Nic's Fics

Taurus, 28, ENFP. Come and join my ACOTAR angst-train 🚂 Requests are closed, lovelies ✨

[illyrian-dreamer]

ACOTAR Masterlist

GIF by kennedy1917sworld

*(Indicates smut)

Azriel:

Changing Shadows (complete series):

Summary: You have a new role in the Inner Circle — Heard Guard of Velaris. And as Rhys’s younger sister, you feel you have a lot to prove. 

You and the Shadowsinger are also growing closer, and tension builds as your relationship changes from friendship to something else...

How will you juggle your feelings for Azriel and the dangers that come with your new role, without disappointing the rest of the Inner Circle and the Night Court?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5* | Part 6* | Part 7* | Part 8 | Part 9* | Part 10 | Part 11* | Part 12* | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15* | Part 16* | Part 17* | Part 18* | Part 19* | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23* | Part 24 - Finale

Overwritten (complete series)

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5* | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 - Finale

And Then There Were None

Summary: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

Part 1 | Part 2

One shots:

A Shadowsinger’s intuition

Feel too much

Confessions at Starfall

Stay with me

Spin the bottle

In the arms of understanding*

Drabble:

Salad (fluff)

Cassian:

One shots:

Tides and turmoil

With benefits*

Remnants of a star

Azriel and Cassian:

Our Girl (series)

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4* | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Rhys:

Series

Dance with the devil

Summary: You attempt to rob the High Lord of the Night Court.

Part 1 |

One shots:

Two lessons in one*

Make a bargain with me

Bat boys:

Drabble:

Bat boys react to being called ‘bro’*

Brat taming bat boys *

Lucien: 

Frozen Flames (series)

Summary: After fifty years trapped Under the Mountain, you struggle to adjust to your new found freedom as Kallias’s third-in-charge to the Winter Court.

In an unlikely circumstance, you meet Lucien Vanserra.

As you and Lucien grow closer, dealing with the loss of your mother and trauma from Amarantha’s reign proves harder than you thought. How will you start to trust and love again?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5* | Part 6* | Part 7 | Part 8

Eris

One shots:

Conditions of entry*

Comment to join the tag list :)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Sarah J Maas, not my own.

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhys was trying to be serious. 

He truly, truly was. 

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore. 

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing. 

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. 

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered. 

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her. 

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more. 

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up. 

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?” 

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.” 

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you. 

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy. 

”Can I see it?” You asked. 

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye. 

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings. 

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you. 

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm.  “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.” 

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip.  “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious. 

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache. 

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence.  “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow. 

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood. 

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said. 

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care. 

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.” 

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Another pause. 

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision. 

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed. 

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else. 

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?” 

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it. 

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out.  Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort. 

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt. 

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned.  For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved. 

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more. 

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray.  A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words. 

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more. 

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed.  “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh.  He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest. 

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.” 

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple. 

You’d done it for Azriel. 

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair. 

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel.  “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now. 

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different. 

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke.  You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said. 

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say. 

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene. 

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion. 

“So... how do I look?” 

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

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[illyrian-dreamer]

I love it I love it I love it

[soulofapatrick]

Lessons in Flight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian teaches you to fly 

Words: 4K

Warnings: none really 

Y/N’s POV

The wind roars around me, threatening to tear me off the cliff before I even have a chance to embarrass myself. My toes curl in my boots as I glance nervously at the abyss below. Why did I agree to this? Oh, right. Cassian.

He stands a few feet away, the picture of ease and confidence. His massive wings are spread just enough to keep the wind from knocking him over, their black membranes catching the light in a way that’s unfairly mesmerising.

Not that the wings are the only mesmerising thing about him. Cassian is all golden-brown skin and lean, powerful muscle, with black hair that brushes his shoulders in wild, wind-tangled waves. His hazel eyes, sharp and glittering, keep flicking to me, and his rugged, devastatingly handsome face is pulled into the smirk that always sends my heart stumbling over itself.

“Are you planning to sprout wings today, or should I get a chair?” he calls, his deep voice cutting through the wind.

“Should I not be panicking right now?” I snap back, crossing my arms to keep from flailing. “Because I feel like I should absolutely be panicking.”

His grin widens, and I hate how good it looks on him. “No panicking allowed. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns, Cassian!”

He strolls closer, every step radiating that stupid, effortless confidence, and stops a breath away. His wings shift slightly, framing him in a way that makes him look impossibly larger. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning down just enough to meet my gaze. “I’m not going to let you fall.”

The sincerity in his tone knocks some of the breath from my lungs, and I scowl to cover it. “You say that, but you also laughed when I tripped on flat ground yesterday.”

“That was funny,” he says, completely unapologetic.

I shove at his chest—not that he budges an inch—and take a step back, glaring up at him. “You’re the worst.”

“And the best teacher you’ve got,” he counters, his smirk returning full force. “Now, focus. The wings are in you—you just have to bring them out.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You didn’t have to grow yours in front of an audience.”

Cassian barks a laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Trust me, if I could’ve skipped my adolescent flying attempts, I would have. Ask Rhys or Az—‘crash landing’ was basically my middle name for a decade.”

I glance at him, caught off guard by the admission, and find his hazel eyes sparkling with humour. The warmth in his expression is infectious, and against all odds, I laugh.

“There’s the smile,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just enough to make my cheeks flush.

I groan, scrubbing at my face. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

“Atta girl.”

I close my eyes and reach for the power thrumming beneath my skin. It feels alive, like a heartbeat, and as I focus, I picture wings—strong, sleek, and powerful.

The change happens faster than I expect. My back burns, like fire racing down my spine, and then—whoosh. Something bursts out behind me, and suddenly, I’m a lot heavier.

“Oh no,” I gasp as the weight of the wings sends me stumbling. My knees buckle, and my feet slip on the edge of the cliff.

“Whoa, whoa!” Cassian’s hands are there in an instant, strong and steady, gripping my waist and pulling me forward before I can tumble into oblivion.

I slam into his chest, and my brain short-circuits.

His body is solid, impossibly warm, and the scent of leather, pine, and something distinctly Cassian wraps around me, making my heart pound. His hands don’t move, firm on my waist, and I can feel the callouses on his fingers through my clothes.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice close and rough.

I look up—and immediately wish I hadn’t. His hazel eyes are inches from mine, bright with concern and amusement, and his stupid, perfect mouth is curved in a small smile.

“I—uh—yeah,” I stammer, trying to ignore the heat crawling up my neck.

His grin deepens, his thumbs brushing against my sides in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Big wings for such a little thing. No wonder you almost toppled over.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, shoving weakly at him.

He doesn’t let go. Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, his wings curl slightly, blocking the wind and cocooning us in a way that feels too intimate.

“You’re doing great,” he says softly, his tone free of teasing for once. “They’re heavy, but you’ll get used to it. You’re stronger than you think.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something warm and stupid bloom in my chest, and I immediately squash it. I step back, forcing some distance between us, and flex my shoulders experimentally. My new wings twitch, the tips dragging against the ground, but they move.

“There you go,” Cassian says, his grin returning. “See? Not so hard.”

“Not hard?” I echo, glaring at him. “I almost died!”

“And I saved you,” he says, winking. “You’re welcome.”

I groan, dragging a hand over my face as he starts laughing. But even as I glare at him, my lips twitch upward. Cassian may be insufferable, but he’s my insufferable—and for now, I think I’ll keep him.

The weight of my wings feels too much to bear. Every muscle in my back trembles under the strain as I try, and fail, to lift them. No matter how hard I focus, how badly I want to prove myself, they remain heavy, limp at my sides like the dead weight of a curse. Cassian’s hands, warm and solid against my hips, ground me, steadying my shaky posture. I can feel the strength in him, the way his hands hold me just tight enough, the heat radiating off him like he’s some kind of furnace. He doesn’t even seem to struggle with his wings, his massive, black ones spread wide like an all-encompassing shield against the world, effortlessly cutting through the wind.

“Focus, sweetheart,” Cassian murmurs, voice low, the smirk pulling at his lips, his hazel eyes twinkling with that teasing glint that never fails to set my pulse racing. “You’ve got this. Just a little higher.”

The gentle teasing, the way his hands linger on my waist, have me stumbling, but I force my shoulders to relax and dig deep for the strength I know is buried inside me. With a mental push, I feel the wings twitch, straining, and then—boom. I manage to lift them halfway. The victory is short-lived.

The weight of them—massive and far heavier than I expected—slams down again. My knees buckle.

Before I can catch myself, before I even have the chance to fall, Cassian’s hands are at my waist, pulling me toward him, yanking me against his body. I almost lose my breath from the force of it, my chest pressing into his hard chest, my forehead colliding with the smooth leather of his shoulder.

The impact knocks the air out of me, but my heart starts hammering in my chest like I’ve just sprinted a mile. I feel like I'm drowning in the warmth of him, his scent wrapping around me—leather, wood, and that intoxicating smell that’s just him.

His hands stay firmly on my hips, strong, steady, as he mutters, “Careful there, sweetheart. You’re going to make me drop you if you keep stumbling like that.”

I groan, my face pressed against the heat of his chest, unable to hide how flustered I feel, how the proximity to him makes my skin burn. “I’m not the one dropping anyone,” I mutter, my voice muffled against the solid wall of his body.

He chuckles, and I can practically feel the smile on his lips, that devilish grin of his that never fails to make my insides flip. “Liar.”

I pull back slightly, enough to glare up at him, my face still flushed. His hazel eyes gleam down at me, the playful spark in them never once dimming, and I feel like I’m being swept up in his gaze. “You’re impossible,” I mumble.

“Impossible?” His lips twitch. “More like irresistible.”

I scowl at him, but before I can come up with a decent retort, his hands slide down my back, tracing a path along the edges of my wings. I freeze. The contact is light, but it's like fire—his fingers grazing the leather of my armour just above where my wings meet my back. The spot is sensitive, like he’s touching a nerve directly.

A breath catches in my throat. Gods. The way his fingers linger, caressing so delicately that it’s almost torturous, sends a pulse of warmth straight to my core. The soft pressure of his hand against the base of my wings has my pulse spiking.

I can’t help it. I let out a soft, embarrassingly breathy sound, a noise I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.

Cassian’s entire body goes still, as if he’s just felt that reaction, and I hear the smallest, most dangerous chuckle rumble from his chest.

“Oh?” His voice drops lower, sliding into something rich and teasing. “Sensitive, are we?”

My face burns hotter than I thought possible. I open my mouth, but no words come out. What was that noise? Why does he have to be so close?

His fingers stay there, tracing the spot where the wings meet my back, moving deliberately, caressing me in a way that feels too intimate for someone who’s supposed to be teaching me. I try to step back, but my body feels like it’s made of stone.

The heat floods my skin, and I feel my breath become shallow. I know exactly what Azriel meant when he spoke about the wings and their sensitivity, but hearing him say it felt like a joke at the time.

Now? Now, I get it. Azriel wasn’t talking about some innocent touch. He meant this—this electric, nerve-shattering sensation.

Cassian’s fingers linger for a moment longer before he finally pulls away, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You know, you make the best sounds when you’re flustered. Just a hint of pleasure mixed with frustration.”

I barely manage to keep my knees from buckling. “You—”

But my words fail me, and I’m left standing there like an idiot, heart racing, face flushed, my wings now feeling like they might break my back in half from the weight and sensitivity.

“You’re not mad at me for that, are you?” Cassian’s voice softens, the teasing edge slipping into something more serious, though still warm. “Because I’m not letting you go until I know you’re alright.”

The softness in his tone makes something inside me tighten, and I find myself leaning into him instinctively, my breath still unsteady. “I’m fine,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “Just... be careful next time.”

His eyes flicker with something darker now, a simmering heat that matches the one flaring inside me. His hands find their way back to my waist, holding me closer than I expect, and I let him, my body melting into his.

“Promise,” he says quietly, his voice full of that strange, unspoken something that makes my heart flutter and my stomach twist. “You’re safe with me.”

