#tw acotar

[fic-dumpster]

Trying to reread acotar and I can’t because I remembered how Tamlin just glamoured his court and lied to Feyre so I just picture fandoms ppl in the background.

[brainwormsoop]

sorry for just... all of this

but acotar has serious sold to one direction energy

[peachesofteal]

tw 18+ dubcon, breeding kink, brief daddy kink, baby trapping-ish - aka the whole purpose of the mating bond

Azriel who slips you a fertility tonic so he can give you a baby.

It starts as a fantasy.

He spends too much time watching you help with Nyx. Plays his dutiful uncle part, but all he's really focused on is how the baby sits so perfectly in your arms, how he's supported so easily by your hips.

How would you look, with his child cradled against your chest? How would you look, round with his baby?

It's maddening. Filling his dreams with ideas about a family of his own, a family with you. You who he loves beyond belief, you who he would die for, over and over again. You, who has become the reason he smiles, the reason he stands in the sun, the reason he looks forward to the future with hope, instead of looking back at the past with anger. You've changed him.

The bond isn't enough anymore, he craves it all. Needs to plant himself inside your womb until you're carrying a piece of him, but it likes that. It wants it, as much as he does, glows in his chest when he imagines it, purrs at the idea with satisfaction.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

His cock swells when he thinks about fucking you deep, spilling inside of you again and again until it takes, giving you a piece of himself. Drives him insane, thinking about breeding you, putting his baby inside of you. Turns him inside out.

The shadows don't help. They find the tonic in Dawn Court and pull the emerald green glass bottle from a shelf, depositing it in his office. Thick like syrup, blood red like a candy apple, but completely void of scent. Helpful.

"What do you think about having a baby?" He breathes into your neck one night, still arched overtop of you, lips dragging along your jaw. You giggle. He swears it's the sweetest sound.

"I don't know, kind of soon, don't you think?" A lock of his hair falls onto his forehead, and you twist your fingers in it. "I know Madja said there'd be nothing to worry about but still... we've only been mated a few years, right?" He nips at your skin, slides his nose along yours.

"Right."

What started as a fantasy evolves into a plan. Wicked, and wild, it's all consuming, a parasite in his blood slowly taking over his body until he's disease ridden, obsessed.

"More?" He's perched on a stool, legs spread to accommodate where you stand between his knees, looking up at him with a lazy smile. You've already finished your first glass, the glass, the one with the tonic, and he's pleased to see you drank every drop.

"One more, I think." He taps your chin, tucks his fingers beneath it and tilts your face towards his before pressing his mouth against yours in a long kiss. When you pull away, you have that look in your eye. "Want to go home early?"

Yes.

He's high. Wound up, crazed. You're laid out on the bed, lax on your side, reaching for him. "Come here," you whine, wiggling your fingers, and he grips them before rolling you onto your back and pinning that wrist above your head.

"I love you," he sucks a mark against your collarbone, traces and plucks your nipple, enjoying your pants, the restless jolt of your hips.

"Az," you huff, and he smiles into your skin.

"Impatient." He releases his hold, teases down your belly to where you're already wet for him, soaked, and slips through your folds to find your clit, swollen, and waiting. Wanting. "So wet," there’s nectar between your legs, and he’s thirsty for it. Not tonight. Your clit throbs under his touch, back arching, tits pressing into his chest, "you're dripping."

"Yeah, ah- please," you paw at his shoulders and he pushes you down, lays you flat before grabbing your knees and flexing them towards your chest, your thighs framing the prettiest pussy he's ever seen.

"Keep them there." He warns. Your fingers dig into your flesh, and he taps the head of his cock against your clit, enjoying the way your hole twitches. "Look at you," he's lost in it already, stroking himself, slowly fucking the tip in and out, muscles coiled, ready to strike. It's a drug. You're a drug. His elixir of life, his faerie wine. The high of battle, the satisfaction of success, of killing. He's drunk on you, every day.

"Azriel," you hiss. His girl never likes to be kept waiting. He grins-

and then slams home.

"Fuck!" you scream it, head thrown back, abandoning the hold on your legs to fist the sheets. He pulls your ankles tall, and leans forward. Your eyes are as big as the moon, mouth open wide, perfect. Ready. Ripe.

"I know, I know," he soothes you, kisses you, aware that the pressure of his body over yours only shoves his cock harder against your cervix, and you gasp, pussy fluttering, warm and wet, better than a dream. He finds your clit, his touch turning you languid, helping you adjust to each stroke, "does that feel good, love? Nice and deep?" He catches your lip between his teeth, and then rests his forehead against yours.

"More," You twist in his grip, trying to move, and he swats your ass.

"Be good for me." Be good, be good-

be good for daddy so he can give you a baby, be good so he can plug you up, make it take-

"Yes..." You moan and your pussy quivers, already trying to suck him deeper, trying to pull him in. Your body knows what it wants, the bond knows what it wants, even though your mind isn't there yet.

You writhe, shudder. You're going to come soon.

He slows down, drags his cock almost all the way out, enjoying the way you pout, brows furrowed, before sliding back in, again and again, long strokes that drive you crazy, still flicking your clit. "I love you so much, pretty girl, need to fill you up."

"Yeah, p-please." You're chasing your orgasm, tightening like a fucking vice, trying to strangle him, hold him in, and he closes his eyes, relishing it, wishing he could die in it.

"Come on my cock, sweetheart, let me feel you." Your breath hitches and he fucks you harder, slamming his hips against yours, shoving his cock so deep he wonders if it's in your belly, and your eyes roll back, legs locking into planks, orgasm rocketing through you so violently you cry out.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck, ah-"

"There it is," there's no stopping now, fucking you through the gush, the clench, "That's it, come for me," he coos, innocent poison, "good girl, such a good girl." His own end is building, fire in his blood, raw power surging up through his wings as they snap wide, and your toes curl as you tremble, pussy still squeezing, pulsing around his cock. "Stay still for me, gonna give you my cum- fuck- fuck it nice and deep." You mewl, half delirious, and he steadies himself before plunging as far as he can, exploding, shattering, flooding you with it all, his hopes, his wickedness, his dreams. His vision goes white, a shock radiating up through his toes, entire body rigid, and locked in, your pussy drenched with him. The bond sings for the true fulfillment of its purpose, the creation of children. It all comes together, him, you, the stars, the darkness, to give him what he wants, what he craves-

his baby inside you.

He tucks his fingers into your pussy as you fall asleep, shushing you back under easily when you blink at him in a daze. "Again?"

"In a bit." He kisses your temple. "Close your eyes sweet girl, you'll need your strength."

[trash-shrike]

I torture the blonde man instead of working on Tamlin week entries.

I always thought it was fun that Tamlin's shapeshifting sometimes hurts him (like when his claws shoot out and cut him). This is me dialing that up by 50x.

[copypastus]

A small gift pile for the amazing @highlordofkrypton

Nyx Johannes Archeron is from her cosmogeny fic.

[velidewrites]

Marcel Vanserra’s leather mask and gloves are enforced by old Lesser Faerie magic to keep him safe from the lethal power of his smoke. They were a gift from Eris, who had spent weeks in the Day Court researching wards that might keep his younger brother from accidentally harming himself.

Eris had planned to gift them to Marcel on his fifteenth birthday. Two days before, Marcel had lost control of his smoke, causing a significant chunk of his right forearm to burn down to the bone. It was contained by a healer, though the lost skin and muscle the smoke had sizzled through were unfortunately irreparable due to his magic’s cruel will.

Eris still blames himself for that day.

—

Decided to sluttify Marcel’s mask a little and add more details!

Also gloveless hand reveal!

Marcel Vanserra is my OC — please do not use him in any works, thank you!

[dawneternal]

And Yesterday You Were Here With Me

you were bigger than the whole sky / you were more than just a short time

✦ Azriel x Reader. Platonic Cassian x Reader, Nesta being a good friend.

