#Kallias: So what did I miss

[azsazz]

Keep It Up

Kinktober Day 19: Nesta x Reader [Praise]

Summary: Nesta let's you know just how good you are for her.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, FF

Word Count: 2,328

Notes: Don't come for me it's my first time writing FF.

_________________________________________

“Would you look at that,” Nesta says, blue-gray eyes drinking you in as she rounds the bed. You crane your neck, following her movements, desperate to watch her reactions, to hear those words you want to hear fall from her lips. 

You’re naked, legs spread wide for her to see. Your body is flushed from head to toe, chest heaving a little as you come down from your first orgasm of the night. The one where Nesta had sat on the plush couch across the room and watched you, demanded it from you. You whimpered loudly, back arching off of the plush bed as you worked your fingers through your folds, circling your clit as you stared at her, eyes wide and nearly begging for her words.

She hadn’t given them to you. Not yet. You know how Nesta likes to play, you earn your praise like the good girl you are or you don’t get her hands, her mouth, her words. “Look at me,” and you did. “Another finger,” and you obeyed. “Cum for me.” Yes, yes, yes.

“Please, Ness.”

Your cunt glistens in the soft lighting dotted along shelves stuffed with books. There’s no warmth in the room, not a fire in the hearth, and your nipples hurt from the tightness, the cold licking over them. You ache to have her warm mouth on them, licking, sucking, biting. Gods, you need her.

Nesta prowls closer. She moves with such grace, it’s a surprise she hadn’t been fae her entire life. With a preternatural elegance, she slowly unhooks the straps of her dress from her shoulders, revealing pale, perfect skin that dips down to her glorious, full breasts. 

You hadn’t seen her in days, off on a mission in the Winter Court on Rhysand’s command. It hadn’t been anything terribly serious, emissary duties with an ally of Night shouldn't have taken as long as it did, but the stipulations had changed on Kallias’ part, and you’d been told to stay within the ice palace until you could convince them to agree to your High Lord’s terms.

And you’d done it, but not without missing your mate. The crystals hanging from the ceilings reminded you of her eyes, her sharp wit and less than warm personality. It’s what you love the most about her, though, because while she may be cold and unfeeling towards others, with you, she’s different.

You get the greatest gift of all, her warmth. There isn’t enough to share with the rest of the world, so it’s mostly kept within the confines of your bedroom. You don’t mind, though, because there are often times where you don’t leave the chambers for days. And those are your favorites. And exactly where you hope this night is leading to.

“All pink and pretty for me, aren’t you?” Nesta praises, coming to kneel between your legs. She drinks in the sight of your glistening cunt, shining just for her. Your fingers are still stuffed inside of yourself, moving at a slow pace as you try to work through the sensitivity from your orgasm. “How about a proper welcome home?”

“Yes,” you hiss, spreading your legs wider for her to see the entirety of your eager, dripping cunt.

Icy fingers trail the expanse of your warm legs, from calf to bent knee. Nesta’s gaze is pinned to your weeping cunt, begging for her to touch. The softness of her stroking fingers doesn’t surprise you, she looks more enamored with how ready you are for her than anything else.

“Did you miss me, mon amour?” she questions, right as she brushes her knuckles across your throbbing clit. Her gaze finally flickers to yours, catching how your lips part to suck in a sharp breath at the feeling, your breasts rising with the action.

“I missed you so much, Ness,” you add softly, taking a moment to meet her gaze full on, nothing but honesty in your eyes. Her gaze softens, and you send those yearning feelings down the bond, diminishing now that you’re back together with your mate. “It hurts to be away from you.”

She sighs softly, a shiver working up her spine. It’s a comfort, to know that you feel the same as she does, like she’s missing a limb when you’re not around. She tends to lock herself away from others while you’re out of town, more irritable when you’re not there to keep her calm. 

Nesta leans over you, pressing her lips against yours. It’s slow, soft, and sensual, everything you’ve been missing all in this kiss right here. Paired with a finger sheathing into your cunt, all the way to her knuckle, it’s everything.

“We’re together now, mon amour, let’s make the most of it.”

She knows exactly what she’s doing, too. How to work your clit in tight circles, the quickest way to get you to reach your orgasm. You whine. You don’t want this to be fast, you want all of her attention on you all night, and the morning, and the entirety of your time until you’re whisked away on another mission from Rhys.

“Ness,” you mewl, eyes wide and pleading.

Her chin is lifted, eyes looking down at you and she jerks her fingers faster, twisting them to brush across the bundle of nerves you’re crying out for her to touch. Her pose exudes dominance, even though there’s no one else she needs to be proving this to, with you pinned by the movements of her fingers, it’s pretty clear what role you’re playing in this sexual act.

“Don’t hold back,” your name is a demand on her lips, and the tightness coiling through your cunt tells her that you’re trying to keep yourself from cumming, all to keep her fingers inside of you a little longer. “Cum for me, and I’ll give you my face.”

Her words make you explode, fingers digging into her soft skin as you cling to her, trying to claw your way through the dark. Your mind is muddled and Nesta keeps up her quick actions, sliding her fingers in long strokes, working you through that incredible feeling coursing through her body until you’re limp in the bed, unable to open your eyes.

“That was…” you trail off because you can’t find the words. Incredible. Magnificent. Extraordinary.

“You’re doing so well for me, mon amour,” Nesta says, finally leaning down beside you. Your naked bodies press tightly together as you roll, facing her. Her eyes have gone a touch soft and she lifts the hand between your legs, hushing you softly when you whimper from the loss. You’re all wet and warm, but the ache for her never ends, not really. 

Nesta lifts her glistening fingers between the both of you, pressing them against your slightly parted lips. There’s a hunger in her eyes that has you clenching your thighs again, but she’s wedging her leg between yours, and you grind down on the muscle of her thigh. 

“Be a good girl and clean me up,” she says, and you don’t hesitate, sucking her fingers into your mouth. The taste of yourself floods your senses and the bond in your chest goes warm. It makes you preen, when she shows you her delight by shooting soft feelings down the tether of your souls. It’s almost as good as hearing those words coming from her lips. “That’s it, just like that.”

You moan, gyrating against her leg, soaking her skin. Your fingers find her body to hold her tightly as you do, stimulating yourself on newly formed muscles from Valkyrie training. One particular grind has you weak and desperately trying to work yourself faster.

Nesta watches you with bright eyes. When any semblance of your slick is gone from her fingers, coating your mouth, does she finally remove them, grabbing your hip and pulling you further into her body. She leans in, devouring your mouth, licking your taste as you brush your tongue against hers, giving it to her eagerly. 

In a bold—needy—move, you snake your hand between the two of you, sliding between her legs to touch her. She’s warm, wet between her legs and she gasps against your mouth when you slide your fingers between her folds, brushing right up against her swollen clit. In retaliation, she nips harshly at your lip before soothing it over with her tongue.

You can be daring when you want, when you need to feel her as much as she needs you, and Nesta loves it when you do. So, you make work of it, falling into the feeling of her mouth, her thigh between your legs and your fingers between hers, working each other up as you kiss, touch, and grind against the other, a pile of tangled limbs in the middle of your plush bed.

The heat in your gut is present again, a burning through your loins that has you panting against Nesta’s mouth. “I’m—mph—I’m going to cum.”

“Louder,” she moans into your mouth, accepting it. “Let me hear you.”

Except, that she’s pulling away. And it hits you like a wave against a rocky shore, that she isn’t asking to hear your cries of pleasure, but those begging ones that you sound so fucking pretty making. 

“Please, Ness, I need to—”

“Need what, mon amour? Need to cum? How? Want my mouth? My hands? My cunt?” Nesta teases, licking hot down the skin of your throat. You arch off of the bed, flattening your head to the pillow to give her more space to work. She climbs down your body, pressing her hips flush against yours as she works. You can hardly even think when she suctions a tight nipple into her mouth, laving over the nub with her tongue. She nips at them, sucks harshly, her free hand playing with the one she doesn’t have her mouth on. Your fingers bury in her long hair, caressing the nape of her neck as she works. 

