Feedback is always welcome! If you have a suggestion to improve my writing or request I'd love to hear it, as long as you are polite and kind. *Anyone rude will be ignored xoxo gossip girl*
Ao3
Writing for ACOTAR because the incredible writers on this platform inspired me, and because there simply isn't enough acotar content!
Anything with a Ă may contain sensitive content such as violence, etc.
name:
meaning of name:
nicknames/titles:
age:
gender:
location:
birthday:
strengths + example where it's shown:
weaknesses + example where it's shown:
how it affects others:
emotional depth
attachment style + how it manifests in the story:
physical fear:
emotional/abstract fear:
happy memory:
sad memory:
object of significance:
philosophical outlook/belief:
what characters are ignorant about themselves:
how confident are they:
goal:
long-term dreams:
what they're embarrassed/ashamed to tell others about:
regrets:
source of pride:
source of misery:
what they admire above all else:
do they believe in fate:
personality
mbti:
enneagram:
big five:
character archetype:
star sign:
who they pretend to be on the outside:
who they actually are/how they feel towards the mask:
mental health conditions:
how it manifests for them:
iq:
eq:
humour:
reputation:
habits
bad habits:
mannerisms when stressed:
mannerisms when content:
mannerisms when scared:
mannerisms normally:
verbal mannerisms/distinctive speaking style:
how do they move across a room:
what do they say and what remains unsaid:
how they express love:
hobbies:
appearance
defining features:
eye shape + colour:
hair texture + colour:
skin texture + tone:
vibe:
height:
build:
clothing:
any bodily disfigurement (scars, etc.):
overall attractiveness:
their opinion on their appearance:
appeals to:
relationships
who they trust most:
what they wish they could do for them:
what's holding them back:
who they hate most:
what they wish they could do to them:
what's holding them back:
relationship with the protagonist:
relationship with the antagonist:
siblings:
relationship with them:
parents/step-parents:
relationship with them:
previous broken relationships:
why did it break:
what others expect of them:
who believes in them:
their mentor character/who they look up to:
political/religious/other affiliations:
what makes them different from every other character:
non-human relationships + why:
romantic "type" + why:
relationship dynamics:
backstory/background
primary emotion towards their past:
primary feelings while in their past:
where did they grow up:
defining incidents:
earliest childhood memory:
saddest memory:
happiest memory:
major accomplishments:
their opinion on it:
notable people in their backstory:
effect on them today:
trauma:
what have they already lost:
financial circumstance:
progression
why are they important (eg. why're they the only one able to do something?):
what do they learn about themselves throughout the story:
what do they learn about the world:
how do they feel towards their newfound knowledge:
character arc (positive, negative, neutral):
how relationships change because of their actions:
what mistakes do they make:
what scene is their character highlighted:
do they get what they want:
why or why not:
what happens to them after the story ends:
Reading excuses for being ia is boring so apologies in advance. Also this isn't supposed to be like a pity party thing istg this rlly standard shit dw about me
But I'm so sorry for being away for a minute. PTSD, depression, anxiety the usual PLUS I've been dealing with a pretty heavy drug addiction/withdrawal, rehab, y'know the shit show that that is. I'm hella dosed to deal with the symptoms from withdrawal and trying to not let my entire life fall into disrepair (the world doesn't stop when you do, ain't that the truth) so it might be a little while before I'm properly posting decent content.
But I just wanna say that the influx of support on my posted fics has meant the world to me, I never expected to receive this kind of a reaction. I love u guys so much, I'm gonna go stare at the wall in a drug induced stupor
been reading a stupid amount of (modern) elucien fanfic which made me think about Lucien in a button up and Elain in a sundress which has led to this. Modern elucien ice cream date ? đ¤
I just wanted to take a moment to appreciate all of the amazing writers of this fandom who write for ACOTAR x Reader, taking their time curating fics for all of us to enjoy.
I adore and admire each and every single one of you!Â
Please go and take a read at their incredible works, you will not be disappointed!
If Iâve forgotten anyone please tag them or message me so I can properly add them to the list! đ
Oh my GOD?? <3333 I'm gonna cry this made my whole month I can't get over this. To be included with such incredible and iconic writers, ON A LIST CREATED by such an incredible and iconic writer I'mâ
I love it when anons/guests find my works and kudo/leave reviews, but given the new revelation that Elon Musk is using bots to mine AO3 fanfiction for a writing AI without writer's permission, my works are now archive-locked and only available for people with an AO3 account.
Embers & Light (in progress):Â
Slow-burn healing fic for both Cassian and Nesta, starting from Nesta being sent to the Illyrian mountains by Feyre⌠Prepare yourselves for angst and yearning, bickering and flirting banterâŚÂ
Summary: Nesta Archeron may be the unsung hero from the war with Hybern, but since then, she has felt nothing but hollow. Suffering from a battle trauma so fierce it knocks the breath out of her, Nesta spends her days drinking, bedding males and spending the Night Court coffers to block out the memories of cracking bones and rolling heads. Until⌠enough is finally enough and her sister and High Lady, Feyre Archeron, exiles her to the Illyrian mountains to live with Cassian - the one male who has always managed to get under her skin. Thrust into a culture in the midst of dissent, Nesta is made to face the darkest parts of herself, as well as the magic that roars in her veins, to figure out who she is and who she will become on the road to recovery.
One-shots
Of Books & Timber (one-shot from the Embers & Light universe):
A one-shot where Cassian builds Nesta some bookshelves in Illyria (or a missing scene from Embers & Light). You donât need to have read E&L to understand this fic.
Kernels of Truth (one-shot, CANON):
A missing scene from ACOFAS, when Mor follows Cassian upstairs after he arrives back at the townhouse after chasing Nesta on Solstice (and when he throws the mystery box in the river!)
Clouds Are Shrouding Us in Moments Unforgettable (Kinktober)
Nesta and Cassian have never been a couple that willingly deny themselves some action between the sheets. But when Cassian has to whip the Illyrian legions into shape for an entire week, as well as smooth out the disputes between unruly clans, Nesta and Cassian make a deal: no orgasms until they are reunited at the Spring Court to celebrate Calanmai.
But when Nesta eats some aphrodisiac-laced cherry pie whilst waiting for Cassian to arrive, the bargain they struck is immediately replaced with a base need for release. Nesta hurries to her room where she can finally be alone, but just as that orgasm begins to crest, Cassian catches her in the act.And they had a deal, did they not?
Warnings: NSFW, Spanktober, Dom!Cassian being sexy AF, orgasm denial, Nesta high on aphrodisiac
Alternative POVâs in Embers & Light
Prologue (Rhysand)
Donât read until after chapter 35 of Embers & Light if you donât want spoilers :)
Chapter 9 (Cassian)
Cassian sees Nestaâs scars for the first time. Protective Cassianâ˘
Chapter 20 (Nesta)
Nesta witnesses Cassian in only a towel
Chapter 15 (Nesta)
Cassian finds Nesta has started her cycle and runs her a bath
Chapter 25 (Cassian)
Cassian tries to soothe Nestaâs nightmares and ends up sleeping beside her
Chapter 44-45 (Cassian)
Cassian struggles to cope without Nesta
Chapter 51 (Cassian)
Cassian is reeling after something monumental happens at the Lake.Â
Habits Universe (to be read in order)
1. Habits (NSFW one-shot):
ACOSF one-shot of Nessian smut on the premise that Nesta and Cassian sleep with one another in Illyria shortly after Nesta arrives. Angry sex turning into something softer⌠NSFW.
2. Wings, Flames and Shadows (NSFW)
Nesta/Cassian/Azriel play strip poker in Illyria. This is set in the Habits universe but can be read as a standalone. Seriously smutty.
3. Wings & Flames (NSFW)
Nesta & Cassian come together in the aftermath of his trip to the Winter Court.