✦ this one is a bit vulnerable to share. It's definitely something I wrote to process some of my own grief. (Hopefully it's not disrespectful to post this the day after mother's day) Take care of yourself and don't read if it will trigger you 💛

✦ Warnings: miscarriage, description of miscarriage/blood, grief and loss

✦ Read on AO3

You sit frozen, staring down at the crimson marbling the water in the toilet, struggling to breathe properly.

It was only last night that you had put the pieces together. Your late cycle, nausea, and fatigue. The strange gut feeling that something was off, but not in a bad way. In a new way - a different way. You immediately planned to try and see a healer here in the Day Court while on your mission with Cassian. That way you could return to Night and tell Azriel right away. You could barely sleep, excitement and nervousness filling every inch of your being as you tried to think up a clever or funny way to tell your mate.

And now all of those hopes and plans had crumbled, slipping through your fingers before you could catch them. Now, sitting on the toilet and feeling the cramps crashing through your body, you understood how quickly your heart had filled with love for this little possibility.

Before the full impact of it had even hit you, before you had even left the bathroom, you found yourself wishing you could skip ahead a month or a year. Because once the grief began, you knew it was going to be almost unbearable.

•✦•✦•✦•

You padded toward the door to the room next to yours, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you knocked. The door swung open wide and Cassian appeared. His smile quickly turned to confusion as he registered your bare legs, oversized t-shirt just barely covering your underwear. You had meant to put your shorts back on but they were forgotten on the bathroom floor in your flurry of emotion.

Cassian grasped your arm and pulled you into his room, looking both ways down the hall before he closed it behind him.

"What are you doing?" He asked in bewilderment, whirling around to look at you.

"We have to go right now. I need Azriel." You cursed your wavering voice. You were trying desperately to hold it together. Not to send anything down the bond and worry Azriel.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Cassian's face softened, confusion turning to concern as he inspected you for injury, eyes skimming over your trembling form, the hem of your shirt bunched in your fists.

"I-" You knew he was going to ask but the question broke you anyways. You slid to the floor, lip quivering. The thick carpet was rough against your bare legs.

A sob wracked your body as the grief began, dark churning waves swallowing you whole. There was no stopping it, no turning back. Almost immediately, you felt a questioning tug on the golden thread in your chest.

Cassian crouched beside you, elbows resting on his knees. He didn't speak for a moment, trying to decipher the scene, grimacing at the sorrowful cry you let out.

"Your cycle?" He asked, his voice gravelly. You could tell from the worry in his tone that he already knew the answer but you shook your head anyways. He could smell it. The blood and the loss.

"How long have you...." His voice drifts off, like the rest of the question would only break you further. It probably would.

"Last night," You manage between gasps, tears wetting your face and neck, leaving dark spots on your collar.

"Are you in any pain?" He asks, and you nod again, clutching your lower stomach in answer.

Cassian stands and disappears. You can hear sounds of rummaging, zipping and scraping as you bury your face in your hands. Azriel's questioning pulls are growing closer together and more frantic.

Cassian returns with his pack slung over his shoulder, a pair of his sweatpants in hand. He grabs your shoulders gently and pulls you up. Then he holds out the sweatpants for you to step into, letting you brace yourself on his shoulders. He scoops you up without a word and you let your head fall against his shoulder, tears never ceasing.

•✦•✦•✦•

The House of Wind comes into view and Cassian can make out Azriel, pacing back and forth on the balcony. As soon as you are close enough, his shadows dart toward you in the sky, circling to check for injuries. You're not sure what they'll tell him.

Cassian lands smoothly and you are instantly handed to Azriel, his familiar warmth pulling a fresh wave of tears down your face. His anxious face is looking down at you and can't stand the tenderness, letting your eyes close. He's whispering with Cassian and you can't hear what they're saying inside your bubble of grief. But you feel a wave of sorrow through the bond and you silently thank Cassian for saying the words you couldn't conjure.

Azriel is taking you inside, holding you tightly against him, and you can hear the sound of beating wings as Cassian takes off again.

You hear the thud of Az's boots on the floor, then you're shifting in his arms as he sits cross legged on the couch and pulls you into his lap. You pull your knees to your chest and he wraps his arms around you.

"I'm sorry," you croak, voice hoarse from crying.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," His deep voice rumbles in his chest and the vibrations are comforting. His fingers are running through your hair, soft kisses pressed to your forehead. His other hand rubs your back in soothing circles.

Cassian returns soon with Madja, carrying her bag of supplies. You are looking deliberately anywhere but at their faces, not able to bear any sadness or compassion you might find. Such shame has enveloped you, but you're not even sure what for. You don't have the words for it.

She lets you stay in Azriel's arms as she examines you. Her hands glow with a golden aura as she moves them up and down, then centers them over your lower abdomen. You feel a strange tingling as her magic pulses through you, returning back to her with information about your condition. The room is silent as she works, watching and waiting.

When Madja is done, she runs a tender hand across your forehead, brushing your hair back from your face.

"You were right, dear," She says, her voice is kind but with no pity like you feared, "A miscarriage. An early one, likely about six to eight weeks. They're sadly very common in early pregnancy."

Azriel's hands tighten around you, your gaze too focused on the healer to see the tremble of his bottom lip. But Cassian sees it, and it splits his heart in two. Madja places a few vials on the coffee table and continues,

"Take one of these a day and they'll help with the pain and ward off infection. You'll want to keep in mind that your emotions may be a little high as your hormones even back out. And plan for your next cycle to be extra heavy. I'd like to see you around that time to make sure all is well."

You nod, biting your bottom lip to keep the crying from starting again. You want to ask her about the overwhelming sorrow you feel, if that's normal or not. But she presses a hand to your cheek and gives you a sad smile and you understand that she knows what you're feeling.

"I'm sorry for your loss, my dear," she says, then turns to Azriel and presses her hand to his face in turn, "I know that you don't need my warning, because you're a good man and you'll support her. But don't for a moment let her believe that this was her fault. There was nothing anyone could have done, and now she needs to rest and heal. And you take care of yourself, as well."

You look up at Azriel's face and watch him give a grave nod. He looks down at you, a few tears falling down his face, and you wipe them away as your own begin again.

•✦•✦•✦•

The next few days are spent in your shared room, curled up in the bed. Mourning, crying, sometimes smiling and laughing over daydreams of what could have been. Your beautiful possibility.

Your fear of Azriel's reaction entirely melts away. He grieves with you, tenderly reassures you that you've done nothing wrong. That when the time comes again you'll make a wonderful mother and he'll welcome the new life with you. He begins the habit of calling your lost one your little star. It somehow soothes and sharpens the pain at the same time.

You did not know it was possible to miss something you'd only had for such a short time. To feel such an unbearable amount of love for something you had not even held in your arms. And you knew the love would not go away even though your little star was no longer with you. All of that love would stay in your heart until your last day on earth, and beyond that it would burn in the sky as a glittering star when you were finally reunited with your baby. Someday, you would grow around the grief and your body would learn to hold it with less pain, but until then your very bones would ache with the loss.

•✦•✦•✦•

When you're ready, a handful of your friends gather with you to say goodbye. Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta follow you to the Sidra under the full moon. They were the only ones who knew, yet. In time you'd tell all of them, but it was all too fragile still. You couldn't even think the words without a lump forming in your throat. Rhys knew and had sent his condolences, and you suspected his absence was out of respect to your privacy.

Nesta and Feyre had helped you begin to return to normal, coming over in the morning to braid your hair and make sure you had breakfast. Even though Azriel had never left your side. Slowly, the shock faded away into the dull ache of mourning, the numbness in your body giving way to the aftermath of its loss.

Today, Nesta held your coat out for you and tucked your scarf around your neck. When you slip your hands into your pockets, you find something waiting for you. You pull it out, holding it flat in your palm to examine.

A bracelet. Strands of light pink, light blue, and gold woven together. A tiny golden star charm dangled from it. You look at Nesta with a wobbly chin, eyes glistening, and she smiles, giving your arm a squeeze.

