Entanglement series PT0.5 PT2 PT3 PT4 EPILOGUE ALT ENDING
Little Rainbow
Kidnapping at the knight court
Fallow series
Azriel x Reader Mordern AU
At the sake of you
Azriel x Fairy Reader
Wings Universe Series
Azriel x Mermaid Reader
Sing to me series
All graphics unless stated are from @saradika-graphics 💜
All fics on this list are recommendations of what to read next. None of these are written by me. These are just simply some of my favorite fics. All credit goes to the amazingly talented writers who have created these masterpieces.
All graphics unless stated are from @saradika-graphics 💜
All fics on this list are recommendations of what to read next. None of these are written by me. These are just simply some of my favorite fics. All credit goes to the amazingly talented writers who have created these masterpieces.
⟢ Let this serve as the reminder that I am not responsible for the media you consume! All of my works will be tagged with the proper content warnings, and if you choose to either ignore them or not read them, that’s not on me. However, if you feel as if I haven’t properly tagged something, please let me know!
KEY: ♯Angst / ⚠︎ Suggestive/18+ / 𝜗𝜚 Fluff
[ ONE SHOTS ]
𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵
001. Interwoven ♯
⌇You had given up hope that you would find your mate, and you never let yourself think it would ever be the one person you wanted it to be. You should know better than to question fate.
[ SERIES ]
𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵
001. No One Knows ♯ ⚠︎ 𝜗𝜚
⌇coming soon… or at least, eventually. (Will ACOTAR 6 come out first or will this fic???)
Adult!Nyx Acheron x female reader (Tamlin's Daugther)
They were born into opposite courts.
Raised on opposite sides of a war that never truly ended.
And yet, somehow, they found each other in the quiet spaces between hatred and history.
Warnings: ANGST, major character death, grief, emotional angst, themes of war (let me know if I forgot anything).
Word Count: 4.9k
Masterlist
The first time Nyx sees you, you are standing in the borderlands between Spring and Night.
Not quite in one court. Not fully in the other.
The land there is confused, wildflowers pushing stubbornly through shadowed soil, moonlight tangled in branches that still drip with the lingering gold of late afternoon. It is a place that does not know what it belongs to.
You shouldn’t have been there.
He shouldn’t have either.
Finally grown into the sharp lines of adulthood, Nyx already carries expectation like armor. The weight of it presses between his shoulder blades, heir to the Night Court, son of legends. He has his mother’s quiet, unbreakable strength, her steady compassion wrapped around iron will. He has his father’s patience, his calculating mind, the ability to wait three moves ahead.
And beneath it all something darker.
Something that hums when he steps into shadow too easily. Something that whispers of stars collapsing and power inherited from creatures older than memory.
He wasn’t supposed to wander this close to Spring territory alone. There were rules. Agreements. Old wounds stitched together with fragile diplomacy.
But he needed air.
Needed distance from council chambers and whispered expectations.
So he walked.
And then he felt you.
It wasn’t sight. Not at first.
It was a shift in the magic around him, like the first breath of spring after a brutal winter. Warmth slipping through the cracks of night. Something alive and restless brushing against his power.
Nyx stills.
The forest stills with him.
Then he sees you.
You do not arrive loudly. There is no snap of a twig, no warning. You simply exist between one heartbeat and the next, stepping from behind a curtain of ivy as though the woods parted willingly to let you pass.
And maybe they did.
The trees lean toward you. Leaves tilt in your direction. Pale blossoms unfurl in the wake of your footsteps, soft gold and ivory petals blooming against dark soil as if desperate to be noticed by you.
Spring magic hums in your veins.
It is not delicate. It is not tame. It is wild sunlight after a storm. It is growth that cracks stone apart. It is life that refuses to bow.
Nyx feels it reach for him.
Instinctively, his own power answers.
Shadows stretch along the forest floor, curious rather than threatening. Starlight flickers faintly in the air around him, as if the night itself is holding its breath.
Power calls to power.
And then your eyes meet.
Violet and starlit against green and sun-warmed.
The breeze dies mid-sigh. A petal pauses before touching the ground. Even the distant call of birds fades into silence, as though something ancient and unseen is watching this moment unfold.
Recognition passes between you.
Not familiarity.
Not safety.
Recognition.
As if somewhere deep inside your bones, something ancient whispers: There you are.
Nyx does not step forward.
He does not reach for a weapon.