But as his fingers graze my back again, a sharp shudder runs through me, and I know that I’m not entirely safe—at least, not when he’s this close, this aware of every inch of me.

The moment Cassian’s fingers brush against the base of my wings again, it feels like everything inside me locks into place. My breath hitches in my throat, my entire body tightening, and I feel like I’m going to melt from the pressure. That spot, the one right where my wings meet my back—it burns with such a raw intensity that I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but focus on the heat spreading through me.

I try to pull away, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Instead, I find my hands gripping the back of his neck instinctively, my fingers threading through the soft, dark strands of his hair, anchoring myself to him. It’s like I need him to hold me up, to stop me from crumbling under the weight of this overwhelming sensation. His arm is solid beneath my fingers, and I clutch onto it for balance, my pulse hammering through me. I feel the way my body reacts to his proximity, the way every inch of me wants him closer, even as my mind screams to stop.

Cassian is quiet now, his breath shallow against my temple, but I know exactly what he’s doing. His fingers are so damn careful, moving deliberately over that spot again. It’s not an accident; he knows exactly what it’s doing to me.

A shudder wracks through me, and without thinking, I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to keep some semblance of control, to stop myself from doing something stupid.

The air between us thickens, heavy with something undeniable. The teasing, the flirtation—it’s all been leading to this moment. I can feel it. My heart races, but it’s not just from the physical sensations coursing through my veins. It’s the way Cassian’s hands linger, the heat radiating from him, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

“Cassian,” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper.

His name feels like a prayer on my lips, and he responds by tilting my chin up with the lightest pressure of his fingers, his eyes locked onto mine with that wicked, smouldering gaze that makes my chest tighten. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, slow, deliberate, like he’s savouring the moment.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, full of heat and something more dangerous. “I think it’s time we stop pretending.”

I’m dizzy from the tension, from the way he’s holding me together with nothing more than his touch. His thumb presses into the soft skin beneath my ear, and I tilt my head slightly, giving him silent permission. And then, before I can even process what’s happening, his lips crash into mine.

The kiss is explosive. There’s nothing gentle about it—no soft buildup, no teasing. It’s hungry, desperate, as if we’ve both been waiting for this moment to snap, and now that it has, nothing in the world is going to stop it.

His hands slide up to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel the muscles of his chest, the heat of his skin through the layers of armour, and it only makes me ache more, ache for something deeper, something more than this teasing, more than this fire burning between us.

My fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more of him. His mouth moves against mine with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs, and I give into it, give into the way his kiss tastes like a promise and a dare. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but respond to him. My body knows what it wants.

Cassian’s hands slip lower, grazing over the curve of my hips, and I gasp into his mouth, feeling the way my wings flare, trembling with need, with desire, with a desperation that matches his. Cassian’s hands slide down to the backs of my thighs, his fingers warm and firm as he lifts me with a fluid, effortless motion. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and I gasp at the shift in position, feeling his hard, solid body pressed fully against me. I can’t focus on anything but the heat of him—his chest against mine, his breath fanning across my neck, the way his hands mold my body to his, like I’m the most important thing in the world to him.

His lips leave mine only long enough to kiss a trail along my jaw, each press of his mouth sending a jolt of electricity through me. He moves to my neck, his mouth hot and insistent, as if he’s marking me, claiming me in ways that no one else could ever dare to. His teeth scrape my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

A deep, breathless gasp leaves my throat as his lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear, sucking hard enough that I know I’ll have a bruise there by morning. The thought does something to me—something primal, something hungry. I know the marks will be impossible to hide, but it doesn’t matter. The way he’s kissing me, the way his hands are holding me so securely, so possessively—it makes me want to lose myself in him, to let go of every last shred of control.

Cassian groans against my skin, and his hands slide up under the leather of my jacket, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of my back, sending shudders of pleasure racing through my body. His lips trail lower, sucking and nibbling at my neck, leaving dark, heated marks that make my pulse thunder in my ears. My back hits a tree, and the rough bark bites into my skin, but I don’t care—he’s here, his body pressed so tightly against mine that there’s nowhere for my thoughts to go except him.

“Cassian,” I breathe, my voice shaky and full of want. I tighten my grip on his neck, pulling him closer, needing more, needing to feel the weight of him against me in a way that I can’t deny anymore.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from our kiss. He grins, that devilish smirk of his spreading across his face. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long.”

His words send a shockwave through me, and before I can process it, he presses his lips back to mine in a kiss that’s even more desperate, more heated than before. His hands move with purpose now—one sliding up to cup the back of my head, tilting it just enough so he can deepen the kiss. The other moves lower again, running down the length of my spine, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin just above my waist, making me gasp into his mouth.

I feel like I’m drowning in him—his lips, his hands, his presence. The way his body moves against mine with such raw, unrestrained heat is enough to make my knees weak, to make my body burn in ways I didn’t know were possible. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

The kiss deepens, and I lose myself completely in the sensation of Cassian—his lips, his hands, his heat seeping into every part of me. It’s like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of us, the way our bodies move together in perfect sync, how each touch sends a jolt of pure desire through me. His hands are steady on my body, guiding me with a possessive tenderness that makes my head spin.

But just as the world seems to narrow to only Cassian, I feel it. A soft, almost imperceptible shift deep inside me. Like a pull, like something that’s always been there, quietly waiting for its moment to take shape. The bond. It slides into place like a key turning in a lock, a subtle, undeniable connection that clicks between us.

I can’t explain it—there’s no sudden rush of light, no grand revelation. Just a quiet understanding that settles deep in my chest. It’s like I’ve always known this was coming, like my body has been waiting for this moment, for him. A part of me—the part that’s been holding back, fighting this—finally surrenders.

Cassian feels it too, I’m sure of it. His lips soften on mine, just a fraction, as though he’s caught in the same storm of emotions. Then, just as I’m about to lose myself in the feeling of him, a voice breaks through the haze.

“Really?” Rhys's voice is loud enough to make the trees shudder, his tone dripping with amusement.

Cassian doesn’t break from me, though. His lips stay pressed against mine for a long beat before he pulls away just enough to flash his signature smirk.

“Get over it, Rhys,” Cassian calls over his shoulder, his hand still firmly cupping my waist, holding me flush against the tree like I’m his in ways words can’t even express. He doesn’t even look at Rhys, his attention entirely on me.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks at being caught in such a compromising position, and my heart races faster for entirely different reasons now. But even as I try to pull away, Cassian’s grip on me doesn’t loosen, his hand keeping me tethered to him, the strength in his touch unwavering.

Rhys steps into the clearing with his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. He eyes us both, clearly trying to suppress the laughter in his voice. “Didn’t realise you two were so... busy,” he drawls, the teasing edge to his words clear.

Cassian, unbothered, chuckles low in his throat, his hands tightening slightly on my body, but it’s not possessive, it’s playful. “Don’t be such a prude, Rhys.” His voice is laced with sarcasm as he turns his head to smirk back at the High Lord.

And despite the heat between us, the intensity of the moment still hanging in the air, I can’t help but chuckle under my breath, the absurdity of it all hitting me. But the truth is, my pulse is still erratic, my body still humming with Cassian’s touch, with the bond sliding smoothly into place between us, like we’ve both always known it was coming.

Rhys raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but there’s a hint of concern behind his gaze. “Don’t tell me I’m interrupting something... important.”

I can feel Cassian’s grin widen against my ear, his lips brushing against the side of my neck with a lingering touch. "No, just making sure she doesn't fall off a cliff while I teach her how to fly," he says with that devil-may-care attitude that always makes me weak in the knees. “But feel free to stay and watch.”

Rhys’s smirk falters for a moment, and his eyes narrow. "I'm not watching this." He motions dismissively, but I can see the way he’s fighting to hide his smile. He doesn’t say anything more but gives me a knowing look, a quick glance to Cassian, and then a faint nod.

"Behave yourselves," Rhys finally adds, turning to leave, his boots crunching against the forest floor as he retreats.

Cassian, still grinning like a damn cat that caught the canary, leans in to press his lips against my temple before I can even fully process what just happened. His voice is a low rumble, just for me, as his hands slide a little lower on my waist, pulling me even closer.

“We’ll pick up where we left off when he’s gone,” he whispers against my skin, and even though there’s a teasing quality to his words, there’s an undeniable heat there too. Something that tells me that this—us—is far from over.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222

[illyrian-dreamer]

Ummmmm, read this. 18+

[tadpolesonalgae]

before the corn grows. 

Batboys x depressive!reader

a/n: oh my gosh this was so therapeutic—also, I was unsure whether to include people on the az taglist in this fic since it’s technically a poly fic? Sorry if you didn’t want to be included in this, I wasn’t sure about it :/

As always, thank you for the request, anon <3!

warnings: mentions of self-inflicted violence, fluff, I think this is technically hurt/comfort?

word count: 2,766

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

“Judgemental prick.”

“I don’t think I said anything.”

“You didn’t have to. It was written all over your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cassian scowls, stirring in the fifth spoonful of sugar. “For the Spymaster, you were practically yelling it across the table. It’s the small things in life—I’ll enjoy some damn sugar in my tea if I want to.” 

Azriel shifts in his seat, powerful arms folded over a broad chest, thighs spread as he relaxes into the seat. “There was nothing small about the amount you just put in,” he replies, smirking. “Just looking out for your health.”

“You look after yours and I’ll look after mine,” the General mutters, brows tightening at the cocky smirk on his brother’s mouth. Matching hazel eyes glint with sinister mirth that Cassian decides to ignore for today, raising the mug to his lips and drinking deeply. 

He jerks violently, spraying the bitter liquid across the table, making Az recoil. “It’s salty?” He glares at his brother, who’s now grimacing at the smattering of tea that’s been spat in his direction. “I told you I was looking out for your health,” he mutters, reaching for the kitchen roll. 

The General grabs it first, snatching the roll away, dabbing at his mouth and tongue before Azriel is leaning across the table, grappling at Cassian’s arm to try and pry it from his thick fingers. “Let go you prick, I’m the one who has that concoction on my tongue,” the General snaps gruffly. “And I’ve got your saliva all over my leathers. Hand it over.” 

“Oh I’m sorry, did I ruin your pretty clothes? Is your vanity hurt?”

“Piss off, bastard,” Azriel snaps. “You should have paid more attention to what you were spooning into your drink.” 

The door swings open and the third brother walks in, violet eyes visibly worried, fingers preoccupied with straightening the pristine cuff of his sleeves. Freshly polished shoes pause in their place, surveying the chaos that’s unfolded upon the kitchen table. The two pull apart, sobered by Rhys’s strained look, at once on guard. 

“Where are you going?” Cassian asks, noting the fine but not flashy dress of the High Lord—clean but casual. “Have you seen her recently?” Rhys asks, and they both stiffen, shaking their heads. Hazel eyes glance at one another across the table, before returning to anxious violet, in time to catch him running a hand through his hair. 

“She’d been focusing on getting orders done in time for solstice presents,” Azriel offers solemnly, “it’s when the most work comes in, so she’ll be resting now.” 

“I’m going to check on her,” Rhysand announces, and neither of the Illyrians object. Not a word needs to be spoken to know the High Lord will relay whatever news there is to the two of them the second he learns it. 

Then in a whisper of darkness, he vanishes. 

————

The door had been locked, but it hadn’t been an issue. 

The issue was the stagnant air in her house. The issue was the moulding bread in the kitchen. The issue was the dirty clothes scattered across her bedroom floor. 

The issue was, she looked like she hadn’t gotten out of bed for a week straight, hair knotted and oily, skin lacking the warmth of life, eyes numb and unfocused. 

He braces himself to deal with her, then lands three quiet knocks to her open bedroom door—letting her know he’s here. Blankets curl tighter, being pulled over her head, wrapping into a tight ball that shudders and sobs almost silently. He can hear the gasping inhales, the wet snivels as she tries to hide away. 

He knew something had been amiss. 

“Lovely,” he calls softly, the name like heated cotton against clean skin. “How long have you been sleeping for?” 

————

You curl tighter, feeling the bed dip, the shape of a large, warm palm settling over your shoulder. 