Now, you kneel at the edge of the Sidra, near the mouth of the river pouring into the sea. The moonlight dances on the gently flowing water, stars glimmering as far as the eye could see.

You murmur your prayer and place your lantern in the water, watching the current carry it away to the sea. Azriel sits beside you and pulls you tight against his side, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. His tears are cold against your skin. You watch the little light drift away toward the horizon, staying until the cold of the ground seeps through your shoes and the lantern has long since disappeared.

Mother hold you, little star. May she greet you with all the love and tenderness I cannot give you, and may she keep you close until I leave this earth and come to meet you. As long as I am breathing, you will not leave my heart for a moment.

[pit-and-the-pen]

You Found Me

Summary:A mission gone wrong. Can Azriel get to you in time to save you? 

Warnings: Wing cutting, gore, descriptions of pain, near character death, angsty angst, one singular use of y/n 

Disclaimer: This is a dark one so please use caution when reading and please let me know if there is any warning I need to add.

WC: ~3k

Walking into that house, you instantly knew something was wrong. Every part of your body was screaming at you to turn around and leave, calling for one of the male to come and help you. But that small prideful part of you, remembering that small joke that Cassian made the other day, you’d be lost without us sweetheart, kept you from doing exactly that. Needing to prove that you didn't always need the Illyrian soldiers to come clean up your messes. 

So you pushed down that little voice in your head and gripped your sword a little tighter, wings flaring out behind you at the unease in your stomach. Taking a step past the doorway, you held your breath, ears scanning the room for any sound other than your racing heart. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself down. It didn’t work in the slightest. 

Your hands were trembling on the grip you had on the hilt of your sword and you mentally cursed yourself. Get it together. All you had to do was look for some notebook Azriel had gained some information about. Just a notebook and you could leave. 

Taking one more step, you almost missed it. The soft click of a trap locking into place. Your breathing all but stopped, eyes flickering around the room trying to glean any information about what just happened. Nothing. Listening even harder you could vaguely hear the sound of someone else’s breathing and that was enough to send a jolt of fear through you. You were truly trapped. Thinking only a second longer than necessary, you moved your foot off the loose floorboard. Deciding that the trap would be better than whoever else you heard in the room. 

The dart that shot out from the wall across from you was easy enough to dodge but the net that swept you off your feet took you by complete surprise. Your sword had slipped from your hand in your shock and you started to struggle against the rope cage. Something sharp dug into your arm and you cried out. The room instantly seemed to tilt on its head as your eyes fell shut. 

Your head was pounding when your eyes finally opened. Shooting up as the events from before caught up with you again. 

When your eyes finally opened again, you were unsure of how much time had passed. Only aware of the sting in your shoulders from where they were pinned above your head. Willing your eyes to focus you made out two figures standing in front of you. 

“Well good morning.” The shorter female said to you. “Thought I’d heard someone sniffing around. Didn’t think it would be anyone other than those two bastards.” She chuckled and you tried to pull against the chains. The pain that shot through you only made you cry out again. 

“I think we better let them know what happens when they poke their noses in other courts' business.” 

You didn’t have a chance to feel relief from being let out of those chains. You were pushed onto a blood splattered table. The female coming up behind you. She pulled the long blade from her side and waved it in front of your face. 

“Such a shame.” She muttered mostly to herself. You went to leap at her before two strong sets of hands pinned you back down. The cold metal trailed over your shoulders and sheer terror ripped through you. 

It was agony. The blade is far too dull to be making contact with anything let alone your delicate wings. You were thrashing around, the hands of your captors barely able to pin you down. Screams were flowing freely from your mouth, tangling with curses. Blood was caked under your nails, both yours and from the few good swipes you have managed to get in as their grip tightened on you. You tried to block out the pain, tried to ignore the way your entire body was drowning in it. Breathing hurts. The sickening thud against the floor told you all you needed to know. Your wings were gone. Your screams continued as the pain still coursed through every nerve. The blood would not stop. That slightly herbal smell in the air told you what was on those blades, faebane. A new wave of panic coursed through you. With the faebane you wouldn’t heal. You would bleed out before it wore off. You were going to bleed out in the middle of this gods damned house and no one would know until it was too late. 

Calm down. Think. You tried to tell yourself but as your vision started to darken around the edges you couldn’t stop the panic that was threatening to take you under. 

So you did the only thing you could think of. You stopped thrashing. Stopped screaming. Tucked that pain into a little part of you to make it seem like you had passed out. It wasn’t far off from how you felt. The pain threatened to pull you under. But you willed yourself to Stay awake even as you close your eyes. Rhys would have been able to tell something was off. 

Your captors said something you couldn’t quite fully make out but the slamming of a door mixed with their sickening laughter fading let you know they were no longer in the house. Forcing your eyes back open, you gathered the strength to reach a hand to your mangled back. Shaky hand reaching to inspect the full scope of damage. The damage that the faesbane was preventing from healing. When you pulled your hand away from your back you knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. They came away sticky and red and you had to force your vision to stop swirling. 

The house was eerily quiet. Until a flurry of grunts and cries reached your ears. You knew that voice. Azriel. At least you could see him one last time. It might even be worth it just to see his face before it all faded away. 

“y/n” He all but screamed into the room. You let out a meek response and you heard his unusually heavy footsteps freeze. A cry was pulled from his lips and you forced your eyes to focus on him.

“I knew you would find me” Your eyes were so heavy. 

“No. Stay awake,” You could barely register the sob that broke through his body. “You have to stay awake for me sweet girl.”

You tried your best but you could feel your eyelids screaming in protest. Begging you to just go to sleep. His shadows were wrapping around you, trying to keep pressure on your wounds. 

“Rhys and Cassian are going to be here any second now. You have to be awake when they get here.” Not good enough. You could almost hear the gears in his brain as he searched for the next thing to say. 

“I remember the first time I ever saw you.” His voice so much closer now, close enough that he took your hand in his. The pressure makes your eyes widen a little bit. He swam in and out of your vision, black spots beginning to take over. 

“You had just gotten into a fight. I didn’t see what started it, just came running when Rhys told me he saw it happening.” You blinked unfocused up at him. Trying your  best to remember. “We were all ready to jump in and protect you but you had the assholes on the ground by the time we all got there.” He laughed. The sound warming your body, when had it gotten so cold? “You managed to put three full grown Illyrian soldiers on their ass in a matter of minutes. Managed to smile at us as we showed up.” He paused 

“Wanna be next?” You rasped out. You could make out his smile through the haze. 

“The first thing you ever said to me was you seeing if you should kick our asses too. You weren’t scared of us, you weren’t, aren’t, scared of anything.” 

“That’s not true.” It was a fight to get the words out. Your voice sounded far away. “Azriel, I have to tell you something.” 

“No.” He all but growled. “You’ll tell me when we get back home.” 

You used the little bit of strength you had left to raise your arm to his face. He didn’t flinch at the blood left there. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years now.” There. You had finally said it. Your eyes had gotten too heavy to keep them open any longer. 

“Please. Just a little longer, sweetheart.” You couldn’t honor the request. Couldn’t fight the screaming muscles as your eyes flickered closed. Everything faded away as you drifted off to sleep. 

It felt like flying. Soaring high above everyone and everything. The pain that had been running through your body didn’t stop the moment my eyes closed, but even a little bit of reprieve was better than nothing. You would have let out a sigh of relief if you could have, but it didn’t seem like you had any control over your lungs at the moment. It was too confusing to try to figure out exactly why. 

Closing your eyes, you could almost feel a thread slipping over you. It was warm and letting go of it seemed so wrong. Your mind tried to grab onto it, hold it tighter but it was no use. Like trying to catch a bar of soap in the shower. Slipping out of your mind the harder you held on. It faded away and the screaming building in my throat got stuck as the last bit of feeling slipped away into nothingness. 

✦✦✦

The next moments were some of the worst of his life. Azriel watched your eyes flicker shut. Screaming at Rhys to hurry up. Begging the gods, anyone that would listen, to keep your heart beating. A heart he still heard the faint rhythm of. That was the hope he had to cling to. Not the ribbons carved out of your back. Not the way you felt so much lighter in his hold. No he could only focus on the fact that you were still alive in his arms. 