The bucking of your hips for friction does nothing to distract her. That’s your Nesta, hard-willed and determined. Determined to leave her mark across your skin in any way possible, love bites sucked into skin, bruises shaping your hips, teeth marks gone red with nearly broken skin. If you could tattoo her on your skin you would. Maybe you should make a bargain with her so that fantasy can come true. You want your skin, your aura, to reflect how you feel for Nesta on the inside, the mating bond thrumming with love.

“I need to cum,” you pant, but that much is obvious. Nesta licks a long stripe from your navel to the base of your throat and blows air on it. The sensation turns you dizzy. “Want to cum on your cunt, Ness.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” she grins against your skin, pulling away to give you what you ache for. She slots herself against you and you groan from the sensation of her hot cunt pressing against your own. Unable to control yourself, you roll your hips, enjoying the sound of pleasure Nesta releases as you take charge. “C’mon, mon amour. Show me what those hips do.”

Fervor consumes you. You’ve orgasmed once on Nesta’s fingers and it hadn’t been enough. To edge you further, she’d nearly had you cumming against her thigh as you rutted into her like a teenager getting off for the first time. It should’ve been embarrassing, but with the way she was kissing you, you were anything but.

The remnants of your lost orgasm creep back slowly. Nesta’s noises help a lot, and the way she’s grinding just as desperately against you, throbbing clits pressed tightly together with each stroke of your hips, adds to the building in your stomach. 

You’re both so wet for each other, soaked cunts slick and noisy as you move. You bite at the skin on her pale throat as her head is thrown back and she cries out with a wail that makes your clit pulse, beating in reaction.

“Gods, Ness,” you sigh, “You’re fucking beautiful.”

She hums, pulling you closer, hands guiding your hips as you fuck against her. The position she puts you in stimulates you more, like a part of your subconscious had been holding back, wanting to fuck your mate for as long as possible. 

“Right there,” she croons, lashes fluttering over intense gray eyes. “Right there! Yes, yes, that’s my good girl—”

Those words always unlock something within you. You lose all control of your body but Nesta’s there to guide you through it, soft words pressed into your skin as she encourages you towards the orgasm clenching your cunt.

“Right there!”

“If you keep making those noises, mon amour, I’m going to cum.”

You keep it up, releasing yourself and falling fully into it. You moan louder, more languid, drawing it out until Nesta is jerking against you and cumming with a cry of her own. Her grip on your body is strong, as if locking the muscles on her convulsing body will stop you from grinding yourself against her. It doesn’t. You move faster, reveling in her soft moans she makes, the bite of her fingers against your forearms. You’re chasing your own orgasm like hell, and the pool of Nesta’s hot cum that slides across your cunt is what does it for you.

“Fu-uck, Ness!” You cum with a cry and now you’re both a mess of jerking limbs and clinging to each other like the searing heat coursing through your blood is trying to separate you. You bury the rest of your noises in her mouth, needing to feel her against your mouth as euphoria wracks your body.

“So good,” she sighs, when the both of you melt into each other, the bed. She brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it sweetly behind your ear and presses her lips to your cheek in a chaste kiss. “So good for me.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist: @bunnymallowo @jeannineee@icey–stars @hannzoaks @harrystylesfan2686 @azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

#nesta archeron #nesta smut #nesta x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azsazz kinktober 2023 #nesta archeron smut

[lorcandidlucienwill]

Rhys's death scene but if Rhys lost his powers. Rhys was dead. There was only silence in my head as I began to scream. The emptiness in my chest and soul at the lack of the mating bond echoed throughout my body as I shook the lifeless one before me, screaming at him to wake up, wake up- He remained cold and lifeless, and Mor was there, Azriel too, who was being supported by Cassian. He had used all his power to remake the Cauldron. He had saved the world-all of Prythian- at the cost of his life. Thunder boomed from the sky, as if the world itself was mourning the loss of a great power, a High Lord. This was so much worse than the world ending; the prospect of having to live without him. Unthinkable. Insupportable. My chest constricted so much that I could not even breathe. Someone's hands were on my throat, but I didn't even feel them. I turned to the gathered High Lords and snarled, "Bring him back." They stared at me blankly. I screamed, "BRING HIM BACK!" Still nothing. My breaths returned, heavy and ragged. I got out, "You did it for me. Now do it for him." Helion said carefully, "You were a human. It is not the same." "I don't care. Do it." I prepared my daemati powers, unsure whether I would be able to invade all seven High Lords' minds at once, but prepared to try. Tarquin stepped forward, orb in his hand. "For what he gave," he said quietly. Tears began to fall in earnest down my face as the orb glowed against Rhysand's pale skin. Helion stepped forward next. Kallias. Thesan. Beron simply stood there until Mor abruptly lay her sword against his throat. "I do not mind making one more kill today, she said." He threw her a withering glare, but shoved off the sword and stepped forward. He chucked his orb at Rhys like he was throwing something into a trash can. I tried to will an orb into my hand, but nothing appeared. "Tell me how," I croaked, looking to the other High Lords. Thesan launched into a long boring speech about the core of power that I painstakingly listened to, until finally, an orb of life appeared in my hand. I placed it against Rhys, watching it disappear against his skin. Then, I realized what was missing just as he appeared. Tamlin.

He stood there, summoned by either the death of a fellow High Lord or one of the others around me. He was splattered in mud and gore, his new bandolier of knives mostly empty. He studied Rhys, lifeless before me. Studied all of us—the palms still out. There was no kindness on his face. No mercy. “Please,” was all I said to him. Then Tamlin glanced between us—me and my mate. His face did not change. “Please,” I wept. “I will—I will give you anything—” Something shifted in his eyes at that. But not kindness. No emotion at all. I laid my head on Rhysand’s chest, listening for any kind of heartbeat through that armor. “Anything,” I breathed to no one in particular. “Anything.” Steps scuffed on the rocky ground. I braced myself for another set of hands trying to pull me away, and dug my fingers in harder. The steps remained behind me for long enough that I looked. Tamlin stood there. Staring down at me. Those green eyes swimming with some emotion I couldn’t place. “Be happy, Feyre,” he said quietly. And dropped that final kernel of light onto Rhysand.

I didn't let go of his body, praying that the light worked, waiting and waiting and waiting, recalling every moment we had spent together. I dare not hope, dare not believe that the magic had worked- Then, I felt it: his heartbeat. Then his body began to stir. Then there was a groan, and his violet eyes opened. "Is...this...hell?" he grunted. "Or perhaps heaven, since I'm with all of you." I laughed giddily, pressing my lips to his. "You're alive. You're alive," I breathed against his skin. Cassian let out a broken laugh. "My powers..." Rhys murmured, his fingers flexing against my back. "Shh, don't worry about that right now," I replied, rocking him back and forth. "Feyre...my powers are gone." Oh, magic works in mysterious ways. In the time that Rhysand was dead, his magic had been returned to the earth, and given to someone else. Which meant...he was no longer High Lord. And I was no longer High Lady. The only question was... "Who?" I voiced the question no one else dared to ask. "Who rules Night now?" "Feyre! Feyre! Are you alright?" Elain's voice rung in my head as she rushed forward, my eldest sister in tow.