Alternative POVâs for the Habits universe
Wings & Shadows (Azriel POV during Wings, Flames & Shadows):Â
During a state visit to Kalliasâs Winter Court, Azriel and Cassian deal with the consequences of their recent joining with Nesta and the truths Azriel learnt.
Modern AUâs
A Golden OpportunityÂ
Blurb: For months Cassian had been waiting for the chance to take Nesta Archeron on a date. No, strike that, Cassian wouldnât lie to himself. Heâd been waiting for years, Mother damn it.
From the moment Cassian had first laid eyes on Nesta heâd known that there would be no-one else. Cassian couldnât explain it, but heâd just known with a rattling clarity that startled him awake. There would be no more raucous lifestyle where he bedded anything that moved. There would be no half-assed dates that were clearly going nowhere or late-night hook-ups.
There was only one goal: to get Nesta to agree to go on a date with him and pray to the Forces that Be that sheâd fall in love with him, too.
no because I haven't even read HALF of @duskandstarlight writing but when I say I'm completely in love !!! Literally stumbled across one of their oneshots TWO DAYS AGO and IM STILL THINKING ABOUT IT. when people talk about ff writers who write better than published fiction THIS is who they're talking about
dear followers come interact more with your "said" favorite writers đŠđžâđť + more interaction rlly boost us into writing more for whatever fandom you are in
Writing tips for fanfic writers: a post by someone who had to figure it out themselves and now writes professionally :)
Disclaimer: fanfiction writing is probably one of the most unpoliced forms of self expression and that's what makes it so incredible. It's not my intention to say "hey you're doing it wrong! this is how it should be!" This is merely me sharing writing advice for those interested in improving their writing craft. Imo, a technically "improperly written" fanfic that someone decided to share, is worth far more to me than the finest writing that wasn't shared. My point being, that if you're posting your writing, you're already incredible. I still enjoy fanfics that don't follow these rules, but they are benchmarks that will help improve your writing and refine it. Note that some of these tips are specific to practically writing fanfic and not necessarily for writing with the goal of being published, though a lot of tips will apply for that too.
Become aware of your writing. Read it out loud or put it through a text to speech if you're that dedicated to improving, but the main point is to be able to pick up on your habits and notice when you repeat certain traits or sentence structures multiple times in a row.
Avoid repetition. Repeating words, multiple sentences of a similar length or cadence, too many sentences with the same grammatical marks (; : ,? ! â) you get the gist. These marks are incredible for adding new rhythm and excitement to a story but just be careful to not repeat them too much. This goes for everything. Don't start every sentence the same way (for example: "walking to the door I sighed and coughed. opening the door I saw that it was night") as long as you keep your sentences fresh and don't repeat shit, your writing is good.
Fanfiction Prose.
I'm gonna sum up everything you need to know about prose in a quick bullet point 101. So first, everyone says avoid adverbs and all that; spectacular advice for writing published works that will go through critiquing, however fanfic is often write-and-post-as-fast-as-you-can and coming up with sentences that don't contain adverbs will slow you down a lot. Honestly don't worry about it too much. As long as you're not using an adverb in every single sentence, you're fine. It does refine your work to work around them and will often train you to word things better, but if it's messing up your flow to avoid adverbs then just use them. You can always come back to that later and edit them out if you really want to polish your work.
-ing words are a little bit of a bitch. Fanfic readers are not often carefully reading and picking apart every aspect of a fanfic (unless its hella well written and they're analyzing it out of obsession) but using verbs that end in -ing admittedly does bog down your writing WHEN USED IN EXCESS. I can't stress enough that literally every perceived flaw in writing is fine in moderation. If you can find a way to make that verb into one ending in -ed instead, you're golden. it makes your prose so much better, but no sweat if you still love your -ing verbs.
Be aware of word connotations. Certain words paint certain pictures, so you might not want to refer to bread dough as creamy and squelching. Oh god, or really anything for that matter. But yeah, the next time you're tempted to call someones ass a "cavernous hole" just pause and think about the image that those specific words create.
Babe. Vary your sentence lengths. I promise it makes stuff better to not have 8 long ass paragraph sentences in a row. Or 25 short two word sentences. Mix it up.
On another note, ITS OKAY TO CALL SHIT WHAT IT IS. Don't fall into the trap of purple prose. Honestly with fanfic, readers are more interested in the general idea of the thought, rather than reading you use a ton of complicated words to say something simple. Sometimes it's just "he walked across the bridge" instead of "he moved one bare appendage in front of the other, carrying his form step by step across and through the wooded plank structure." And also... If it's a dick, call it a dick. If it's an eye, call it an eye. None of this "meat sword" and "orb" nonsense.
Quotation marks and paragraphs. This is really simple and you may have figured it out already but I'll explain it bc nobody explained it to me when I started. When someone speaks and you use quotation marks, that goes on a separate paragraph. Please use paragraph spaces!! It makes things rlly hard to read when they're unspaced. Spaces occur with each line of dialogue like I said, or they occur whenever the topic or scene changes. The topic might not change drastically but pay attention and you'll catch when something isn't quite in the same vein as the rest of your paragraph, that means it's time for a space!!
Describing your settings often goes a long way. Like don't get too into it because the reader is there for the smut/angst/fluff/whatever else, And not because they want to hear me describe the carpeting in the bedroom, but it really helps paint a picture in their mind when they know what's going on. Toss a lover onto a plush cream colored comforter. Breathe the air of the cedar trees surrounding their picnic.
Along that vein, detail is GOD. Little details make so much more of a difference than you realize. That quote about "You don't write about the horrors of war. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying in the road." I think is referring to plot, but it's so good for general writing advice. If you focus on the details, you can just simply state the rest without any fancy words and the picture will fall into place beautifully. Details make shit real. Readers don't know it, but they're curious what color characters toothbrush is, what their countertop looks like, how their hair smells, what their lovers skin feels like. Find ways to incorporate this organically. I swear this is probably my best tip. Also because details will set a scene, mood, or foreshadow. Too many specific details about an environment can make a scene creepy (in a good way). Too few details about an environment might happen in an action scene when things are happening quickly.
Write. What. You. Want. I dont give a shit if one bed fanfics are popular rn (I do love me a one bed ff mwah) if that's not what you're passionate about, if that's not what you love writing, you don't have to write it. Write what you enjoy. Write the stories that play themselves out in your head idc how crazy they sound PEOPLE WANT TO HEAR IT TOO. you love gory freaky shit? Girl you're not the only one, but you might be the only one brave enough to create content for that so go do that shit PROVIDE FOR YOUR PEOPLE.
Tag ur shit with proper warnings. Honestly, as long as it's not glorifying p3do, incest or racism etc, I think there's a place for writing about all topics, no matter how taboo or whatever else. But please for the love of God, place warnings at the beginning of your work. If there are spoiler specific warnings you need to give, say that in the beginning and then provide the warnings at the end. Don't not tag stuff just because it doesn't trigger you or it seems silly to be triggered by something like that. It's not silly. I literally just read a wonderful ff tonight that contained a triggering topic that would've sent me into a full blown panic attack if it were not for the warning. I saw the warning and was able to prepare myself and when the topic arose, it didn't catch me off guard. I was mentally able to process the writing because the writer disclosed the triggering topics beforehand. On another night maybe it would've been too much and I would've known from the warning that I wasn't in a place to read that fic. Providing warnings save both the reader and the writer a lot of stress, grief and frustration. You'll avoid getting unnecessary negative feedback from writing that triggered someone, and instead receive positivity from someone who was able to read your fic with a proper heads up. And the reader will have an all-around more pleasant reading experience. So when it comes to trigger warnings, the more specific the better.
Be mindful of how often you use names/pet names. Not like it's gonna kill somebody if you use a pet name too many times in a row, but as readers it's often easy to pick up patterns and that can take them out of a scene if they notice that character X ended every sentence with "darling" or something like that. With that being said, I fking love pet names AND regular names so keep using them, just be careful to not use them consistently in every sentence or it might sound funny.
