furrowed, like he knew how much force he was using and had to tell you how much he loved you just in case he was taking it too far.

Panting, you replied, "I love you too, Cass. I love you," you were cut off by your own moan, your hands flew above your head encased in his own, he gripped the sheets and snarled and he pulled out of you and flipped you over, pushing your head into the mattress and growling as the tip of his cock teased your entrance again, and you took it in it's entirety, groaning so deliciously that it took everything within Cassian to not explode at the sight of your ass bouncing on his cock.

Cassian bent down, his fingers delicately wrapped around your throat and pulled you upright, his fingers stayed there, restricting your oxygen in the best way imaginable as he pushed up into you, sucking and nibbling on your earlobes and neck between his own rough moans of pleasure.

As long as you had Cassian, there was nothing else you'd ever need to feel fulfilled. He was everything, your life and death, your shoulder to sob upon, your cock to cum on. Cassian was yours, his soul belonged to you just like every fibre of your existence hung onto him.

"Stay. Don't ever leave me again," his voice was full of emotion in your ear as he fucked you into the whispering depths of the ocean that was your bond.

Cassian's free hand twisted at your nipples before travelling downward, resting atop your stomach and pushing your hips backward to meet his relentless thrusts, and you felt the familiar pressure building there, holding on wasn't possible when his fingers travelling further, finding your clit and tracing slow circles into the nerves, smirking into your shoulder as high pitched cries flowed from your lips.

"I'll never leave you," you were breathless, and you hardly felt him pull out from you as he pushed you onto your back again, throwing your leg over his arm and pounding into you until he began to falter. His lips found your nipple again, sucking and biting on the sensitive nub of skin, and his fingers continued to flicker over your clit, "Cass, please. I'm going to-"

"So am I," he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, "Cum for me, my love," Cassian pressed his lips to yours, capturing your orgasm in his mouth before releasing your lips to allow you to scream his name as that searing white heat consumed your entire body.

Cassian could have swore you began to glow as it consumed you, and you basked in that warmth, he basked in the clench of your walls quivering around his cock and milking him until there was nothing left to fill you with. Your mate fucked you through both of your highs, groaning your name and growling as he filled you, panting as he slowed his pace and lay on top of you.

In the comfortable silence, you found him staring at you with wonder, he hovered over you propped up on his elbows, tracing his fingers along your glistening skin, "What?"

Cassian smiled, "I want a baby," he admitted, "I can't stop myself from being scared about losing you, a part of me will always be terrified. But, what I can stop is myself holding back in the life I dream of with you," his hazel eyes scoured your face, and peace settled between you, "I want a product of us, of our love and strength. I want a family with you, a big family full of love and wonder and adventure where you have to tell me off after our fourth for wanting another," you giggled tearfully beneath him and he wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb, "The idea of losing you is my greatest fear, y/n. I don't want anything to happen to us, and I don't want us to be left with nothing if-"

"Cass," you cooed to him, pulling him from the devastating thoughts in his mind, "I want all of that too, I want the picket fence and enough children to drive Az insane. Enough cousins for Nyx for them all to grow up in their own inner circle and replace us all one day. I want a life with you void of sadness. I want you, forever, even when our day comes to leave this reality, I will want you and I will guide you to the heavens so that we may live in an eternity of love waiting for everyone we adore to join us."

Cassian pulled you up the bed and encased you in his arms, draping a thin sheet over your forms and running his fingers through your hair whilst you kissed his chest softly, "You found me in darkness and we made our own light. We burn brighter than anything that may await us," he kissed your forehead and gazed into your eyes, a smirk worked its way onto his face, "The sun has nothing on you, you know."

Authors Note

Daddy Casssss

Hope you love it! x

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Where The Shadows Dance - The Proposition (i)

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

CHAPTER I: The Proposition

SUMMARY: Beron has invited the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court to spend a week in the Autumn Court. Azriel and the rest of the Court of Dream believe he has ulterior motives, and they are correct - but these motives come as a surprise.

WARNINGS: Um. Misogyny. love that for us (i hate the autumn court). swearing (the f-word (as in fuck)), y/n has daddy issues (bc beron is a cunt) and uh... i haven't read acotar in ages so apologies for any OC characteristics and forgetting everything about the autumn court. but i did read HOFAS recently so hopefully az isn't too out of character. also tw: beron

NOTE: so obviously Y/n is the daughter of the autumn court. we know they have red hair BUT i want this to be as less oc as possible so y/n has your colour hair and u can make up ur own story about why but mine is that she's 'rebellious' (as you'll see later on) and just dyes her hair. also special thank you to my moots @icey--stars and @fieldofdaisiies for proofreading my work! i love you guys<3

WORDS: 2.7K

Azriel glowered at the male sat across from him. Eris either didn't notice or pretended he didn't care as he reclined in his chair, one arm over the back and looking for all the world he was in his own home, rather than the Court Of Nightmares.

"Eris," Rhys drawled, "if you have any information to help us with this meeting with your father, we would appreciate it immensely."

The High Lord of the Autumn Court had invited the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court to his castle for a week, as a gesture of good will, and an attempt to strengthen their bonds. Of course, the court was suspicious of the intent behind such actions. Although Azriel had sent his contacts in to find any sliver of information, his spies had come back empty-handed.

Eris rolled his shoulders, seemingly at ease despite being surrounded by the Night Court's most deadly warriors. "I am not entirely sure what he wants, but I assume it has something to do with my sister, Y/n."

Y/n, the only daughter of the High Lord of Autumn. She was quite young, by Fae standards – only seventy-nine. She had not fought in the war against Hybern, and had very little training according to Azriel's knowledge.

"Why her?" Feyre asked carefully.

Azriel heard the shift in her tone. She was wondering, as they all were, what Beron intended to do with her. The Autumn Court was just as backwards as the Court Of Nightmares, and females were considered little more than property. 

Eris simply shrugged, either not hearing the implications in the High Lady's tone, or simply not caring. "That is all I know, I'm afraid."

Cassian grunted, his eyes still on the heir to the Autumn throne. No one was particularly happy about the bargain they had struck with him, but he seemed to be a willing ally. For now.

"What can you tell us about her?" Feyre inquired.

Eris watched her for a moment, before responding, "She is… wild. Untamed, and unpredictable."

Despite his words, Azriel sensed a flicker of admiration in his tone. Azriel stored that piece of information away. It could be a weakness of Eris's, his sister. They may need to exploit it one day.

"Sounds like my kind of lady," Mor grinned.

The fact that Mor bothered speak in Eris's presence was a gift that the heir did not appreciate enough. Azriel glanced sidelong at her, noticing the way her unbound golden hair cascaded down her back, and the amount of skin her low-cut red dress revealed. Once, looking at her like that would have sent Azriel mad with longing. But after she had confided in him, after she had revealed she could never love him back because she preferred females… some part of him had been relieved to let her go.

Eris scoffed at Mor's comment. "Yes, well, she irritates my father to no end."

There was a silence, and Azriel wondered whether Y/n annoyed Eris as well, before Rhys sighed, "Well, if that's all, Eris, I'm sure you have places to be."

The dismissal was clear in the High Lord's tone, and Eris rose from his chair with a nod before leaving the council room. Everyone was silent as the male left, all eyeing each other. Feyre and Rhys were looking at each other, a clear indication of their telepathic conversation, and Azriel watched the two with a hint of jealousy. Of course he was happy from them – finding one's mate was one of the most fulfilling things one could experience. But he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for his own. It seemed he was the last of the court to find his mate, and he had a fear that he would never find them.

"Has anyone heard much about this Princess?" Cassian asked, looking towards Azriel.

Azriel shook his head. "She is one of the most guarded individuals in Prythian. My sources struggle to even see her."

"Very guarded indeed," Rhysand murmured.

The Court of Dreams debated between themselves the possibilities of what the High Lord of Autumn could want regarding his daughter. Azriel had a few of his own suspicions – to have her taken away, or perhaps trained in combat – but none of them seemed accurate. 