So he counted each heartbeat. The words echoing around his head. I love you. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say it back. He would scream it from the highest mountain if it would keep you here with him. Almost there. Rhys’ voice rang through his head. She doesn’t have a lot of time. Please. Azriel sent the scene in front of him and he heard the frantic buzz in Rhys’ mind, speeding up to get to her. Azriel was already tearing through the house to get you to where he could winnow but the damned wards were surrounding the house farther than he could get you to and he was afraid to fly with you in your current condition. He would need Rhys here to break the wards. 

Azriel was too caught up in his thoughts to see the minor wounds on you starting to heal. Fading to nothing but pink marks. The larger ones were finally starting to clot. But he was too caught up in the flood of grief that was circling him, he could have drowned in it but he had to hold out. He had to hope that she was coming back. Azriel didn’t think he would survive her being gone. 

The commotion outside let him know his brothers had finally arrived. He almost let out a sigh of relief. Almost. If it didn’t feel like his heart was outside of his body right now. Still listening to the faint sound in your chest. Still beating. It was the only thing holding him back from losing it completely. 

Rhys and Cassian caught up with him and he fought the urge to bite Rhys’ head off as he slipped your unconscious form into his arms. He couldn’t help but wince at the way you looked so frail covered in your own blood. He had never seen either of his brothers so pale before. He thanked whatever gods that he hadn't already cursed when Rhys was finally able to winnow you all back to Velaris. 

Madja had to all but throw him out of the room when she started to get to work. “I can’t heal anything with your shadows flying all over the place.” the old healer barked at him. He was about to argue back before he caught Rhys’ eyes, the small shake of his brother's head left him storming out of the room. He didn’t go further than the door frame. Unable to look away as  he watched Madja’s deft hands attempt to fix your back. He spent hours outside in the hallway. Practically wearing a path in the floorboards from his pacing. His wings were flared out beside him. He tried his hardest to reign them in. Their weight felt wrong against his back, the same way you had felt so wrong in his arms from your lack of wings. How he wishes he could have gotten to you sooner. How he wishes he could have spent more time carving up the monsters that did this to you. He doesn’t regret getting you out of there, the exact opposite. Madja had said that even a few minutes more and the blood loss would have been too great. His heart ached in a way he never imagined at the thought of what could have happened. 

Cassian finally walked out of the room. Shoulders hunched and wings dangerously close to sweeping across the ground. He looked as exhausted as Azriel felt. 

“You should go in. She’s not waking up anytime soon but you should be the first one she sees.” Was all Cassian said as he passed Azriel. He didn’t hesitate before he walked back into the room and the relief he felt at seeing you was instantaneous. Someone had thought to clean you up. The blood that covered your skin gone, the metallic scent being the only reminder it was even there in the first place. 

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

Your eyes shot open. A yelp left your lips and you shot up off the surface you were laying on. Warm hands wrapped around your arm and you tried to push them off. 

“I’m here. You’re safe. It’s just me.” Azriel’s voice soothed your rising panic. Safe. You let your surroundings sink in then. The soft mattress underneath you. The familiar feeling of your blankets against your skin. Your body relaxed slightly until your memories started flooding back to you. Instinctually, you went to flex your wings. Your whole body screams in protest and it really begins to dawn on you. 

“So it wasn’t a bad dream.” You sniffled, wanting nothing more than to disappear from those intense hazel eyes. Eyes that held nothing but pain and guilt as they looked at you. 

“I’m so sorry… we should have never let you go by yourself.” He tried to pull you against his chest and released you like you had burned him when you flinched at the contact. 

“I want to see.” He froze at your words. No further explanation was needed. A small rational part of your mind knows that you should focus on healing, focus on the fact that you had lived. But you needed to see with your own two eyes that your wings were no longer there. 

Azriel opened his mouth like he was going to protest but quickly shut it. Instead, he held out a hand for you to grab. You did so and rose on wobbly legs. 

He led you to the floor length mirror across the room. His hand not leaving yours as you took in your appearance. 

White hot shame filled your body. Your wings had been one of the biggest testaments to your strength. The fact that you could still fly as even a half-illyrian female was one of your biggest sources of pride. Proof that you had survived. Now, as you turned to get a better look at your back, you balked at the angry marks that took up over half of your back. The stitches still holding the angry looking skin together. The sob left your body before you could even stop it. Azriel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you upright. Legs refusing to hold you up anymore.

When Azriel turned to face you, you found yourself unable to look him in the eyes. Your own lingering on the floor. A gentle finger under your chin tipped your face up to meet his. 

“Talk to me, pretty girl? What’s going on in that head of yours.” You could only shake your head. Unable to find the words. Your brain is so distracted that you didn’t even fully process the name he just called you. 

“Do you want to go lay back down?” Nodding, he helped you walk over to your bed again. But this time he crawled in behind you. 

“Is this okay?” He asked before he got any closer. 

“Please don’t go.” Was all you could respond with. Not caring how desperate it might have made you sound.” 

“Of course not. I’ll stay right here until you tell me otherwise.” He sat right next to you and you let out a heavy sigh before you laid your head on his lap. 

“Why did you stay? I don’t see any of the others.” You questioned after a few minutes of silence. Your eyes were starting to get heavy again but you wanted to talk to him more. 

“We all decided that it should be me here when you woke up. Not like I left the room anyways.” He said softly. 

“Why?” Was the only thing you could think to say. 

“Because I love you too,” His hand had started to brush over your hair, fingers combing through the knots. “And you love me.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say to that. He continue on,

“You seemed so…so calm when I got to you” His voice was barely above a whisper now, my ears struggling to hear him. 

“Because I knew you would find me.” You said as you allowed yourself to drift into a peaceful sleep. 

[viktoriaashleyyx]

You know how some people say that they could never forgive Tamlin and if he does get a redemption arc they will just "roll their eyes" the entire time?

That's exactly how I feel about RhySAnd.

I drugged through 2 books waiting for this motherfucker to at least apologize for humiliating, drugging and SAing Feyre so bad she vomited nightly. I cannot forget how he treated her UtM. They wouldn't be together if he hadn't twisted her broken arm to get her to agree to a deal. It's beyond forgiveness.

They say that Tamlins trauma doesn't excuse how he treated Feyre, NEITHER DOES rhySAnds!!!

Well "he had reasons" so did Tamlin.

I would take yall more seriously if yall weren't such big hypocrites.

[gotta-spew-words-somewhere]

Countdown: 7

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: the one where things go rapidly downhill

TW’s: blood, injury, nightmares, angst, broody inner turmoil, a sharp turn from a great time