He simply looks at you.
Really looks.
At the way your chin lifts, not in arrogance, but defiance. At the faint tension in your shoulders, ready to run or fight if needed. At the sunlight caught in your hair like a crown you never asked to wear.
You are beautiful in the way wild places are beautiful.
Untouched. Dangerous. Alive.
“You’re trespassing,” you say softly.
Your voice isn’t sharp. It isn’t frightened. It’s steady.
As though you are reminding him of a fact rather than accusing him of a crime.
Nyx tilts his head slightly, wings shifting once behind him before settling.
“So are you.”
For a fraction of a second, something flickers in your expression.
Surprise.
Then amusement.
Your lips twitch, just barely, and it is the smallest thing in the world.
But it feels monumental.
Because that is when the tension changes.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But altered.
Less like enemies meeting across a battlefield.
More like two storms circling each other, curious about what might happen if they collided.
The borderland air thickens with possibility.
Neither of you step back.
Neither of you leave.
And somewhere far above, the first star of evening appears, faint against the fading gold of day.
Just like that something irreversible begins.
---------------
It starts with curiosity.
Not trust. Not affection. Not anything so dangerous as hope.
Just curiosity.
The second time you see him, it is not an accident.
You tell yourself it is. You tell yourself you are simply walking too close to the border again, drawn by restlessness and the endless suffocation of watchful eyes and locked doors and expectations you never asked for.
But you choose the same path.
You stop in the same clearing.
And he is already there.
Waiting.
He stands half in shadow, as though the Night Court itself refuses to let him go completely. His wings are tucked close, dark and gleaming faintly in the dying light. He does not move when you step into view, but you feel the shift in him, the subtle sharpening of his attention, the way his power stirs in quiet recognition.
Neither of you speak at first.
The air between you is cautious. Measured.
Delicate.
“You came back,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His mouth curves faintly at one corner.
“So did you.”
And that is how it begins.
Borderline conversations at dusk.
Always at the edge. Always at the place where neither of you fully belongs.
You never step fully into Night.
He never steps fully into Spring.
You exist only in the in-between.
The first few meetings are careful things. Fragile. Every word weighed before it is spoken. Every silence thick with things you do not dare ask.
You never tell him your name.
He never tells you his.
But you both know.
Of course you do.
Everyone knows the High Lord of Spring has a daughter now.
A daughter who appeared like sunlight after endless rain. A daughter kept hidden behind manor walls and layered wards. Shielded. Guarded. Protected with a ferocity that feels less like love and more like fear.
A daughter who is not allowed to leave.
And everyone knows Nyx Archeron.
Heir to Night.
Son of the High Lady who broke the world and remade it.
Son of the High Lord who holds the stars in his hands and would burn kingdoms to ash before letting harm come to his family.
He is power given form.
He is everything you were raised to be wary of.
You are enemies by bloodline.
By history. By expectation.
And yet in the quiet forest, titles mean nothing.
Here, he is just Nyx.
Here, you are just you.
You learn the shape of his voice before anything else. Low and steady, threaded with something softer than the reputation that follows him. You learn the way he listens, fully, completely, as though every word you speak matters.
No one has ever listened to you like that.
You talk about small things at first.
Safe things.
Music.
You tell him about the musicians who sometimes visit the Spring Court, how their songs drift through open windows and down endless halls. How you listen from hidden corners, unseen.
He tells you about the Sidra River, about the sound it makes at night as it moves through Velaris. About the artists who line the streets, painting beneath starlight.
You talk about books.
About stories.
About places you have never seen and places he wishes he could show you.
And slowly, without realizing it, the silences stop feeling tense.
They begin to feel… comfortable.
One evening, you find him already sitting on a fallen log, his wings half-spread behind him to catch the last warmth of the sun. You hesitate before joining him, leaving careful space between your bodies.
It feels like standing too close to the edge of something.
“You’ve never left Spring,” he says quietly.
It is not a question.
You shake your head.
“No.”
He doesn’t pity you.
He doesn’t apologize.
He just nods, like he understands something deeper than the word itself.
You tilt your head back, staring at the sky. It is painted in soft colors — pale pink bleeding into gold, fading slowly toward the deep blue that will become night.
“It’s different here,” he says after a while.
You glance at him.
“How?”
He looks upward, toward the first faint stars beginning to appear.