After a while of debating plausible explanations for Beron's offer, the court decided to head home to the City of Starlight in order to get a good night's rest before their meeting tomorrow. The High Lord and High Lady were going, as well as Cassian and Azriel. Morrigan was not permitted in the Autumn Court, so she would stay behind with Nesta to hold down the fort while they were gone. Amren would also be travelling to the Autumn Court, and although the monster she was no longer crawled beneath her skin, she made most people wary.

As he lay in his bed, Azriel couldn't help but wonder what awaited him tomorrow. He was curious about what the Autumn High Lord wanted, especially regarding his daughter, although he was also wary. Although Autumn had helped them in the war, they couldn't be trusted. Azriel fell into an uneasy sleep, cautious of the days to come.

Azriel awoke at dawn the next day. They weren't due in the Autumn Court until the evening, so Azriel decided to go through his morning exercises. The Valkyries weren't up yet, so he went through his warm ups, taking his shirt off halfway through. The morning was uneventful, and Azriel ran over the information they had in his head. Eris had suggested that Beron may be seeking a favour of some sort, so perhaps it had something to do with that.

The day passed by quickly, and soon enough, those travelling to the Autumn Court had gathered in the living room of the River House, just as they had planned. Azriel and Cassian wore their scaled, black armour, while Rhys and Feyre wore their finery. Rhysand held his mate's arm, and Azriel grabbed onto Cassian, before winnowing to the entrance of the Autumn Court castle.

It was big, and made of stone. It was quite majestic, if Azriel was being honest – high towers and red and orange flags waving in the wind, large windows showcasing rich carpets and tapestries inside.

Rhys led the way, Feyre on his arm and Cassian and Azriel following closely, and Amren trailing behind. Guards monitored them as they passed through the halls, their armour heavier the closer they got to the throne room. Azriel marked each one as they passed, something he was sure Cassian and Rhysand were also doing.

The doors to the throne room opened, and revealed the High Lord of the Autumn Court sat atop a dais, the Lady of Autumn seated beside him. Beron's sons stood on his left, and his daughter was seated to her mother's right.

Azriel paused at the sight of her. She was beautiful, even by Fae standards. Her h/c hair shone in the Fae light liming the walls, piled neatly on her head in a braid crown. Y/n’s e/c eyes sparked with mischief and curiosity, skimming over the members of Azriel's Court, until they finally landed on him. Her gaze was mesmerising, and Azriel couldn't find it in himself to break it. A small smirk played at the corners of her mouth, as if she were aware of the effect she had on him, although Azriel's mask of icy cold had not budged even an inch. Azriel quickly tore his eyes away from the Daughter of Autumn, marking the guards posted by the doors and the dais, and counting the weapons each of Beron's sons carried. 

"Beron," Rhysand purred, ever the arrogant High Lord, the mask back up despite the High Lords' meeting all those months ago. "So lovely to see you again. Thank you for inviting us to stay."

Beron rose from his dias and stalked towards the High Lord of the Night Court. Everyone tensed as he stepped closer and closer, and Azriel subtly reached for the dagger at his side. Beron's blood would spray across the marble floors the second Azriel suspected he would harm his High Lord or Lady. But Beron simply held his hand out, and Rhys gripped it tightly, his eyes holding a small amount of surprise.

"Rhysand. A pleasure to have you here," Beron replied. Azriel didn't miss the slight strain in his voice. "You must be hungry. Shall we?"

Beron inclined his head to the dining room and led the way with Rhysand and Feyre at his side. He hadn't even acknowledged the High Lady, something that made Azriel want to rip the male’s head off, but Rhys got there first.

“And what about my High Lady?” Rhys purred, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Beron’s smile faltered slightly, and he glanced at Feyre with a barely concealed look of distaste, as if he would rather rip off his own toenails than address a female with the same amount of respect that he would expect. Azriel felt a protective anger surge through him, and he watched carefully, curious as to what the High Lord’s next move would be.

“Of course,” Beron said, his voice dripping with fake courtesy. “My apologies, Lady Feyre. Of course it is wonderful to have you both visit.”

Cassian gave Azriel a look that said, And-what-about-us? Aren't-we-wonderful?

Azriel sent him a look back that said, Shut-the-fuck-up.

Beron led them all to the dining room, the Autumn colours present everywhere they looked. The chairs were all high-backed, and Azriel knew that Beron did not care if he and Cassian would be comfortable with their wings. Everyone took their seats — Beron at the head, Rhysand to his left, and Feyre beside him. Azriel sat next to his High Lady, Cassian taking his seat adjacent to the shadowsinger. The Lady of Autumn (still not a High Lady, despite the fact that Viviane was also now a High Lady) sat to Beron’s right, Eris beside her, and Y/n next to him, and across from Azriel. Azriel felt Y/n’s eyes on him, and he met her gaze. There was a curious look in her eyes, a look of anticipation mixed with mischief.

Dinner was served, an array of meats and vegetables placed on the table by servants, mostly lesser fairies. None of them looked Azriel in the eye, and he wondered if it was because they knew who and what he was, or if they’d been trained not to. Y/n, however, had no such qualms about this, and stared at the shadowsinger unabashedly.

Beron struck up a conversation with Rhys — small talk, something that Azriel internally cringed at, because it was definitely just to fill the silence. Ever the gracious guest, Rhysand responded in kind, although Azriel knew he was wondering what Beron’s ulterior motives were.

“How do your siphons work?”

The table went silent as Y/n spoke, her cunning eyes trained on Azriel. Beron looked at his daughter with a hint of irritation gleaming in his eyes, as if it was unacceptable for her to speak without permission. Azriel glanced at Rhysand, who was watching the daughter of Autumn with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

“How do you know that is what they are called?” Rhys asked, his eyes trained on the only daughter of Autumn.

She shrugged, and answered, “I read a lot in my spare time. I remember reading about the Illyrians, and their siphons. If I remember correctly, Illyrians tend to possess only one, yet the two of you hold several.”

“There is no need to question our guests, Y/n,” Beron scolded firmly.

Y/n frowned. “I was simply curious.”

“Do not speak back to me,” Beron reprimanded, a burning fury now evident in his eyes.

Y/n slumped back into her chair slightly and bowed her head. “My apologies, Father.”

Beron didn’t even acknowledge his daughter before he turned back to Rhys, as if her mere existence didn’t deserve another moment of his time. Azriel watched the female in front of him as she stared at her plate, and felt a sense of sympathy for her. Azriel owed her nothing — he did not know the female in front of him, did not know if she even deserved his sympathy — and yet he felt the need to protect, to wipe that blank expression off of her face.

“Our siphons act as a conduit for our raw power,” Azriel offered, causing Y/n to look up. Beron paused, glancing at the shadowsinger and the Autumn daughter, and Azriel continued, “It helps to control our magic, to make it precise and nimble, rather than a messy outburst of power.”

Cassian gaped at his brother, as if he had never heard that many words come out of Azriel’s mouth in one sitting. While that was an inaccurate statement, it was true that Azriel never tended to speak in front of new people. He wasn’t sure why he had done so anyway. But Y/n bowed her head in thanks at the information, perhaps still wary of answering and speaking without her father’s permission, but Azriel had observed a small, triumphant light in the female’s eyes at his reply.

Azriel watched as that gleam faded when Beron cleared his throat, gaining the attention from everyone in the room.

“There is a reason why I have asked you here,” Beron stated.

“Surprise, surprise,” Cassian muttered, and Azriel elbowed him.

Beron glanced at Cassian for all of a second before continuing, “There has been an attempt on my daughter’s life.” Stunned silence met Beron’s words, and Azriel caught Y/n rolling her eyes. That raised his suspicion — were Beron’s words false, or did she simply believe it was not an issue? “If it appeals to you,” Beron went on, “I seek to employ one of your Night Court warriors as her personal bodyguard.”