It doesn't matter how many times a similar fic has been written, we need your take on it. There's a reason that, for example, nightmare oneshots are so common and it's because THEYRE THE GOOD SHIT. if something has been written a million times or even just a few times, and you feel inclined to write it but don't want to be unoriginal or repetitive DO IT ANYWAY. I promise your version is needed in this world. I can't stress that enough.
My last and most important tip, is to write and share it with the world. There is a place for you in this hellhole called the internet and your content could be the very thing that carries someone through a hard time. You could literally save someone's life just because your writing provided a needed distraction or a respite from their life. You know what I do when I have a hard day and everything feels like shit and i need a break to heal? 9 times out of 10 I read fanfic. There are so many people who find solace and comfort in these little moments and worlds we create as fanfic writers and often times, unless a reader is brave enough to come forward and say so, we have no idea the impact we have on someone's life. It was literally a fanfic that inspired me to become a professional writer and that fanfic writer will never know that because they deleted everything. I swear, fanfiction is not the stupid, meaningless screaming into the void that your brain tries to tell you it is. People hear you, people see your hard work, and people adore it. Regardless of how many likes or reblogs you get, regardless of your following. Someone's giggling and blushing reading ur shit I promise. It's hard to wrap your head around but it's true.
And that's it! If this helped anyone let me know, I can do a part two if u want. Also !! If you use this advice the next time you write or if it inspired you to write I'm BEGGING you to tag me in it.
I adore the Medici TV series & I love Italien history and art. Hence this AU piece is inspired by it. Itâs the scene where Sandro Botticelli paints Giuliano de Medici and Simonetta Vespucci as Mars and Venus.
And in this case well-known painter Feyre Archeron had asked her sister and her good old friend to be her models for her painting of Mars and Venus.
This was torture, Elain was sure about it. Why the hell had she agreed to it? Why the hell did her husband not have time to help out? And why did her lovely sister and well-known paintet Feyre have to ask one of her good old friends to help out instead?
Elainâs throat constricted when her bare, lower leg touched Lucienâs warm skin. And yes, she had to admit that he looked like a god, sitting in a half sprawl in front of her. Amusement and content laced his features, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. His chest was bare, just like most parts of his body; there only was a thin sheet of fabric covering hisâŚprivate parts. This tiny sheet left really absolutely nothing to imagination and gods, had Elain been staring at hisâ
No, she definitely had not!
Maybe she hadâŚhe was just so beautifulâa sight for sore eyes. And charming. And such a terrible tease. And not her husband, for godâs sake!
Elain swallowed thickly. Since when had it become so hot in this room? A thin film of sweat made Lucienâs toned abs glow in the afternoon sunlight and then the fool had to flex his muscles while he blew out air through his plump lips.
Elain drew in a sharp breath and moved a strand of hair over her shoulder, trying to focus on everything but the delicious looking male in front of her. Had her traitorous mind just called Lucien Vanserra delicious?
Internally Elain face-palmed herself and momentarily looked over at Feyre who grinned and wiggled her brows. Feyre this cruel person. Obviously Elain wasnât sble to say no when her sister had begged her to pose for her as Venus.
"Is that husband of yours alright with you and I being here? In such anâŚintimate way I mean? With so little distance?" Lucien asked all of a sudden, the sweet tone of teasing in his voice not going unnoticed by Elain.
Graysen would throw a tantrum if he knew, but she would obviously not say that.
"Of course!"
"Also if he knew how very nude I am and that his wife is currently droolâ"
"Ssh! Both of you. Donât move and keep your mouths shut, I am trying to paint," Feyre rebuked.
Lucien chuckled lowly, relaxed his muscles and craned his neck and smiled.
Elain on the other hand was fuming and also suddenly so very hot again. Her chest was heaving, her heart speeding up. And then all of a sudden Lucienâs calf touched her bare thigh, the soft brush of the hair of his leg tingeling her skin. Hell, when had he moved his leg closer? And when had her slip slipped and revealed way to o much of her?
"Sorry, my sweet," Lucien apologised, moving his leg just a tiny bit to the side. Elain only hummed as an answer, her mind being way to occupied with not being too obvious about her attraction and what his presence did to her. Elainâs gaze once again trailed over his body. His pointy ears, the auburn red hair, his full and terribly soft looking lips, hisâ
Her cheeks filled with colour when she quickly averted her gaze and looked above Lucien once again. Gods! This was where she was supposed to be lookinh in the painting. She would pay Feyre back for that, it was all her faultâŚ
She was in this mess because of her. It was such a mess because it was so very wrong. Elain had married Graysen because she had thought she loved him and vice versa. But things had started to change when she first met Lucien and when Graysen had become so distant amd ignorant towards her.
Graysen was one of the most influential men in the area and also one of the richest who provided Elain with all things she wanted, safe for true and deep love.
From the very girst moment on that she had met Lucien Elain had barely been able to form a coherent thought or sentence. Bur obviously she tried to deny her feelings at all times.
Elain had tried to avoid seeing Lucien as much as posdible, but then Feyre had to ask him for the painting. He had a glorious body and a breathtaking demeanour so obviously would fit into the role of Mars.
And now they sat here, on a table, opposite to each other with their legs constantly touching.
Lucien brought a hand up and brushed it through his hair which immediately made Elain look at him again. Her fawn eyes once again betrayed her. They trailed over his closed eyes, his nose, his high cheekbones and his defined jaw. Lower to his neck, his broad and muscular shoulders and his god-like chest. And lower to the coarse hair trailing down his belâ
"Not staring at Lucienâs abs. Above his head, Elain," Feyre grumbled.
Elain knew that she might explode with heat, colour crawled up her neck and spread all over her face.
Lucien chuckled lowly and licked over his lips, "My sweet, you can look as much as you want. I have no problem with it."
And gods, Elain would have loved nothing more than that. No! This is where it had to stop, especially when there was a sudden slickness between her thighs. Damp heat flooded her very centre and Elain knew she had to do something.
"Can we stop? I just remembered I still haveâŚimportant things to do," Elain blurted out.
Blinking his eyes open, Lucien looked confused, his eyes searching Elainâs. She did not look at him, pulled her legs up to her chest and gave Feyre a questioning and pleading look.
Her sister only reluctantly agreed with the promise of being allowed to finish the painting tomorrow. Lucien agreed as well and sat up, smiling at Elain.
"Well then, it was an honour to getting painted by you, Lady Feyre and my utter pleasure to having been able to spend my afternoon with you, Lady Elain. If youâll excuse me I will get dressed now. See you tomorrow!" And with that he stood, folding a hand over the sheet of fabric that covered his private partsâonly his private partsâ and strutted out of the room.
Feyre sighed, put her brush down and turned towards the door.
"We all have to admit it, heâs got a beautiful body and a very fine ass," the painter mumbled, staring after the leaving male.
Elain was still gaping, eyes fixed on Lucienâs glorious backside before he disappeared into the next room.
"Yes, yes, he doesâŚa very fine assâŚ" she breathed and immediately folded her hands over her burning face when she realised what she had just admitted.
A low and highly amused "Thank you, my loves!" reached her ears just a second later.
This was all so very wrong, but also so very intriguing and Elain had to admit she was all of a sudden looking very forward to the following day and to do some more painting.
~~~~~~~
background info: Simonetta has feelings for Giuliano but denies them for a long time as she is married to a very rich and important man of that time. Simonetta was considered the most beautiful woman of her time which I thought fitted Elain as she is constantly described the most beautiful out of the three sisters. Giuliano was often the forgotten brother as his older brother Lorenzo who took over as the head of the Medici family was always in the centre of attention. I thought that somehow fitted for Lucien.