My jaw dropped. "Why are you staring at me like that?" Nesta demanded, hands on her hips. "What the hell happened here? Why are you all fawning over Rhysand? "Oh my god," Cassian whispered, and he dropped to his knees. Then Tarquin. Tamlin. Helion, with a cocky grin as he did so. Thesan. Kallias. Viviane. Awe was stark on Tamlin's face. Even Beron had a cruel smirk on his face as he willingly, willingly bowed, to the next ruler of the Night Court. "Why is everyone kneeling? What is going on?" Nesta snapped, as Elain herself knelt before her. "Yes, please explain what the fuck is going on," Rhysand groaned, still on the ground. "Sit up, and maybe you'll find out," Beron crooned. The bastard was actually enjoying this. He'd rather anyone but Rhysand rule Night, clearly. With a grunt, Rhysand slowly sat up, and his jaw also slackened. "Oh, no fucking way," he muttered. "By the Cauldron-"

I couldn't speak. I could barely even think. Some strange, ancient magic compelled me to turn away from my newly revived mate, towards the simmering woman in front of me. Kneel. Kneel. Kneel. "I do not accept this," Rhysand said loudly, fury apparent in his voice. "Anyone but that bitch-" "Shut the fuck up," Cassian snarled at him. Rhysand snarled back. I knelt before her. Nesta Archeron stood there, an aura of silver around her, her hair floating above her head in a corona, and there was no noise in the clearing besides Rhysand's constant cussing. She had always been a queen, a Fae incarnate, even back in that cottage. Was this truly a shock to anyone but my mate? Beron, that cruel smirk still on his face, announced, "Cauldron-gifted, Cauldron-Made, Kingslayer. All hail Nesta Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court." Nesta still looked confused. She looked down at herself and seemed to realize her body was glowing. High Lady, she mouthed the words to herself. Then, she looked straight at Rhysand, who still looked outraged. And she smiled like a viper.

@sonics-atelier

#rhysand #nesta archeron #fanfic #pro nesta archeron #nesta queen of queens #high lady nesta #rhysand gets wrecked by nesta

[ladyescapism]

Nothing - Azriel

summary: Azriel's mate will never see another Starfall.

a/n: Star Fall Week 2024! I was inspired by the third prompt from this post, but I wanted to change it to make it hurt more. I almost cried writing this so read at your own risk.

masterlist

warnings: terminal illness, death, suicidal thoughts 

wc: 1,200

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She put her dress on. It was a struggle, as it was most days. Everything from getting dressed, to eating, to talking was getting harder and harder. 

Azriel had taken her to every healer in Prythian. None of them had any treatment, just ways to keep her comfortable until the end.  

Everyone knew she was sick, but no one but Az and Thesan knew the prognosis. She didn’t know what was worse, leaving this world or leaving Azriel. 

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” 

She turned towards the voice in the door. Azriel stood there, looking dashing as ever in his black suit, only two siphons glowing. He let the love dance in his eyes, an attempt to hide the sorrow also present. 

She had asked him not to mourn her till she was dead. But that seemed to be an impossible task. 

“Thank you, darling.” 

He walked over and took her face in his hands. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Her hands found his torso, feeling the corded muscle and breath there. His warmth spread to her cold fingers even through his clothing.

She pulled away. “Ready to go?” 

He silently scooped her into his arms and walked to the balcony. The flight was quiet. Neither of them wanted to speak, lest the truth ruin the evening. 

This would be her last Starfall. 

Madja had told them last month. The illness had spread too far. She would be gone before year’s end. 

The River House was decorated with lights and paper stars that she and shown Nyx how to make last week. The ball room was already crowded with attendees from every court. She could see Helion laughing with Lucien by the drinks. She saw Kallias and Vivienne with their daughter talking to Thesan.

The latter looked over and met her eyes. He said something to the Winter royals and began walking to them. 

“Cousin,” he greeted on arrival. “I did not know if you would find the strength to join us.” 

“Starfall is my favorite holiday,” she responded. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

Thesan embraced her tightly. He was not an emotional male, but she knew that he loved her dearly. 

The rest of the Inner Circle descended upon them. Within a few moments, both her and Azriel had drinks in their hands and were looped in on all conversations. 

She didn’t know how long had passed before Rhys tapped a fork to his glass signaling that he wanted to speak. 

“I will not keep your attentions long. However, Feyre and I have decided to take this opportunity with everyone gathered to make an announcement.” 

The Inner Circle already knew but didn’t dare spoil it for everyone else. 

“Feyre is pregnant with our second child.” 

Joy spread through the room. Before it was over, the blue and green light began to dance across to sky. 

She took ahold of Azriel’s arm and pulled him in to dance. In years past, he spun her around the dance floor in graceful waltz’s and twirled her till she couldn’t walk straight. Tonight, however, they simple held onto each other and swayed to the beat as the rest of the party buzzed. 

She only released him to her High Lady, who had declared that she would dance with everyone on her Inner Circle that night. 

She found her way onto a patio, hoping to get a moment alone. 

Nesta found her a moment later. 

They shared a glance. Their skirts brushed together when Nesta came to stand by her side. 

“Are you having a good time,” she asked. 

Nesta just looked at her, maintaining a stare that only she could. She just looked back, never balking from her greatest friend. 

“You’re not getting better, are you,” she finally asked. 

She couldn’t think of anything to say. Should she lie and protect Nesta’s peace for a long as she could? Or tell her the truth and let her friend live in worry and fear for the next few months. 

“Don’t even try lying to me.” 

Well then. 

“No, I’m not getting better.” 

Nesta was silent. 

“How long?” 

“How long have we known or how long do I have?” 

Pain and shock radiated across Nesta’s face. “What,” she croaked out. 

Tears finally fell from her eyes as she looked at her friend. 

“Everything,” Nesta demanded. “Tell me everything.” 

“There isn’t much to tell. There is nothing anyone can do.” 

“No,” Nesta started. 

“Nesta,” she interrupted. “This is not the time or the place. I will tell you more tomorrow.” 

“No, tell me now.” 

Her temper flared. “I do not want to spend my last Starfall arguing with you and explaining all the horribleness that is to come. Let’s just get inside and dance and drink and have fun, okay.” 

When she turned back to the ballroom, her heart broke. 

There it was. The perfect scene. Feyre was holding her son and she swayed to the music. Her mate was standing with his brothers, enjoying the sight, too. Morrigan was dancing her heart out. Amern was with Varian and Lucien was with Elaine and Thesan was with his lover. Everyone was smiling or laughing.

Everyone would be fine without her. 

A sob racked through her chest before she could stop it. Nesta grabbed her arms as she fell to the floor and held her head to her chest.

“I don’t want to go,” she cried. 

Thankfully, the door kept her crying unheard, but Azriel came to find her as soon as he felt her distress down the bond. Nesta slid her over to her mate and left them be. 

“I don’t want to go, Az.” 

“I know,” he soothed. 

“I wanted more. I wanted more life with you.” 

Azriel didn’t know what to say. 

She had wanted to die a warrior’s death when she was young and had no one to live for. After Azriel, she wanted to grow old with him. She wanted children and grandchildren and to simply live more than she had. 

She has asked Azriel not to mourn her till she died. She never considered that she would mourn herself and the life she never got to have. 

Azriel took her home and put her to bed. There was no bargaining with the illness or with the Mother. She knew that and so did Azriel. 

Solstice Night

They decided to not set a place for her. They all knew that there was a hole where she used to be, they didn’t need a spot next to a mourning mate to punctuate it. 

They still talked and laughed and joked as they did before. Azriel still hadn’t managed a smile since her death. Joy seemed so foreign that he wouldn’t recognize its face, let alone invite it in. 

Feyre had her second babe, another boy. He was new and perfect. Azriel had not held him yet. He could imagine infecting such purity with his agony. 

Somehow, he found himself at the table with food on his plate. He ate the food before him, not caring what it was, just that it would get him through this night. 

He didn’t feel anymore. There was the sadness. There was the anger. There was the longing. That ad all been delt with. 

Cassian had held him as he cried for the first time in centuries. Rhys had let him punch and kick and scream his anger out. And he had made it thought the night where the longed to join her wherever she went. 

He was now an empty male. He had no mate, no love, and no light. 

Where she was, there was nothing. And that nothing would be where would spend the rest of his days. 

tag list:

@feysandzoyalailover @fanfictioniseverything @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @singhillada @marina468 @acourtofbooksandshadows @kristeristerin @xcastawayherosx

#acotar #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #star fall week 2024

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4

Happy Saturday!

Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!

Please show it some love ❤❤❤

Lucien appeared well.

His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.

Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.

Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.

Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.

There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.

Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.

Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.

Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.

“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”

Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”

Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”

The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”

Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.

“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”

“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”

Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.

“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”

“No, not him.”

Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.

“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”

A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.

“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”

Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.

Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.

“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.

Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.

Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.

Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.

The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.

“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”

Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.

Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.

Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.

Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.

“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.

But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.

“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”

“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”

She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.

Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.

“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”

Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.

“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.

***

Rhys had been fouler than usual.

Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.

She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.

Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.

She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.

“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”

He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.

The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.

She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.

The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.

Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.

Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.

This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.

Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.

That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.

Silence.

The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.

The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“Am I a prisoner?”

He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”

The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.

Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.

“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”

The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.

Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.

“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”

Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”

He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.

Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.

Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.

“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.

Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.

Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.

Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.

Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.

Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.

Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.

Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.

It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.

***

“I will not forge.”

Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.

Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.

Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.

She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.

Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.

“Have you said this to Rhys?”

“Not yet.”

Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.

Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.

“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.

“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”

Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”

Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.

Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.

“Nesta-” he begun

“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”

“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”

“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”

Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.

Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.

The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.

She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.

Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.

#nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #nesta and cassian #nessian fanfiction #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #I wrote something #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessian fan fic #anti rhysand #sjm critical #neris #nesta x eris #eris vanserra #silver in her eyes

[separatist-apologist]

So you miss people asking you to rank things? Could you rate/rank acotar characters (of your choice) as Star Wars fans on a scale from “makes it their entire identity/personality” to “hater and they like people to know it” 👀

I'm gonna do men again, just because its 9 people

9. Eris Vanserra- Way too pretty to know ANYTHING about Star Wars.

8. Jurien- Isn't that a movie for children? He's pretty sure it is, but he's also judging you about it.

7. Tamlin- He's seen it and it was fine. It's just...it's a movie?

6. Tarquin- Tried to do a marathon once, didn't even make it to the Duel of the Fates in A Phantom Menace.

5. Azriel- Did you say Lord of the Rings? Well, that's what he heard you say and actually, did you know when Viggo Mortensen hit that helmet in Two Towers he broke his toes-

4. Lucien- Excellent background noise. Pretty sure he's seen the whole trilogy via Disney+ and chill. If you ask him, he'll lie and say his favorite character is Princess Leia when in truth, he doesn't have strong enough feelings to have a favorite character

3. Kallias- The Empire Strikes Back Hoth scene, specifically where Luke is taken by the wampa really captured Kallias's imagination. It's the best film, he doesn't care WHAT you have to say about it and actually, he'll fight.

2. Cassian- Big into the prequels. King of the memes, really loves The Clone Wars. "C'mon Nesta, put on the costume for me. Just once. No I'm not gonna be Jabba obviously I'm Han-"

Rhys- IDC what anyone says, Rhys is king of the fucking nerds. B I G opinions about the sequel trilogy, swears the Binary Sunset (Force Theme) changed his whole life. "ITS LIKE POETRY IT RHYMES" okay Rhys calm down

#once again-i am always right and there is no use arguing with me #telling me mr studies space for fun isnt the number 1 star wars fan? #FAKE FALSE

[brittanymoura]

the heir & the emissary

Eris Vanserra x OC (estranged Archeron sister)

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Feyre sat bolt upright in a high back chair situated at one end of a long, ornate table. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and her hands folded upon the tabletop. She was the picture of calm, easy, elegance. To her left sat Rhys, covered head to toe in exquisite black garments as he reclined in his seat, occasionally picking at his cuticles as though he couldn’t be any more bored if he tried. And located just behind them, in her peripheral vision was the remainder of her family. She could see two large sets of wings and two pairs of elegantly long legs sitting stock still. She allowed herself to glance around the table, taking in those in attendance.

At the opposite end of the long table sat Kallias and Viviane acting as the hosts of this meeting. They were the sparkling embodiment of icy indifference; their hands clasped together on the table in a show of unity. To their right sat Tarquin and to his right sat Thesan. To their left sat Eris and to his left sat Helion. She allowed her gaze to swivel around the table and it did not escape her notice that still, after all this time, the table was effectively separated between seasonal and solar courts. 

“I know we have been here for rather longer than I had originally hoped today so I’d like to start wrapping this meeting up soon but before we can do so, there is one more issue we need to discuss,” Kallias spoke, his gaze falling upon Eris. “As you can all see we seem to be missing two high lords and we received, frankly, suspicious letters from both of them regarding this meeting.” Kallias passed the letters along the table. 

“My father has been increasingly paranoid lately and more secretive than usual. That alone is not cause for concern, given my fathers temperament but I’ve also noticed a large number of warriors being reallocated to projects I am not privy to.” Eris stated. 

The letters made their way around the table and finally Feyre was able to pick one up. She read them over quickly before passing them to Rhys. 

“These are nearly identical notes,” Feyre gasped. Her eyes pulled up to look across the table to Kallias and Viviane. 

“Yes. It is worrisome. We can reasonably assume that they are meeting with each other but for what reason we can only guess at this time.” Viviane nodded slightly.

“I can send my Spymaster to Spring to take a look around. Maybe we can see if anything strange is going on over there. Well, beyond the obvious,” Rhys said, smirking. “Think you can get any more information from Beron?” He added, addressing Eris directly for the first time.

“I can try, though he is particularly distrustful of me lately. I’ll see what I can do.” Eris responded.

“We also have someone currently looking into the situation in Spring. She’s there as we speak so we should hopefully have some new intel soon.” Viviane spoke softly. Eris’ head snapped in her direction, flames alight in his eyes.

“You sent her to Spring?” He hissed, hackles rising in agitation. Feyre’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline as she fought to keep the surprise off her face. Rhys tilted his head slightly to the right, the only outward display that Eris’ behavior had also caught his attention. In all the years they had been dealing with Eris at this point neither had ever seen such genuine emotion out of him.

“We asked her to go and she agreed.” Viviane replied, keeping her face neutral. 

He shot up out of his seat, palms flat against the table and glaring down his nose at her. “You know how she feels about that place after all she has been through. How could you ask her to go there?” Kallias was immediately out of his seat.

“Sit down Eris. You’re one step away from being out of line.” Kallias growled out. The two males stared each other down for a few more seconds before Eris brushed his hands over his chest and sat back down. Kallias was soon to follow. 

What was that? Feyre reached out to the minds of her companions.

I have never, in all my years of knowing him, seen him react that way to anything. Rhys responded. 

“She should be back shortly,” Kallias resumed speaking, glancing over to Eris again, “perfectly unharmed.” He then allowed his attention to fall back to the room as a whole, “I have asked a close friend and advisor of mine to take a peak around and just see what she could find. I will get what information I can from her as soon as she returns.”

Eris let out a little laugh under his breath, “advisor huh? Did she get a promotion?”

Viviane let out a small, breathy, laugh as well, “you know as well as I do that while her official title is ‘emissary’ she does much, much more than that for us.” Eris nodded, a small smile upon his lips. Feyre blinked. She could barely comprehend what she was witnessing. A genuine smile? At the thought of another? She looked back at him but found his face to be as blank as could be. Had she imagined it?

The meeting continued for a short while longer and the sun was beginning to go down in the sky by the time they had called it quits. 

“Unfortunately, you cannot winnow from within the palace walls. We will need to exit to the main courtyard out front before you can pass the wards and leave. Let us walk you.” Kallias advised, standing from his seat. He took Viviane’s hand, pulling her to stand and placing a kiss upon her knuckles. They nodded to the guard stationed beside the large cedar doors and they were promptly hoisted open. The High Lord and Lady of Winter proceeded through the open doors and down the long corridor which would take them and their guests beyond the palace walls.

Behind them strode Helion, Thesan and Tarquin deep in conversation. Their heads were bent together, large grins on their faces. It was likely that they were spreading some gossip or another, as they were wont to do. Eris followed closely behind them, his hands were stuck into his pockets and his head held high. Despite his posture displaying the usual arrogant demeanor, the furrowing of his brows and downturn of his lips gave away his internal struggle. 