Rhys blinked once, his only sign of surprise. Beron looked at Rhys expectantly, and Azriel could have guessed the thoughts that flew around Rhys’s head.

“Why one of my warriors?” Rhys inquired carefully.

“I hoped it might help strengthen bonds between our courts,” Beron expressed.

Azriel watched the High Lord of the Autumn Court carefully. There seemed to be no ulterior motives hidden within his demeanour — he did not shift nervously, none of his facial features even so much as twitched.

“And say I agree to this,” Rhys said casually, “how long would you hold onto one of my warriors?”

“Until the threat against my daughter’s life is eliminated,” Beron answered.

There was silence for a few moments while everyone processed what was happening. Azriel looked at Eris to see the male’s eyes on his father. They were carefully guarded, a mask in place to ensure no one was able to discern what he was thinking. Azriel turned his gaze to Y/n, and a shadow slithered up by his ear.

She does not believe it to be such a serious matter, the shadow whispered. She wishes for this dinner to be over so she may go back to her quarters and finish her novel.

Azriel blinked in surprise at the information from his shadow. Usually, his shadows would tell him what others could not see and hear — but this felt almost like too much. Yes, his shadows had a tendency to recognise when someone was lying, or what weapons they were concealing, but to give him a person’s unvoiced opinion on a matter was something new.

But indeed, with her chin propped up on her delicate hand, and twirling her dessert fork in the other, she appeared to be completely disinterested. Azriel turned his gaze back to the male beside her, to see Eris already watching his sister. His eyes were cold and calculating as he regarded her, as if he was mentally playing out how this ‘bodyguard’ situation would go. With the slight frown tugging the corners of his lips downwards, Azriel assumed Eris did not believe it would end well.

“Please, do take time to come to a decision,” Beron offered. “I do understand this is a lot to ask.”

“We shall have an answer by the end of the week,” Rhys said with a nod.

Beron nodded back, and Azriel wondered what they were getting themselves into.

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[azrielslightintheshadows]

Oops

Azriel x f!Reader

Masterlist.

Summary; Azriel finally meets his mate but quickly regrets it when he finds out how energetic, excited and clumsy she is.

Warnings; mentions of injury. Swearing. Traumatized Cassian.

Just a quick thought I had last night.

Azriel was obsessed with finding his mate so when he finally found you he was ecstatic and then… horrified. He really started to believe that the cauldron was probably caring for his well-being by keeping you hidden. It probably wanted him to live for some years because now that he met you he doubted he would survive long. You were unbearable, insufferable and the reason he had at least one heart attack every day. He couldn’t understand how you could be so naive, energetic and excited every damn minute. Add clumsy to that recipe and there you have it… disaster. He had to remove all his weapons from the rooms you used too, then simple objects like a table lamp became an issue so he got rid of them too. He wondered if he had to remove all the furniture from his room and just leave a mattress on the floor. His shadows were sticking on his side every night exhausted from keeping an eye on you, they looked so desperate that he pitied them. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel was on a mission and you were feeling bored, so you decided to see if Cassian wanted to hang out. You knocked on his bedroom door and waited, bouncing up and down from the anticipation. You heard some rustling and then the door opened. 

“Hey sweetie what’s up?” Cassian smiled when he saw you.

“Az went on a mission and I’m bored” you pouted “wanna hang out?” 

“Yes give me a second to get my shoes” he said and walked back into his room. 

When he came back you decided to go to the city and stroll around.

It was a busy day so the streets were filled with people, you watched as everyone walked around and a burst of energy hit you like a wave. 

“I’ll race you to the square” you yelled and took off. Cassian hot on your heels as he screamed “oh it’s on” 

Everyone jumped out of your way, their eyes wide and their jaws open. Usually you had to push your way through crowd but now that you had an Illyrian giant running behind you they were horrified. 

Just as you were reaching the square you tripped and landed face-first on the ground with a scream. Cassian tried to jump over you since he wasn’t able to stop but he couldn’t so he fell on top of you with a grunt. You felt the air leaving your lungs and groaned.

“Oh no, sweetie are you okay?” Cassian’s voice was soft as he rolled to the ground next to you, his expression panicked.

“Yeah I just…need…a moment…. to catch… my breath” you said between pants.

The general smiled and rubbed your back. 

After a while you pushed yourself up, a grin appearing on your face as you cheered “what’s next?” 

Cassian frowned and stared.

“What?” You asked.

“You want more?” He choked.

“Of course” you giggled and grabbed his arm pulling him with you. 

You guided him in an abandoned building that had been destroyed when the Hybern army attacked the city. You climbed to the roof and sat there.

“The view here is incredible” you said and stared the people passing by the street beneath you.

“You live in the house of wind where the view is a million times better” Cassian snorted.

“Yes but I can’t see the expressions on their faces” you shrugged and pointed at the people beneath you.

You were kicking your legs as you explained to Cassian that you liked to sit here and make stories about the passing by faeries.

“See that kid there? Well he has a crush on the store owner’s daughter so every day he goes there and buys an ice cream just to see her” 

“You can’t know that” Cassian exclaimed.

“No but that’s the fun part of the game… you can make your own stories” 

So you spent the rest of the day there, Cassian’s stories were hilarious and you were in tears, your abdomen aching from laughing so hard.

“Okay okay look at her” he pointed at a female who was running down the street “she had an awful first date with a stingy male and he took her to an old and cheap restaurant and now she has explosive diarrhea and she’s rushing home”

You burst into laughter and leaned forward, you couldn’t breathe and suddenly you lost your balance slipping from the roof and falling into the void. Cassian gasped and jumped, his wings flaring behind him but he wasn’t quick enough and with a groan you landed on your back and darkness engulfed you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When you opened your eyes again you were met with the familiar sight of the ceiling in your shared room with Azriel. 

“You’re awake” a feminine voice said.

You snapped your head in the direction of the voice and felt dizzy by the sudden move.

“Easy y/n… you were hurt” you squinted and saw Madja by your side.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” She smiled.

“Everything hurts” you croaked.

“I know you are completely bruised and you have a few broken ribs” she caressed your head “I left a tonic here it should help with the pain… if you need something ask someone to come get me” 

“Okay…” you mumbled and she left. You closed your eyes and let sleep take over.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Where the fuck is she?” Someone’s deep voice boomed through the house and you could swear the floor trembled. 

You opened your eyes and tried to listen.

“I don’t give a fuck Cassian, I will handle you when I’m sure that she is okay” it wasn’t just someone’s deep voice but your favorite one, your mate’s. 

You heard loud footsteps getting closer and you tried to sit up, a groan leaving you. The door burst open and Azriel ran to you.

“Are you okay?” He looked like a mess, his eyes were red with black circles beneath them, his hair tangled and his lips looked dry and chapped.

“Are YOU okay?” You asked and grabbed his jaw, hissing at the pain when you lifted your arm.

“I’m okay just tired, I flew as fast as I could to get here” he sighed “where does it hurt? What did Madja say? Do you need something?” He asked in one breath.

“Az calm down I’m okay, just bruised and a few broken ribs. Nothing I can’t handle… I’ve had worse” you smiled.

He snorted at the statement and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Yeah I know you had worse… you are going to be the death of me” he whispered and grabbed your hand placing it on his chest. His heart was beating so fast and hard that you thought it would explode.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled.

“It’s okay… I love your clumsy annoying self” he smiled.

He crawled into bed but kept some distance between the two of you afraid that he was going to hurt you. He was facing you with a longing expression and he draped a protective wing over you. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Morning came and you woke up with Azriel by your side staring at you. 

“Good morning angel” he smiled when you opened your eyes.

“Morning handsome” you mumbled and leaned closer to him. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked and brushed his palm over your cheek. 

“Better, I think with a little help I can get up” you smiled and he groaned earning a confused look from you.

“Here we go again… You were safe here in bed now I have to chase you around all day” he sighed and you giggled.