A/N: why is it that every time i write fanfic its like sneezing... i have no idea whats gonna come out and im shocked by the experience GIRL IM THE ONE WRITING ITFDSJH yeah so this is messy im sorry but its kinda cute ig? shes chonky, i meant for the prompt requests to be short little headcanony things but... again i was not in control of my body lmao
ALSO this is quite adult content pls heed the warnings. I'd love to expand more into writing whumpy, gory adult stuff
request:Â âAzriel X reader, 8 and 10 please!!â
8.Patching up wounds, 10.Washing one's hair/helping them bathe after a long day.
WORD COUNT: 6K
warnings: uh i would probably call this 18+. Detailed description of injuries and violence. Trauma, PTSD, burns, fire, scars, anxiety, nudity, undressing, mentions of sex. bathing, fixing up, dealing with trauma, mission gone wrong.
You knew something was wrong before you actually found out. Something in your gut just wasn't right, a unnerving sense that fired the adrenaline in your body with no way to burn it off but to pace the cabin. Azriel should've been back by now. That was the agreement. You would meet at the tiny, unoccupied inbetween house, him and Cassian coming from another side of the mission miles away.
You peered out the window for what must've been the fiftieth time. The weather was biting, cold enough to chill the window panes and make it fog when you pressed a finger to it, but not enough that it should've presented a problem in their journey. Darkness had already fallen, the cover of night beginning to blanket the barren trees surrounding the cabin. The window provided answers to nothing, so you turned and made your way back to the small, crackling fire you managed. You grabbed the iron poke and stabbed at the logs, shifting them as tiny embers flared and sparked outwards.Â
You didn't know what would happen if something had befallen the two Illyrians. Partially because they were your ride home, and their part of the plan was crucial, but mostly because the very thought of your family being hurt made everything twist and ache within you. Especially the thought of Azrielâ the spymaster who had claimed your heart. The male had been through so much already, you knew he was capable of enduring a lot but it didn't lessen the ache any. You needed to know he was okay before you ripped your hair out from the anxiety of waiting.
It was quiet in the cabin. Silent aside from the wind hitting against the walls, the crackling fire, and the occasional sound of fabric against fabric every time you shifted. It was so quiet. You had been paying the closest attention to every noise for the past several hoursâ on edge expecting an familiar face to turn up, or preparing yourself if something less friendly decided to show its face.
But even with the silence in the cabin, you didn't hear the footsteps outside. Only aware of a new presence when the cabin door burst open, creaking loudly and sending you shooting across the worn sofa with a hand clutched to your chest. You whirled the second the door opened, but it still took you several moments to compose yourself and process that the dark towering frame in the doorway was Azriel. You nearly gasp out of relief, but your brows draw together when he walks in. Something was wrong. The way he was walking, the way he was carrying himself, his wings... Something was wrong.
"Az," it sounded like a plea.
You rush up from the couch to where he's moved to the round dining table. The door is still open and wind blustering in when he sags against the table, weak and out of breath. In the warm, dim light of the fire and lanterns around the cabin, there's blood clearly smattered across Azriel. His face is smeared, his hair caked with it, his armor glistening and his wings dripping.
You grasp the door, preparing to shut it but waiting for the second Illyrian to appear. You didn't try to hide the concern in your voice. "Where's Cassian?"
"He's fine." Azriel rasped out like it was an effort, but one worth pushing through. He swallows and it almost seems like he's panting, the way he's so out of breath. "The orders changed, he's staying somewhere else."
With that, you shut the door, closing off the bitter winds that had poured into your solstice. That concern you felt at the possibility of Azriel being hurt was magnified ten fold at seeing it in front of you. You didn't even know what to do. It was so unlike him to be this weakened that your mind drew up blank. He'd been hurt before. Badly. But every time there'd been someone else there to help him or he'd been well enough to fix himself. This... You didn't know how to deal with this.
"What happened?" You whispered, closing in on his space. The coppery scent of blood flooded your nostrils as you moved closer and you ignored the way it made your throat tighten. Your hand hovered in his proximity, not sure where to go or what to do.
Azriel looked up at you, hazel eyes dulled with a weariness you hadn't seen him wear... Ever.
He swallowed hard and his eyelids shuttered, breaking contact with you in favor for an unfocused stare across the room. "It was bad. It went worse than we expected and they..."
You were waiting for him to finish the sentence, but something about it told you that he did. That was all he would share of it. Whatever had happened was enough to rattle him and close him off. He wasn't right and you needed to do something.
"Okay," You kept your voice soft. You look around, collecting a mental list of things you need to do, and things to help Azriel. You didn't even know how badly injured he was. "Sit down."
He moves to the couch wordlessly, though the way he limbers, careful and stiff, it was easy to tell there were several injuries for you to worry about. You grabbed him a glass of water from the poor, makeshift kitchen that was part of the main room, and once he was fixed with that, you filled a large pot of water and set it over the fire to heat.
The old feeble couch squeaked when you sat down on it beside Azriel. Your eyes met his for a long second. A weighted second of everything and nothing passing between you two. You two were in the beginning stages of you relationship... Or whatever it was. A fact that shouldnât have made anything different, but for some reason it did. The nerves you still had around him, the way you might not have been so invested and concerned if you didnât love him the way you did.
"Where are you hurt?" It takes an absurd amount of willpower to give you the push of confidence to lean forward and begin undoing the straps of his leathers and armors.
Azriel looks down at your hands, his own scarred one still holding the half glass of water. He watches as you unsteadily work the clasps. "I took a hit..." His voice is hoarse and gravely and you try not to think that it's likely from screaming. "I think I cracked a few ribs"
You pause and sigh through your nostrils in displeasure. Not at him, but at the fact that he'd been hurt. He was so distant, so clinical and absent. Youâve been working at undoing his holsters and straps for a few minutes, setting them on the short wooden coffee table in front of you, before you give his face another scan, searching it. Azrielâs eyes are glazed and distant, fixed on the crackling fire in front of him, unmoving aside from the slight rise and fall of his breaths. Youâd seen him get that look before around fire and it made your insides twist to think why. It made them twist to see him in this state, so raw and hurt.
You pause your work on removing his armor and weapons to bring a hand up to cup his cheek, a gentle comfort. âWeâre gonna get you fixed up.â You push back his caked and dirty black hair, âOkay?â
His eyelids shutter with a soft nod and you click your tongue, running your hand over his cheek once more before you continue unfastening everything. You could tell his thoughts would drift and swallow him if you didnât at least attempt a distraction, so you talked to him. Gave him something to focus on besides the last few hours heâd endured.
âAre you hungry?âÂ
Most of his clasps and buckles had been undone, but you knew at some point he would stop you. Azriel was sensitive about who touched his weapons, Truth Teller in particular. You waited for him to stop you in your ministrations but more and more belts and sheaths slid off and he didnât stop you.
He shook his head once, his jaw still tense, the muscles in it sharp.
You were desperate to ask more details of what went wrong but you knew it would only make things worse. Details could wait until Azriel was stable and cared for.
He leaned forward, helping you discard his belts onto the coffee table and clutching his ribs from the movement. You gently pushed back on his shoulder and he sat back onto the couch, getting the message that you didnât want him to try to help and worsen his injuries. Azriel hands you the half drained glass of water and you place it on the table as well,
âWhat do you need?â You asked, your words quieter than the wind against the side of the cabin. With all his armor and weapons shed, youâd begun to work on his leathers, but you paused, your hand resting on his chest until he answered.
âI just need to get cleaned up and rest.â He finally looks at you, his eyes softer than youâd seen them tonight. You could see it in them--- that emotion that often reflected in his eyes when he looked at you. Something gentle, almost loving, When he looked at you like that, it felt like he was taking you apart, piece by piece with only his gaze. Seeing every part of you, vulnerable and thrumming beneath him.