Pulling up the rear of the group were the High Lord and High Lady of Night and their Inner Circle. None of them spoke a word but shared looks amongst themselves that screamed ‘we have so much to discuss when we get home’. Cassian had Nesta tucked into his side, one wing being used to huddle her in closer. Rhys and Feyre had their hands clasped between them, walking with Azriel and Mor hovering on either side of them. 

Up ahead Feyre saw Kallias and Viviane come to a stop in the entrance to the courtyard. Though she was much too far behind to hear words she could see that they were speaking to someone. Kallias’ body blocked them from her view but she could see Viviane reach out a hand to lightly brush their arm in a motion of comfort. 

The group continued to get closer as they moved down the corridor. She heard Kallias let out a small chuckle and saw him nod his head in a clear act of dismissal. Everything beyond this point happened so fast, that to this day she remains unsure if this was all a fever dream. 

Eris came to a halt in front of them at the opening of the courtyard, just beyond the wards, removing his hands from his pockets, causing them to come to an abrupt stop as well so as not to crash into him. The body of a small woman stepped around Kallias and came flying at full speed through the courtyard in a sprint. Rhys stuck his arm out in front of Feyre and two sets of wings flared out around her in a protective manner, covering all three females present. 

The woman approached Eris and flung herself into the air. He caught her easily around the waist, spinning in an attempt to keep them both upright. A loud squealing noise filled the air which was immediately followed by a bellowing laugh. Her arms were thrown round his neck and her face was buried in the crook of his neck as well. His eyes were closed and the brightest smile Feyre had ever seen adorned his face.

One arm remained around her waist as he lowered her feet to the floor, his other hand moving up her spine and burying itself into her pale blonde hair. She pulled her head back to look at his face, wearing an equally bright smile. 

“Eris,” she breathed, “you’re here.” Feyre could see her profile and was able to catch the small tears beading in her blue-gray eyes. Eyes that were so familiar. Eyes that she saw every time she looked at her sister; every time she looked into the mirror. 

“Tegan,” he looked upon her face as if attempting to memorize every inch of her. He looked up briefly, catching Kallias’ gaze. Kallias gave him a brief nod which he returned before he was swallowed up by magic and disappeared before their eyes.

#Eris #archeron #eris x oc #eris x reader #eris vanserra #acotar #the heir and the emissary

[iftheshoef1tz]

i have GOT to hear more about the demon!azris WIP you mentioned!! spill the deets! i love the title "What Hath Night to Do With Sleep", you always have the best titled fics.

I would love to tell you about demon azris!! I posted a little bit of it for Halloween, but the main idea is that Eris, a young German doctor living in West Berlin in the late 1960s, summons a demon to help him kill his father and the former Nazis he grew up around. In addition to azris, eris kind of sleeps with everyone, so there will be neris and nerissian, as well as blink-and-you-miss-it Kallias/Eris and feysandris. Eris, in a word, is living my dream and fucking his way through the acotar cast. This fic will be heavy on the trigger warnings (bc, you know, Nazis and the killing thereof), but i don’t plan to include any onscreen violence against Jewish people.

It’s been a really interesting bit of history to research (with special, special help from @queercontrarian) and i have looked up the most random things. Including a hilarious article from WikiHelp on how to summon a demon, as well as “what cars did West Germany have,” “when were ball pens invented,” “names of politicians in the AfD,” “bones in the hand,” and “symptoms of gout.” My search history is a mess, lmao.

The title is from John Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and it slaps severely. If you’re ever at a loss for titling something and you can’t find a song title or lyric that’s working, poetry is always a good bet!

#demon azris

[myreia]

wip whenever

I missed Wednesday, oh well. 🫠

tagged by the lovely @thevikingwoman, @lilas and @hylfystt, thank you! 💖 tagging @tsunael, @roguelioness, @coldshrugs, @impossible-rat-babies, @birues, @fourteenthz, @scionshtola, @galadae @gefiltefished

This is a bit from Chapter 5 of the thing I am currently working on. Context - Aur's Echo pings weird shit when she travels between the First and the Source., sometimes she gets to spy on her family and see what they're up to.

Beyond the door, an elite Garlean scientist occupies her usual chair, her rank denoted by her white coat and the insignia on her shoulder. Taller than most of her kind, with sharp features and dark hair woven into a single long plait. She coldly reviews the files before her with a no-nonsense flick of one hand, the other tapping impatiently on the desk’s surface. Her ruby eyes glint in the artificial light.

It is unusual for an Elezen to make it this far in the ranks. And yet here she is, Elgara lux Theorzen, dispatched to this distant provincial base after a spectacular failure that was a decade in the making. She is fortunate she retained as much as she did. That her husband did not also take the fall. Her family is, for the most part, intact.

As much as it can be.

“I see you received the notice.”

The voice speaks from the shadows.

Elgara purses her lips, her brows drawing together in the slightest of frowns. It is as much as she will give him. “There’s no need to lurk, Kal,” she says, turning over another file. “Sit and speak with me properly.”

A snort. A man slinks out of the shadows half-hunched, his arms folded across his chest. He leans against the far wall, one knee bent with his foot pressed against it, and observes her with narrowed red eyes. He’s grown thin, ragged, in the time since she saw him last. His cheeks are sunken, his jaw worn, still covered with the scratchy stubble that certainly goes against Imperial code. The tips of his half-Elezen ears poke through tangled black hair, its length another strike against the code.

A hollow zealousness flares in his eyes—intense, wanting, and hungry.

“Been an age since you’ve called me Kal, Elgara,” Kallias says.

She shrugs and turns a file over. “Been an age since you’ve called me ‘mother,’” she replies and moves a finger down the page. With a dismissive tsk of her tongue, she grabs a pen and signs the bottom with precise, effective movements. “You don’t hear me complaining about that.”

“Not a complaint, mother. Just an observation. Besides, I would never dare to insult a colleague by addressing her with such informal abandon. I have manners.”

“Colleague is it now?”

“We are no longer in the same chain of command and we are of an equivalent rank. Colleague is appropriate, don’t you think?”

His voice rasps, deep and thick, and he casually raises a hand to pick at his nails. The hilts of his twin daggers glinting in the artificial light. There’s a threat here, buried just beneath the surface. His is the demeanour of a trained killer, a weapon in human form—he could kill her in a instant if he so desire.

But if Elgara notices, she gives no sign.

“True,” she says, not a crack in her composure. Perhaps she has already welcomed death at his hand. Perhaps she is counting on it. “Which stands the reason—why are you here? You no longer have clearance to enter.”

His brows draw together, a sneer forming on his lips. Chuckling darkly, he pushes off the wall and strolls across the observation deck, idly stretching his arms above his head. His movements may appear casual, but they only further put his weapons on display. He wants her to see. He wants her to know.

“This particular piece of intelligence is sensitive,” he says. “I thought it best to limit those who know during this time of upheaval. Even the legatuses, if necessary. But a single menial officer, hidden away in the least influential province? Her ears are safe.”

Elgara presses the tip of her pen to paper, red ink blooming across the crisp white page.

“She’s returned. From whatever hole she thought to hide herself in these past few months.”

#writing aureia's family was a mistake because they're terrible and awful and symptoms of their environment #but oh no they're compelling to me now because i gave them dialogue 😔 #kallias is going to be competing with asahi for the title of The Worst ™️ #aureia malathar #writing tag

[theladyofdeath]

I Burn For You {Nine}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction. Elriel. Period AU. Regency. 19th Century.

Written alongside @snelbz .

Click here to read the summary and for more chapters!

A/N: Why yes, the 2005 adaption of Pride and Prejudice IS my favorite. Thank you for asking.