“I want to go to Cassian and tell him that I’m okay. I don’t want him to feel sad and guilty” you confessed and Azriel growled.

“Come on Az it’s not his fault. I’ve been hurt multiple times around you and I don’t blame you” you pleaded.

“Okay but I think that he is terrified of you, I heard him say that you are not normal” he murmured and got up. 

He helped you get up and guided you to Cassian’s room, you knocked and waited. 

Rustling and then silence.

“Come on Cassie it’s me” you shouted 

Then you heard a gasp and the door locked. And then a high pitched scream 

“Be gone demon” 

Azriel’s lips were a tight line as he nodded and then said “yup traumatized” 

I have some things to do today so I won't be able to post. Requests are open but delayed!

[kilannad]

On Prythian and Fairy tales

Here's the thing about ACoTaR that drives me insane; SJM had the perfect set up for a Lunarian Chronicles-level of fairy tale retellings. The first book is literally a ya fantasy version of beauty and the beast. She did all the work setting up and then abandoned the concept! Why? Seven Courts--seven books, each for a different fairy tale. You could even keep the Hybern/Koschei meta-plot, just have it carry through the seven books and end with an MCU style final battle. She did something similar enough in ToG.

Anyway, this is a very long way of leading in to what I think each of the court/fairy tale match-ups should have been.

Spring; Beauty and the Beast. Done. Perfect. Give Feyre and Tamlin a happy ending instead of the BS from book 2.

Autumn: Cinderella. Beron is finally insistent that his eldest marry. Problem--Eris discovers his mate is a servant; someone his father absolute would never allow.

Summer: The Little Mermaid. A naiad/siren saves Tarquin's life somehow and he tries to use it to improve faerie rights while the naiad tries to use him for her own gains. Except they fall in love.

Winter: This one I'm the least certain about. The Ice Queen is right there of course, but the original is FUCKING AWFUL. So, something about a cursed artifact--the Trove perhaps???--getting Kallias and Vivianne forced to work together. Childhood bffs to lovers pipeline.

Dawn: Snow White. Thesan's niece/something goes missing after Amarantha is killed. Turns out some of the priestesses are planning a coup and the niece is a problem. Enter...someone?? Nuan maybe. Idk, we know very little about Dawn y'all.

Day: Sleeping Beauty. An ancient stronghold is discovered but is deeply cursed. To prove himself as a worthy Heir, Lucien has to go in and discover its secrets--and in the mean time finds an ancient seer that was sealed away from the Age of Legends.

Night: RAPUNZEL. Literally built for it, smh. A Hewn City lady--Thanatos's unnamed daughter perhaps?--is locked away inside the mountain. Enter Rhys, who needs to get a hold of his people and a political marriage is his best bet. ALTERNATIVE: Mor is Rapunzel and Az is her Flynn Rider. Depends on how you want to take it.

Do you see the vision? Do you understand what we could've had???

Does anyone know anything about Dawn outside of Thesan, his lover, and Nuan??????

[achaotichuman]

A couple of things I see a lot when it comes to the Tamlin vs Rhysand discussions are, who is worse? And Rhysand and Tamlin are two sides of the same coin, so they both have an equal negative effect on the series.

So I decided to compile a list comparing both Rhysand and Tamlin's negative/abusive actions within the ACOTAR series and compare them.

Note, this does not include actions from the CC series, though I am sure that would add to the list.

I tried to write this with as little bias as possible, but I am writing from memory, so please feel absolutely free to add anything I may have missed. But please refrain from rudeness or hateful behavior, you will be blocked and ignored.

Also keep in mind, all of these are their actions as they are, so no justifying context is given if there is any. And these are the things they are DIRECTLY responsible for, so anything that was otherwise out of their control is not being added, take Nesta and Elain being kidnapped by Hybern, that was not Tamlin's fault, so it is not on the list.

Without further ado, here is my list comparing Rhysand's actions and Tamlin's.

**Additions to the list.**

For Tamlin:

Slut-shaming Feyre at the High Lords meeting

Not apologizing for biting her

For Rhysand:

Encourages/forces segregation not just within the Hewn City but also with Illyria. Even when he allows Hewn City folk to come into Velaris, he makes for absolute certain that they will not be welcome and will be barred from everywhere.

Keeps evil men who abuse their power in charge, despite 'advocating for change', take Keir and Devlon. Keir tortured his daughter and left her to die. Devlon allows and promotes wing-clipping, despite Rhysand outlawing it.

Puts Feyre's life in danger with the Weaver

Uses Elain as a political pawn to string along Lucien

He suicide-baits Tamlin

He allows one of his IC members to attack Eris during the High Lord's meeting, despite peace being promised

_____________________________

Apologies if the quality is not the best, I took screenshots because I am NOT rewriting all of this into Tumblr post format.

[invisible-lint]

I Know You

AzrielxHyberns daughter!Reader

Summary: Two drabble prompts "I know you." and "You could put a knife to my throat and I wouldn't flinch."

Warnings: light angst? but like soft angst?

Word Count: 1.2k

You sit out on the balcony, lost in thought, letting the cool night breeze dance across your skin. So much had changed in your 500 years. You chew on your lip, reflecting on it as you stare at the city down below. 

You had been half human, born to a human mother, fathered by the King of Hybern. It was during the war that he discovered your existence, hunting you down so he could posess you, as if you were a rare book or an exotic flower.  

You had given what little humanity you had up in a vain attempt to save the Archeron sisters. You had entered the cauldron willingly, hoping that it would be good enough for the mortal queens. It wasn’t. But in becoming full fae, you had felt something shift, felt a power that you hadn’t felt before. You had realized, with dawning horror, that the same power your father held was now awakening in you. 

 You had helped Feyre and the Shadowsinger when they had come to rescue Elain, fleeing with them. Hybern had never been your home. You had expected it to take time for them to trust you, but between going into the cauldron for the sisters and helping rescue Elain, you were surprised to find that the High Lady of the Night Court was quick to trust you, and so the High Lord did as well by extension. 

You had also become fast friends with the High Lady’s sister, Nesta. It was if there was something in each of you that had recognized itself in the other, bonding you together. Your shared love of books had only grown the bond. 

When she made the killing blow, you felt it. Not because of any love you had held for your father, you hated him with every fiber of your being, but because you had felt it as the power that had once been his, became yours. And you could sense his spell book across the ocean, singing out to you. Nesta was the only one you had told.

In turn, she told you about her own power and how she had kept it at bay with drinking and fucking. And so you joined her in the evenings at taverns and pleasure halls, drinking and dancing until you could no longer here the siren’s call of the spell book, stumbling home to your shabby apartment. You would not let the power corrupt you. You would not let it turn you into your father. 

When Nesta had been forced to the House of Wind, you had joined her. Not because you had been ordered, but because you would not be left behind. When you burst into Rhysand’s study, anger rushing through your veins, power churning in your chest, that was the first time you had seen fear in the High Lord’s eyes when he looked at you. He had Azriel bring you to the House of Wind later that same day. 

When she had opened up training to the priestesses, Nesta had asked you to join as well. You had gladly accepted, becoming a Valkyrie along with Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn. And now, here you sit, out on the balcony, staring down at the city of Velaris, avoiding sleep, avoiding nightmares. 

You were surprised to find that you don’t miss the city, not really. You miss parts of it, the window seat in your apartment, the small bookstore you had worked in, the cafe you stopped by on your way to work, but not the city as a whole. You were less worried you’d accidentally hurt someone with your power, and that made it easier to keep shoved down. Even the call of the spell book had become easier to ignore when you couldn’t easily leave the house on your own. 

You’re so lost in your own thoughts, that you don’t hear the Shadowsinger’s approach until he’s right next to you, saying your name.