A scarred hand lifts to touch some of your hair that had fallen loose, almost as if he was mesmerized by it. His hands didnât shake, though you knew they should after everything. If not from the sheer adrenaline then from the pain. But it didnât, not as it whispered over your hair and then lowered down into his lap. Youâre not sure why the attention made your throat swell with the threat of tears while your cheeks burned under his gaze, but it did.
You set back to work on his leathers, the clothing coming off easily once all the straps and holsters inhibiting it had been removed. You tugged it off, revealing tanned muscles and swirling black tattoos. Youâd seen Azriel shirtless more times than you could count. Most often after training, when heâd show up with marks and bruises across his perfect body and face. Even after having him in your bed a few times, you werenât used to it yet. He still made you nervous, his body still didnât feel like it was yours to touch and gawk at, even if he had no problem with you doing so. The sight of him still made your heartbeat pick up so fast you knew he could hear it.
And when the corner of his lip curled up ever so slightly with amusement, you knew youâd been caught.
âShut up.â You mumbled through a smile.
The corners of his mouth deepened at your response but you were thankful for the it, even if it was at the expense of your pride. He was distracted. Your cheeks heat under his knowing stare, watching you like a hawk, seeing every part of you.
âDidnât know I had that kind of effect on you,â He mused simply and looked back to the fire.
âYes, you did.â You glance up to his eyes before pulling off the rest of his leathers. His pants would be another effort, the numerous holsters and plates complicating things enough that you didnât think they were worth removing until everything else was treated. He didnât complain of any injuries below his waist, so itâs likely your effort would only result in flushing your cheeks and making it hard to look at him if you set about removing them.
Youâre about to pull down the top of his leather and reveal any injuries, when Azriel stops you with a hand.
âIâm not badly hurt.â
Your brows furrow in confusion. Aside from the cracked ribs and dripping blood, even the way he was carrying himself and staring into nothing was enough to tell you he was in pain.
He must see the questions in your face because he adds âIt was a hard mission--- Iâm tired, but Iâm not badly hurt.â Azriel breaks eye contact to look at his lap, pressing a hand over where his ribs must be hurt. âI just wanted to let you know.â
Yours brows are still furrowed when you look back down to his chest, peeling off the layers of leather as you go. If he wasnât badly hurt like he claimed, then whatever was weighing on him wasnât physical.
âDo you want to talk about what happened?â Your tone is careful, eyes flicking up to his and then back down. Thereâs blood smeared nearly everywhere on the inside of his leathers.
Heâs guarded. Sharp, cold walls shifting into place behind his eyes. Not against you, you note, but against whatever had happened. What had he witnessed?
With the top portion of his leathers gone, though, there was nothing to hide the trauma to his body. Purple and black bruises forming across the surface of his skin, That, in addition to the blood. It was everywhere, seeping from a large scrape across his ribs. With the confines of the leather and the way his skin had been ripped off from some kind of harsh impact, blood had pooled in his armor and smeared around, leaking through any crevices it could.Â
âAz, this looks...â You trail, not wanting to tell him it looked bad, as that was probably poor bedside manner, but it did look bad. âYou would appear to be badly hurt.â The technicality in your words a poor attempt at a joke. He smiles.
âIâm not. Iâm just sore and feel really gross.â His voice is still raspy but the way it was lighter brought you some peace.
âI have a bath running now. The waterâs not heated, so thatâs what thatâs for,â You nod to the pot of now-boiling water over the fire.Â
With the reminder of its existence, you pause your work on Azriel and haul the scalding pot to the washroom. With your back turned to him, you missed the way he flinched and lunged at your careless proximity to the fire. The tub in the washroom wasnât the luxury you were used to at any of Rhyâs houses, but it would suffice for tonight. You turned off the faucet, deeming it sufficiently filled and then proceeded to dump the large pot of hot water into it. The sudden addition of boiling water into the cold hissed and steamed, the sound of the splashes echoing in the quiet room
When you returned to Az, he was standing from the couch, undoing what he could of his thigh holsters and buckles without bending over and straining his injury. It was a vain effort, more blood spreading and his ribs visibly paining him.
âStop that,â You warned from your place at the washroom doorway, the large pot still in your hand. You walked it into the kitchen and filled it up at the sink. âIâll do it, just let me do this first.â
He watched you, your eyes meeting as the pot quickly filled with cold water that hissed when it made contact with the hot metal.
âI can do it myself.â Azriel reassures and you have a suspicion that itâs his pride speaking more than anything else.
You turn the faucet off, pot full. âBut youâre not going to.â You heft it out of the sink and carry it over to the fire, careful to not bump yourself on the metal as you do so.
As you set it on the fire, a hand lightly grasps your bicep. Az wasnât one for casual touches, so you immediately turned to him, still trying to get the pot set up on the fire rack.
âBe careful.â
Youâre even more confused now, almost pausing your effort.
âJust... be careful with that.â He forces the words out and releases your arm, turning away but not completely so.
A few more heartbeats of confusion follow before it finally clicks and you heart seems to stop with the ache that consumes it. You secure the pot and straighten up, brows curved upward. âAz,â You whisper, reaching out a hand to his arm.
He doesnât move. He doesnât flinch away, or lean into the touch. Heâs just... Still.
Your throat constricts with emotions you canât put names to. âAz. What happened?â
You knew about his past. You knew he was never fond of fire after that, but heâd never been like this around it. Fires warming the townhouse and the House of Wind were a constant in the cooler months and the shadowsinger had never had an issue with sitting in front of them with a drink or a book. Something mustâve happened on the mission to make him react this way. Something so sensitive to him that he refuses to speak, or acknowledge it.
Azrielâs jaw is tensed to iron and his throat bobs before he speaks. âIt was n-â He stops himself before he can say what you knew was going to be nothing. It wasnât nothing. âIt was just too much to tell tonight.â
An answer you hadnât been expecting. You nod and look down, focusing on getting off his lower buckles and straps instead of the vulnerability heâd just expressed. Youâll care for him physically now, and when heâs ready for you help him through the mental scars then youâll do that too.
Your hands drop to his upper thigh, ignoring how close the buckles were to his center. Azrielâs eyes didnât move from you as you tried to steady yourself and focusing only on getting the buckles off and nothing else. You didnât know if your fingers brushing against him through his leathers had him half-hard and you didnât look to find out. The holsters and straps come off easily enough, though it feels like they took years longer than his upper body ones had, your lingering proximity to a place you couldnât think about right then. The knives strapped to his lower calves gave you no choice but to lower yourself to your knees to get them off. You look up to his face for a split second, the curiosity of his reaction outweighing your business mode. His brows were raised and you knew from the angle it probably looked more inappropriate than you had initially thought it would. If your eyes looked like fuck-me eyes from that angle, you rolled them at his reaction, turning them into oh-fuck-me eyes.
He snorted. âIs this why you wanted to do this? All an elaborate attempt to bed me?â You stand up, meeting him face to face. He adds in a low voice, âagain.â
Your cheeks instantly flush at the reference to your previous affairs with him, your stomach flipping with the effect his voice had on you.
âIf I wanted to bed you again, I wouldnât need an elaborate plan.â You smirk and undo the laces of his pants with one swift tug, ignoring his shock at your comeback. âThese come off, then get in the tub.â
âY/N, you donât have to do this.â Azriel says, a reminder of sorts. One that you canât help but feel is either self-deprecating or part of his guarded pride once again.
âIâm taking care of you.â Your voice is commanding, in a low, gentle way.
When the second pot of hot water is added, heating it to comfortable temperature, and Azriel is effectively disrobed, it doesnât take long for the clean water to turn coppery orange at his presence. He winces when his wound makes contact with the water at first, but once seated in the tub, he sighs and sags against it in exhaustion, his eyes falling closed. You wonder how long he was flying in the cold. Illyrians were pretty resiliant against the cold, but it didnât make long winter flights soaked in blood and injuries any more enjoyable.