A/N: You can pry my italics out of my cold dead hands

~~~~~~~~~~

Reader POV

You awake in panic, hair and clothes sticking to your body as you greedily gulp down air— the night silent except for your fear.

That had been different— not your usual bitter flavour of night terror, but something new. Something awful. The ghost pains of flame licking your skin, of ash in your back still linger, and you swallow down the burn in your chest that threatens to overcome you.

Water. You need water.

The journey downstairs to your kitchenette is short, but lingering terror still clings to your skin— it’s only a few steps, but the dagger you use as comfort finds itself strapped to your thigh anyway.

And you’re so, so glad of that when you hear the bell of your definitely, 100% locked door break the silence.

It’s Azriel. You fucking know it’s Azriel. It’s never been anyone else.

But the footsteps are heavy and shuffled, and your dagger is tight in your grip.

“It’s me,” he calls, voice flat and exhausted and tinged with pain, and you’re rushing to the store front with speed long-since accessed.

“Shit. Shit. What are you doing here?” Your dagger has fallen, resting inches from his knee where he fucking kneels, head bowed and one wing extended—- one wing pierced with ash and shining with fresh blood. Panic begins to crawl up your throat again.

“Thought I’d drop in, say hi.” You could fucking smack him— now is not the time for jokes, but you drop to your knees, hands fluttering but not-quite-touching the wound.

“You know I’m not a fucking healer, right? You need to call Madja. Or the High Lord. He’s like, daemati right? If I yell in my head he’ll hear? Is that how it works?” Words will not stop rushing out, your eyes glued to the thin rivers of blood that aren’t slowing, aren’t clotting or stopping.

Large, scarred palms grab yours and finally still them, drawing your attention back to his face. And he’s fucking smiling.

“I’m fine. I just need the arrow out and then I’ll heal up straight away. Stop, just—- calm down.”

“Calm down?” You hiss with a venom that you hope is entirely unlike you, eyes wide and searching— is he fucking mad?

“I’m fine. I swear it. Just help me get it out and you’ll see.” The level of his voice, the firm grip of his hands seems to work, seems to calm the thumping beneath your ribs. You take one, two, three deep breaths, and offer a shallow nod.

“Okay, tell me what to do.”

———————

Azriel POV

It fucking hurts, but your hands are steady as you cleave the head from the arrow with that same dagger you had charged into the room with. But the pain is bearable here, when he has the excuse of injury to freely watch your face as you work, the way your brow puckers and your tongue peaks out in concentration.

Pretty.

He doesn’t even acknowledge the shadow, so used to this chant they’ve made specially for you.

“I’m gonna pull it now, okay?” The waver in your voice tugs at his heart, and the guilt of placing this on you washes over him once again.

He’s right— he is fine. An injury not worth waking Madja, but too difficult to tend to himself. He had considered waking Cassian or Rhys, but…

If he’s truly honest, the only Fae he wants touching his wings is you.

The gentle brush of your palm across the membrane forces a shudder through him, and your apologetic smile tells him you don’t understand, don’t know the effect of having someone like you touch him there can have.

And then you free the ash. He groans, jaw tightening and eyes shut as you fuss and apologise despite doing everything right.

“Oh mother, are you okay? I’m so sorry— shall I start mind-screaming? Will he hear me?”

Azriel opens his eyes just in time to see you scrunch yours shut, concentration leaking across your features, and he quells the urge to kiss it away.

Why am I getting yelled at by a shopkeeper about you bleeding on her floor at 4am?

Fuck. He didn’t think for a moment you’d actually reach him.

“Stop it,” he hisses quickly, although his eyes dance with quiet laughter. “I’m fine and you just woke up the High Lord.”

Your face pales and eyes open wide, blinking with a sort of abject horror that nearly breaks his composure. “Oh shit.”

Az?

Stay where you are, I’m coming.

No—- Don’t. No need. I’m fine, just ran into an overdramatic, uh, friend. Everything’s fine.

Friend?

He raises his shields up before the prodding curiosity of his brother’s talons can weasel out anything he isn’t feeling ready to give.

“Do you need to go? Or— mother, is he coming here?” Your expression is still stricken, a mix between panic and bewilderment, and Azriel has to stifle a laugh.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” True to his word, the gash in his wing was already scabbing, likely fresh and shiny within a couple of hours.

Your eyes lock with his, and finally, you let out a hysterical laugh, tension bleeding from your stature until you’re almost a rag doll on your bloodstained floor.

And he knows that just for a few moments, Azriel has managed to creep behind that supernaturally unflappable facade— the female who had threatened to kick him out of her shop, who never bat an eyelid at his sudden appearance or affectionate shadows— finally, he can see the cracks of the unshakable front that serves you so well.

Without thought, he gathers your still laughing form and pulls you onto his lap. You squeak and twist, eyes glued to the rapidly shrinking gash on his wings, but settle against him, and hand tangling on his shirt.

“If you ever burst into my shop bleeding and crack a fucking joke again, I’ll give you a matching wound myself.” He believes you, and doesn’t fight the urge to kiss your teasing scowl away.

You do, however— pulling back with narrowed eyes and a gentle swat at his chest. “No funny business, you literally have a hole in you.”

But he’s not listening, not now— he’s caught the scent of something on your skin. Without explanation, he leans forward and presses his nose to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deep even as you try and wiggle away.

The giddy mood vanishes in an instant.

“What’s happened?” Fear. Bone deep, all consuming fear clings to your skin, hiding beneath the scent of his blood and your more recent worry.

“Did you hit your head? You showed up at my door with a hole in your wing.” Confusion with a hint of defensive colours your expression, and the burning in Azriels chest beats out the pain of his wing.

“Not that. You were scared— that’s why you had that dagger again. What’s going on?” Without conscious direction, every shadow in the building swarms, pooling and seething a hunting for whatever could cause such a reaction from you.

They find nothing but the scent of fear, strongest in your bedroom that still holds the remnant scent of his presence.

“It’s nothing, Az.” You’re still on his lap, but your tone holds that same note of finality it did that first night— a boundary, one that seems to fester and grow in the space between your bodies.

“It’s not ‘nothing’, you were scared,” a creeping feeling of something dark and unpleasant is beginning to settle at his shoulders.

“I— it’s not—- I don’t want to talk about this with you.” Those cracks in your facade have sealed up so quickly, it’s like they were never even there.

“Why? I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I am safe. Just ‘cus we slept together doesn’t mean you get access to every little fucking aspect of my life.” The closeness of your bodies feels wrong after words like that, and you sense it too, scurrying from his lap and rising to your feet. There’s nothing but quiet anger in your expression now, eyes hard and unyielding.

And the thing is, you’re right.

He knows next to nothing about you. And you know even less about him. You may have welcomed him into your home— and your bed— but there has been nothing beyond that.

Your family are an unknown. Your past and beliefs a mystery. All it had taken for him to trust you with his wings had been two cups of tea and a fuck.

He’s a fucking idiot.

Of course this is too good to be true. How could a male like him even dare hope to find the sort of peace you offer— the secrets go both ways, and that slippery feeling of disgust trickles down his spine.

He may not know you, but you don’t know him. And if you did—- if that boundary is ever crossed or shattered, what would you think of him then? Knowing that a the little trickle of blood on his wing isn’t a drop in the Sidra compared to that he’s spilled.

A long, slow breath and he rises, but keeps that careful distance between you.

“You’re right. I need to go, anyway.” Your expression softens just a touch, but you don’t move, don’t try to argue. “Thank you for the help.”

And just like that first night, he’s out the door before your eyes can drag him back in.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Taglist, Baybee!

@lreadsstuff | @rcarbo1 | @zanaorian

[offtorivendell]

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant." The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain. It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline. In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

TW: death, infertility, pregnancy and childbirth related trauma. Also a brief mention of sexual assault.

Hi anon,

Respectfully, please stop being deliberately obtuse. Let's break this down, line by line.

What you all seem to be missing is that this isn't even a topic of infertility, it's of delivery. The discussion is NEVER "can Elain get pregnant" because the problem was not "could Feyre get pregnant."

I'm aware! I assume that you sent me this ask because I reblogged an old post of mine yesterday, so what you seem to be missing is that I've already discussed this.

Here, where I implicitly acknowledged both infertility and trauma related to pregnancy and childbirth as potential triggers in the post:

And here, where I explicitly stated that we know you guys don't mean that Elain is unable to conceive at all - which is impossible to know, as per the text she hasn't tried. If you read what I wrote, you'd see I said that - assuming Nesta had not changed her anatomy and would not be able to in the future, or that Elriel would even conceive winged children if they wanted kids at all - Elain and Azriel together would be functionally infertile*, as any child with wings (which is not a guarantee, by the way, though as you guys treat it as a foregone conclusion I worked off that premise) would die before or during birth, killing Elain at the same time.

* Is it more correct to say they'd suffer from "impaired fecundity"? Yes! But please read a little further.

The plot introduced into the series was what happens after she became pregnant and carried the baby to term, could a non Illyrian safely deliver a baby with wings which has now carried over into the discussion of Elain since it's canon that Feyre and Nesta were changed while we were not told the same of Elain.

It's really not hard to understand that we are discussing a fictional woman's ability to successfully have a specific man's children, and that their impaired fecundity does not (or should not) impact her worthiness to be loved by that man; that it has been equated to the struggles that many real, living people have experienced with regards to conceiving, carrying their babies to term and giving birth; and that - while an oversimplification - all these issues are being lumped under the umbrella of "infertility struggles" to be concise and accessible.

That being said, let me correct you quickly. While you very carefully said that we were "not told the same of Elain," with regards to Nesta changing her anatomy, you neglected to mention that SJM actually had her choose wording that didn't explicitly exclude Elain from the change, either.

The brisk spring wind whipped her golden-brown hair across her face. “I gave it back to the Cauldron in exchange for the knowledge of how to save them.” She swallowed. “But a little remains. I think something else—someone else—stopped the Cauldron from taking all of it. And I made some changes of my own.” The Mother. The only being who would see the sacrifice Nesta had made and give a little back. Perhaps it was she who had peered out at them through the Mask. “What did you change?” Nesta rested a hand on her abdomen. “I changed myself a little, too. So none of us will have to go through this again.” - ACOSF, chapter 78

Also of note, Nesta specified she had the "knowledge" to perform the change, which suggests that even if Elain wasn't changed then, it could be done in the future.

It's not a reason Elain can't be with Az...

Literally all that ever needs to be said on the topic.

... but it is a valid topic of discussion within this series since the author posed it as a plotline.

You should have stopped after the first half of the sentence. Elain's lack of pliable bones - ie. the second half of the "Illyrian womb" discussion that posits Gwyn as the only logical love interest - is not even a medically accurate theory, so it shouldn't be entertained full stop. While SJM may have posed Illyrian womb/wing issues as an issue for Feyre and Rhys, she never suggested it would impact any couple's decision to get or stay together. In fact, Nesta and Cassian were mates while Nesta was still unable to birth winged babies, too.

In the real world, most women safely choose a Caesarean section if they're dealing with delivery issues in their pregnancy so acting like delivering a winged baby has real world implications is simply you jumping on a pedestal for something to yell about. That's not to say there aren't delivery issues in the real world but this scenario is not one of them.

Once again I'm asking you to put your thinking cap on.

Obviously we do not have to consider the delivery of winged babies in the real world, but if you cannot see how the frequent suggestion (that Elain's hypothetical inability to successfully have Azriel's children is a valid reason as to why an author would separate, or even hint at separating, a potential couple) could be hurtful and upsetting to the many people who have/are currently struggling with infertility - or who have lost their much wanted and loved babies during the course of pregnancy or childbirth - then I have to assume that you're either suffering from a catastrophic lack of empathy or, respectfully, you have a sheep or two loose in the top paddock.

As I mentioned in the post I linked above, if the fandom is (rightfully!) expected to handle the topic of Gwyn finding love after experiencing SA with grace - out of respect for real life assault survivors - then it is not wrong to expect the same degree of care in return when discussing the anatomy change in ACOSF, out of respect for those who have trauma associated with infertility, pregnancy and childbirth in real life. It's an incredibly simple act to listen in good faith, rather than jumping straight to accusing us of wanting to "yell about" something just because you are prioritising shipping discourse over being kind.

It's 2025, the "Elain doesn't have an Illyrian womb or pliable bones" theory is both medically inaccurate and hurtful, and it really needs to end here.

Please.

[harrystylesfan2686]

Alone

Pairing: no one really.

Summary: Reader starts to feel left out in her own family...

Warnings: Neglection. Suicide thoughts. Self harm (in detail) please go back if any of these bother you. Your mental heath matters more.

A/N: I think I need therapy too...

Masterlist Part 2(Azriel) Part 2(Eris)

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Ever wondered what it's like to be alone?

It's a game, really. A game of utter self degradation. A game where there are only two players, you and your mind. A game where you never truly win and you always have to keep playing because your brain never tires.

A game which no one else realizes your playing until you lose and it's too late.

It's the game you have been playing ever since the Archerons joined the inner circle. You love them all, honestly. Thier different personalities was the first thing that drew you to them. You admir all three of them but the one thing you hate is how you got left alone after their involvement to your life.

Before them, you all relied on all of you for company and support. Now, everybody has their own person.

Rhysand has Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, Azriel has Elain, and Mor and Amren have found thier partners too but in case they aren't present, Mor and Amren, as crazy as it sounds, rely on each other. Just like that, everybody has a person to go home to, to come back safely for, to turn to for comfort.

You don't have anyone.

You hate going home because your bed is always empty. You hate going on missions because you know no one would be worrying about you every minute you gone. You hate celebrations because you have no one to dance with, to drink with, to end the day with.

You love family dinners. Even though you never get a chance to speak, even though you never talk to anyone, even though no one notices your presence. You love family dinners and meetings because it's the only time youre not alone.

It's doesn't matter if you're lonely, at least you aren't alone.

But in the game you're playing with yourself, after a while, you get too tired to challenge back with same force. You don't push back the mean thoughts your mind throws at you as insults. You listen to them, compare them to your situation and realise, you've been trying to win for nothing.

You slowly stop trying to protect yourself all together.

The first time you didn't go to a family dinner, you thought you would regret it later but you didn't, instead you felt glad that you didn't go because no one had come to get you, no one came to ask why you didn't show, no one cared about you enough to think why you didn't go.

So you stopped going at all.

You stopped doing everything with you 'family' and prefered being left alone.

You only met them when you had a mission together or anything related to work.

Just like that, today you had gone to one of the Illyrian camps at Rhys orders. He got report saying things haven't been going as they should there and wanted you to go check. But on your way back you had been ambushed by a group of six men wanting to kill you in the camp, they couldn't of course but you did come out of the fight with a large sward wound on your left side.

All you wanted to do was go home, rest, tend to your wound and sleep. You can give the report to Rhys tomorrow.

You let out a grunt and step in your house, immediately tense seeing a shadow of a person move the dark room. Your hand placing itself in your dagger straped to your thigh, you other hand on the left side of your waist pressing on your wound.

"Relax, it's just me." A familiar voice fills the silence as the fae lights turn on and Rhysands face becomes visible. You sigh in relief and furrow your eyebrows,"What you doing so late in my house?" You nearly snap, but hold back as respect for your high lord.

"You came late you were suppose to be here two hours ago." For minute it feels like he cares for you, and you allow yourself to believe that he was worried for you but you fantasy shatters the second he opens his mouth again. "You were supposed to deliver your report two hours ago. You know how important this is, I have other things to do too." His voice sharp as he scolds you.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I got attacked while leaving, it took time to fight them of. It was six against one but well I managed to survive, eh?" Rhysand's scowl deepens. "Tell me what happened there now."

Your eyes closs for a second whem you feel dizzy. "Look, how about you give me ten minutes to freshen up, and I also have a wound to–," You try to say but he cuts you off saying,"I don't have more time. Tell me right now what happened so I can get started on fixing things, then you can have all the time to fresh up as you want. My office, now." He doesn't leave much to room to argue and winnows you to his office.

You sigh and start speaking, repeating everything you noticed in the camp as Rhysand listens and writes down the report. Near the end, you feel another wave of dizziness hit you and put your head down to rest it against the backrest of your chair and groan when you feel pain shoot up from your injury from the movement.