You’re startled, the power you keep such a tight leash on, escaping your grasp, flaring to life in a flash of white light, shoving him away from you. You manage to regain control quickly, backing away until your back hits the railing of the balcony. You look over Azriel, noting that the male had somehow managed to stay on his feet. He looks at you, expression neutral, giving nothing away. You blink rapidly, trying to banish the tears that are burning your eyes. Azriel speaks first.

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” His words make a strange tightness in your chest release, but you don’t feel any better.

“I know it was an accident. You wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“But I could.” Your voice is barely loud enough to be considered a whisper, but he hears you.

“Not on purpose. Not in a way that would matter. You could put a knife to my throat and I wouldn’t flinch.” He’s moving towards you slowly, eyes never leaving your face. 

“That’s because you could disarm me with ease.” 

He shakes his head. “No. It’s because I know you. And I see you.”

You wish you could take a step further back, away from the way his hazel gaze is piercing you, but you are already pressed up against the railing, any further and you’d go toppling over the edge. He stops moving when he’s in front of you, flaring his wings to shield you from the gazes of Nesta and Cassian who were awoken by your outburst of power. 

“How? We’ve barely spoken. How could you possibly know me?���

“Because I’ve been watching you.” His cheeks tinge pink at the admission. “What I mean is I… See the way you put others before yourself. You went into the cauldron to try to save humans you didn’t even know. You helped Feyre and I escape when we rescued Elain. Back during the first war, I had heard about you. The half-fae healer who had given herslef over to the soldiers that had been hunting her down so that everyone else could escape.” He reaches a hand out towards you, letting it drop when you lean away. “What are you so afraid of?”

The tears you had been trying to will away finally break free, rolling down your cheeks.

“I don’t want to be like him. It’s his power.” Realization dawns on his face. He gently pulls you away from the railing, turning so he’s between you and the railing. He cups your chin, wiping a tear away as he forces you to look him in the eyes.

“You could never be like him. You are too good. You are far too good.”  You want to argue, but theres something about the way his hazel eyes blaze with intensity that keeps you from arguing,

“It isn’t his power anymore. It’s yours. And it’s up to you what you do with it. And I, for one, think you will do amazing things with it.”

“Why?” 

Before he can speak, the cauldron does, tying the two of you together in a flare of golden light.

“Because we’re mates.”

“Oh.” You blink, your brain trying to catch up with what has happened, equally torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to run away.  You’re about to do the former when the High Lord lands on the balcony. You can feel your barely contained power tugging at its leash once again, and so you do the latter, stepping back from Azriel, turning, and running past Nesta and Cassian. Nesta follows you, leaving the three brothers staring after you, wondering what they’re going to do.

A/N: well there are two of the drabble prompts @loving-and-dreaming

Keep sending in prompts and feel free to be as specific or as vague as you'd like!

divider by @tsunami-of-tears

[the-daydreaming-show]

Fic Idea/Sneak Peek;

(read here)

You were the daughter of a poor mortal couple, children of poor mortals whose ancestors had been lost to history. At twelve, you found a stressed and hungry Feyre Archeron in the woods while hunting (or trying to), and the two of you became companions in the treacherous woods while hunting, becoming friends (and the center of each other's worlds). Until you were fifteen, when your mother gave birth to a son, after years of her husband asking for it. But the birth was complicated; mother and baby were left weak, and you and your younger sister, Rue, became a liability, for you were not sons. You both disappeared one night without a trace, and no one, but Feyre, ever asked for an explanation of your fate. Even when that long-awaited son died before he turned three, Feyre never stopped asking and missing. Not until she herself disappeared, dragged by a beast into the woods, and the rest was history. 

Years later, as Prythian let the dust settle after the war with Hybern. And while the Night Court still rejoiced at the birth of their High Lord and High Lady's first child, a message flew to immortal lands across the world:

From this day, one will be, and only one, the queen of the mortal lads of the world.

Does who bent the knee to you, would keep their land and titles. Those who took arms against you and your dragons would be thrown down, humble and destroyed.

With the threat of mortal queens and the need to fulfill a promise now meaningless, you agree to visit the Night Court to reunite with Feyre. You meet her family, the new and the old, and discuss a possible alliance in the future (and inevitable) wars that will come with the absence of the wall. You know how it will end, but you go anyway. Perhaps one last look at what could have been before meeting those eyes across a battlefield would close a part of your heart that you needed to keep quiet to fulfill your goal.

Little did you know, fate and the Mother had different plans for a relationship you already thought was dead and lost. It turns out it just needed to be completed.

NOTE: I plan on writing about this, at least a couple parts, if you'd like to read it let me know and also tell me if you want to be tagged when it comes out;

UPDATE: Here I will put the people who are part of the tag list and who will be tagged when the story is published, if someone else wants to be part they can still ask!!

@pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch

[queercontrarian]

A New Home

@morweekofficial day 2: home

after mor is found at the autumn/winter border the high lord of night initially agrees to let her stay in the family home in velaris until she is healed. when tensions between him and keir start to escalate over his errant daughter's whereabouts, the high lord chooses his steward over his niece and sends mor into exile in the winter court. while she is not allowed to return to the night court or see her family as long as the old high lord still lives, she finds a new purpose in winter.

staying with one of the high lord's closest advisors, she is finally allowed to pick up a sword herself and train with the warriors of the winter court army, which has always allowed females to join. she learns to master her powers and finds her true strength. in the war against hybern she fights for her new home, the winter court, joining the alliance of day, night and dawn on the continent. when she returns, she is legend. she is the morrigan. every child in winter knows her name.

in winter, she also finds one of her closest companions outside of the night court in viviane, her host's young daughter whom she gets to see grow up after the war and whom she loves like a sister, as well as viviane's friend kallias, the younger brother of the winter court's general.

she only returns to the night court after her uncle, aunt and cousin die and rhysand, now high lord of night, asks her to come back and help him rebuild their court of dreams.

mor's dress here is inspired by some traditional mongolian clothing. i pull most of my inspiration for winter court styles from inuit, sámi and mongolian culture. i see her picking up red as her signature color in the winter court specifically because of how much the red stands out against the white snow.

[littlest-w01f]

Crown

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

LUCIEN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Lucien used to joke about wanting to be the protector of the people's princess but now it was his sword that was resting against your neck

Cw: A Snow White and the Huntsman kinda AU, Beron is Evil Queen

A/n: did I want to post this on Lucien week? Yes. Did I tell @romanticatheartt about this plot? Yes. Did I fall off writing and just forget to post this when I was supposed to? Also yes.

As the future High Queen of Prythian, and as the King's only daughter, you were accustomed to the grandeur and extravagance that always surrounded you. The lavish tapestries adorning the walls, the gleaming marble floors, and the delicate chandeliers cast a warm glow over everything.

Your days were filled with attending state affairs, hosting lavish feasts, and engaging in discussing politics with your advisors. You were known throughout Prythian for beauty and kindness. However, despite the richness of your life, there was an undercurrent of unease that seemed to permeate even the most joyful moments.

Beron Vanserra, your father's oldest advisor's warnings about the impending war with Hybern, your neighbouring kingdom still lingered in the back of your mind, and the sight of your frail father left an indelible mark, your once bold and strong father, now sick and nearing his death bed by time. You tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on your duties as a daughter over heir apparent, taking care of your father.

"Ah, my daughter," Your father called out weakly, a cough leaving his sore throat, as you sat by his bedside, nursing over him. As you turned towards your father, concern and love shone in your eyes. His once rugged frame had wasted away, leaving him gaunt and fragile beneath the rich velvet covers. Despite the chill in the air, a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. "My child," He whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire in the hearth. "Come closer."

You leaned in, placing a gentle hand on his bony wrist, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The scent of aged wine and sandalwood clung to him, evoking memories of countless nights spent listening to his tales of valour and conquest.

"Beron's words weigh heavily upon me," Your father continued, his gaze piercing through the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. "I... I do not trust him... He has become too..." He coughed, "Too persistent, that you aren't worthy of... Your title." He kept his hand over yours, "No one speaks of my daughter... In that way. After I'm gone. Do not trust him."