“In Night, the sky never looks fragile,” he says. “It’s endless. Vast. It feels like falling into something you’ll never reach the bottom of.”
You try to imagine it.
Endless night.
Endless freedom.
He glances at you then, studying your face like he is memorizing it.
“Velaris is beautiful,” he says. “There are lights everywhere. Music. People who aren’t afraid.”
You listen like someone starving.
Like someone who has spent their entire life in a cage and is only now realizing the door might not be locked.
“You’d like it,” he says softly. “It’s peaceful. Beautiful.”
You swallow.
“So is Spring,” you whisper.
Because it is.
Despite everything, it is still your home. Still the place where you learned to walk, where flowers bloomed beneath your bare feet, where your father held you when you were small.
Nyx doesn’t argue.
He just looks at you.
Really looks at you.
And there is something in his expression that makes your chest ache.
Not disagreement.
Not judgment.
Understanding.
As though he knows Spring is beautiful.
As though he knows it is also a cage.
As though he knows you are both trapped by the same invisible walls.
The sun disappears completely then, and Night rises to claim the sky.
Still, neither of you leave.
Not yet.
---------------
Secrets do not survive long among High Lords.
Not when magic itself listens. Not when shadows report what eyes cannot see. Not when love, bright and reckless and impossible, begins to leave fingerprints on everything it touches.
You should have known it wouldn’t last. But love makes you foolish.
Love makes you brave. Love makes you stay too long in his arms when the sun begins to rise.
It happens on a night like all the others.
You meet Nyx in the clearing, breathless from running, your heart already racing before you see him. He appears from shadow the moment you arrive, as if he had been waiting there for hours, as if he exists only when you are near.
He says your name, your real name, now. The one you gave him weeks ago in a moment of trembling trust.
He crosses the space between you in three steps and pulls you into him.
The impact knocks the breath from your lungs.
You’ve never been held the way he holds you.
Not carefully. Not cautiously.
Desperately.
As if he has spent his entire life missing something and only just found it.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” he murmurs into your hair.
“I had to wait until everyone was asleep.”
His arms tighten.
For a moment, neither of you speak. You just exist there, between Spring and Night, held together by something fragile and fierce and utterly irreversible.
You pull back just enough to look at him.
His violet eyes search your face like he’s cataloging every detail, committing you to memory.
He does that often.
Like he’s afraid one day he won’t be able to anymore.
“I hate it,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“This. Leaving you behind every time.”
Your chest aches.
“I know.”
His hand rises, hesitant for only a second before he brushes his fingers along your cheek. The touch is reverent. Careful. Like you are something precious and breakable.
You lean into it without thinking.
“I would stay,” he says. “If I could. I would stay here. With you.”
The words settle deep in your bones.
“Nyx-”
“I mean it.” His voice cracks slightly. “I would give up everything. The title. The court. All of it. If it meant I could wake up and know you were still there.”
No one has ever chosen you before.
Not over power. Not over duty. Not over destiny.
Your hand finds his, fingers threading together.
“You are my everything,” you whisper.
He closes his eyes.
And then he kisses you.
It isn’t your first kiss.
But it feels like it might be your last.
It is soft at first, trembling with restraint, with fear of pushing too far. But then you lean closer, and something in him breaks. His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.
You kiss him like you’re trying to memorize him.
Like if you press close enough, you might become part of him.
Neither of you notices the shadow watching from the trees.
Neither of you feels the magic slip away to carry what it has seen.
---------------
Tamlin finds out the next morning.
You feel it before you see him.
The manor is wrong.
The air is thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
Magic presses against your skin like a warning.
You step into the main hall and freeze.
Your father stands at the center of the room.
He is not calm.
He is not controlled.
He is furious.
Vines crawl across the marble floors, cracking stone as they grow. Roses bloom and wither in seconds, petals turning black and crumbling into ash. The windows tremble in their frames.
He turns when he hears you.
And you have never seen that look on his face before.
Not anger.
Not just anger.
Betrayal.
“Is it true?” he asks.
His voice is quiet.
That is worse than shouting.
Your throat tightens.
You don’t answer.
You don’t deny it.
And that is answer enough.
The room explodes.
Power slams into the walls. Glass shatters. The vines surge, twisting violently.
“You will not see him again,” Tamlin snarls.
The words hit harder than any blow.
You feel something in your chest fracture.
You straighten anyway.
Because loving Nyx has made you brave in ways you never were before.
“I love him.”