You found a cup, an old stained washrag in the kitchen and a bar of soap that looked like it couldâve been older than you, but all things considered you were grateful for the resources. And then you set to work cleaning your Illyrian. He put up little protest in the state that he was in. He scooted forward and you tilted his head back, cradling it in your palm and he simply relaxed into your touch. When you poured a cupful of warm water over his hair, a breath loosed from his chest. Azriel was deflating, decompressing at last. The tension still wore heavy in his shoulders and his wings were... You could tell by the way he moved them and the way he held the muscles in his back that he was still on edge. Even if just a little. His movements were twitchier than usual. Less of the smooth, practiced way he normally moved.
The water around him grew filthier as Azriel grew cleaner. Another cup of water gently poured over his head has his hair looser from the blood and dirt that had it stiff at the ends. You ran your fingers through it and he hummed, low in his throat. You couldnât help the soft smile that danced across your features. You worked your fingers in deeper, rubbing them along his scalp and scraping your nails against him. Azriel sighed now, all tension melting off like butter.
There wasnât a need for words to fill the steamed air between you. You knew Azriel. You knew when he was exhausted that talking was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasnât very talkative on a good day, but it took something extra from him to communicate when he didnât have the energy. You knew he appreciated solitude, silence, shadows, peace. But sometimes the silence would be the wrong kind of silence for him and it grated, triggering something within him. The recessed memories of being locked up, alone and surrounded by silence.Â
When silence fell, it was still hard for you to tell what kind of silence it was.
You lathered the bar of soap in your hands, taking an unusually long amount of time to do so due to the shriveled and neglected nature of the bar. Once there were in fact suds, you ran them through his hair, still catching on some tangles and messy spots. The wind always gave his hair the cutest mussed style that made you want to jump him where he stood, but long journeys often resulted more knots and messes than anything else.Â
Azriel melted beneath your hands, color slowly returning to his complexion as he healed up and relaxed. The scent of him filled the air more than that of the blood. Purely Azriel. You wondered if he could smell you too, if he was paying enough attention. You wondered what he was thinking of, glancing down to his furrowed dark brows. He was a mystery. An enigma, but gods, he was a beautiful one at that. The angle and the lighting made his jaw a sharp cut and his cheekbones... He was truly a specimen to behold. You didnât know how you got so lucky. A thought followed by you giving him extra attention, rubbing his scalp and running a soapy hand to rub at his sore neck.
Meanwhile, Azriel was thinking the same, dissolving into the only safe place he had. The only place heâd want to be. You were all he thought of through his entire flight. Images of you, glimpses of daydreams and memories flashed in his head at any moment in which action stalled, even during the mission. You consumed his thoughts with a pure, white hot and holy burning desire to just be near you and feel the presence you bring. You were comfort, safety, patience, and something more. Perhaps it was love, but there was something that Azriel chose to not put name to, that made him crave being near you like an addict.Â
And so hurt and naked in a dingy bath in a busted old cabin, Azriel breathed your presence. He sighed at the feel of your fingers on his scalp, working the muscles in his neck too. He was so irreparably in love with you it made his chest hurt to even be receiving such treatment. The gash on his side, the broken ribs and innumerable bruises were dulled to a small thought in the back of his mind when you touched him with such tenderness. The cabin was silent, aside from the crackling of the fire in the other room and the tinkling and splashing of water rinsing him off. It was the kind of silence that shouldâve been peaceful, especially after such a chaotic night, but it was half the chaos of the night that made the silence unbearable. Every time his fae hearing picked up the crackle and pops of the logs in the fire, Azriel stifled a flinch or attempted to keep himself level, though it felt like it mightâve been fresh sweat appearing in the place of the sweat he just rinsed. The silence was too much tonight.
He kept his voice from shaking barely. âTalk to me, my love.â
Your brows furrowed for a split second before you understood the implication behind his words. Heâd never explicitly explained to you, but somehow, he had a feeling you understood.Â
Your hands stilled in his hair as you thought. âWhat about?â
Azriel made a noise between a hum and a grunt and settled down lower in the tub, leaning against the side. âI donât care. I just want to hear your voice.â
Youâre pretty sure it was part of your broken heart that was what made it so difficult to swallow. His confession, a simple one that tore out a piece of you. A raw presentation of how much he relied on you to get him through this.
âIs it okay if I sing?â You fill up the cup, glancing to meet his fogged hazel eyes. He was looking at you and despite the way he wasnât totally clear headed, his presence was so intense on average that under these circumstances it still made you squirm to be looked at like that.
âIâd like that.â He whispered, leaning so you could rinse his hair. You did rinse it and were immediately pleased by how much cleaner and softer it was. You couldnât wait until all of his was cleaned and patched up and you could just rest together in the small rickety double bed.
So you offered your voice, mindlessly humming whatever popped into your head and supplying lyrics when a full song would present itself. It was quiet, a lullaby in the mellow atmosphere of the bathroom. The tile was pressing roughly into your knees by the time you realized Azriel might not even have the energy to finish the rest of his bath on his own. You ran the washcloth down his back, between two dirty bat wings and along the muscles that stood out impressively on the male. You ran it along his front, along his tattooed shoulders and over his collarbone. His eyes were burning into yours now, aware of every movement of yours on his body, but with his attention entirely on you instead of himself. On a better day you mightâve taken the time to slowly feel across the surface of his body as you knew he would give you the opportunity to, but tonight you were strictly business. Youâre careful around his injury and when he winced and reached for the cloth to do it himself, you offered it away with no complaint. After he was done with the area, though, he handed it back to you.
You paused your humming, holding the cloth out to him âDid you want to do your wings?â
The automatic assumption that he didnât want anyone touching them but himself was not just a probable guess, but an obvious assumption. If not based on Illyrian tendencies, then based on Azriel tendencies. And they needed to be washed. Blood, dirt, scratches--- and something else that youâre pretty certain is cobwebs--- cover them in a way that you knew must feel icky.
His wet, scarred hand comes up from the water to push the cloth back towards you, wordlessly.
You gape back at him, unable to process the implications of his action. âAz, donât you... Are you sure?â Convinced there must be some way you were misunderstanding.Â
There were so many things about the situation that made it more than just a brief, casual touch of his wing. He was trusting you with the whole surface area of both of them. You had never even been acquainted with the methods and rules of touching them casually. Like, how sensitive were they? If you rubbed the washcloth on them would that be too much? If they were so sensitive, then how could they use them with such brutal wing beats, supporting their bodyweight against winds? You were lost but your concern and all other thoughts melted away when Azriel leaned forward and spread his wings for you, erasing any doubts to whether you misunderstood.
âTell me if Iâm doing something wrong. Or if youâd like it a different way.â You mumbled, dipping the rag into the bath water and slowly bringing it up to his left wing.
Azriel hummed softly, nerves bouncing around at the idea of what heâd just given you permission to do. You were the only person he wanted to do that.Â
You lower the rag, squeezing it so the warm water trickles on the membranous skin first, testing how he reacted to just the feeling of water. He twitched at the first drops hit the sensitive area, but quickly became accustomed to it and then it didnât seem to bother him much. You had stopped your gentle lullabies in exchange for focusing all your attention on the task at hand. When he didnât react to the water, you carefully pressed the washcloth down. Azriel didnât move, so you did, taking it as a good sign. As you cautiously swiped and dabbed across his wing, you didnât miss the way he reacted to certain areas. Some of them were notably more sensitive than others and you werenât entirely sure how to interpret the reactions they elicited. Soft sighs, sucking in his breath, tensing and flickering the muscles in his back despite his wings remaining still. You observed them and noted them for later, for a better time.Â
When you moved to wash the other wing, Azriel didnât spread it out for you as much as he had the other. You gently took the task into your own hands, but even with your hand guiding it, he didnât take the hint and stretch it like you expected he would. A curious observation that had you peering around to scan his face. Only to discover that your gentle ministrations and soft touches had put him to sleep. Your chest nearly caved at the trust in you Azriel had displayed in the past 30 minutes, but you continued washing him, ever so careful to not wake him until the very end when there was nothing left for you to do.