“Go away,” you manage numbly, throat raw, sinuses hurting. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.” Limbs wrap tighter, trying to pull yourself together for him. Simultaneously wanting to scream at him to get out, to hit and lash at him, wanting to melt into his arms. Yet the raging instincts rise, and rise, and repeatedly fall short, losing their momentum and disintegrating into silence. Your clothes are stiff and sticky, glued to your body with sweat and salt, and you hate you hate you hate everything so much that it has to be pushed away. Folded up neatly into a box and just pushed away. 

Fingers latch over the duvet, prying it from your grip with startling ease, hands too weak to do much against him, stomach aching with nausea. Light cracks into your vision, and you attempt to hide from him, conceal the gleaming spit and snot across your upper lip and chin, hide the puffiness of your eyes and the knotted mess of your hair—damp from tears that had been shed what feels like hours ago. 

“What’s wrong…?” He asks softly, knuckles brushing the rat-tailed hair from your forehead, pushing it away so it’s no longer being coated in saliva and mucus and tears. “Talk to me, please,” he whispers, making to pull you up. 

Sobs wrack your chest, slamming into you with violent force, wet breaths gasping from cracked lips as you heave with despair, uncontrollable spasms seizing your lungs as a fresh wave wrecks through you. He can feel you shaking your head, wet palms trying to dry freshly tearful eyes, hot water dripping heavily onto his shirt as you try to stop. 

“Please…” you croak out, stumbling over the word, interrupted by stuttering breaths. “Leave me…go…” 

“I’m not leaving you like this,” he whispers tenderly, pushing wet hair behind a pointed ear. But you shake your head again, crying harder, and his heart fumbles in his chest, aching sharply. 

“I don’t…go away,” you moan shakily, head lowered against his shoulder. “I don’t want you here.” Lips are weighed in viscous saliva, turning them soft and slimy, making it hard to speak.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, arm wrapping over your back, power sliding for the window to flick the latch open—get some fresh air circling the space. 

“I don’t…I don’t want you here!” You cry sharply, trying to wriggle out of his hold, struggling to return to your grave-like bed. To dive into the thick and smelly sheets that’ll get tangled with your limbs. “Lovely,” he says quietly, “hold still.” 

Your body shudders to a gradual stop, shins and upper arms burning with the movement, left raw and unhealed from the lack of energy. Breathing stutters as you try to back away from hyperventilating, trying to calm your lungs, but the airways continue to spasm. 

His broad palm pushes the stray locks of hair away, still saturated with salty tears that clump at the ends, scraggly and messy and smelly and damp and cold and…you try to pull away from him, feeling disgusting for getting him dirty. He’s so clean and tidy, and smelling so nice, like freshly washed sheets and crisp morning air. He shouldn’t be in your room. 

You can hear the stuttering pulse of his heart, the only give to his emotions and one you’re only able to discern because he doesn’t think to hide it from you. He strokes your hair soothingly, goading you to calm, to resign yourself into his care so he can look after you. 

“I’m tired,” you manage, chest shuddering with stammering breaths. 

“Then rest,” he whispers, “but let us be with you.”

“No…” You shake your head, brows scrunching as your lungs begin to flutter and he holds you just that little bit tighter. It’s bad enough that he’s seeing you like this, it can’t be the others too. “Rhys…”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, first,” he murmurs, pulling away and cupping your jaw, violet meeting your gaze, “okay?” Your lower lip wobbles, fresh tears spilling as you grip just that little bit tighter, at last falling into him, if only because you lack the energy to stave off anything else. Far too tired to protest. 

————

It had been so much worse than he had been anticipating, and a small part of him recoiled with sorrow when wrapping her shins in bandages, carefully applying a numbing balm to her upper arms to ease with movement. 

He hadn’t realised…he hadn’t seen the signs… Even looking back on the weeks leading up to Starfall, he can’t find anything out of order. She’d been as peaceful as usual, as calm and reserved as normal, preparing for the influx of projects, almost anticipating them, desiring things to preoccupy her mind with, perhaps. 

He feels wretched and useless, only able to scramble after the remnants of the storm. Desperately trying to find pieces of what he’d known in the wreckage of a war. Her eyes stay vacant, though not as foggy as when he’d first found her. 

A bath had been too painful, so he’d used his hands to clean off the grime, only a flannel, soap, and a warm bucket of water at his disposal. He can only hope that once she’s fed, her body will begin its reconstruction, stitching together the thin slices, healing over scars so she doesn’t have to be reminded of it. Though he wonders if that’s an appealing aspect rather than a detestable one. 

He’s proud of his own scars, memories stored away within his skin, stories contained within the tissue of battles long past. A map of his history placed into the grain of his body. He wonders if it’s at all comparable—how she starves herself so the cuts might set, so she will be able to look back at what she’s gotten through. A token of some kind for surviving. To know that while it’s all inside her own head, none of its meaning is detracted. 

Pain is still pain, no matter where it comes from. 

————

You’d tried so desperately to pull yourself together. To keep those haunting beats of emotion kept wrapped up in ribbons and bows, so it would be less inclined to leap out if stored comfortably. 

Had tried to sit on the box to keep it from bursting open, so you wouldn’t have to bear that vulnerability. You’d rather stick yourself with knives that try to articulate what can only exist in the blood of your veins and the screaming caves of your mind. The echoes that repeat until painful instructions are being mumbled upon your numb lips, hardly unaware of the order to cut, cut, cut.

Had managed for the most part to section them off, until he’d finished tucking you into a spare bed, and his lips had brushed your cheek. 

Then some tears had again dripped out, but he’d thumbed those away tenderly, never becoming fed up on the nonstop trickle. 

You could hardly manage to look at him, not ready to face that reality yet. Then he’d told you he would be finding you a meal, and that you should eat as much as you felt capable of, but that you should try. And then he had pressed another light kiss to your cheek, swifter than the last, not giving you time to comprehend it, helping keep the tears to a minimum.

A large part of you is relieved, a great weight raised and wiped from your shoulders now your skin is clean again, now your hair is no longer sticking to your scalp but smelling fresh and healthy. Relieved you can again feel your circulation up and running, having gotten too used to the freezing tips of your fingers and toes, the cold numbness that had overtaken your shins and arms as your body tried to spool in the blood to your torso.  

A knock sounds at the door, and you lift your head to spot hazel eyes watching you, concerned, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. He sees the reaction, and sighs, opening the door a little wider so he can walk inside. 

“Does Rhys know you’re here, Cassian?” You ask, a sad smile on your lips as you incline your head to look up at him, stood beside your bed. Before he can answer though, you here a derisive snort coming softly from the hallway, and a tender warmth unfurls in your chest, throat aching a little with emotion. “Az, you too?” 

A figure wreathed in shadow steps guiltily into the empty doorframe, one hand resting on the wooden beam as if he might leave. 

You swallow thickly, shifting comfortably beneath the crisp sheets, liking how they rustle with the movement, scraping against bare and clean skin, even if it hurts a little. “Did… Has Rhys told you…?” 

Cassian watches you silently, an anguished look on his features, but Azriel pauses, then nods his head solemnly. 

Your lips press together into a thin line, unsure what to say if they already know. There’s no use in lying then, or trying to get out of it. Not without causing more concern. So you allow your shoulders to slump, resting back into the pillows. “I don’t really know how it happened,” you admit quietly, peering into your lap. “I just…I guess it had been building up for a while.” Your eyes shut briefly, hands rising to cover your face, rubbling lightly at your brows before falling away again, “I didn’t even know I was in it until I was out of it.” 

“It’s okay. You don’t need to explain anything,” Cassian says thickly, hand hesitantly settling over your shoulder, thumb stroking in slow, careful motions, ready to pull away if you don’t want the touch. But your lower lip wobbles, head dipping a little, before leaning into the gentle feel, the broad, reassuring warmth of his palm, the callouses rasping against your scrubbed-soft skin. 

“We wanted to make sure you were okay,” Az murmurs, closer than he should sound from the doorway, but then you feel the slightly cool breath of his shadows curling against your cheek, and a tear drips down your face. You nod. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice thick, clogged with emotion, “now. I’m fine now.” 

“Are you…” Azriel begins, trailing off when you glance at him questioningly, his heart aching when you turn your gaze to him, the small cuts peeking out from atop the duvet. Cassian takes up the lead, thumb still gently sweeping over your shoulder. “We want to hold you. Will you let us?” 

Your lower lip wobbles, eyes growing hot and wet at the simple ask, somehow knowing exactly what you’re too afraid and embarrassed to ask for. “Yes…” you manage, voice small and quiet. 

Neither of them comment on it, moving with swift certainty, collecting at your sides as their wings reorganise at their backs. It’s a rare sight to see them in anything other than their leathers, but the soft fabric is welcomed as they settle, the pale linen thin enough for you to feel heat through it, to almost be swept away by the comfort their scent brings, like returning home after weeks away, remembering the scent that you become too quickly accustomed to, to fully appreciate and treasure. 

You lean into Cassian’s side, head tipped against his shoulder, Azriel pressed close enough to twine your fingers together in your lap atop the sheets, shadows roaming freely between the three of you, a sure sign you’re home again. 

A long sigh comes from the doorway, sounding more resigned than disapproving—he knew this was going to happen at one point or another. There would be no separating any of you in a moment of need or vulnerability. 

“I thought I told you to at least wait until she’d recovered a little more,” Rhys sighs, a gently scolding tone to his words, eyes displeased but softening when they spot how you’ve practically melted into his brothers’ sides. You switch subjects, eyeing the tray he’s brought, stomach grumbling as the promise of a hot meal dawns in your mind. “That smells good…” you murmur, watching him intently, and a fond smile curves his lips. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rhys replies. “Your favourite, if my memory serves.” 

Your brows curve, lip wobbling again—you don’t deserve this. Them. 

But Rhys has already leaned over Cassian, pressing a kiss to your forehead, smoothly sliding the tray into your lap. 

“Eat,” he instructs softly. “If you’re still so inclined, you can cry afterwards, but eat first, okay?” 

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

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

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

[daycourtofficial]

Blood moon in Autumn

Pairing: Eris x Rhys’s sister!reader | WC: 1.3k | warnings: mentions of nudity, mentions of sex, mentions of violence

Summary: fae cycles are no joke, but your mate is always there to provide you comfort in the best way possible: by being your personal heating pad

Author’s note: this is part of my gingerfucker series, however this can be read as a standalone. @writingcroissant actually gave me the idea for this so everyone say thanks Tori 🥰

Death was imminent, you were sure of it. Every fiber of your being ached, the pain emanating from your lower abdomen through the rest of your body. It felt like someone was stabbing you with a rusted, dull knife, the blade carving out your insides slowly at their leisure.

You heard your bedroom door open and close, footsteps coming towards the bed. You groan in greeting as the steps get closer.

“Just leave me here to die, Er.”

A soft chuckle makes its way to your ears, despite the layers of blankets you are burrowed beneath, the blankets not offering you the comfort you so desperately crave.

“You’ll be remembered for even in death, your flare for the dramatics never faltered.”

You push your face from the blankets, allowing your face to be seen. You scowl towards your mate, his smirk making you want to push him from the window. You take in the sight of him - he had changed into more relaxed clothes since you saw him last. Gone is his formal jacket, a deep red velvet with golden leaf embroidery. The garment would make anyone look like court royalty, but on Eris it made him look positively radiant, as if the fires of Autumn truly originated from him, as if the apple orchards and the crops found their nutrients from him. You loved when he wore it, your fingers tracing the fine embroidery along the lapel as you would straddle his lap, grinding softly-

You groaned, the idea of moving so much making you nauseous and slightly dizzy.

Now he wore a loose, billowy shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, casual brown trousers covering his toned legs. If it were any other day, you’d devour him. Any other day, you’d pull him directly into bed, pushing his clothes off of him, neither of you leaving bed until you slipped his shirt on to grab the two of you some pastries.

Instead, the sight of him made you slightly annoyed - he seemed fine as he set down a tray on the table next to you. He was fine this morning when he rose, having to tend to some things before returning. You were dying, and he was perfectly fine. You groaned, shifting to sit up on your elbows. “What’s this?”