Enjoy. :)

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T/W: none

For the first time in her life, the sights and sounds of the ball around Elain were not welcoming. They were not comforting or inviting as they always had been. Even when she felt as if she didn’t belong anywhere else, she could find herself in a dance at a ball, regardless of who her partner was.

Now, as Prince Tamlin spun her around the room, Elain could only focus on the off kilter notes the violist was playing and that it was far too stuffy in the ballroom with so many candles lit in the enormous chandelier.

The song ended and as the prince led her to the side, her eyes scanned the room again. Nesta and Cassian were lost in each other’s eyes as he twirled her around the dance floor and Feyre and Rhysand spoke to Lord Kallias and his fiancée, Viviane.

Last she spoke to Azriel, he had not yet decided if he would attend the ball. If he did, someone very well may notice the two of them together. It still didn’t stop her from looking for him or wishing he had come.

“You seem distracted, Miss Elain.”

Tamlin stood next to her, holding two glasses of champagne. He extended one to her.

As she took it, she took the time to look at him. He was handsome, there was no doubt of that, and she would never want for anything. She would be royalty, a princess, at that, but when he looked at her, there was no light in his eyes.

It was nothing like the fire that burned within Azriel’s gaze whenever she caught him looking at her.

“Apologies,” she said, feeling the need to fan herself. She suddenly felt lightheaded. “It is quite hot in here, is it not, your Highness?” 

Tamlin frowned but nodded, nonetheless. “I suppose so. Shall we step outside for a moment?”

Elain took his outstretched hand and allowed him to lead her outside. There were not many people out there and those who were were male and over the age of fifty. Elain and Tamlin stepped to the side and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Forgive me, Miss Elain, but there seems to be something on your mind,” he said, pushing and prodding. She supposed she needed it. From the time she woke up that morning, she knew without a doubt what she needed to do. Knowing it must be done and actually doing it were two very different things, though. Yet, she supposed now was as good of a time as any.

Elain took a deep breath and turned to face him. “I must be honest with you, your Highness.”

Tamlin frowned and looked around before saying, “Of course.”

Elain fiddled with the ring on her finger before slipping it off. 

“What are you doing?” Tamlin asked, and his voice seemed cold.

She held it up between them and met his stare. “I am sorry, your Highness, but I cannot marry you.” 

Tamlin stared at the ring, the massive diamond glittering in the sinking sun, but did not move. “Of course, you can. Do not be ridiculous.”

Elain was not sure what she had been expecting, but that response was not it. It made her hesitate as her chest filled with dread. “Pardon?”

“I have already spoken with Queen Amarantha about the wedding arrangements,” he said, voice low as he stepped toward her. “She has already made our announcement and I have sent word to my parents, the King and Queen of Spring. We are to be married.”

“I am sorry,” Elain breathed, still holding the ring between them, “but I cannot marry you. I will not marry you, I have made up my mind. Although, it has not been easy—”

“You are simply nervous,” Tamlin said, and although his tone was light, the look he gave her now was not. “Nerves make people do crazy things. Do not let nerves drive your motives. Come, let us get another drink.”

“I have not even finished my first drink, your Highness,” she replied, pulling her arm out of his before he could lead her back in. “Please. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and I know I gave you my word, but I cannot marry you.”

He was looking at the ring again, his jaw locked.

Her nerves had loosened her tongue, but they were not in response to what he was speaking of. “I have had some time to consider it and there are more than a few reasons I am not fit to be a princess. It is still early in the season—”

“You think you can find a better match than I?” Tamlin interrupted, incredulously. “May I remind you, Miss Elain, that you are not the first Archeron I courted.”

Blinking, she allowed his words to sink in. The wavering in her voice was not faked as she said, “That is not what I intended, your Highness. I only meant that you yourself could find a more worthy than I.”

His lips thinned. “You sound like a fool. I forbid—“

“You cannot forbid me to do anything for I am not your wife.” Elain could no longer keep the bite out of her voice. With every word that spewed from his mouth, she was further validated that she was making the right decision. “Take your ring.”

She did not bother to add his title. She no longer cared for it.

“No,” he said, his voice low. “Slip it back onto your pretty little finger before a scene is caused.”

“The only one causing a scene would be you if you are not able to act cordially,” Elain said, shaking her head. “You cannot force me to marry you. I will not. My decision has been made.”

“Then you will grow old and alone,” he hissed. “The ton will not forgive you for this, nor will the queen. I will be certain that the truth is told and you will be shamed.”

It was a thought that would have once scared her but it no longer did. Elain lifted her chin. “I will do no such thing. I will marry the love of my life and be cherished every day until I am taken from this earth.”

Realization shone in Tamlin’s eyes. “You have been unfaithful?”

Elain held out the ring again and when he did not take it, she let it go. It fell from her gloved hand to the luscious green grass between them. “I must bid you farewell, your Highness.”

Tamlin had opened his mouth to speak as she stepped around him and walked back into the ballroom. He was inside a moment later, already strutting toward the Queen. Nesta and Cassian were still spinning around the dance floor, but Feyre caught her eye as she walked toward the exit. Her younger sister gave her a smile and an encouraging nod, knowing exactly where she was going, what she had done.

Elain could not stop the smile that graced her own lips.

It was nearly two hours later when she finally found him. She had checked his townhouse, his stables, the tavern — just in case, she told herself, but had actually breathed a sigh of relief when she could not find him there — before finally thinking of where he may be.

Her carriage pulled up along the Sidra and as soon as she saw the figure sitting along the bank, she was out the door, hurrying towards him. Azriel was on his feet, catching her as she barreled into him, her lips finding his.

He broke the kiss, but she was the one to speak. 

“I spoke to the prince. Tamlin had already written to his parents to tell them he’s found a wife and the Queen has started planning our wedding.” The arms around her waist loosened slightly, but Elain grabbed him by the shirt and brought his lips to hers again before he could step back. “I told him I won’t marry him.”

She was still wearing her elaborate gown and he was careful as he lifted his hands to cup her face. “And he accepted it? Just like that?”

Her expression must have answered him, because before she could even speak, Azriel’s brow was furrowing. She shook her head. “He had gone to speak with the queen before I’d even left. He wouldn’t accept the ring back.”

Azriel hesitated. “El—”

“Whatever consequences there are, I will face them,” she promised him, eyes bright and shining. “Azriel, I love you. I could not marry him and spend the rest of my life in agony, thinking of you but remaining far away. It is a torture I could not endure.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gazed down at her, his thumbs brushing her smooth cheeks in slow, steady strokes. “This is truly what you wish? There is no going back.”

“Of course it is,” Elain breathed, but her smile wavered. “Are you not pleased?”

Azriel could not stop the laughter that bubbled out of him. “Not pleased? How could I not be pleased? Of course I am pleased.” He shook his head as he stood before her still in disbelief. “Elain, I am so happy. No, happiness is an understatement for what I am.” He pressed the softest of kisses to her lips. “You are all I have ever wanted. Since the day that I met you, you have consumed me and there has been no going back from that. I have seen what my life is like without you, and I have no wish to live that life any more.” 

With his forehead resting against hers, Azriel observed, “Last time we were here, you said something to me. Do you remember what that was?”

Elain blinked, not understanding his change in conversation. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t say I do.”

Pulling back, Azriel skimmed his thumb along her cheekbone. “Maybe I should marry you instead.”

Elain froze. “What?”

“Maybe I should marry you instead,” he repeated, smirking. “That’s what you said.”

With a soft gasp, Elain’s eyes went wide as she remembered and Azriel’s smirk softened into his usual reserved smile.