He rubbed at his eyes, a little dazed as he refocused on the world again and remembered where he was and what had happened. You turned to grab his towels and when you turned back around he had stood up, water pouring and dripping off the entirety of his body and back into the bloody bath. You bring the towel forward, only noticing up close with a quick glance that he was half hard. You didnât know what to make of it, surprised that even in spite of his exhaustion and injuries and despite the way you hadnât noticed his scent change.
Azriel noticed that you noticed, taking the towel to begin drying himself. âSorry, I canât...â He trailed, his voice groggy and gravely.Â
You werenât even sure what he was going to say or what excuse he had but you dismissed it quickly regardless. âItâs okay, love.â
                          âđ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ đ â
Azriel dressed halfway with some old moth eaten pajamas you found in the wardrobe in the bedroom, leaving his top half bare for you to bandage him up. He promised you it wasnât necessary and that the wound would be closed by the time you two woke in the morning. Despite that being the most words heâd said to you the entire night, it didnât comfort you much. You knew he just wanted to sleep, but with cracked ribs and a weeping wound on top of them, you would rather stay up for an extra half hour than try to let him sleep with that unbound. The cabin fortunately came stocked with basic medical supplies, a result of Rhysâ priorities.
So you carefully, and as gently as you could, bound his injuries and fastened it so he wouldnât strain his ribs. All guided by vague, yet helpful instructions from your patient. There was nothing that required stitches and though you wanted to fret over Azriel and his injuries for longer, it was late at night and both of you were exhausted, his own weariness taking precedence over your desperation to patch him up any further. So, at his request, you grabbed his knives from the coffee table and brought them to bedroom, sliding under the thick quilt and watching as Azriel slid Truth Teller beneath his stiff down pillow. You smiled faintly, watching his careful movements as to not aggravate his injuries. His right hand was still pressed over his ribs, making you wonder just how much pain he was hiding from you, though your thoughts dissolved when his eyes met your yours.
Azriel scans your face, taking in your features with a slowness--- a peace that you knew meant that you had done your job well.
âThank you... for all this.â He whispered in the quiet of your room. His shadows swirled in the darkness. You couldnât tell where they stopped and where the unlit bedroom began, the light from the the fireplace in the living room being the only source light.
You brought a hand up to his almost dried hair, running your hand through it lovingly. âOf course, Az.â You leaned forward and pecked his lips in a moment of boldness spurred by blind exhaustion and love. He reciprocated and leaned into your touch.Â
You two stayed like that for longer than you realized, just soaking in each others presence. Coming down from the anxiety and stress of the last several hours and just being with one another.
âThatâs what Iâm here for.â You muttered, bumping your nose against his before pulling back to settle down in bed.Â
Azriel does the same, scooting down and situating the pillows comfortably. âAnd here I thought you just wanted me for my body,â He mumbled and you were grateful for the reappearance of his sarcasm. He lifts an arm, inviting you to cuddle up against him and you immediately do so, appreciative of his warmth in the small cabin.
âI do. Thatâs why I gotta fix it.â With your head resting on his chest, you look up at him and find him looking down at you with the same lovesick look you know you wore. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head and you shut your eyes at the contact, basking in the warmth of him, the feeling of his skin against yours, the safety in his arms. One of his hands comes up to bury in your hair and you sigh contentedly against him, drifting into sleep like the snow outside that had just begun to float down.
Summary: Ruhn thought fake flirting wouldnât get under his skin. He was wrong.
Warnings: Major jealousy, reader seduces a male, reader gets felt up by a male, reader wears a tight dress, reader has her hair done, Ruhn shatters a glass, allusions to sex, reader is alluded to having curves, LOTS of swearing, Queen Bryce is here too, ruhn bleeds, letâs pretend the White Raven didnât *spoiler* explode. Set during the events of HoSaB (sort of), spoilers!!, I apologize if things donât line up with canon.
A/N: I havenât been able to stop thinking about this man since I finished HoSaB, so I thought Iâd try something new. I hope you enjoy :)
If youâd like to leave a like, comment, reblog, or ask, it would be very appreciated <3
SJM Masterlist
(I found this drool-worthy art on Pinterest. Absolute full credit to the owner).
You had known the powerhouse that is Bryce Quinlan for over a decade.
And yet, no matter how much time seemed to pass, her stubbornness never seemed to dwindle.
âIâm going Y/N.â
âYouâre mated, Bryce. To the Umbra fucking Mortis. Theyâll smell it.â
âSo? You would be surprised how little that matters to the right male.â
She placed her hands on her hips as she said this, and your eyes trailed down her body. Her skin-tight dress brought out the best parts of her, and the red of her hair was even more vibrant against the dark shade of black.
Beautiful, as she had always been.
âIâm being serious, Bryce,â you responded. âYouâre Starborn. You saved this city. If this male has real, usable information on the rebellion, heâs not going to tell you.â
âAnd heâll tell you?â she questioned back.
âYes,â you responded breathlessly. âYou would intimidate the Hel out of him, while I am a random female buying him drinks. If I get him drunk enough, heâll spill.â
Bryce gnawed on her bottom and lip and fidgeted with her rings. A faint pink began to show beneath her freckled face.
âI donât like this Y/N.â
âI know Bryce,â you responded, âthatâs why youâre coming with me.â
âStill,â she replied, âif you get pulled into a separate room, how will I know youâre okay?â
âYou know Iâll be okay. I can handle myself,â you said, and moved a bit closer to her. âWhoever this male is and whatever information he has, itâs not worth you being in danger.â
âDanger?â said a voice behind you, deeper and more gruff than either you or Bryce had ever made your voices.
A shot of electricity shot down your spine, and your mouth instantly dried.
âRuhn,â Bryce mumbled with a roll of her eyes. âSeriously? I want my key back.â
Ruhn Danaan
Half-brother to one of your closest friends, and the hottest male you had ever laid your eyes on.
You turned around with a gulp, reeling in the feeling that his voice gave you no matter how many times you had heard it, and squeezed your hands at your sides.
And there he was. Ruhn Danaan. The Crowned Prince of the Valbaran Fae, and your decade long crush.
Holy Hel did he look good.
It was obvious he had just gotten off from the Aux. His tight black leathers covered him from his back down to his legs, and his tattoos bulged on his forearms. His hair had been the same since the day you met himâlong and shaved on one sideâbut it never failed to do his sculpted face justice. His lip piercing was just visible enough, and the Starsword strapped to his back showed just how broad his shoulders had become over the years.
He was intimidation personified, so much so that it felt like you were standing in his shadow, and you could not take your eyes off him.
You must have been crazy, stupid, insane, but the blue eyes that stared at you every time you closed your eyes didnât seem to want to leave you either.
You were dressed similarly to Bryceâtight dress, glittery heals, hair and makeup done more so than usual, and fancy perfume emulating off of youâ which was making you feel like you should sink into the floor.
Had he ever seen this much of you?
You werenât embarrassed, you could wear whatever the Hel you wanted, but his slow gaze over you from your feet up to your face sent beads of sweat dripping down your back. ďżźHe had to have been able to smell your fearâand, of course, other things.
You were so fucked.
âDanger tends to follow me,â Ruhn replied, âbut it seems that I followed it this time.â His eyes didnât leave yours.
He wasnât talking about you. No way.
Bryce huffed in annoyance. âThe only danger here is Y/N thinking she can seduce a rebel sympathizer into leaking information.â
Ruhnâs eyebrows raised. âSeduce?â
You swallowed. âIf need be.â
ââIf need be,â of course you will have to,â Bryce mocked. âIt has happened every time youâve done something like this.â
âEvery time?â Ruhn questioned, and folded his arms over his chest. âSo youâve done this before?â
A hint of mischief coated his irises, and your heart had never beat so fast.