“I believe those of us who leave our beds call it ‘food’.”

His smirk disappears at the pillow that hits his feet. He sends you a withering glare that just makes you scoff. “That could have hit the tray of coffee I made for you.”

You perked up at the sound of coffee - you were sure the warm liquid would at least distract your insides. Or at least provide you some comfort.

You’d take anything at this point.

“Did you make the coffee? Or did you just prepare the tray?”

“What difference does it make? Coffee is coffee.”

“Well, if Jora made it, then I aimed perfectly for your feet.”

“What if it was my coffee?”

“Then I would have aimed for the tray.”

He gives you a withering stare, his fingers halting their movements. “Now that’s no way to treat your mate who lovingly made you coffee.”

You squint your eyes, “if it’s my mate that’s making the coffee, it’s more of an assassination attempt than love.”

“You wound me, my love.” Despite your grievances, he continues preparing your cup exactly as you like it.

“Is the wound fatal?”

“Perhaps.”

“I shall pay my respects at your funeral, then. With my next husband.”

His eyebrow quirks as he rests the cup on your side table before he rounds the bed, peeling back the layers of blankets on top of you. He crawls in behind you, his body heat causing you to melt.

“Next husband?”

“I will get lonely. Besides, the hounds need a male’s touch. They’ll grow soft under me.”

“And who is this next husband? Is he capable of this?”

Before you can ask what ‘this’ is, he slides his arm around your waist, his palm lying flat over your lower abdomen, his fingers spreading across your skin. Your skin began heating under his touch, and you moaned at the relief he provided you.

“If he’s not, he’s not worth it. Perhaps one of your brothers will be capable. Lu, maybe?”

Eris growled at the teasing, your friendship with Lucien a constant sore spot for him amidst his rekindling relationship with his youngest brother. He hated to admit it, but he seethed with jealousy watching you interact with Lucien, the way your conversation would flow easily.

A life of regrets and Lucien takes several of the top five spots.

“Lucien would make a terrible husband. You’d never see him - he spends all day brushing his hair.”

“I like a well-groomed male.”

“The noises his eye makes would keep you up all night.”

“I think you’re getting us confused. The whirring would soothe me to sleep.”

He buries his face into your neck, mumbling, “you are not marrying Lucien.”

“Alastor, perhaps?”

You clutched onto Eris’s arm, the heat providing you some relief. You nuzzle your head into his bicep, and he blows out a hot breath, “if I die, and you are unable to continue alone, marry outside of my family, leave my brothers out of your marriage pool.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“Not Azriel.”

You huff, “well if I can’t have a Vanserra or Azriel, I’ll stay alone forever.”

“I prefer that alternative.”

“I will rule Autumn alone. Just as Beron would have liked.”

You spin in his arms, pushing his shoulder down so he’d lay on his back. You crawl on top of him, laying so every inch of you is touching him in some way. Not an inch of space exists between your bodies. You poke his ribs, urging him to start heating up. He ignores you, so you start tugging on the bond between you two.

“Patience is a virtue, don’t they teach that in the war camps they call villages?”

“I’m dying, I think the Mother can forgive my lack of virtues.”

He huffs, but starts warming his skin to better provide comfort. You groan, laying in silence with him for several moments, the heat a comfort to the constant pain.

A few moments later you roll, your back laying across his chest.

“Ah,” you sigh, the pain in your lower back lessening at his touch.

“You’re spinning like game over a campfire.”

He rests his hands on your lower abdomen, the warmth making the stabbing pain into a dull ache.

You sigh at the contact, practically melting at how he soothes your muscles.

“I want to go bathe but that requires movement and leaving this bed.”

Eris laughs into your hair, but you hear the water running in the bathroom. You groan just thinking about how soothing the water would feel on your joints. You breathed out slowly through your nose, preparing yourself for the trek across the room.

You rolled off of Eris, and before you could get off the bed, Eris moved from behind to in front of you, his feet landing softly on the floor.

“Care for a ride?”

You nod, and his arms sweep you up.

“I think this is my preferred method of travel.”

“Perhaps this is how you will tour Autumn, hm? I shall carry you throughout the lands.”

You laugh as he sets you down, helping you remove your clothes. He must be warming the air somehow, because you don’t feel the chill of the air when your clothes are completely off. He helps you into the water, which you melt into immediately. You close your eyes, laying back in the tub, the porcelain a nice surface to lean against.

You’ve completely forgotten about Eris’ presence until you feel him nudge your shoulders forward, his lean body slipping behind you into the tub. His legs stretch besides yours, and you lean your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“There’s no way my next husband will be as helpful as you are.”

He breathes out through his nose, “I fear you can only marry down from here. A pity, truly.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader

Thanks for reading 💕

[illyrian-dreamer]

Checking in

Hello lovelies, I hope you've all been well!

I haven't been active on here for a long time, and in full disclosure, I haven't written in a very long time either...

Call it writers block or just a general lack of motivation to write fan fic, I'm sorry if you've been waiting for updates to the series I've started.

While I've been taking a break, I hit 3000 followers!!! Which is so so exciting, and something I'm incredibly grateful for!!

At this stage, I'm not sure when I'm going to pick up the pen again (so to speak). I love this hobby - but it is time consuming, and I'm trying to focus my time on upskilling to eventually write a novel. That means a lot more reading from my end, plus an online course. PLUS general life stuff (no shit).

I won't say that I'm throwing in the towel, but until I feel that same energy again, I'm not going to force or promise more stories in the near future.

I still love existing on this platform, and love reading the incredible works happening in this space <3

Thank you to anyone who has dropped into my inbox recently too - appreciate those who have checked in!

Have a lovely day lovelies <3

[sydneymack]

A Court of Thorns and Roses Characters

Artist: @/eburnsillustrations

[illyrian-dreamer]

The things I love about this art:

Feyre’s youth 🤌🏼 (coz baby girl is just a kid having a kid let’s be real)

The diversity between Rhys, Cas and Az 🤌🏼 (they all look so unique, distinguished in their own features)

Mor’s warmth just oozing out of that smile 🤌🏼

[illyrian-dreamer]

I really really think you should rework the chapter to avoid any possibility of glamorizing self harm or suicide! of course, you are free to write whatever you’d love, but if you’re feeling uncertain, I would recommend just avoiding it all together. sometimes tags aren’t enough.

(don’t feel any pressure to post this, I just wanted to offer some feedback)

Thank you so much for your feedback lovely!

Even though the poll mostly suggested relying on tags, I think I’m going to rewrite the chapter to where it looks more like an attempt, but really is just an act out of delirium/trying to escape from the house.

I hope that makes sense, and in that way will not be glamorising it in any way, and still plays a big part of her grief 🤞🏼❤️

[illyrian-dreamer]

hi, i’m a big fan of your work! for your last post, i just wanted to ask if you could please not censor words that could be triggering, because the tumblr filters won’t catch them that way

https://waywardflowerturtle.tumblr.com/post/739152166099550208/use-the-tags-they-are-both-warnings-and

this post was about ao3 but it’s kind of the same for tumblr, since users enter individual words to be filtered out, and can’t account for all censored variations of a word if that makes sense. thank you :)

Oh thank you for educating me friend!! Here I was thinking the censored words were somehow better practice 🥲

I’ll change them out now - thank you again!! ❤️

[illyrian-dreamer]

TRIGGER WARNING: self-harm/suicide

Hello lovelies, I wanted to ask you a very serious question.

I’ve written the next part of And Then There Were None - however the chapter is mostly focused on a dark themes of suicide.

I’m so so conscious that in putting out this chapter or not rewriting it, it might promote or glorify self-harm in some way - which can have very real effects.

Is this something you have read in other fics, or are maybe exploring in your own writing? I’ve got an overwhelming sense of guilt about it already, just really trying to get a read on whether this is appropriate to be published or not tbh.

Any feedback would be so so appreciated ❤️

And if you ever need someone to talk to, my messages are always open ❤️

Is it appropriate?

With the right warnings/tags

Maybe rewrite the chapter

Voting ended onMar 23, 2024

[illyrian-dreamer]

We’re baaaaack

[illyrian-dreamer]

And Then There Were None PART3 PLEASE

Yes ma’am!! 🫡🫡🫡

[throneofsapphics]

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? 

🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate

🥤there's so many ah, @illyrian-dreamer 's And Then There Were None is incredible <3 (and everything else)

🎲 I don't have too much free time anymore, but I'd say sometimes I just want to disassociate and listen to an audiobook or read, and my mind isn't focused enough to write

🍦 I'm running out of ammunition for this one, and it scares me a little I'll be honest ... I'm neutral towards Bryce so we can go with her!

-she always comes through

-great fashion sense

-she doesn't take much bullshit from anyone

[illyrian-dreamer]

Awww thank you boo!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Also check out Irene’s writing her stuff is INCREDIBLE!!

[illyrian-dreamer]

And Then There Were None – Part 2

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

<<<Part 1

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage, su!c!dal themes

You woke in a bed as soft as the clouds, the covers silken with feathery pillows piled beneath your neck so plush your hardly felt them. 

A level of luxury you had never known could exist – and that’s how you knew you weren't home. 

Vision a blur, the room you woke to was dim, safe from the fire that crackled at the opposite end. Your vision reeled as it took in the space around you - an obnoxiously large bedroom. 

The haze lingered as you raised your hand in front of your face - a quick way to decide between reality or dream. If this were real, someone had done an awfully good job at scrubbing the dirt from your fingernails. 

But then a familiar ache throbbed as you bought your other hand from under the covers, and a stark white bandaged wrapped tightly at your wrist. Real then, and that fae male had indeed broken your wrist. The scars from your journey were faint now, but still there too. 

You felt for your stomach under the covers then, for any signs of your lingering ailment. They had changed you - thick cotton like padding within the fresh undergarment and the softest gown you had ever felt between your fingers.

You pushed the thought of who might have changed you from your mind. Healers - you hoped. 

Your skin beneath the gown was soft and oily, and smelt of salve. The healers had done well to heal you. Good, this was good. It meant you had a chance to return home, continue your search. 

Gods – the search, your family. You had to continue.

You were alone in this room, and it was night - all good signs. Perhaps with enough strength, you might slip be able to escape unnoticed…

With a slight dizziness, you swung your legs from the bed, toes pressing to the warm, rich wood - as if they floor was warmed from within. 

You wouldn’t dare to poke your head out the door - not in a house of creatures with heightened senses. 

The windows - that was your only option to remain unseen. 

Whether it was the delirium of the events days prior or the haze of exhaustion you were yet to shake, you didn't consider escaping into an unknown lands in nothing more than a nightgown was a fools choice, mortifying at the least. But survival called, your family called. 

Padding around the postered bed, you scanned quickly for your belongings . Clothes, waist belt, knives were no where to be found. 

The cupboard was empty, safe from a long black coat made from the softest velvet your had ever felt. Tying the fabric firm at your waist, you didn’t take the time to roll the sleeves that drooped well past your fingertips - clearly made for a much taller, larger form than your own. Black was good, especially at night, helping conceal the silky cream night robe that seemed to scream find me.

If you had the time, you would have marvelled at the  wall of windows - in shapes and sizes you didn't know a glass welder could blow. Arched in a row of three, each of them had smaller panes within - still large enough to fit through, and with latches. 

Perfect. 

You fiddled with the latch, the world outside dark and unmoving with no sign of light until you cast your eyes upwards. Fingers halting on the latch, your breath knocked from you chest as you observed the most brilliant array of stars you had ever seen. 

Were these the same stars as the human lands? How was it that such magnificent beauty was concealed from your own part of the world?

Another stab of loathing for fae found you then – it seemed even the Mother was versed in reserving luxuries only for them.

The latch clicked open, and you pushed gently against the pane, the window unmoving. Frowning, you pushed again, before trying to pull it inside instead. The glass moved on smooth, oiled hinges - and that’s when the howling began. 

As loud as a pack of wolves, yet that insistent noise was instead from wind. 

Fretting at the noise, you glanced behind you in urgency. Any second now they would come, the wind as good as any alarm. So with a strong grip on the window ledge, you pushed your head through, eyes squinting through the unforgiving gales. 