His hands fell from her cheeks, leaving a cold chill in their absence. The sun had nearly completely fallen behind the distant mountains, but there was no mistaking the small velvet bag he took out of his pocket. “I was going to come by the manor once the ball was finished, Prince be damned,” Azriel confessed, smiling bashfully as he pulled a silver-banded ring with an amethyst stone surrounded by small diamonds. “I could not go on without asking you to be my wife, no matter the answer you would have given.” Elain’s eyes trailed from the ring back to his, lined with tears. Azriel dropped to one knee before her, taking her left hand in his. “You are the love of my life, Elain. I want to spend every day for however many years I have, loving you and cherishing you and growing old with you. I want a family with you, and I want a home where you can create the most beautiful of gardens. Whatever you want in this life, I will give it to you. Starting with my soul, which is irrevocably yours.” A tear fell down her cheek, then another. “Would you please, Elain, do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She nodded, afraid if she spoke, if she even so much as opened her mouth, a joyful sob would consume her. As soon as he’d slipped the ring onto her finger, Elain dropped to her knees in front of him, not caring if she got grass stains on her gown. Once she was level with him, she took his face into her own delicate hands and kissed him. Only then, with her lips on his, did she breathe, “Yes, gods, Azriel, nothing would make me happier.”

She could feel it as his smile grew, one of the rare, full smiles that was so handsome it stole her breath. She longed to see it, longed to pull away and see the love shining in his eyes, but his kiss was the air she needed to breathe.

They no longer cared who saw, no longer minded who spotted them kneeling together, kissing in the grass. She was now his and he was hers, and there was nothing left in the world to steal away their joy. 

Once Elain’s lips began to swell, she leaned back and said, “Marry me now.”

Azriel’s brows shot up, his fingers still tangled in her hair. “Pardon?”

“I want to be your wife as soon as possible,” she said, and an excited laugh erupted from her. “Let us find a priestess. Let us be married tonight.”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “Do you not want your sisters to be there?”

“We will hold a celebration in a few weeks time, where everyone can gather to celebrate,” she promised, and kissed him softly. “But for tonight I simply want it to be you and I.”

Azriel searched her eyes for any hint of hesitation but he found none, so he nodded and stood, her hand in his.

They walked to his carriage and his driver took them to the closest temple. Being the City of Starlight, there were always priestesses in the temple, day and night, and after speaking with Azriel and Elain for only a few moments about their love for one another, she was standing with them outside in the gardens, in front of a fountain of the goddesses. 

Azriel held her hands in his, amazed that this was happening. He had been so used to disappointment, so used to his life going the opposite of what he wished, what he hoped. Standing there with the love of his life, preparing to say his vows…it did not seem real. 

He remembered moving his lips, remembered speaking, yet he had no idea what vows he’d repeated. All he could hear was the first question the priestess had asked, repeating over and over in his mind.

Do you take Elain Archeron to be your wife?

Yes. Ten thousand times, yes.

Elain recited her own vows, saying I do, and then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers.

And then the priestess cleared her throat to remind them that they were, despite the late hours, in the Temple of the Mother, and they pulled apart. Elain was blushing and giggling and Azriel couldn’t tear his eyes away from her smile.

His wife.

Though the vows ensured the gods would recognize their union, a signed wedding certificate was the only way the crown would see it as official. After they each signed the document, Elain taking the opportunity to use her new last name, the priestess scribbled her own signature in the third blank. She produced a stamp, validating the certificate and assured them she would make sure it reached the desk of the royal clerk in the morning. With a final congratulations, the priestess bid them goodnight.

They had only been in the carriage for thirty seconds before Elain was crawling onto Azriel’s lap, cursing the yards and yards of fabric from her dress around them.

What started in the carriage continued up the front steps, through the foyer, up the stairs, and into Azriel’s bedroom. Their lips barely left each other’s, as if now that they knew they had forever, they couldn’t satisfy their need for each other quickly enough.

As soon as the door was kicked shut, Azriel muttered a quick, “Sorry,” onto her lips before he grasped the back of her dress in each of his hands.

She heard tearing and then the top of her dress loosened, the night air suddenly hitting her petite breasts. She gasped and turned to look at the remains of her gown, before meeting his eye once more. He was smirking and she raised an eyebrow as she said, “You just love to ruin my dresses, don’t you?”

“They’re always in the way,” he answered, grinning, remembering the first day that they met, when his charcoal smudges graced the fabric of her beautiful gown. 

Elain wrapped her arms around his neck as she said, “I suppose they are. Perhaps I’ll wear less of them.”

A light shone in Azriel’s eyes as he pressed his body up against hers. “I petition that we do not leave the house for weeks and make that a reality.”

Elain laughed as she kissed him, then stripped him down and made love to him again and again.

By the time they had worn themselves out and were catching their breaths, they laid together in Azriel’s - in their - bed, wrapped in one another’s arms with nothing between them to keep them apart. Azriel massaged small circles in Elain’s lower back, his fingertips obsessively dancing over her warm skin.

“I must confess that I fear I will wake up soon and this will all be a dream,” Azriel whispered, kissing the top of her head. Her hair was an absolute mess, but she had never felt more beautiful. 

“It is no dream,” Elain promised, leaning up on her elbows to kiss him softly. “You are mine, and I am yours.” Another kiss. “You are my husband and I am your wife.”

Azriel nearly groaned at the words and pulled her on top of him once more. As soon as she was settled against him, Elain pulled back. “We must get you a ring. Tomorrow. Right away. It is not a true marriage until there is a ring on your finger, too, you know.”

Azriel chuckled, hands sliding down her back. “No? There is a ring on your finger. Besides, I am certain what we have spent the last few hours doing claims our marriage is perfectly true.”

The lightest shade of pink graced Elain’s cheeks. “I beg to differ. No one will know that you belong to another unless there is a ring on your finger…and I wish for everyone to know that you belong to me.”

The warmth that bloomed inside of him has nothing to do with the balmy night breeze fluttering the curtains through the open window. “Then tomorrow, we shall remedy that. First thing, my love.”

Elain beamed up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. As soon as she felt his body melt into hers, she rolled them, catching Azriel off guard. She grinned down at him as his shocked expression turned to one of awed pleasure, and she made love to her husband late into the night.

#elriel #elain #azriel #pro elriel #regency au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #19th century au #period au

[snelbz]

After Hours {Elriel Smut}

A/N: Tara and I have both been crazy busy this month, so we haven’t gotten to write as much as we’d like to have for @elrielmonth. This doesn’t go along with any of the specific weeks, but we can’t miss an opportunity to write about favorite babies. Enjoy.

NSFW. 18+ Only.

WC: 7244

Written with @theladyofdeath.

Azriel turned off the engine of his old, beat up Jeep and stared at the door of the bustling bar. As the clock on his dash neared 6:00, people all over Velaris were finishing up their workday and hoping for a little release.

Including himself, apparently.

It wasn’t the first time he had been asked to join his coworkers at the bar on the corner by their office, but it was the first time he’d accepted. Typically, the last thing he wanted to do at the end of the work day was socialize, but once Morrigan asked enough, she was hard to say no to. After a certain point, she no longer took no as an answer, which was how he found himself in the parking lot.

With a sigh, he hopped out of the car, having discarded his tie, releasing a few of his top buttons, and rolling up his dark sleeves.

His 9-to-5 wasn’t awful, but it sure as hell wasn’t how he planned to spend the rest of his life. He was amazing with anything and everything electronic, had been building and taking apart everything he could get his hands on from a young age. But working tech support had him asking Have you tried turning it off and back on again more times in one day than he ever thought he would have. It was a stepping stone to something bigger, something better. He just had to convince himself take that leap onto a bigger stone.

He could use a beer. Hell, he could use a shot. The bonus of his best friends working with him as well meant that both were likely sitting at the table waiting for him.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he pushed through the door of the dive bar. Looking around, he spotted Morrigan’s blonde head on the dance floor, but none of his other friends. He knew Cassian and Rhys would certainly be here, maybe Helion and Kallias if he were lucky, but—

“You actually came.”

He turned and found the real reason he’d finally relented and accepted the invitation standing in front of him. The reason why he hadn’t taken that leap to something bigger and better.

Elain Archeron was the epitome of feminine grace. Her pretty, pink dress didn’t seem like it belonged in the seedy bar, yet here she was, carrying what looked like a tray of—

“Is that Fireball?”

