ACOTAR oneshots

It Was Never Your Fault (Gwynriel)

Overview: Azriel helps Gwyn with the aftermath of a nightmare.
Rating: M
Words: 1578

*TW for some slightly graphic SA flashbacks+ victim blaming done by victim. If you do not want to read that part, it's just the italics after the first paragraph. once the italics end, you can continue reading.*

Gwyn's head hit the pillow, the plush cushion enveloping her face, as she welcomed the terrible memories she knew she deserved. She shouldn't have let Catrin die. It was her fault, she knew it. She could've—could've done something. She could've fought back against the men, but alas, she had just lay there sobbing like an idiot.

——————————————————————————

She felt them before she realized what they were going to do to her. She felt their disgusting hands on her. The pressure of the General's body suffocating her. The way she lay there crying, as they took what they wanted from her. Her head lolled to the side as their hands and bodies continued to take, take, take from her.

And that's when she saw it.

Catrin's body. Catrin's dead body. Her twin sister that never really got to live. And it was all her fault.

All.
Her.
Fault.

Gwyn let out a muffled cry as she felt something rip inside her, feeling a hand close over her mouth.

"Quiet, girl!" the man hissed against her ear, and she could nearly feel his smirk.

Gwyn let out another covered sob, the pressure of his hand suffocating her to no end. The blood trickling down her legs.

There was no end to this horrible, disgusting feeling.

No end.
It would never end for her.
This was her punishment.
It—
——————————————————————————

Azriel came home late. Not that it wasn't normal for him, it was.

He was up after hours, torturing an Illyrian they found from a rebellion camp. He was the last one left there, all the others had run before Cassian, Rhys, and him had gotten there.

Cowards. That's what they were. Couldn't even stay for a fight.

And Azriel had been so angry and pissed off, that he'd went down there multiple times, squeezing out bits and bits of information. And even when Azriel's scarred hands were coated in blood, and his soul was enveloped in the screams of the Illyrian man—
He still would not leave. Azriel would take every piece of information. He would get it, and he would revel in the male's pain. He would enjoy it like no other.

Even as Rhys came down, looking at Azriel with pity in his eyes, he still would not leave. Even when his brother told him they would figure it out in the morning, he still would not leave. Even as his brother's face contorted into a look of sadness and worry shined in his eyes, he would not leave.

He was only brought back to reality as Rhys dragged him away from the male, shoving him against the wall, and—

He hugged him. Rhysand had hugged him. Azriel only realized that he was hugging back as a strangled sob left his throat. Azriel would allow himself that—one strangled sob. Rhysand stiffened, as if surprised to hear him cry, but he relaxed again so quickly it was nearly unnoticeable.
And—

Now Azriel was at the House of Wind. He walked through the hallways and row of stairs, his boots creaking against the wood.

He stopped in front of his room, but he heard whimpers coming from the other room. And they definitely weren't...good whimpers. They were the cries of someone in pain. Azriel walked to the end of the hallway, his hands bracing against the wall as he reached the room. The whimpers and sobs were louder now, so Azriel grabbed the doorknob and twisted.