The wind almost knocked you, hair immediately whipping this was and that, eyes stinging with tears as you failed to see clearly.

Scanning as best you could, you saw no stairs of landings to climb to, no balcony from which you could hope to escape. 

And then you looked down.

It was instinct to back away, so fast that the back of your head knocked against the pane, and a quick profanity escaping your lips. 

You had never been so high up before. Never knew anything could be built so tall. 

With a roll of your stomach, you forced your head back out, avoiding looking anywhere below the horizon.

On the far left, hidden mostly by brick, was a distant glow of a city, the lights warm and flickering with glorious life. And between you and it - a river, it’s water the blackest of blacks in the night, besides from the reflection of the city that budded it’s banks. 

To your right - dark, intimidating forms of mountains and peaks. And with a quick flash below, far, far below, there was only night. 

Your gut lurched both from the height and realisation - it was suicide to try and escape. 

It took a moment to force your rigid muscles to push yourself back inside the room, hair strewn over your face and cheeks pink from the bite of the cold. 

“We don't usually advise opening the windows here,” a melodic voice spoke over the wind. 

Hissing in fright, you whipped your head behind you, to the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And beside her - the same blue siphoned male, his eyes aglow with hazel. 

You fished for your voice then, strained in your throat from days of not speaking, the rush from the wind and the awe of what and who stood before you fighting for silence. 

They were am incredibly handsome couple. 

Folded clothes in her hand, the blond simply placed the outfit on a spare reading chair, moving lightly to re-hatch the window behind you. You almost sighed in relief as the piercing howling stopped. 

“The windows are charmed to block out the noise,” she explained, her tone light and friendly despite the step of caution you took to distance yourself. “Well, don't you look good in black,” she perked, brown eyes scanning you, her smile sincere.

You looked down, the fabric of the coat drooping from your frame. 

“I stole this,” you said dumbly, before cursing yourself silently. 

The women laughed, and you could have sworn a slight smile pulled at the males lips too. 

“That’s quite alright, besides, you were awake before I could deliver you some proper clothes,” she gestured to the set she bought in, but you were fixed on those golden locks, the way they bounced when she moved, and that dress…

“I’m Morrigan by the way, but you can call me Mor.” If she caught you staring at her, she did not let on.

You frowned, senses returning, and you scanned the room again. Formalities, names, nicknames –completely unnecessary, unless…

“I must carry on with my search,” you said sternly, eyes darting between her and the blue-siphoned male. 

He knew. He would have told her.

Those large, towering wings pulled in tighter against his frame, and the male opened his mouth to respond. But Morrigon beat him to it. 

“You’re awake much earlier than the healers expected. They advised you may need a few more days rest.”

You tried to hide your panic, eyes scanning her, then the door, then where Azriel stood between it. 

Mor traced your eyes. “We are no threat to you,” she said gently.

You swallowed. “Then I am free to leave?”

Mor schooled her face into something softer, more sympathetic. “You may want to meet with out High Lord and Lady. I know they are eager to meet you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “They wish to discuss your predicament.”

“Have they found my family?” you all but blurted, heart thundering with anticipation.

She shook her head then, her face falling more grave. “I’m sorry, I haven't any news.”

A gnawing at your stomach then - something was wrong. How long had they kept looking, had they found anyone? 

“How many days was I-?"

“Four,” the male answered, hands still clasped behind his back. There was no smile on his face, but it remained soft. 

“And up and about well ahead of the seven days the healers predicted! Quite the fighter you are Y/N,” Morrigan chirped.

You almost jumped at the use of your name. And then a scowl fixed on your face.

“My apologies!” More gasped quickly, and you missed the glare Azriel threw her way, Mor’s eyes meeting his with guilt. “Please forgive me, I forget that humans aren't accustomed to-"

“Mind reading?” you gritted, more exposed under the ridiculous ensemble of clothes you wore. You wish you could drown in the lengths of extra fabric. 

Mor wore a broken smile. “Of sorts, yes.” She paused then, fretting to fill the silence. “Would you like to change your clothes? They should be to your size.” 

You looked at the set neatly folded at the chair. 

“The healers have washed you, but we can draw you another bath if you’d prefer?”

Your cheeks reddened at the question, the male’s eyes politely finding somewhere else in the room to fix that gaze.

Was this their way of telling you that you smelt?

Humiliated and frustrated, your eyes narrowed on the male. “What is your name?”

Hazel flicked back to you, and he took a moment of silence to observe you before answering. “Azriel.”

You eyed him up and down, taking him in fully. Tall, large, muscled - your attempts to stab him would have been laughable. Delirious indeed. 

As he eyed you back, his gaze fixed your wrist, even while concealed beneath the velvet coat. “I am sorry to have hurt you.”

Civilised - far more civilised than you would have expected fae to be. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I suppose I’m sorry for my attempts of murder.”

His mouth pulled into a polite smile, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the firelight. 

Mor chimed in then. “They told me you caught Azirel off guard, Y/N. Like I said - quite the fighter. Not just anyone can catch the Shadowsinger by surprise.”

Shadowsinger. As if at their mention, the furling, smoky shadows peaked from Azriel, and you let out a small yelp. It seemed it was your turn to be surprised. 

Without a whisper of a word, they withdrew into the Shadowsinger himself, as if scolded back into place. Azriel gave no hint of amusement as he kept watching you. 

Your eyes danced from him back to Mor, cheeks once again redening. 

“This is… overwhelming,” you admitted. 

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile, before placing a delicate, manicured hand on your shoulder. “A bath, then?”

You nodded, and she led you to the bathroom, candles lighting with the wave of her hand, and water now filling the marbled pool, steam quick to fill the room. 

You forget about Azriel in the other room as Mor closed the door behind her, marvelling at the arches and architecture, a new set of large windows in this room, this time facing the city. You padded there mindlessly, watching the twinkle of the town that beckoned. 

“Velaris,” Mor came to stand beside you. “Or, the City of Starlight. It’s location is well concealed, unknown by the other courts.”

You were reminded of the courts then, the brief lessons they had taught you at school. The divide of seven different courts, each ruled by a High Lord determined by their magic gifted the Mother and bloodline. Allies, enemies – it was complicated twining of politics and power. 

But you had never heard of Velaris. 

“This place is a secret?”

Mor nodded. “The true home of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. A paradise they keep concealed, untouched by others.”

“Why?”

Mor chewed her cheek. “It’s safer this way,” she said simply. 

“And you trust me with such information?”

Mor’s brown eyes warmed, but something sadder hid behind them. “It doesn't seem fair to lie to you about your own whereabouts.”

You nodded, eyes finding the city beyond again. “You mentioned the High Lord and Lady want to meet. Rhysand and Feyre?” Your head ached at the strain to remember their names, but the information found you. 

Mor smiled at their names, and you remembered the way the males had too when they first found you. Loyalty coursed through them like some kind of magic. If you wanted to survive, you would be sure to respect their hierarchy. 

“Morrigan,” you swallowed, bracing yourself for an answer. “Please, what do you know of the search?”

Mor stiffened, pausing for a moment. “The High Lord and Lady are on their way home to meet with you. They will tell you all they know.”

You eyed her carefully, your heart straining. “They haven't found my family, have they?”

Mor’s face of sympathy was beautiful, whether schooled or real. “I’m sorry, I really can not tell you.”

You swallowed once before nodding, eyes casting out to the city of Velaris, the name foreign in your mind.

“They are travelling as fast as they can, and should be here within a few hours,” she reassured. How or where from you didn't bother to ask. 

“A bath then,” you nodded.

Mor smiled tightly. “Should you need anything, just ask. This house - the House of Wind - is just as alive as you and I. You should only have to speak what you wish.”

You nodded, hiding the overwhelming thought of a magical living house as the pool of warm scented water beckoned you with furls of steam.

“A fitting name,” you murmured, remembering of the persistent howl that waited just outside those obnoxious windows.

Mor grinned, catching your every word. “Isn’t it just,” she called and she fluttered from the room, pulling the large, carved door closed behind her. 

You took a few moments of silence, again scanning the marble-splayed room you now found yourself in. Dream or reality, you were still yet to be convinced. 

That was, until your dropped your undergarments, the thick wads of cotton stained with specks of bright, fresh blood. A saddened whimper escaped you, and your hands instantly found your belly, phantom cramps pulling from within. 

You thought about calling for Morrigon, to demand an answer or to see a healer again. But deep down you knew, and that instinct to protect yourself, your privacy, was greater. 

A waft of essential oils blew your way, as if the house was beckoning you to bathe. Toeing the water, each of your muscles seems to relax and steam clouded around you. An uncontrollable sigh left you as you moved deeper and deeper, breasts bobbing beneath the water, the muscles in your abdomen glad for the relaxant. 

You had never had a bath like this, never indulged in such a level of luxury. Was this how all fae bathed, or just the ones so closely aligned with royals?

It was a jarring comparison to the tin bath in your family home, the steam quick to escape from the batches of hot water your mother boiled in the kettle when you were young. As you grew older, you would often forgo using the kettle, bearing the bite of the cold for efficiency, only treating the children when you bathed them.

A shock of panic found you as the pool dipped even deeper, and you shot from your toes back to the scooped edges of the pool, clinging to the edge. Obviously built for creatures much taller and larger than you, while you on the other hand had never learnt to swim. Not when your parents were so busy, and the creek behind your home merely ankle deep.

Bathe, change, and then you would have your answers - you reminded yourself. So you scrubbed with determination, dipping your head beneath the water and rubbing the pads of your fingers at your scalp too, washing away any remains of the taxing journey it took to get here. 

You would start your search fresh, start anew, even swallow your hate for fae if it meant the help of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. You could drink their wine and pass pleasant smiles if it meant they would aide you, if it meant your family returning home safely. 

———— 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the black tunic and pants gifted by Mor fitting better than any of your skirts and dresses back home. The fabric was soft yet thick, protecting you from the cold, even while the House of Wind seemed to warm from within. 

There were slippers waiting by your bed, black also, and your skin seemed to glow from the oils from the bath. The face staring back at you was clean, yet tired, the bags under your eyes still a swell of purple. Forcing your shoulders back, you forced a stance of determination. You could do this, you could meet with the most powerful creatures of Prythian, and you would convince them to help you.

With a gentle knock at the door, a voice called. “It’s Mor.”

“Come in,” you answered turning from the mirror, hands finding the pockets on your pants.

Her eyes warmed at the site of you. “Black certainly does suit you,” she repeated, and you wondered about the comment from earlier. Loyalty to black, it seemed, was also a part of their strange culture. Perhaps something to do with the Night Court, and you wondered if the other courts found such ties to certain colours. 

“Thank you for the clothes. I will return them once-"

Mor raised her hand dismissevely. “We’d hear of no such thing. Are you ready?”

You nodded. “Are they?”

“Rhys and Feyre arrived a half hour ago. They await you in their office.” 

Mor seemed to want to take your hand, but rethought it, and instead raised a palm to the door. 

“Follow me,” she hummed before striding for the door, red gown trailing behind her. 

With a deep breath, you followed in silence.

————

“Here she is,” Mor cooed musically as she pushed the doors open to the office, the High Lord and Lady stopping their polite conversation with as they turned to take you in. 

Your knees almost buckled under their gaze.

That power, even as a human you felt it from many steps away, steely blue and violet eyes seemingly pinning you to your spot. A heavy dose of intimidation overcame you and your body faltered, even though their eyes remained soft, their smiles friendly. 

They both stood, Rhysand donned in a neat black suit, Feyre’s dark gown falling from her frame like liquid night. Gorgeous – an absolutely gorgeous sight the both of them were. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Feyre spoke, her voice and as smooth as Morrigon’s, yet younger. 

“Welcome to our home,” Rhysand added. 

Blinking between the two, your knees almost groaned as you forced a curt bow. “Thank you, High Lord and High L-Lady,” you stammered. “For your hospitality.”

You waited for any sign of compliance from your bow - knowing that fae spoke a language of hierarchy and formality. 

But your were instead met with an informal sideways smile of Feyre. “Please, call us Rhys and Feyre.”