Rhysand finally notices the source of your pain and his eyes flare,"You're hurt?" You scoff. "Yes. That's what I was trying to tell you before you winnowed us here."

"I didnt notice it. I'm sorry, you should go tend to it." He quickly dismisses you, finally letting you go back to your house.

As you look at yourself in the mirror, thinking how filthy and hideous you seem, you grit your teeth. Of course no one notices you. Look at you. You are ugly and filled with dirt and scars all over your body.

How could anyone look at you when you can't even look at yourself.

Your gaze falls to your wound, the big cut that spread from under you left breast to the start of your thigh. If was deep enough to bleed you dry.

Would anyone even notice if you did? If you don't heal and let the injury bleed you dead. Would anyone know that you were gone? That your body layed unmoving in the bathroom floor. How long would it take for someone to find you? Who would find you? Probably Rhysand when he needs you for his next mission.

You eye your dagger that you unshielded on your way in the bathroom. How long would it take for you to bleed out? Hours? Days? You didn't want that. That was too much. You don't think you can handle that much pain constantly. Maybe if you took that dagger and deepen your cut, you would bleed out faster. Maybe you would have a faster death. Sure it would hurt but at least you would be gone before someone found you.

You would be free. Free of the loneliness. Free of the feeling like you were a burden in everyone's life. Free of wanting Someone to care for you the way you see everyone else care for their loved ones. You would finally be at peace.

You gasp and blink out the terrible thoughts. Breathing heavy, you search for the cotton and Healing cream in the cupboards. You groan out with you don't find any of them.

You turn back to the mirror. Maybe your brain is right. Maybe this is a sign from Mother herself telling you to not let the wound heal and die right here, right now. Your gaze finds the knife again, eyeing the sharp edge. Would it really be that bad?

Your hand grips the handle of the dagger, bringing it closer to the cut. You let the cold mettle edge scrap the skin, an inch afar the start of the cut. The sharp edge slicing through skin like paper, leaving a line of crimson red blood, seeping out of the newly cut skin.

Your eyes widen as you observe yourself, keeping the knife near the cut but not touching it entirely.

It's... mesmerizing. The way blood slowly comes out of the skin, the small and steady lines created by your dagger are engrossing. And the pain, the pain is hypnotizing, slowing raising to the rest of your body. Your body feels electrified, there's snips of pain tingling through out your entire body, your ears buzzing with excitement. Your hands are shaking and eyes bluring but all you can focus on is how much you want to do this again. Feel your skin open beneath you knife again. Feel the pain that slowing raises with each extra inch of cut.

Oh gods. What have you done?

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[thehighladywrites]

- “if it is so wrong, why does it feel so good?”

pairing: stalker/perv!azriel x reader, nesta, elain and feyre mentioned

summary: stalking and perving is azriel’s favorite activities. What happens when you finally drop the oblivious mask and confront him

warnings: dark content, stalking, perving (on literally everyone), breaking and entering, stealing panties, az having a darker side, getting turned on by your fear, az eating you out, reader being bold and hot as fuck omg,

amara’s note: okay this is very short bc it’s my first time writing a dark fic. Also i hope you like it and pls read the warnings.

Azriel knows he is some sort of sick freak. He knows he should resist his sinful glances at Feyre when she's cozied up on Rhysand's lap. He flexes a little extra just to spark Nesta's desires, fully aware of her fantasies. And as for Elain, well, let's just say he's playing a forbidden game of spying while she bends over to plant her greens.

Azriel's is extremely aware he shouldn't be harboring forbidden desires or indulging in the secret pleasure of stalking someone as seemingly innocent as yourself.

Azriel, the ultimate mastermind, keeps everyone guessing. Who would suspect the quiet, brooding and publicly respected spymaster to be a closeted perv and sick stalker? It's his most guarded secret hidden beneath the intimidating exterior.

Little does Azriel know, you're fully aware of his perverse behavior—his wandering eyes and spying shadows. It surprises you that no one has figured him out yet; after all, it seems quite apparent, doesn't it?

You don’t miss his lurking shadows following you around for hours. A regular fae would’ve missed it but not you. You’ve grown accustomed to him and his ways. You know him better than anyone else and you definitely know of his stalker tendencies.

Azriel believes he's smooth, avoiding outright ogling. Instead, he strategically glances at you during training with Cassian and while sharpening his weapons, subtly appreciating the way your body moves.

Pervert azriel walks up to you, complimenting your form, claiming while it’s good there’s something you need to fix. You don’t mind if he needs to grab your waist while fixing your pose right? And of course you’ll excuse him if he accidentally brushes against your boobs and ass. I mean he just wants to help you perfect your form!

He watches you walking through Velaris from the shadows, always hiding one of his shadows with you. He tells himself that he does it for your safety. Who knows, you might be attacked and he needs to be ready.

He absolutely doesn’t want to hear how much of a hypocrite he is for also stalking you in the safety of your home aswell.

Azriel steals your panties, silently breaking into your room as he looks through your drawers, skimming through the collection of panties. He promises himself it’s the last time, though he’s made the same pledge seven times before.

Azriel's stalking tendencies lead him to roam through your belongings, touching everything to become familiar with your world. He goes to your vanity, picking up your perfumes, and indulges in the forbidden pleasure of smelling the one thing he desires most—you.

Lying in your bed, his head on your pillow, he starts shifting in the sheets, inhaling more of your scent. He revels in the trespass and wrongness of being in your bed, knowing that you might catch a hint of his own scent lingering there, a twisted thought crossing his mind that it could confuse, frighten, or even arouse you.

His cock swells at the thought of you scared, heart beating fast, trying to place who the scent belongs to.

He looks around and finds one of your shirts on the bed and picks it up to his nose.

Then he does the one thing he swore he would never stoop to. He pulls out his already hard cock and strokes it while inhaling your scent from the shirt.

—

He has timed you and learned your schedule hence why he now knows that you’ll be in the shower for the next twenty minutes, giving him the perfect opportunity for his perverse activities. He’ll pick up the laciest most intricate pair, keeping it in his room as some sort of trophy with the other stuff he has taken from you. No one can enter into his room anyways, it’s safe…

Pervert Azriel looks through the little crack in your door as you stand there posing infront of a mirror while wearing pretty much nothing. A lacy little lingerie set as you touch your body, hands traveling all over your tits, waist, ass then up through your hair as you spin around, admiring yourself.

You know Azriel is standing at your door, he isn’t really all that subtle with his hand down his pants as he jerks off at the sight of you.

It’s almost enough to make your eyes roll back into the back of your head, fucking gods, he’s pathetic.

You wanted to fuck him for the longest time. He could just ask you to fuck and you’d say yes yet here he is thinking he’s slick as he pervs on you. Even with all that in mind, there’s a sick, twisted adrenaline rush spreading through your body at the thought of the esteemed and highly respected spymaster doing something so dark and wrong like this.

“I know you're there, Az. Come out,” you say, a wicked smile forming on your face as you plot to utterly humiliate him.

His entire body freezes and Azriel cautiously emerges from the shadows, realizing he's been caught. You maintain that mischievous grin, ready to unleash your plan. The air thickens with anticipation as the confrontation unfolds.

“Az?”

He looks like he’s about to jump out of the nearest window as he looks at you through the mirror.

“Yes?”

“Why are you such a disgusting little pervert? Here I am trying on some clothes and you’re just perving on me. How do you think that makes me feel? I mean I could be super afraid and you wouldn’t have any remorse? Who does something like that?”

Azriel's face heats up at the mocking question, flushing as he tries to respond.

“Az, I asked you a question,” you assert, walking over to him. His embarrassment is palpable as he apologizes, rambling about not knowing what came over him, begging you not to tell anyone.

You already know the answer, and a knowing smile plays on your lips as he seeks forgiveness.

“You’ve done a very bad thing, Azriel. Bad people deserve to be punished. You of all people understand that, right?”

Pushing him back onto one of the sofas in your room, you creep closer, leaning over to whisper. Looking down at him, you place your hand on his cheek, letting your nails dig in a little.

“I think you deserved to be punished.”

Azriel's heart raced, fearing exposure for his hidden activities. Was this it? Would you punish him by revealing his actions to everyone?

Before he could plead for forgiveness, you stood up, walking back to your bed and beckoning him over with two fingers.

As he approached, ready to sit, you extended your leg, placing your foot on his stomach, halting him in his tracks..