The words leave you before fear can stop them.
Before reason can silence them.
They hang in the air between you.
Your father goes still.
Completely still.
Silence falls, heavy and suffocating.
And in that silence, his rage flickers.
Cracks.
Becomes something else.
Fear.
“He is Night Court,” Tamlin says hoarsely. “He is Rhysand’s son. Do you know what that means?”
Images flash through your mind.
Nyx’s laugh.
Nyx’s hands holding yours like something sacred.
Nyx whispering I would give up everything.
“Yes,” you say.
Your voice trembles, but you do not look away.
“It means politics,” Tamlin says. “It means war. It means he will be used against you. Or you against him.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I do.”
Because Nyx has never lied to you.
Because Nyx has never looked at you like anything less than his entire world.
Because Nyx chose you long before he ever touched you.
Tamlin steps closer, desperation bleeding through his anger.
“You are my daughter,” he says. “You are Spring Court. You belong here.”
Belong.
The word feels like chains.
Your heart breaks even as you speak.
“My heart doesn’t.”
He flinches like you struck him.
Tears blur your vision, but you don’t stop.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you whisper. “But he is-”
You choke on the words.
He is home. He is safety. He is love.
“He is everything.”
Silence falls again.
And this time, Tamlin looks at you not like a High Lord.
Not like a ruler.
Like a father who realizes he is already losing his child.
---------------
The last time you meet in the forest, you’re trembling.
Not from fear.
From resolve.
It’s different tonight. You feel it the moment you step into the clearing. The air is heavier, the silence sharper, like the world itself is holding its breath.
Nyx is already there.
He isn’t standing the way he usually does, relaxed, open, soft at the edges when he looks at you. Tonight, he is rigid. Tense. His wings are half-spread behind him, restless shadows shifting along their edges like they don’t know where to settle.
The moment he sees you, relief crashes across his face so openly it hurts to witness.
He crosses the distance between you immediately.
His hands find your arms, then your face, like he needs to make sure you’re real. Like he needs to confirm you’re still here.
“I thought he might lock you inside,” he says quietly.
“He tried.”
Nyx’s jaw tightens.
You can see the anger there. The helplessness.
The fear.
“They’re arranging meetings,” he says tightly. “With other courts. Allies. They want to secure the future.”
You let out a hollow breath.
Your future.
His future.
Planned without either of you in mind.
“As if we’re chess pieces,” you whisper.
Nyx’s expression hardens. Something cold and ancient flickers behind his violet eyes, not at you, never at you, but at the world that would tear you apart and call it necessary.
His jaw ticks.
“Then let’s stop playing.”
The words land between you like a stone dropped into still water.
You stare at him.
Your heart stutters.
“You mean-”
“Leave,” he says.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t soften it.
“Together.”
The world tilts.
You search his face, looking for doubt. For hesitation. For the careful restraint he always carries when it comes to you.
You find none.
Only certainty.
Only love.
“My father will never allow it,” you whisper.
“My father won’t either.”
The admission hangs heavy between you. Because you both know what that means. What you would be giving up.
Everything,
Your home. Your family. Your birthright. Your future.
Nyx steps closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. His hands slide down to hold yours, fingers threading together like they belong there.
“I don’t care about the court,” he murmurs. “I don’t care about the title. None of it means anything if I don’t have you.”
Your breath catches.
“I have spent my entire life being told who I have to be,” he continues softly. “What I have to become. But this,” his fingers tighten around yours, “This is the only choice that has ever felt like mine.”
Your chest aches so fiercely it almost feels like breaking.
“You’re my choice,” he whispers.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it.
“Nyx…”
“If you tell me to stay,” he says, voice trembling now, “I will. I will stay. I will endure it. But if there is even a part of you that wants to be free with me-”
“I do.”
The answer comes instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
You see it in his face the moment the words leave you, the fragile, desperate hope that had been holding him together finally taking shape.
Your heart pounds so violently it almost hurts.
Run away.
From Spring. From Night.
From your fathers and their expectations and their ancient grudges.
Nyx lifts your joined hands, pressing his lips softly to your knuckles. The gesture is trembling. Reverent.
Like a promise.
“Tomorrow night,” he whispers. “At the border. When the moon is highest.”
You nod, your forehead still resting against his.
“Tomorrow,” you repeat.
Tomorrow, you will choose him. Tomorrow, everything will change.