You nodded, although you couldn't see yourself respecting that wish. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Rhysand asked, violet eyes piercing, refusing to leave you. “We were told you had survived almost a fortnight on your own. That is very impressive.”

You weren't sure you’d ever get used to the unblinking ways of the fae as you blushed at his compliment. Had their parent’s never taught them it was rude to stare?

The smallest of smiles tugged at Rhys’s lips.

But you muffled your thoughts, forcing yourself to answer. “Feeling much better, thank you High Lord. You swallowed tightly, fishing for the right words to say. “And to your healers,” you added with rush. “Thanks to them too.”

“I am glad,” Rhysand smiled, moved back into his seat and gesturing for you to do the same.

“I’ve informed Y/N that you would update her on the search for the humans, to explain your own findings.” You could have kissed Mor for steering the conversation, desperate to hear what the High Lord and Lady had to say. 

Feyre immediately began fiddling with the fingers, before Rhysand took them in his own hand. You observed closely at the small interaction, Feyre’s nervous fidget, Rhysand’s immediate response. They seemed to speak na unspoken language.

Not good, not good, not good. Your nails instinctively settled into familiar wounds at your palms.

“Of course,” Rhysand answered, his beautiful features schooling into something more serious as his voice softened. 

Feyre’s eyes found you then, something like regret and sorrow burrowed within. In that moment alone, their difference in upbringing was at contrast. Rhys - ever the schooled socialite, tamed and controlled behaviour from years of perfecting courteous mannerisms. Feyre on the other hand – human, child-like sincerity shone through despite her pointed ears and occasional glimpse of canines. 

“I’m sorry to say that we have not found your family Y/N,” Rhysand said straightly. 

You nodded, assuming that had been the case. That didn't stop the sting in your eyes, or lurch of you gut. You clamped your lips against the wobble that already threatened.

“The truth is, we haven’t found a single human since finding you.”

Instantly the room began to reel, Rhysand and Feyre tipping slightly as your heart skipped to an irregular thunder. 

How could this be? You had been asleep for four days, between their armies and winged beings among them, how could they not find a single other? Your mind screamed a flurry of questions, but your remained stiff, only moving to grip the arms of your chair. 

Rhysand sighed then, glancing once at his mate who’s look of regret only deepened, tears shining in those grey-blue eyes. 

“It is with the deepest regret that we inform you we have traced a powerful magic from the lands of Hybern. A spell, rather.”

You forced your voice past the lump in your throat, past the bile that swarmed in your mouth. “What spell is that?”

Tears spilled from Feyre’s eyes, whatever control she had on her breaking into unmistakable grief. 

No, no don’t say it - your mind screamed. 

“As spell to kill all humans,” she whispered. 

You blinked. And the others watched, waiting.

You blinked a few more times.

"What did you say?"

Rhys's frown was pained. "It seems Hybern was intent on capturing your lands, and used a magic so strong it expelled humans..."

But Rhys's voice grew muffled as your vision narrowed, clouding with darkness.

And then it hit you.

It was as if someone had pulled the floor from underneath you. The room tipped unforgivably, vision blurring and stomach lurching with the lack of food in days.

A broken noise escaped you.

“Y/N, you must breath,” a voice spoke.

Panicked, laboured breaths wheezed from you, and you clenched your eyes shut past the horror of what they had told you.

Meek breaths passed your chest as you tried to speak. “I don’t-how, I don't understand.”

“Hybern has access to the cauldron, and we believe he used it to seize the territory of human lands.”

“It worked then, then spell? They’re gone?” You voice was hoarse, breathy with distraught. Tears had not found you yet, only an overwhelming dread laced with a flicker of denial.

Even while the room danced around you, you caught Rhysand’s tight nod, his face grave and solemn. “We are so sorry.”

Mor’s hand was gentle at your back, as an all consuming anxiety took over and you clutched at your head.

“Please do not touch me,” you rasped, audible wheezes catching in your throat.

Immediately her hand lifted.

“Dead, then,” you swallowed another rise of bile, raising frantic eyes to Feyre.

Broken eyes locked with yours. “I’m so very, very sorry Y/N” she whispered.

“My family, my siblings? Dead?”

She was crying, but you didn't care. You waited for the answer. All she offered was a nod. 

A broken, crazed laugh found you then. It was a cold, lonely thing, and you caught Mor exchange a look with her High Lord. There was nothing they could do except watch as you ran shaking hands over your face. 

You were trembling, eyes dancing frantically. No. No no no. This was unbelievable. You didn't believe them, you refused to.

“Impossible,” you scoffed.

“We wish it were, Y/N truly,” Mor said softly.

“Then pray tell, how it is that I survived?”

“We’re perplexed by you remaining, Y/N. We have no answer for it,” Rhys offered, a tanned hand stroking at Feyre’s back in practiced comfort. 

“Liar,” you snarled, standing so quickly your chair fell back. 

Liars - the lot of them, to tell you of the extinction of humans when you sat there alive and well in their home. 

Rhys’s eyes pinned you, as if expecting your outburst. “I can’t begin to imagine your grief Y/N, but we tell no lies.”

“I don't believe you,” you spat, hands curling into trembling fists. “You wish to keep me here, to trap me!” Anger rose within you. Typical fae tricks and fibs, that's all this was. 

“I would have thought the same thing if I were still human,” Feyre coaxed, wiping at her eyes. “I don't blame you for not trusting us. I truly wish we were lying.”

Something in her sincerity knocked you, cracking at your anger, demanding you to consider their words true. 

But your shook your head stubbornly, crazed by their audacity, distancing yourself from the devastation that loomed underneath.

“I will not stay here and listen to this.”

You heeded for the door, pulling on the handles with trembling hands, only to find that blue siphoned male waiting on the other side. 

Azriel.

His arms were neatly tucked behind his back, legs wide and ready as if waiting for you.

If only you had your knife.

“You will let me leave,” you all but growled, eyes darting from behind him back to his frame, looking for your way out. He bore no weapons this time , but it wasn't as if he needed them.

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I can’t.” His voice was soft and steady. “It’s not safe for you out there.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “I don’t care! I will not sit here prisoner, I need to find the truth for myself.” 

You made to step around him, but those rippled hands gripped you, from the shoulders this time. 

“Let go of me!” You struggled against him, but his grip remained strong.

“Listen to me. Hybern has sent an army and they sweep the human lands as we speak. I saw it for myself – if they find you, they will kill you.”

The integrity in his voice, deep down you knew he was telling the truth, even if you refused to believe it. Because believing it meant you had lost everything, everyone. It meant the cruelest punishment from the gods - not another day with the laughter of your siblings, the caress of your mother or hold from your father. No home, no love, no warmth - just a bobbing existence, with grief as your only friend. 

Perhaps that’s why you started sobbing, still trying to pry Azriel’s hands from you with his own. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care!” you cried, voice breaking as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “I want my family!”

Azriel cast a worried look back to the others who could only watch with pained expressions. 

Mor sprung into action, fetching a blanket from a nearby room.

“You are liars, territorial murderers, the lot of you! How could you let this happen?” your voice was hoarse once again, your knees buckling as shock took over. 

Azriel moved with you, gently bringing you to the ground as you wept, your legs folding underneath.

The blanket was strewn around you gently, Azriel’s touch surprisingly tender. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a strangely soothing balm against your turmoil. "I wish things were different. But your safety is paramount."

You wanted to fight against it, to push and claw and burrow in the bubble of denial, but you hadn’t any energy left.

Waking to an empty home, to empty streets, days of travel without another human in sight – perhaps you knew all along that this nightmare was real.

The room continued to spin as reality sunk in. Your family, gone. Your siblings, so young, so innocent. The humans wiped clean from the world. A full scale genocide, and you were the only one to survive it. 

"They were children," you wailed, your words a harrowing cry. "They were only children."

Injustice, isolation and grief was leaden on your chest, so constricting and heavy you thought you might die. 

“I-I can’t breath.” One palm braced on the wooden floor, the other against your heart as you began to pant. Eyes darting between the fae that watched on, you clutched at your chest, panic swarmed with bile. 

And then you made sick. 

Azriel's grip didn't falter, and someone moved to pull the hair from your stinging eyes. 

"Try to focus on your breathing, Y/N," a voice coaxed in your mind, male or female you couldn’t tell. "In and out, slowly."

But the air felt thick, suffocating, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on you. Each breath seemed to be a struggle against an invisible force, and panic tightened its grip around your heart.

That voice in your head again. ”Just keep breathing," it said gently, the voice cutting through the haze of your panic. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here, I promise."

The words were like a lifeline in the storm raging within you, and you clenched your eyes shut, clinging to it.

Rhysand approached cautiously, his expression a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "Az," he prompted, and the male raised from his knees.

Rhysand crouched down in front of you, his gaze unwavering. "We'll explain everything after you've rested Y/N, I promise," he said, his voice carrying the weight of truth.

And as the room slowly ceased its relentless spinning, you found yourself clinging to that promise, holding onto the hope that amidst the devastation, there was still a path forward, however uncertain it may be.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and threats you couldn't begin to comprehend. And Hybern. He had killed your family. Your siblings, those sweet innocent children who you loved so dearly. Your parents too.

Sobs wracked through you again, your body giving out as you let out a muffled whimper of grief.

Strong arms slid from under you turning you over to cup you by your arms and knees. And then you were being carried, away from that horrible scene, from the mess on the floor where your world came crashing down. 

You clung to whatever you could, the blanket, Azriel’s shirt, you didn't really care – but you clung and cried. Even when you were again met with the softness of a mattress, even when the weight of the duvet being drawn over as it settled against your skin. 

In that tumbleweed of devastation, a rippled hand soothed you, coaxing you to sleep. You gladly let it, letting the horrors of the world slip away, even if only for a moment. 

“Just rest now. You are safe.”

And with a final thought, you sent a prayer to the Mother to not wake up to this nightmare.

A/N: Hey pals, hope you liked part 2! And would you like some fries with that angst, because it'll only get darker from here. Again, I'll tag everything I can ahead of the fic, but please adhere to the warnings <3 <3 If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, drop a comment! Thank you so much for reading, mwa!!

[illyrian-dreamer]

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[illyrian-dreamer]

And Then There Were None – Part 2

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

<<&lt;Part 1

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage, suicidal themes

You woke in a bed as soft as the clouds, the covers silken with feathery pillows piled beneath your neck so plush your hardly felt them. 

A level of luxury you had never known could exist – and that’s how you knew you weren't home. 

Vision a blur, the room you woke to was dim, safe from the fire that crackled at the opposite end. Your vision reeled as it took in the space around you - an obnoxiously large bedroom. 

The haze lingered as you raised your hand in front of your face - a quick way to decide between reality or dream. If this were real, someone had done an awfully good job at scrubbing the dirt from your fingernails. 

But then a familiar ache throbbed as you bought your other hand from under the covers, and a stark white bandaged wrapped tightly at your wrist. Real then, and that fae male had indeed broken your wrist. The scars from your journey were faint now, but still there too. 

You felt for your stomach under the covers then, for any signs of your lingering ailment. They had changed you - thick cotton like padding within the fresh undergarment and the softest gown you had ever felt between your fingers.

You pushed the thought of who might have changed you from your mind. Healers - you hoped. 

Your skin beneath the gown was soft and oily, and smelt of salve. The healers had done well to heal you. Good, this was good. It meant you had a chance to return home, continue your search. 

Gods – the search, your family. You had to continue.

You were alone in this room, and it was night - all good signs. Perhaps with enough strength, you might slip be able to escape unnoticed…

With a slight dizziness, you swung your legs from the bed, toes pressing to the warm, rich wood - as if they floor was warmed from within. 

You wouldn’t dare to poke your head out the door - not in a house of creatures with heightened senses. 

The windows - that was your only option to remain unseen. 

Whether it was the delirium of the events days prior or the haze of exhaustion you were yet to shake, you didn't consider escaping into an unknown lands in nothing more than a nightgown was a fools choice, mortifying at the least. But survival called, your family called. 