A wave of ire washed over you at Beron's implied slight, though your father's warning struck a chord deeper within. You knew Beron's counsel was invaluable, he was the oldest counsel that had stood by your family for centuries, yet there was a part of you that couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that he had always harboured ulterior motives.

His relentless advocacy for you to not take a stronger role in court affairs, often bordering on insubordination, did seem peculiar given his loyalty to your father. Perhaps it was mere paranoia, but the notion that Beron might be manipulating events to suit his own agenda sent a shiver down your spine.

Your father's lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with pride. "My brave daughter, the crown is a heavy burden, but you have the strength to bear it." he murmured, his breath growing shallow. "Lead Prythian with wisdom and strength. Let your compassion guide you, but never forget the power that lies within you."

"I will make you proud father," You swore, your power shining true, with those solemn vows, tears welled up in your eyes, reflecting the depth of your devotion to your father and your kingdom. His frail hand tightened around yours, a fleeting spark of vitality igniting in his weakening form.

"Till you are crowed Queen, and even after that, be vigilant, don't show a moment of weakness for anyone to exploit." He squeezed your hand, "You shouldn't watch over me at this hour, I have my attendants that I trust, you should rest up in your room, Princess."

You nodded, understanding the gravity of your responsibilities, both to your ailing father and to the realm that would soon look to you for guidance. With a final, tender kiss to his forehead, you rose from the bedside, straightening your silken skirts, and grabbing a robe from your father's wardrobe to cover yourself with to protect from the chill of the night.

As you made your way to the door, the flickering candlelight danced across the intricate patterns woven into the fabric, shimmering like the stars that would soon fill the night sky outside. The heavy oak doors creaked softly as they swung shut behind you, enveloping the chamber once more in silence.

Stepping into the grand hallway beyond, the cool air carried whispers of the castle's ancient stones, echoing with the weight of the past. Shadows stretched and twisted, playing tricks on the senses as you walked, the only sound being the soft rustle of your gown against the polished marble floor.

You never really understood, why Beron Vanserra kept insisting to your father, that war was coming, why when you walked in on them, you had seen your sick father with Beron over his shoulders pressing that he or his Eris be named his successor. But it didn't really bother you. Your father would name you Queen, you had been raised for it and had always been a perfect fit.

The people loved you, they respected and cherished you, and you them, you knew not only the names of all seven Court Lords' children from Rhysand and his sister, to Tamlin and his two brothers who were more beast than male, Helion, Kallias, Taquin, Thesan, Eris and all his brothers, to every single servant who roamed the halls of your castle.

You knew almost everything about them too, from how Rhysand was seeing your favourite handmaid, Feyre, a human who worked for you to earn a living to take care of her family, behind his father's back, to how Eris Vanserra fancied the Illyrian Spymaster, and how his father could never know.

But your favourite of all names had always been, "Lucien!?" You gasped, pressed into the stone wall, a sword to your throat. You felt him still at your words, a chill went through you, seeing the familiar face freeze as if he hadn't expected you.

Your heart raced as you stared into the cold, hard eyes of your childhood friend. The blade pressed against your throat sent a jolt of fear through your body, but you refused to let it show on your face. You knew Lucien well, perhaps better than anyone else in the castle. His skill with a sword was unmatched, and his loyalty to Prythian was unwavering. But something had changed, and the man before you now wasn't your friend.

"Princess?" Lucien's eyes widen, but his hand never waver, his father had sent him to finish off the king, said to kill him while he would be out for a stroll in this very spot, that Beron would have the guards cleared out so no one would see what transpired in that hall, but he hadn't expected you to be in one in your father's robes, it dawned on him, that you were the one his father truly wanted to kill, because the king was sure to not last the week, with you gone, Beron would stand a chance in making himself High King. "Princess..."

Lucien's grip on the hilt of his sword faltered slightly as recognition flashed across his face, but the dangerous edge remained in his eyes. Lucien hesitated, the conflict raging within him evident in the tense set of his jaw and the flicker of doubt in his eyes. He had trained under Beron, tortured and beaten, moulded into the warrior he was, but the bond between you and Lucien ran deep, forged through years of laughter, secrets, and shared adventures.

"Lucien... Please..." You held your breath, feeling his sword on your neck, fear holding you still, you had no weapons to defend yourself, no reasoning for why your friend was the one holding your life like this, holding the ability to end it with one strike.

He remembered the day you'd shown him the hidden gardens, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your dreams for Prythian's future. In that instant, the icy grip of duty loosened its hold on his heart.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Lucien's chiselled features as memories of your shared youth resurfaced. He recalled the way your laughter had filled the castle corridors, the quiet conversations where you sought his counsel, and the late-night stargazing sessions where you'd confided your hopes and fears. The bond between you ran deep, forged in the fires of friendship and trust.

"Lucien, don't drown!" Your giggle rang throughout the open gardens as you stood on the stones getting hit by the river stream where Lucien had gone in.

Lucien stood bare-chested, waist-deep in the water after he had shot back up, "I'm not coming up till I find your hat, my Princess!" With a gasp, he dove back in, coming up soon after, "I JUST got my growth spurt, princess! I can get it back!"

"Lucien!" You smiled, stepping in the water yourself, the water reaching your chin. "It's just a hat!"

You gasped when Lucien came up again, setting your sun hat back on your hair, said hat dripping water all over you, "There, all good." Lucien smiled a wide grin. "I told you I could get it. I will always protect you and you things."

"What if you got cold, Lucien?" You frowned at the thought, crossing you arms over you chest. "You'd act like a baby and make me take care of you."

Lucien gasped in mock outrage, "I shall inform you, my Lady, a cold is a horrible sickness that redenders powerful males helpless." He pushed water in your direction, covering himself when you splashed him back.

After that, you'd both end up with a cold, sniffling for days, Lucien had been dramatic, crying in your lap, begging for the princess to take care of him.

Lucien slowly lowered his sword, his arm trembling slightly as he broke eye contact. When he looked up again, there was a glimmer of the old Lucien in his gaze - the one who had been your partner in mischief and your confidant in times of turmoil.

"I... I can't do this," Lucien whispered, his grip loosening on the sword. "I..." Lucien took a step back, lowering his sword completely as the realization of what he had almost done hit him like a physical blow. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and his eyes, usually so bright and mischievous, now looked haunted.

"P-Princess," He stammered, his voice shaking. "Forgive me. I... I..." He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "This isn't right. You're innocent in all of this. I won't... Can't..."

Lucien reached out a trembling hand, as if to touch your cheek, but stopped short, unsure if you would welcome his gesture after what transpired. His gaze searched yours, pleading for forgiveness and understanding in their depths.

Your heart swelled with relief as Lucien lowered his sword, the tension in his stance easing slightly. Though his hands still trembled, he stood tall, meeting your gaze with a mixture of remorse and determination.

"P-Please, believe me," he urged, his voice cracking with emotion. "I never meant to hurt you, y/n. You're my best friend, my confidante. How could I possibly—"

Lucien sank to his knees, his emotions overwhelming, his body wracked with sobs, you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, cradling his head against your stomach. The silk of your robe rustled softly as you stroked his hair, offering what comfort you could in that fraught moment. The sharp edge of his sword clattered to the ground as he buried his face against your belly, his body wracked with anguish.

"My poor Lucien," You cooed, stroking his damp hair soothingly. "What has happened to you? Who has filled your head with such darkness?"

Though shocked and frightened by his betrayal, a part of you ached for the friend you once knew. You held Lucien tightly as he wept, feeling the warmth of his tears seeping through the fabric of your robe. His broad shoulders shook with each shuddering breath, and you could feel the desperation radiating from him in waves.

"It's alright," you murmured soothingly, continuing to stroke his hair. "I know you wouldn't hurt me, Lucien. Something must have happened to drive you to this."