âOnly out of necessity,â you responded with the best smirk you could muster.
Ruhn huffed out a laugh. âWell Bryce, it seems like Y/N is more experienced in this field.â
âYouâre my brother,â Bryce responded. âYouâre supposed to be on my side.â
âIâd really rather not see you get targeted by the rebellion because of your star Bryce,â Ruhn said, gesturing to her chest.
âIâll hide it.â
Both you and Ruhn gave her an unimpressed look. You both knew it tended to shine whenever it wanted to.
Bryce groaned in annoyance. âYouâre both the worst.â
âEither way Iâm going with you,â Ruhn said, tipping his chin up with pride.
âNot in that outfit youâre not,â Bryce responded, and you chuckled.
âAnd what would you prefer me wear Y/N?â he asked with a tease. Heat began spreading from your cheeks down to your neck.
Nothing.
âSomething without a literal target on your back.â
Ruhn laughed through his nose.
âFine. Iâll meet you ladies at The Raven,â Ruhn said, floorboards creaking as he backed out of Bryceâs apartment door.
You couldnât miss the hint of excitement coating his eyes, and the heat pooling in your lower stomach.
~*~
The last thing Ruhn expected to see when he entered Bryceâs apartment was you looking the way that you did.
And holy Hel did you look good.
He had known you since you and Bryce were sixteen years old, and as soon as you laid eyes on him, a girlish film went over them. He remembered it. Vividly.
You had obviously found him attractive, and he viewed it as one of Bryceâs silly little friends with a silly little crush.
Until, he was lucky enough for Bryce to reconnect with him. And that was when he saw you. Really saw you.
It knocked the wind from his lungs to see how youâd grown up, and the female you had become. The more he got to know you, the more he realized how self-assured, confident, and fucking smart you were.
And seeing you in that dress. Gods. It cracked the little control he had left into a million pieces.
He had his eyes on you now. He wanted you, badly.
In the beginning, he thought it was just a physical thing, but as the months developed, so did his feelings.
These quote-on-quote âfeelingsâ made him feel like the sixteen year old. He thought he knew his way around women and females, but you tended to send him right back to square one.
And he was about to watch you, potentially, feel up a random man for information.
He brought his drink to his mouth and took a large gulp. He savored the burn of it in his throat.
âThere she goes,â Bryce mumbled next to him, and the two of them watched as you slowly made your way closer and closer to the male target. His heart quickened with each step you took.
Bryce and Ruhn were seated at a table far enough from the bar to be subtle, and Ruhn had changed into a plain grey T-shirt and jeans. His hair remained down, and he sure as Hel wasnât opposed to revealing more of his tattoos.
He saw how you looked at them. He didnât want you to stop.
âI should be the one doing this,â Bryce mumbled. The male had finally taken notice and introduced himself to you.
âRelax, Bryce,â Ruhn replied. âSheâs going to be alright.â
âYou just want to watch this. Pig.â Bryce threw back a shot of some sort of clear liquid.
Ruhn raised his eyebrows and took another sip of his drink.
Maybe.
You leaned against the wooded bar in such a way that your curves were highlighted in the party lights. The makeup you chose brought out your eyes perfectly, and the male was becoming more and more interested in the way your hair curled over your shoulder.
Your eyes flickered over the male, and you leaned closer and closer, inch by inch.
Ruhn leaned forward in his chair, watching your every move. Blood pressure rising.
The male leaned in closer, and brushed your hair from your neck. You tipped your head back to show that you enjoyed it, and the male took the opportunity to whisper something into your revealed skin.
You smiled, eyes closed, and the maleâs large hand squeezed around your waist. Pulling you into his chest.
And right at that moment, right as your hands covered his chest and his hands moved down your body, it was as if Ruhnâs senses had been dialedďżź to 0.
The music disappeared. The slight buzz he had disappeared. The flashing lights and dancing bodies around him disappeared.
There was only you, wrapped in the arms of another male, looking fucking incredible.
And smiling.
He expected to enjoy this, but he didnât. Not at all.
Never in his life had Ruhnâs vision tunneled so quickly.
He felt his heart plummeting to his feet, so fast he felt the nausea hit him like a wave, and his normally even breathing quickened to an uneven pace.
Fake.
Fake.
This was fake.
Donât take it personally.
You brought your eyes away from the maleâs face and down to his arms. Your fingers that were once splayed over his chest now moved to his bicep, tracing the intricate ink that Ruhn hadnât noticed before.
It sure as Hel feels personal.
Ruhn didnât realize how tight his jaw was until it started to grow sore, and he didnât realize just how many times he had imagined you doing that to him until it wasnât him.
He could make out Bryceâs faint voice next to him, asking if he was okay, but the lack of oxygen and blood flow through his body only allowed him to focus forward.
The male traced his finger down your spine, and Ruhnâs fae senses allowed him to pick up on the chills that erupted across your arms.
He felt his face begin to grow more and more red, and the grip on his whiskey glass become more and more relentless.
The male watched as you traced down his arm, smirking, and he brought his free hand to the side of your face. He tilted your head to the side, and whispered something in your ear once more.
You rubbed your lips together and nodded, and the male dipped his mouth down to where the tendons in your neck met your collarbone.
Ruhnâs nostrils flared.
And then, as if he had all the time in the world, licked a clean stroke all the way up to your ear, and you exhaled loudly from your mouth.
Ruhn heard it. As much as he didnât want to, he heard it.
And the idea that he wasnât the cause of it caused his control to finally snap.
The force of his grip on the glass became too much for the cheap material, and dozens of tiny glass shards rained over the table like a firework.
The liquid from the whiskey dripped onto the sticky wooden table, and the rest covered his hand to his wrist.
âRuhn!â Bryce scolded next to him, shaking glass shards from her hair and brushing them off her dress. âWhat the fuck.â
He didnât even turn to look at her. Or his hand. Even as he felt warm blood start to drip down his wrist as well.
No. He kept his eyes forward, like the trained leader he was, and felt your eyes meet his own.
The male next to you looked annoyed, but not shocked. Like he saw stuff like this all the time. He waved his hand to the bartender, gesturing to clean Ruhnâs table that was now covered in whiskey and glass.
But not you.
You kept your eyesight locked into his, and a thread of understanding stretched between the two of you.
You knew he had been watching you, you knew he shattered the glass, and you knew why.
Your lips grew into a toothless smile, and the thread of understanding pulled tighter.
He knew you knew, and he knew you liked it. He could smell youâwhat you were thinking.
A similar smile etched on his face.
The rest of the club, the city, the world disappeared as you looked at each other. Knowing how the night would end.
Tag list: (since this is a new character for me, I decided to start a new tag list. If youâd like to be tagged for Ruhn or for any of my fics, please let me know!)
Cassian x Reader, where your mate shares his insecurities, then fucks the ever loving shit out of you
Warnings: smut, battle (fighting, killing) - Iâm bad at writing battle sequences, idk why I wrote one lmao
Word Count: 5.1K
Cassian hadnât sat atop a throne before.Â
He didnât think he would, quite honestly. He didnât have a problem with that, either. In his 500 years of living, it was always Rhys who was set to be on the throne, Cassian flanking one side, Azriel the other.Â
Cassian didnât need the power - he had seven siphons for Cauldronâs sake - surely, that was enough. He didnât want the power, nor the responsibility. He was by far intimidating enough without the status and the crown. His façade was difficult to keep up with just as Rhysandâs General: directing the Illyrians training, acting as courtier, keeping Windhaven in line. Playing politics was never his strong suit and he had his hands plenty full.
Wait I'm gonna start doing astrological readings for acotar characters đ I haven't practiced anything with astrology in ages but I think this could be so fun