Padding around the postered bed, you scanned quickly for your belongings . Clothes, waist belt, knives were no where to be found. 

The cupboard was empty, safe from a long black coat made from the softest velvet your had ever felt. Tying the fabric firm at your waist, you didn’t take the time to roll the sleeves that drooped well past your fingertips - clearly made for a much taller, larger form than your own. Black was good, especially at night, helping conceal the silky cream night robe that seemed to scream find me.

If you had the time, you would have marvelled at the  wall of windows - in shapes and sizes you didn't know a glass welder could blow. Arched in a row of three, each of them had smaller panes within - still large enough to fit through, and with latches. 

Perfect. 

You fiddled with the latch, the world outside dark and unmoving with no sign of light until you cast your eyes upwards. Fingers halting on the latch, your breath knocked from you chest as you observed the most brilliant array of stars you had ever seen. 

Were these the same stars as the human lands? How was it that such magnificent beauty was concealed from your own part of the world?

Another stab of loathing for fae found you then – it seemed even the Mother was versed in reserving luxuries only for them.

The latch clicked open, and you pushed gently against the pane, the window unmoving. Frowning, you pushed again, before trying to pull it inside instead. The glass moved on smooth, oiled hinges - and that’s when the howling began. 

As loud as a pack of wolves, yet that insistent noise was instead from wind. 

Fretting at the noise, you glanced behind you in urgency. Any second now they would come, the wind as good as any alarm. So with a strong grip on the window ledge, you pushed your head through, eyes squinting through the unforgiving gales. 

The wind almost knocked you, hair immediately whipping this was and that, eyes stinging with tears as you failed to see clearly.

Scanning as best you could, you saw no stairs of landings to climb to, no balcony from which you could hope to escape. 

And then you looked down.

It was instinct to back away, so fast that the back of your head knocked against the pane, and a quick profanity escaping your lips. 

You had never been so high up before. Never knew anything could be built so tall. 

With a roll of your stomach, you forced your head back out, avoiding looking anywhere below the horizon.

On the far left, hidden mostly by brick, was a distant glow of a city, the lights warm and flickering with glorious life. And between you and it - a river, it’s water the blackest of blacks in the night, besides from the reflection of the city that budded it’s banks. 

To your right - dark, intimidating forms of mountains and peaks. And with a quick flash below, far, far below, there was only night. 

Your gut lurched both from the height and realisation - it was suicide to try and escape. 

It took a moment to force your rigid muscles to push yourself back inside the room, hair strewn over your face and cheeks pink from the bite of the cold. 

“We don't usually advise opening the windows here,” a melodic voice spoke over the wind. 

Hissing in fright, you whipped your head behind you, to the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And beside her - the same blue siphoned male, his eyes aglow with hazel. 

You fished for your voice then, strained in your throat from days of not speaking, the rush from the wind and the awe of what and who stood before you fighting for silence. 

They were am incredibly handsome couple. 

Folded clothes in her hand, the blond simply placed the outfit on a spare reading chair, moving lightly to re-hatch the window behind you. You almost sighed in relief as the piercing howling stopped. 

“The windows are charmed to block out the noise,” she explained, her tone light and friendly despite the step of caution you took to distance yourself. “Well, don't you look good in black,” she perked, brown eyes scanning you, her smile sincere.

You looked down, the fabric of the coat drooping from your frame. 

“I stole this,” you said dumbly, before cursing yourself silently. 

The women laughed, and you could have sworn a slight smile pulled at the males lips too. 

“That’s quite alright, besides, you were awake before I could deliver you some proper clothes,” she gestured to the set she bought in, but you were fixed on those golden locks, the way they bounced when she moved, and that dress…

“I’m Morrigan by the way, but you can call me Mor.” If she caught you staring at her, she did not let on.

You frowned, senses returning, and you scanned the room again. Formalities, names, nicknames –completely unnecessary, unless…

“I must carry on with my search,” you said sternly, eyes darting between her and the blue-siphoned male. 

He knew. He would have told her.

Those large, towering wings pulled in tighter against his frame, and the male opened his mouth to respond. But Morrigon beat him to it. 

“You’re awake much earlier than the healers expected. They advised you may need a few more days rest.”

You tried to hide your panic, eyes scanning her, then the door, then where Azriel stood between it. 

Mor traced your eyes. “We are no threat to you,” she said gently.

You swallowed. “Then I am free to leave?”

Mor schooled her face into something softer, more sympathetic. “You may want to meet with out High Lord and Lady. I know they are eager to meet you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “They wish to discuss your predicament.”

“Have they found my family?” you all but blurted, heart thundering with anticipation.

She shook her head then, her face falling more grave. “I’m sorry, I haven't any news.”

A gnawing at your stomach then - something was wrong. How long had they kept looking, had they found anyone? 

“How many days was I-?"

“Four,” the male answered, hands still clasped behind his back. There was no smile on his face, but it remained soft. 

“And up and about well ahead of the seven days the healers predicted! Quite the fighter you are Y/N,” Morrigan chirped.

You almost jumped at the use of your name. And then a scowl fixed on your face.

“My apologies!” More gasped quickly, and you missed the glare Azriel threw her way, Mor’s eyes meeting his with guilt. “Please forgive me, I forget that humans aren't accustomed to-"

“Mind reading?” you gritted, more exposed under the ridiculous ensemble of clothes you wore. You wish you could drown in the lengths of extra fabric. 

Mor wore a broken smile. “Of sorts, yes.” She paused then, fretting to fill the silence. “Would you like to change your clothes? They should be to your size.” 

You looked at the set neatly folded at the chair. 

“The healers have washed you, but we can draw you another bath if you’d prefer?”

Your cheeks reddened at the question, the male’s eyes politely finding somewhere else in the room to fix that gaze.

Was this their way of telling you that you smelt?

Humiliated and frustrated, your eyes narrowed on the male. “What is your name?”

Hazel flicked back to you, and he took a moment of silence to observe you before answering. “Azriel.”

You eyed him up and down, taking him in fully. Tall, large, muscled - your attempts to stab him would have been laughable. Delirious indeed. 

As he eyed you back, his gaze fixed your wrist, even while concealed beneath the velvet coat. “I am sorry to have hurt you.”

Civilised - far more civilised than you would have expected fae to be. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I suppose I’m sorry for my attempts of murder.”

His mouth pulled into a polite smile, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the firelight. 

Mor chimed in then. “They told me you caught Azirel off guard, Y/N. Like I said - quite the fighter. Not just anyone can catch the Shadowsinger by surprise.”

Shadowsinger. As if at their mention, the furling, smoky shadows peaked from Azriel, and you let out a small yelp. It seemed it was your turn to be surprised. 

Without a whisper of a word, they withdrew into the Shadowsinger himself, as if scolded back into place. Azriel gave no hint of amusement as he kept watching you. 

Your eyes danced from him back to Mor, cheeks once again redening. 

“This is… overwhelming,” you admitted. 

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile, before placing a delicate, manicured hand on your shoulder. “A bath, then?”

You nodded, and she led you to the bathroom, candles lighting with the wave of her hand, and water now filling the marbled pool, steam quick to fill the room. 

You forget about Azriel in the other room as Mor closed the door behind her, marvelling at the arches and architecture, a new set of large windows in this room, this time facing the city. You padded there mindlessly, watching the twinkle of the town that beckoned. 

“Velaris,” Mor came to stand beside you. “Or, the City of Starlight. It’s location is well concealed, unknown by the other courts.”

You were reminded of the courts then, the brief lessons they had taught you at school. The divide of seven different courts, each ruled by a High Lord determined by their magic gifted the Mother and bloodline. Allies, enemies – it was complicated twining of politics and power. 

But you had never heard of Velaris. 

“This place is a secret?”

Mor nodded. “The true home of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. A paradise they keep concealed, untouched by others.”

“Why?”

Mor chewed her cheek. “It’s safer this way,” she said simply. 

“And you trust me with such information?”

Mor’s brown eyes warmed, but something sadder hid behind them. “It doesn't seem fair to lie to you about your own whereabouts.”

You nodded, eyes finding the city beyond again. “You mentioned the High Lord and Lady want to meet. Rhysand and Feyre?” Your head ached at the strain to remember their names, but the information found you. 

Mor smiled at their names, and you remembered the way the males had too when they first found you. Loyalty coursed through them like some kind of magic. If you wanted to survive, you would be sure to respect their hierarchy. 

“Morrigan,” you swallowed, bracing yourself for an answer. “Please, what do you know of the search?”

Mor stiffened, pausing for a moment. “The High Lord and Lady are on their way home to meet with you. They will tell you all they know.”

You eyed her carefully, your heart straining. “They haven't found my family, have they?”

Mor’s face of sympathy was beautiful, whether schooled or real. “I’m sorry, I really can not tell you.”

You swallowed once before nodding, eyes casting out to the city of Velaris, the name foreign in your mind.

“They are travelling as fast as they can, and should be here within a few hours,” she reassured. How or where from you didn't bother to ask. 

“A bath then,” you nodded.

Mor smiled tightly. “Should you need anything, just ask. This house - the House of Wind - is just as alive as you and I. You should only have to speak what you wish.”

You nodded, hiding the overwhelming thought of a magical living house as the pool of warm scented water beckoned you with furls of steam.

“A fitting name,” you murmured, remembering of the persistent howl that waited just outside those obnoxious windows.

Mor grinned, catching your every word. “Isn’t it just,” she called and she fluttered from the room, pulling the large, carved door closed behind her. 

You took a few moments of silence, again scanning the marble-splayed room you now found yourself in. Dream or reality, you were still yet to be convinced. 

That was, until your dropped your undergarments, the thick wads of cotton stained with specks of bright, fresh blood. A saddened whimper escaped you, and your hands instantly found your belly, phantom cramps pulling from within. 

You thought about calling for Morrigon, to demand an answer or to see a healer again. But deep down you knew, and that instinct to protect yourself, your privacy, was greater. 

A waft of essential oils blew your way, as if the house was beckoning you to bathe. Toeing the water, each of your muscles seems to relax and steam clouded around you. An uncontrollable sigh left you as you moved deeper and deeper, breasts bobbing beneath the water, the muscles in your abdomen glad for the relaxant. 

You had never had a bath like this, never indulged in such a level of luxury. Was this how all fae bathed, or just the ones so closely aligned with royals?

It was a jarring comparison to the tin bath in your family home, the steam quick to escape from the batches of hot water your mother boiled in the kettle when you were young. As you grew older, you would often forgo using the kettle, bearing the bite of the cold for efficiency, only treating the children when you bathed them.

A shock of panic found you as the pool dipped even deeper, and you shot from your toes back to the scooped edges of the pool, clinging to the edge. Obviously built for creatures much taller and larger than you, while you on the other hand had never learnt to swim. Not when your parents were so busy, and the creek behind your home merely ankle deep.

Bathe, change, and then you would have your answers - you reminded yourself. So you scrubbed with determination, dipping your head beneath the water and rubbing the pads of your fingers at your scalp too, washing away any remains of the taxing journey it took to get here. 

You would start your search fresh, start anew, even swallow your hate for fae if it meant the help of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. You could drink their wine and pass pleasant smiles if it meant they would aide you, if it meant your family returning home safely. 

———— 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the black tunic and pants gifted by Mor fitting better than any of your skirts and dresses back home. The fabric was soft yet thick, protecting you from the cold, even while the House of Wind seemed to warm from within. 

There were slippers waiting by your bed, black also, and your skin seemed to glow from the oils from the bath. The face staring back at you was clean, yet tired, the bags under your eyes still a swell of purple. Forcing your shoulders back, you forced a stance of determination. You could do this, you could meet with the most powerful creatures of Prythian, and you would convince them to help you.

With a gentle knock at the door, a voice called. “It’s Mor.”

“Come in,” you answered turning from the mirror, hands finding the pockets on your pants.

Her eyes warmed at the site of you. “Black certainly does suit you,” she repeated, and you wondered about the comment from earlier. Loyalty to black, it seemed, was also a part of their strange culture. Perhaps something to do with the Night Court, and you wondered if the other courts found such ties to certain colours. 