You tilted his chin up gently, forcing him to meet your gaze. Tears streaked down his handsome face, and his eyes shone with a mix of shame and gratitude, only then you noticed that his eye was scared, golden, the telltale signs of torture on him, on his body through his armor.

"He made me," Lucien choked out, referring to his father. "Beron ordered me to kill the king tonight, during his walk. He... He threated me... Said he could hurt you." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But then I saw you, and I realized..."

He reached up tentatively, his calloused fingers brushing against your elbow with the most gentle of touches. "When I saw you there, in your father's robes, I knew what Beron truly intended. He wants you dead, Princess. With you gone and the king weakened, he believes he can seize control of Prythian and make himself High King." A shudder ran through Lucien's body as he spoke, his jaw clenching with barely contained rage. "But I refuse to be a pawn in his twisted game anymore. I will not let him use me to destroy the person I care for most in this world."

Lucien's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his father's manipulation and the revelation of his own conflicted loyalties. He looked up at you with a desperate plea in his eyes, as if seeking absolution and reassurance that you still believed in him.

"You couldn't have known," you assured him, your voice soft with empathy. You cupped Lucien's face in your hands, cupping his cheeks. "No matter what, I see the man you truly are, beneath the layers of guilt and coercion. You're brave, loyal, and kind-hearted. Those traits can never be erased, no matter what evil tries to claim you."

Lucien's gaze locked onto yours, drinking in the sincerity and warmth behind your words. A tentative smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and some of the tension left his body as he leaned into your touch. "Thank you, y/n," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Your faith in me means everything."

He rose to his feet, towering over you, yet somehow seeming smaller under the weight of his confession and the vulnerability he'd exposed. Lucien offered you a hand, helping you to stand, and as you steadied yourselves, the distance between you seemed to shrink.

"We need to get you back inside," Lucien said, his mind already racing ahead to the challenges that lay ahead. "We can't let Beron find out what just transpired here, that you're not gone. Not until we've figured out our next move."

"Well, the possition of my guard is still open if you're as interest as when we were young?" You relaxed a little, going back to your usual teasing.

Lucien chuckled, a hint of his old self returning in your proximity as he playfully rolled his eyes at your jest, wiping away the last of his tears. "Oh, Princess, always thinking of ways to keep me close, aren't you?" He shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips as he wiped his dry tears away. "I suppose I could be persuaded to join the royal guard, especially if it means being near you. Time away from my father's torture would do my some good."

His expression turned serious once more as he added, "But first, we need to deal with the threat Beron poses. I can't be seen abandoning my family, but we need to find a way to stop him without resorting to violence, if possible."

"Well, you might be interest in the plans Eris has in mind." You smiled, causing Lucien to give you a curious look, "What? People like me cause I'm good at keeping secrets."

Despite his reservations, Lucien's interest was piqued, and he leaned in closer, eager to hear more about whatever scheme the cunning brother might have concocted. "Tell me everything," he urged, his voice low.

"Not here." You whispered. As you walked, the cool night air carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within the castle walls. Lucien remained silent, his thoughts likely consumed by how not only had he known you better than you did, but you also knew him better than he did himself.

You pulled him through the halls, mind running wild at the thought of Beron sending Lucien to kill you, of your father's illness, wondering if it was Beron's hand behind it too, it had to be if he knew he would pass away soon.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff}

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | nine

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: i think none...

A/N: im soooooooooo sooooooooo sorry for being gone for almost A YEAR, but I didn't have the inspiration or the time to write it the way I would have liked. I've found my enthusiasm again, so I'll try to continue this fic as much as I can :)

Nimue had spent the last few days navigating the treacherous currents of the Spring Court, observing and analyzing each interaction with a critical eye and attentive ear. She'd ensured that everyone believed her performance—the wounded princess returned to the fold—but she hadn't let her guard down for a moment. A disquieting stillness hung in the air, a persistent dissonance she couldn't ignore, like the ominous calm before a storm.

By day, she played the dutiful daughter, pleasing her cousins and the High Lord with her presence, offering smiles and nods at the appropriate times, all while her mind wove an intricate web of deceit. In the stolen hours, she would slip through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, her steps silent as a whisper, a ghost drifting through the halls. She would pause in shadowy corners, her senses heightened, absorbing the conversations of others, the hushed whispers of conspiracies and betrayals. She had eyes and ears everywhere within those walls; nothing escaped her notice: the countless times Lucien had attempted to sway Tamlin from his reckless alliance with Hybern, the equally numerous occasions Tamlin, blinded by his all-consuming hatred for Rhysand, had attempted to reassure Lucien of their inevitable victory, of how they would use Hybern to their advantage to crush the Night Court…

A flicker of contempt danced in Nimue's eyes as she considered Tamlin's naivety. What could he possibly hope to achieve against Rhysand? Against her own father? His thirst for vengeance had clouded his judgment, blinding him to the true extent of the powers he was dealing with. Even Nimue, born of the Cauldron itself, couldn't fully fathom the depths of her father's depravity, the terrifying power he was wielding. It was a dark and ancient magic, one that chilled her to the core.

Seeking respite from the stifling atmosphere of the mansion, Nimue found herself in the gardens, beneath the sprawling branches of a centuries-old oak. The edge of the woods beckoned to her left, a tangible promise of escape, the ancient tree a silent guardian marking the boundary of the Spring Court. It was the perfect sanctuary, close enough for the lingering traces of her magic woven throughout the mansion to allow her to eavesdrop effortlessly, yet far enough from the prying eyes and ears of the soldiers and diplomats that swarmed the court.

She focused her senses, reaching out with her mind to a room deep within the mansion, where her cousins were currently engaged in a heated discussion. Something significant was unfolding, and she was privy to every word. Azriel, Rhysand, the entire Inner Circle—they were all aware of her findings, thanks to their clandestine meetings under the cloak of night. Every evening, she would slip away to the edge of the woods, her shadows merging with Azriel's as they exchanged information and strategized.

Despite her convincing portrayal of the naive princess, a pawn to be used in her father's twisted game, Nimue was playing a dangerous game of her own. While everyone believed her to be a victim, a weapon waiting to be unleashed, she was quietly orchestrating her own rebellion.

Yet, despite her flawless performance, there were those who harbored suspicions.

"Good afternoon," a voice sliced through the stillness, startling her.

Blinking against the sunlight that filtered through the leaves, Nimue reluctantly pulled her attention back to the present. She shielded her eyes, making out the figure of Lucien, his silhouette stark against the golden light.

"I would have thought that with all these politicians and soldiers about, a warrior princess like you would have much more to do," Lucien drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Especially now, when it seems your father's plans are falling into place with such alarming ease. And yet, all you do is smile, nod, and spend your days sitting here as if nothing matters."

Nimue offered him a sweet smile, relishing the unease it clearly evoked in him.

Oh, she knew men like him all too well. They craved knowledge, needing to know everything that was happening, what everyone was thinking, what they were planning. And with that uncanny golden eye, Lucien could see and read the intentions of others before they were even aware of them themselves. But with Nimue, Lucien saw nothing. A void. An enigma.

And it terrified him.

"You see, as you may have noticed, my relatives don't exactly include me in their strategic discussions," Nimue explained patiently, watching as Lucien let out a small snort, acknowledging the truth in her words. "And as for the fathers, brothers, and sons of my father's soldiers who are currently swarming this court... well, let's just say I used to kill them for sport back in Hybern. So, yes, I'm not exactly welcomed with open arms. I spend my time waiting for orders, waiting to be told who I have to kill next."

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with unspoken tension. Lucien had a thousand questions swirling in his mind, yet he voiced none of them. He trusted his instincts implicitly, and something about Nimue didn't sit right. He knew she wasn't the foolish princess she pretended to be. No one escaped from the heart of the Night Court unscathed, no one crossed the continent with faebane coursing through their veins and magically appeared at the perfect moment to be rescued by their family. No one, not even a being forged by the Cauldron itself.