He pulls you into his arms then, holding you tighter than he ever has before. Like he already knows what it will cost. Like he is trying to memorize the shape of you.
You cling to him just as tightly.
Neither of you says it.
Neither of you has to.
This is the point of no return.
Tomorrow.
---------------
You leave the manor long before midnight.
You don’t pack anything.
There isn’t time for that. And besides, what could you possibly take that matters more than him?
The halls are silent as you move through them, your footsteps soundless against polished floors. You know every turn, every hidden path, every door that creaks and every one that doesn’t. You have spent your entire life inside these walls.
You have also spent your entire life learning how to escape them.
Still, tonight feels different.
The air is heavier.
As if Spring itself knows what you are about to do.
You pause at the great doors.
Your hand trembles as you press your palm against the wood.
This is the last time, a small voice whispers.
The last time you will ever leave this place as Tamlin’s daughter.
The last time you will belong to Spring.
Your throat tightens.
But then you think of Nyx.
Of the way he looks at you like you are not something to be protected or hidden or controlled, but chosen.
You push the doors open.
Cold night air rushes in to meet you.
And you run.
The forest welcomes you like it always has.
Branches part. Grass bends beneath your feet. Magic hums softly in your veins, guiding you forward.
Toward him. Toward freedom. Toward tomorrow.
Your heart races faster with every step.
He’ll be there soon, you tell yourself.
He promised.
You reach the clearing first.
Of course you do. Spring magic moves differently here. Faster. Easier.
You step into the moonlight, breathless and shaking, your eyes immediately searching the shadows for him.
He isn’t there yet.
That’s alright.
You’re early.
You move closer to the border, closer than you’ve ever dared before.
You can feel it now.
The invisible line between courts.
It doesn’t look like anything. There’s no wall. No barrier.
But magic doesn’t need walls to exist.
It lives in the air. In the soil. In you.
You take another step.
And another.
Then something feels wrong.
It’s subtle at first.
A faint resistance in the air. Like walking into water instead of open space.
You frown slightly.
Your father’s wards. Stronger than before.
You hesitate.
Nyx can pass freely between courts. Night Court magic answers him.
But you are Spring.
Still, you take another step.
You have to.
He’s waiting for you.
Just one more step.
The moment your foot crosses the invisible threshold, the world shatters. The ward detonates.
There is no sound at first. Only pressure. Crushing, absolute, inescapable pressure that slams into you from all sides at once.
Spring magic recognizes you.
And rejects you.
It doesn’t understand why you are leaving.
It only knows you are trying to cross.
And it will not allow it.
Pain explodes through your body.
Not like a wound.
Not like something physical.
Something deeper.
It feels like your magic is being torn out by the roots.
You gasp, but no air reaches your lungs.
Light erupts around you, gold and white and violent. Vines burst from the ground, wrapping around your ankles, your wrists, not restraining but anchoring, holding, as if the land itself is begging you to stay.
Your power surges wildly in response, instinctively trying to fight back.
Spring collides with Spring.
Magic turns against itself.
The force throws you backward.
You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from your chest.
For a moment, everything goes quiet.
Too quiet.
You try to move.
You can’t.
Your body doesn’t respond the way it should. Your magic flickers wildly beneath your skin, unstable, fractured. It feels wrong. Broken. Like something essential has been ripped loose.
You don’t understand.
You were only crossing the border.
You were only going to him.
A weak sound escapes your throat.
Your vision blurs.
The ward still hums in the air around you, intact. Unyielding. It had not been meant to kill you.
It had been meant to stop you.
And it had.
Moonlight swims above you.
Somewhere, far away, you feel something else.
A tug.
A thread pulling tight.
Nyx.
He feels it.
He’s coming.
Relief flickers weakly through your chest.
You try to hold on.
You try to stay awake.
But the light is fading.
And the last thing you feel before the darkness begins to pull you under is the bond between you screaming.
---------------
Nyx feels it.
Not as a thought. Not as a sound.
As an absence.
One moment, the bond between you is there, fragile and new and still forming, but real. A thread spun from every shared breath, every whispered promise, every look that lingered too long.
And the next it tears.
Not cleanly. Not completely.
It stretches, strains, screams.
And through it, he feels you.
Your fear. Your pain. Your confusion.
And something worse.
Fading.
Nyx doesn’t think.
He doesn’t breathe.
He winnows.