“Thank you for the clothes. I will return them once-"

Mor raised her hand dismissevely. “We’d hear of no such thing. Are you ready?”

You nodded. “Are they?”

“Rhys and Feyre arrived a half hour ago. They await you in their office.” 

Mor seemed to want to take your hand, but rethought it, and instead raised a palm to the door. 

“Follow me,” she hummed before striding for the door, red gown trailing behind her. 

With a deep breath, you followed in silence.

————

“Here she is,” Mor cooed musically as she pushed the doors open to the office, the High Lord and Lady stopping their polite conversation with as they turned to take you in. 

Your knees almost buckled under their gaze.

That power, even as a human you felt it from many steps away, steely blue and violet eyes seemingly pinning you to your spot. A heavy dose of intimidation overcame you and your body faltered, even though their eyes remained soft, their smiles friendly. 

They both stood, Rhysand donned in a neat black suit, Feyre’s dark gown falling from her frame like liquid night. Gorgeous – an absolutely gorgeous sight the both of them were. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Feyre spoke, her voice and as smooth as Morrigon’s, yet younger. 

“Welcome to our home,” Rhysand added. 

Blinking between the two, your knees almost groaned as you forced a curt bow. “Thank you, High Lord and High L-Lady,” you stammered. “For your hospitality.”

You waited for any sign of compliance from your bow - knowing that fae spoke a language of hierarchy and formality. 

But your were instead met with an informal sideways smile of Feyre. “Please, call us Rhys and Feyre.”

You nodded, although you couldn't see yourself respecting that wish. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Rhysand asked, violet eyes piercing, refusing to leave you. “We were told you had survived almost a fortnight on your own. That is very impressive.”

You weren't sure you’d ever get used to the unblinking ways of the fae as you blushed at his compliment. Had their parent’s never taught them it was rude to stare?

The smallest of smiles tugged at Rhys’s lips.

But you muffled your thoughts, forcing yourself to answer. “Feeling much better, thank you High Lord. You swallowed tightly, fishing for the right words to say. “And to your healers,” you added with rush. “Thanks to them too.”

“I am glad,” Rhysand smiled, moved back into his seat and gesturing for you to do the same.

“I’ve informed Y/N that you would update her on the search for the humans, to explain your own findings.” You could have kissed Mor for steering the conversation, desperate to hear what the High Lord and Lady had to say. 

Feyre immediately began fiddling with the fingers, before Rhysand took them in his own hand. You observed closely at the small interaction, Feyre’s nervous fidget, Rhysand’s immediate response. They seemed to speak na unspoken language.

Not good, not good, not good. Your nails instinctively settled into familiar wounds at your palms.

“Of course,” Rhysand answered, his beautiful features schooling into something more serious as his voice softened. 

Feyre’s eyes found you then, something like regret and sorrow burrowed within. In that moment alone, their difference in upbringing was at contrast. Rhys - ever the schooled socialite, tamed and controlled behaviour from years of perfecting courteous mannerisms. Feyre on the other hand – human, child-like sincerity shone through despite her pointed ears and occasional glimpse of canines. 

“I’m sorry to say that we have not found your family Y/N,” Rhysand said straightly. 

You nodded, assuming that had been the case. That didn't stop the sting in your eyes, or lurch of you gut. You clamped your lips against the wobble that already threatened.

“The truth is, we haven’t found a single human since finding you.”

Instantly the room began to reel, Rhysand and Feyre tipping slightly as your heart skipped to an irregular thunder. 

How could this be? You had been asleep for four days, between their armies and winged beings among them, how could they not find a single other? Your mind screamed a flurry of questions, but your remained stiff, only moving to grip the arms of your chair. 

Rhysand sighed then, glancing once at his mate who’s look of regret only deepened, tears shining in those grey-blue eyes. 

“It is with the deepest regret that we inform you we have traced a powerful magic from the lands of Hybern. A spell, rather.”

You forced your voice past the lump in your throat, past the bile that swarmed in your mouth. “What spell is that?”

Tears spilled from Feyre’s eyes, whatever control she had on her breaking into unmistakable grief. 

No, no don’t say it - your mind screamed. 

“As spell to kill all humans,” she whispered. 

You blinked. And the others watched, waiting.

You blinked a few more times.

"What did you say?"

Rhys's frown was pained. "It seems Hybern was intent on capturing your lands, and used a magic so strong it expelled humans..."

But Rhys's voice grew muffled as your vision narrowed, clouding with darkness.

And then it hit you.

It was as if someone had pulled the floor from underneath you. The room tipped unforgivably, vision blurring and stomach lurching with the lack of food in days.

A broken noise escaped you.

“Y/N, you must breath,” a voice spoke.

Panicked, laboured breaths wheezed from you, and you clenched your eyes shut past the horror of what they had told you.

Meek breaths passed your chest as you tried to speak. “I don’t-how, I don't understand.”

“Hybern has access to the cauldron, and we believe he used it to seize the territory of human lands.”

“It worked then, then spell? They’re gone?” You voice was hoarse, breathy with distraught. Tears had not found you yet, only an overwhelming dread laced with a flicker of denial.

Even while the room danced around you, you caught Rhysand’s tight nod, his face grave and solemn. “We are so sorry.”

Mor’s hand was gentle at your back, as an all consuming anxiety took over and you clutched at your head.

“Please do not touch me,” you rasped, audible wheezes catching in your throat.

Immediately her hand lifted.

“Dead, then,” you swallowed another rise of bile, raising frantic eyes to Feyre.

Broken eyes locked with yours. “I’m so very, very sorry Y/N” she whispered.

“My family, my siblings? Dead?”

She was crying, but you didn't care. You waited for the answer. All she offered was a nod. 

A broken, crazed laugh found you then. It was a cold, lonely thing, and you caught Mor exchange a look with her High Lord. There was nothing they could do except watch as you ran shaking hands over your face. 

You were trembling, eyes dancing frantically. No. No no no. This was unbelievable. You didn't believe them, you refused to.

“Impossible,” you scoffed.

“We wish it were, Y/N truly,” Mor said softly.

“Then pray tell, how it is that I survived?”

“We’re perplexed by you remaining, Y/N. We have no answer for it,” Rhys offered, a tanned hand stroking at Feyre’s back in practiced comfort. 

“Liar,” you snarled, standing so quickly your chair fell back. 

Liars - the lot of them, to tell you of the extinction of humans when you sat there alive and well in their home. 

Rhys’s eyes pinned you, as if expecting your outburst. “I can’t begin to imagine your grief Y/N, but we tell no lies.”

“I don't believe you,” you spat, hands curling into trembling fists. “You wish to keep me here, to trap me!” Anger rose within you. Typical fae tricks and fibs, that's all this was. 

“I would have thought the same thing if I were still human,” Feyre coaxed, wiping at her eyes. “I don't blame you for not trusting us. I truly wish we were lying.”

Something in her sincerity knocked you, cracking at your anger, demanding you to consider their words true. 

But your shook your head stubbornly, crazed by their audacity, distancing yourself from the devastation that loomed underneath.

“I will not stay here and listen to this.”

You heeded for the door, pulling on the handles with trembling hands, only to find that blue siphoned male waiting on the other side. 

Azriel.

His arms were neatly tucked behind his back, legs wide and ready as if waiting for you.

If only you had your knife.

“You will let me leave,” you all but growled, eyes darting from behind him back to his frame, looking for your way out. He bore no weapons this time , but it wasn't as if he needed them.

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I can’t.” His voice was soft and steady. “It’s not safe for you out there.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “I don’t care! I will not sit here prisoner, I need to find the truth for myself.” 

You made to step around him, but those rippled hands gripped you, from the shoulders this time. 

“Let go of me!” You struggled against him, but his grip remained strong.

“Listen to me. Hybern has sent an army and they sweep the human lands as we speak. I saw it for myself – if they find you, they will kill you.”

The integrity in his voice, deep down you knew he was telling the truth, even if you refused to believe it. Because believing it meant you had lost everything, everyone. It meant the cruelest punishment from the gods - not another day with the laughter of your siblings, the caress of your mother or hold from your father. No home, no love, no warmth - just a bobbing existence, with grief as your only friend. 

Perhaps that’s why you started sobbing, still trying to pry Azriel’s hands from you with his own. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care!” you cried, voice breaking as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “I want my family!”

Azriel cast a worried look back to the others who could only watch with pained expressions. 

Mor sprung into action, fetching a blanket from a nearby room.

“You are liars, territorial murderers, the lot of you! How could you let this happen?” your voice was hoarse once again, your knees buckling as shock took over. 

Azriel moved with you, gently bringing you to the ground as you wept, your legs folding underneath.

The blanket was strewn around you gently, Azriel’s touch surprisingly tender. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a strangely soothing balm against your turmoil. "I wish things were different. But your safety is paramount."

You wanted to fight against it, to push and claw and burrow in the bubble of denial, but you hadn’t any energy left.

Waking to an empty home, to empty streets, days of travel without another human in sight – perhaps you knew all along that this nightmare was real.

The room continued to spin as reality sunk in. Your family, gone. Your siblings, so young, so innocent. The humans wiped clean from the world. A full scale genocide, and you were the only one to survive it. 

"They were children," you wailed, your words a harrowing cry. "They were only children."

Injustice, isolation and grief was leaden on your chest, so constricting and heavy you thought you might die. 

“I-I can’t breath.” One palm braced on the wooden floor, the other against your heart as you began to pant. Eyes darting between the fae that watched on, you clutched at your chest, panic swarmed with bile. 

And then you made sick. 

Azriel's grip didn't falter, and someone moved to pull the hair from your stinging eyes. 

"Try to focus on your breathing, Y/N," a voice coaxed in your mind, male or female you couldn’t tell. "In and out, slowly."

But the air felt thick, suffocating, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on you. Each breath seemed to be a struggle against an invisible force, and panic tightened its grip around your heart.

That voice in your head again. ”Just keep breathing," it said gently, the voice cutting through the haze of your panic. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here, I promise."

The words were like a lifeline in the storm raging within you, and you clenched your eyes shut, clinging to it.

Rhysand approached cautiously, his expression a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "Az," he prompted, and the male raised from his knees.

Rhysand crouched down in front of you, his gaze unwavering. "We'll explain everything after you've rested Y/N, I promise," he said, his voice carrying the weight of truth.

And as the room slowly ceased its relentless spinning, you found yourself clinging to that promise, holding onto the hope that amidst the devastation, there was still a path forward, however uncertain it may be.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and threats you couldn't begin to comprehend. And Hybern. He had killed your family. Your siblings, those sweet innocent children who you loved so dearly. Your parents too.

Sobs wracked through you again, your body giving out as you let out a muffled whimper of grief.

Strong arms slid from under you turning you over to cup you by your arms and knees. And then you were being carried, away from that horrible scene, from the mess on the floor where your world came crashing down. 

You clung to whatever you could, the blanket, Azriel’s shirt, you didn't really care – but you clung and cried. Even when you were again met with the softness of a mattress, even when the weight of the duvet being drawn over as it settled against your skin. 

In that tumbleweed of devastation, a rippled hand soothed you, coaxing you to sleep. You gladly let it, letting the horrors of the world slip away, even if only for a moment. 

“Just rest now. You are safe.”

And with a final thought, you sent a prayer to the Mother to not wake up to this nightmare.

A/N: Hey pals, thank you so so much for the love and support of Part 1!! I sincerely hope you liked part 2! <3 <3 Now would you like some fries with that angst? Because it'll only get darker from here. Again, I'll tag everything I can at the top of the fic, but please have a look at the warnings ahead, I would hate to hurt anyone <3 <3 If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, drop a comment! Thank you so much for reading, mwa!!

[illyrian-dreamer]

“And Then There Were None”, this is going to be good💌.

Hehe thanks for the hype girly!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[illyrian-dreamer]

i’m sooo excited for and then there were none! the first chapter was so good. the way az is already so gentle with reader 🥺💙💙

Ahhh thank you boo! I’m glad you’re excited 🥰🥰

And yes, so gentle after he broke her wrist 🤷🏻‍♀️😅 whoopsie that ol’ fae strength 😉