“Not so fast,” you assert, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “The bed is reserved for me. You can kneel on the floor.”

Azriel complies, gracefully sinking to his knees. His gaze meets yours, his beautiful eyes revealing a mixture of submission and desire.

“You’re going to eat my pussy. If you manage to make me cum, I won’t tell anyone about your disgusting behavior, understand?”

He couldn't believe what was unfolding. Was he really about to taste you? About to experience the fantasy he'd daydreamed about every single day? He nods, but a disapproving tsk follows.

“I need more than a nod, Azriel. Do you understand?”

A quick, “Yes, I understand,” escapes his lips.

You can't help but smile at the swiftness of his compliance.

“That’s good. Now, I’ll be taking off my bra and panties and they’re very expensive and new so they better not go missing.”

Azriel affirms his understanding and then proceeds to drool over the way you slowly strip infront of him before you spread your legs and tell him to start.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge as he dips his head down to run his tounge up and down your slit, tasting you before playing with your clit.

You gasp in pleasure, letting out moans as your hands find their way to his hair, urging him to keep going.

Azriel’s hands dig into your thighs that are currently smushing his head. He decides to let you continue, telling himself that if he dies like this, he'd go down as the happiest person in history.

“T-that’s it, right there.”

A breathy moan escapes your lips as you feel two of his fingers enter you. Your hands grab his dark soft hair as he started pumping his fingers, relishing at the way your soaking cunt is squelching and squeezing him.

You whimper at the way his thick fingers strecth you out then curl against that secret spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You start to slowly fuck yourself on them, eager for more of him.

“You taste even better than I imagined, fuck.”

His desperate voice only spurred you on.

It doesn’t take much longer for that feeling to build up in your stomach, the tight cord eventually snapping. You squeeze and throb around his fingers as you cum hard, letting out whines and mumbles.

Azriel helps you ride out your high, memorizing every facial expression in case this is the last time you ever let him this close again.

He pulls out his fingers and lick them clean then goes back and licks your pussy clean.

You let out a giggle at the sight before you, casting him a look of fake sympathy as you pull yourself together.

“Well, look at that. Seems like I’ll be keeping your secret after all. I mean, what a shame to loose such a good little pussy eater, right? I might just keep you around.”

You beckon him to rise, tossing your underwear onto the sofa before heading to the bathroom to clean up.

Glancing back at his flushed face and heavy breathing, you offer a secret smile.

“Who knows, next time I might even let you fuck me.”

Turning around, you leave him to his thoughts as the shower starts.

Azriel stands there for a moment, his desire evident. Unable to resist, he takes your panties and bra, always craving something of yours.

He promises to himself that he won't do it for an eighth time before hurrying back to his room, to finally help himself

🏷️ taglist: @stasiereads @clairebear08 @daycourtofficial @historiaxvanserra @rowaelinsdaughter @acourtofladydeath @acourtofwhatthefuck @redbleedingrose @danikamariewrites @readychilledwine @nocasdatsgay

[oristian]

“A Gwynriel book is unrealistic because Gwyn would have to heal from her SA in order to EVER have a fulfilling romance/love life.”

Rhys was sexually assaulted for almost fifty years—look at him and Feyre. Lidia was sexually assaulted—look at her and Ruhn. Nesta experienced sexual assault on page in the same book she was actively engaging in intercourse and exploring a romantic relationship with Cassian. Given Sarah’s track record, people are giving her far too much credit in that she would be able to articulate what being assaulted meant/did to Gwyn, or that she would be capable of portraying such an experience correctly.

It is also icky to reduce someone down to their experience and to state that they cannot have a fulfilling love life because of what happened to them. There are always exceptions, but that is never the rule. Try being a girl’s girl for once, yeah?

[copypastus]

@officialrhysandweek Day 5 - Survivor

What can I say? Any male is at their hottest when they're at their bloodiest and most beat up.

@taymartiart this one's for you <3

[dippedinmelancholy]

TW: Discussions of SA, consequences, and shit men interacting with women who have been sexually abused. I've been toying with this for a while, trying to find the answer for it on my own but I just can't seem to. Why does SJM treat SA so horrendously? All of her series have this underlying theme feminism, finding your strength, fighting back, ect. Which, on the surface, is amazing. Except multiple women have histories of either straight up SA'd or have endured something that is very much an allegory of SA. Lydia - CC3 Lydia is repeatedly SA'd by her partner, something she doesn't fight back against as it's part of her double agent business. This is an on screen example of very near martial rape. He's violent with her, only put off by her monthly cycle. Ruhn gets hints of it, but there's no denying his knowledge of her pain and her many years of abuse. The first time he and Lydia connect as a couple sexually, despite having this knowledge, he shows her no softness. Lydia herself has no issue with this. There's no sensual connection, no refutal that they don't need sex to care for one another, they don't need sex to seal their relationship. No character development for Ruhn who up to this point has been a borderline sex crazed frat boy. The sex is intense, and though it lacks hard violence, the undertones of ferocity are there. Nesta - ACOSF

Nesta is a victim of SA, something only Cassian has picked up clues on. First, she is assaulted by her fiance of the time. Then, she is violently assaulted by the Cauldron, because she fights back. If she had been a "good girl" and just taken the Cauldron's attention rather than fight back and try to escape, her abuse would not have been so bad, something that very easily and so very clearly translates to real world victims. Then, she is assaulted by the Kelpie. He wishes to make her his "bride", dragging her to a watery death where dozens of women before have died as well. It isn't spelled out for us, but any person with two brain cells can put it together. What do monstrous men do with their brides? What is the role and purpose of a bride? He too assaults her, and plans to rape her. Then, she encouters Lanthys who plans to make her his Queen to rule the world, and forces images into her mind, showing her exactly how he will take and taste her body. Four moments of sexual assault. Three from other worldly, mind breaking evil entities. The Cauldron is just as vile as the other two, corrupted by the Asteri and taking pleasure in hurting Nesta. Again, again, again, Cassian is confronted with instances of Nesta being violated. Again, again, again, he knows the way she has been sexually assaulted, sees how she tries to cope and fails horribly. And yet, how does every sexual encounter go? He is intense. He is borderline violent sexually, though he'd never raise a hand to her. He has no care to give her softness. He practically punishes her for calling it "just sex" despite her being a 20 something scared woman who's never had an impactful relationship where her body wasn't something to be traded and yielded like a fortune of gold, and him being a 500 yr old man who is supposedly supposed to understand women and be more emotionally mature/understanding than Rhysand or Azriel. The men, Fenris/Rhysand - ToG

Fenris and Rhysand too suffer from SA, both from the hands of powerful, cruel mistresses they are "serving" to protect someone they love. These two men are granted space to hurt, to cry, to not know what they want. The fandom in turn is soft with them. The text is sexually soft with Rhysand, though there's no sexual focus with Fenris (which is completely fine, his friendship with Aelin is powerful enough to me). Feyre is soft and understanding with Rhysand, as she should be, yet I can't help but notice this very obvious and stark difference. The Difference

Why are the women treated and written this way? Why are they given no softness, no space to not know what they want? Why are they not given partners who have the bare minimum sense to not rail them like a pornstar? As a victim of SA myself, I'm very much in favor of women reclaiming their sexuality and finding power in it. But there's no journey for these women, no healing. They simply are 'fine' in every sexual moment for their partners, because why would a woman be anything but a wet, willing hole for their partners? Moments after Cassian breaks Nesta wholly, when she was seconds away from jumping from the side of a cliff, he fucks her. She breaks down, sobbing and utterly alone, abused emotionally and physically by HIS HAND, and he fucks her. He tells her it will be fine because he suffered hundreds of years ago, and look, he's great! After all, half of the fandom collectively agrees Nesta should be grateful for being boiled alive, retorn and violated on every possible level. All because she happens to be cruel at times, she isn't a perfect victim, and why should she have any pain when Cassian is right there? All that matters is his wet cock.

There is a constant underlying theme here, across all of the series, all focused on the women, and an obvious opinion and writing habit. If you brush this off as 'it's just a book', I would like to remind you that most of the ACOTAR fanbase are women, young women who are often in their first or second relationship and just now understanding what they should accept in their relationships. It makes me very concerned for Gwyn, who has the most violent and tragic SA history. It makes me concerned for all women who don't see the underlying issues here. At it's core though, it just makes me sad.