The world bends and breaks around him as he tears through space itself, shadows ripping open to carry him where his heart already knows he needs to be.
He lands hard in the clearing.
And everything is wrong.
Spring magic flickers wildly, unstable, bleeding into the air like something wounded. The grass is flattened. The earth is cracked. The ward still hums faintly at the border, cruel and unyielding.
And you, you’re on the ground.
Too still. Too pale.
For one horrible second, he cannot move.
Cannot breathe.
Cannot accept what he is seeing.
Then he’s at your side.
He drops to his knees so hard the impact splits the earth beneath him. His hands hover over you, afraid to touch, afraid that if he does you might disappear entirely.
“...no,” he whispers.
The word breaks apart in his throat.
He gathers you into his arms anyway.
Your body is warm.
But not enough.
Your head falls weakly against his shoulder, and he feels how little strength is left in you. How fragile you’ve become.
His hands glow with Night power, violet and silver and desperate, pouring everything he is into you. He doesn’t know what he’s fixing. He doesn’t know what’s broken. He only knows he cannot lose you.
“Stay,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Please. Please stay with me.”
Your eyelids flutter.
It takes everything you have, but you open your eyes.
And you look at him.
Even now, even like this, you look at him like he’s the first good thing you’ve ever known.
The bond between you is fraying in his chest, threads snapping one by one.
Your lips part slightly.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe.
The words are so faint he almost doesn’t hear them.
His grip tightens.
“For what?” he asks, his voice breaking. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Your fingers twitch weakly against his arm.
“For not… making it,” you whisper.
The words stab straight through him.
“No,” he says immediately. “Don’t say that. Don’t, you made it. You made it to me. I’m here.”
Your eyes soften.
And that hurts more than anything.
Because you look like you know something he doesn’t want to accept.
He presses his forehead to yours, his entire body trembling.
“We can fix this,” he says desperately. “My mother can help. She can heal anything. We just, we just have to get you there. You just have to hold on a little longer.”
But even as he says it, he can feel the truth.
The ward didn’t just stop you.
It rejected you.
It tore through your magic at its source.
And he doesn’t know how to fix something like that.
Your hand lifts.
It shakes with the effort.
He stills immediately, afraid even his breathing might take too much from you.
Your fingers brush his cheek.
He leans into your touch without thinking.
You’ve done this so many times before.
But never like this.
Never this weak.
Never this final.
“You were worth it,” you murmur.
The words are barely there.
But they destroy him.
His breath catches violently.
A tear slips free before he can stop it, sliding down his face and onto yours. He doesn’t wipe it away. He doesn’t move at all.
He’s afraid that if he does, if he shifts even slightly, you’ll be gone.
Your breathing falters.
Each inhale smaller than the last.
Each exhale quieter.
He tightens his arms around you, as if he can anchor you here through sheer force.
“Stay,” he whispers again.
It isn’t a command.
It’s a plea.
A prayer.
Your eyes remain on his.
They don’t leave him.
Not for a second.
And that might be the cruelest part.
Because even now, even as you’re slipping away you’re still choosing him.
Your fingers twitch once more against his cheek.
Then they fall.
Your chest rises.
Once.
Twice.
A third time and stops.
The bond in his chest snaps.
Nyx doesn’t understand it at first.
He waits for your next breath.
And the next.
And the next.
It never comes.
The forest goes silent.
Completely.
Utterly.
As if the world itself is mourning you.
Nyx stays there, holding you, long after you’re gone.
Long after your warmth begins to fade.
Long after the stars overhead blur through his tears.
He does not let go.
He does not let anyone take you from him.
Because for one impossible, broken moment.
He pretends that if he just holds you tightly enough.
You might still come back.
---------------
Nyx does not speak for days.
He stands at the border where Spring meets Night and stares at the place you fell.
Flowers bloom there now.
Wild and stubborn.
Spring and Night intertwined.
He kneels once, months later, pressing his palm to the earth.
“I would have chosen you,” he says softly to the wind.
The stars above flicker.
The trees rustle.
And somewhere in the quiet space between courts, between hatred and history, a single flower blooms beneath starlight and greenery.
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When was the last time I wrote for acotar!! This fic was literally 32 pages long, like what??? Tysmm for everyones support for getting me to 437 followers!!!! <3
Hi! Welcome to my page! Below you can find the masterlists for different fandoms that I write for. Right now I write for DC Universe and the ACOTAR world.