"That, or perhaps..." Nimue's voice dropped to a silken whisper, laced with venom.

In a blink, she was behind him, her movements swift and predatory. Lucien felt the tendrils of a dark magic coil around him, cold and suffocating. He tried to turn, to summon his own powers, but an invisible force held him captive, a puppet in the hands of a cruel master.

"...perhaps I'm here to kill you all," Nimue continued, her voice a chilling whisper against his ear. "Perhaps I'm a spy, conspiring with Rhysand and his ilk to destroy you. Perhaps my plan is to overthrow my father and all the High Lords. Perhaps I want to be the Queen of Hybern, of Prythian. Why not? In my twenty years, I've found no limit to my power. Why stop at Prythian?"

Nimue circled him slowly, deliberately, like a predator toying with its prey. Her expression was that of an avenging angel, a cruel and triumphant smile that promised pain and destruction. Lucien struggled to breathe, to fight against the suffocating magic, but his lungs burned, his chest constricting. Nimue was choking him, crushing his bones with an inhuman strength.

Then, just as abruptly as it began, the magic vanished. Lucien gasped, his body trembling with the shock of reprieve. For a fleeting moment, before the vision faded, he saw fragmented images: dancing shadows, brightly colored candies, the sound of carefree laughter. He clung to these fleeting glimpses, burning them into his memory as reality snapped back into place.

Nimue was back on the ground, leaning against the tree, her eyes closed and her face tilted towards the sun as if nothing had happened. A laugh escaped her lips, a crystalline sound that jarred with the darkness Lucien had just witnessed.

"Just kidding, just kidding!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. "You can't blame me for being bored, dear Lucien. It's so easy to play with you..."

Lucien was speechless, his mind reeling. Rarely had he felt so vulnerable, so utterly powerless. Not even at the hands of his own cruel father had he experienced such fear. Under Nimue's power, he had been nothing more than a plaything, his life hanging by a thread. She could have ended him with a flick of her wrist, and he would have been helpless to stop her.

They were playing with forces beyond their comprehension, and Nimue was a wild card. An enigma in a world of black and white, wielding power that dwarfed that of any High Lord he'd ever encountered.

And yet, despite the terror that gripped him, he didn't flee. He didn't cry out for Tamlin, didn't beg to be saved from this creature who held his life in her hands. No, he stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on Nimue, replaying those fleeting images: shadows, candies, laughter…

Suddenly, it all made sense. The suspicions, the feigned innocence, the effortless return to the Spring Court…

Lucien finally understood.

A slow smile spread across his face, cold and calculating, devoid of any warmth. Nimue frowned, a prickle of unease running down her spine. Any other male would have fled in terror after that display of power, but Lucien remained, unfazed, that unsettling smile playing on his lips.

Something was very wrong.

Lucien approached Nimue, his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of a harmless diplomat. He let out a heavy sigh, the sound echoing in the stillness of the garden.

"Tell me," he began, his voice deceptively soft, "are they treating Elain well in the Night Court? I do hope they're giving her some of those candies they seem to share with you."

"What?" Nimue felt a chill grip her heart.

"I've got you, Nimue," Lucien said, his voice now as sharp as ice.

Panic surged through her, a suffocating wave threatening to drown her. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes locked on Lucien's, desperately trying to maintain her composure. A nervous giggle escaped her lips, a betrayal that only served to confirm Lucien's suspicions.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lucien," she stammered, her voice trembling. "I haven't seen Elain. They've kept me locked up, away from everyone, and drugged."

But Lucien's smile didn't waver, and Nimue knew she was caught.

Azriel, help.

The wave of panic that slammed into Azriel was so forceful it nearly knocked him from his chair. Everyone in the dining room turned to stare as he let out a strangled groan, clutching his chest. He knew instantly that something was terribly wrong.

"Azriel?" Feyre's voice reached him, laced with concern. "Are you alright? What's happening?"

Before he could answer, another wave of terror crashed over him, and he surged to his feet, sending his chair skittering across the floor. Nimue's panicked voice echoed in his mind, a desperate plea for help.

Help, help, help, they've caught me, Azriel.

Without hesitation, he let his shadows consume him, surrendering to the primal pull that led him to his mate. He materialized in a forest, his shadows instantly dispersing, searching frantically for Nimue. When he finally located her, he sprinted towards her, his heart pounding with a terrifying premonition.

"So, let me get this straight," Lucien's voice reached him, laced with disbelief. "You've betrayed your father for people you've known for a few weeks?"

"Uh-huh," came Nimue's strained reply.

Azriel slowed his approach, his senses on high alert.

"And you're telling me you're here as a spy, playing both sides?"

"Yes, technically."

"Hm."

Azriel emerged from the shadows, his gaze falling upon Nimue and Lucien standing a few meters from the edge of the woods, engaged in what appeared to be a casual conversation. A primal urge to shield Nimue, to tear Lucien away from her, surged through him.

He forced himself to remain calm, to assess the situation. What was he thinking? What was happening?

"Oh, Azriel!" Nimue's voice held a note of forced lightness, but her eyes betrayed her fear. "You got here so quickly."

A wave of relief washed over Nimue as she saw Azriel emerge from the shadows. But it was short-lived. Lucien's next words sent a fresh wave of panic through her.

"I want in," Lucien declared, his voice firm. "I want to help you defeat Hybern."

Azriel stiffened, his shadows swirling around him menacingly. "You can't be serious," he snarled. "You're with the Spring Court. You're... an enemy."

"Not anymore," Lucien countered, his gaze unwavering. "Tamlin has lost his way. He's allied himself with Hybern, and I won't stand for it. I want to help you stop him, protect Prythian."

"And what about Elain?" Nimue asked suddenly, her voice sharp.

Lucien's golden eye flickered towards her, and for a fleeting moment, Azriel saw a flicker of vulnerability in his expression.

"I want her safe," Lucien said, his voice low and sincere. 

Nimue studied Lucien, searching for any hint of deception in his words or his expression. With her magic, she wove through Lucien's thoughts, searching for any hint of doubt. But all she found was genuine concern for Elain. A surprising wave of empathy washed over her. She, too, knew that yearning she had glimpsed within Lucien, that sense of not belonging, that desperation to find a place, and people, to call home.

"I trust him," she declared, turning to Azriel.

"What?" Azriel stared at her in disbelief. "Nimue, you can't be serious. We can't—"

"I trust him," Nimue repeated, her voice firm. "I see the truth in his eyes. He wants to help."

Azriel looked from Nimue to Lucien, his shadows churning with uncertainty. How could she be so naive? How could she trust a member of the Spring Court after everything that had happened?

"Nimue, this is madness," he argued, trying to reason with her. "We can't—"

"Azriel," Nimue interrupted, her voice soft but resolute. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

Azriel met her gaze, and he saw a steely determination he hadn't witnessed before. He realized then that he barely knew her, that he had only glimpsed fragments of the person she truly was. Doubt gnawed at him, whispering insidious questions about whether he was truly doing the right thing by blindly trusting her simply because she was his mate. He felt the sting of their mating bond, a reminder of the promise they had made to each other.

With a sigh of resignation, he conceded. "Fine. But if you betray us—"

"I won't," Lucien interjected, his voice steady. "You have my word."

Azriel nodded, still wary. The situation was precarious, and they needed to tread carefully.

"We need to leave," he said, his voice urgent. "It's not safe to stay here any longer."

"Agreed," Nimue said.

They turned to go, but a voice stopped them in their tracks.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Nimue and Azriel whirled around to find Dagdan and Brannagh, Nimue's cousins, blocking their path. Their faces were contorted with rage, their eyes burning with hatred.

"It seems our dear cousin has been keeping secrets from us," Dagdan sneered.

"And it doesn't look like it's anything good," Brannagh added, his voice dripping with venom.

A chill ran down Nimue's spine. They had walked straight into a trap.

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