She laughed and shook her head. “It was Lucien’s idea and Cassian backed him up.” She pointed to one of the shot glasses up and looked at him. “And this one’s got your name on it.”

Azriel suppressed his smile as he said, “Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

Elain gestured for him to follow her, which he did without any hesitation. She led him to a table in the back corner where a big group of them sat, hollering once they saw that Azriel had finally joined them for their Friday night outing.

“It’s about damn time,” Cassian said, scooting over so that Azriel could sit next to him. After she set the tray down on the table, Elain sat next to him. Her knee bumped his, which he fully noted.

“Blame Mor,” Azriel muttered, taking the shot that had his name on it from the tray. “She’s relentless.”

Across from them, Rhysand looked at Mor on the dance floor as she spun around with her arms spread wide. “Already drunk is what she is,” Rhys laughed and raised his shot glass. “Thank fuck it’s Friday,” he said, as a toast.

The others raised their glasses and clinked them against one another’s. Azriel downed his shot, loving the burn as it went down his throat. It didn’t burn as much as it used to, Fireball, but he liked the taste more than most.

He turned his head just in time to watch Elain’s head fall back, liquid disappearing from her shot class as her eyes lit up. She swallowed and set the glass on the table before turning to meet Azriel’s eye. Her cheeks burned.

He found it endearing, how she seemed to get embarrassed from doing something as simple as taking a shot. Although, the fact that she kept a straight face had Azriel surprised and impressed, and wondering just what else he did not know that Elain was capable of.

“Look at you,” she said, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand. “Out in the real world. I was starting to think you had a little bed hiding in that cubicle of yours and that you never left.”

Elain was the assistant to the office manager, so while he didn’t work with her as much as he’d like, he did see her in passing quite often. And, of course, when she or their boss’s computer decided to stop working.

It wasn’t his job, but whenever a pair of caramel eyes peeked over the top of his cubicle, he was powerless to tell her no. The issues he’d helped her with ranged from a piece of paper jammed in her printer to a mysterious virus that the boss had somehow downloaded.

He laughed, barely noticing their friends around them. “Not yet, but I might start keeping a sleeping bag under there, just in case.”

“Don’t do that,” she chuckled, shaking her head. Her hair, which she usually left down, loose and curled and pretty, had been piled on top of her head. Thanks to the heat of the bodies in the room, the short hairs at the nape of her neck had curled, and Azriel wanted to reach out and let one wrap around his finger.

Blinking, he realized how creepy that’d make him look and he cleared his throat.

The pitcher of beer was passed around and Azriel filled up his glass. As the hour passed on, he was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. Most of that was due to the fact that Elain’s knee brushed his every few minutes. He swore that when it did, she would linger.

With three pitchers down, everyone went to the dance floor, all except Azriel and Elain, who remained seated. She shifted, and Azriel thought that she may want him to ask her to dance but dancing was so far out of his comfort zone that he asked something else entirely before she could take matters into her own hands.

“I’m going to step outside for a minute,” he said, words rushing from his mouth. “Care to join me?”

Elain looked around, sucking in her bottom lip as she noted each of their friends and coworkers out on the floor before turning back to Azriel and nodding. “Okay.”

They made their way through the busy bar together until they found the side door that led to the alley, rather than the packed patio around back. The second Azriel was outside, he pulled his cigarettes from a pocket and held them up. “Do you mind?”

Elain shook her head as the door closed behind her. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Azriel hesitated, then laughed quietly as he searched his pocket for a lighter. “I guess we don’t know much about each other outside of the office.”

“I guess not,” Elain confirmed, watching as he patted all of his pockets. To his surprise, she opened the small clutch that was slung around her body and pulled out a lighter. She held it up and ignited a flame. “Need help?”

Azriel’s brows shot up but he said nothing as he put the cigarette between lips and leaned forward until it caught. In such a simple, short movement, they were close enough for him to smell the floral scent of her perfume.

Once she put it away and he took a long, peaceful drag, he asked, “What else do you have in there that will surprise me?”

The smile she gave him had him leaning against the opposite wall of the alley to keep him upright. “It’s not mine. I tend to be the carrier of everything no one wants to keep in their pockets while dancing. Thank Rhys.”

Azriel laughed, quietly. “Fair enough.”

“It’s nice, you know,” she said, and he tilted his head to the side, waiting. “Having you come out with us. I see Rhys and Cassian more than anyone else, thanks to Feyre and Nesta, but it’s nice to have you here with us.”

His throat was tight and it had nothing to do with the filthy habit he knew he needed to kick. He took another pull and blew the cloud of smoke away from her. The wind pulled it right back, and he cringed. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” she said and shrugged her shoulder, leaning against the brick wall next to him. He was suddenly very aware of how dank and dirty the alley was and that she was in a very pretty dress. She didn’t belong out here, didn’t belong with him in his dark shirt and dark jeans and rebellious nose ring and tattoos. She was all that was good, while he was…not. But then she spoke and it caught him off guard. “What would you be doing, if you weren’t here?”

He blinked. He wasn’t sure where she’d been planning to take the conversation, but that surely wasn’t it. “In Velaris, you mean?”

Laughing, Elain looked up at the sky. The stars were phenomenal, even in this dingy alley. Her eyes were bright, taking in the beauty of the City of Starlight. She looked back at him and said, “I haven’t had nearly enough to drink to ask something that deep.”

“Then let’s get you another drink,” Azriel replied, dropping the remnant of the cigarette into a puddle of what he hoped was water, extinguishing it immediately.

“Wait,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. The slight touch rooted him in place. “What I meant is, if you weren’t out with us tonight, what would you be doing? What does a normal Friday night look like for Azriel Draeven?”

Azriel was so caught off guard by her touch that he huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He faced her fully, now aware of just how close he stood to her. She had to look up to keep her eyes locked with his.

“I don’t know,” he said, quietly. “Watch tv, play some video games, scroll on my phone.” He chuckled. “Have a drink and go to bed.”

Elain watched him for a moment, eyes bright. “That’s all?”

His eyes narrowed at her, trying to figure out if there was an underlying meaning to her question.

“What do you expect me to do at home?” He asked, well aware of the fact that her hand was still on his arm.

She shrugged again, an action that he usually thought was nonchalant, but from her, was just adorable. Looking up at him, she bit her lip. “Are those all things you usually do on your own or is there someone else you do it with?”

Her choice of words seemed to hit them both at the same time. Even in the watery light of the streetlamp at the end of the alley, Azriel could see the blush creeping up Elain’s cheeks and neck.

Choosing to ignore her unintended vernacular, he asked, “Are you asking if I have a girlfriend?”

“I guess I should learn to be more direct, huh,” Elain whispered, and Azriel’s grin spread.

He usually felt uncomfortable when he smiled but not around her. Around her, he felt worthy of smiling, of joy.

“No,” he said, at last. I’ve been waiting for someone, he nearly added, but didn’t. “And you? Anyone special?”

Elain’s hand finally fell from his arm as she shook her head. “No, no one. Not for a few months anyways.”

He nodded and took another step toward her as he asked, “Is there a reason for that?”

That crimson stain on her pale cheeks spread as she said, “Now it’s your turn to be direct, I think.”

Azriel was not known for being direct, for being outspoken. Out of all of the people in their friend group, Azriel was probably the most reserved.

He and Elain both.

Which is why he was grateful for the alcohol coursing through his body, liquid courage, as he asked, his voice low, “Can I kiss you?”

Elain’s breath hitched but she took a step closer, her palms lying flat against his chest, closing the space between them. Her eyes, bright and full of wonder, met his when she whispered, “Please.”

Azriel had had a long time to imagine what kissing Elain would be like. He’d imagined how her lips would feel, what she would taste like, how her hair would feel like silk as he threaded his fingers into it, cupping the back of her head. As he leaned down, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, he knew his imagination would never stand a chance.

His lips met hers and he couldn’t have ignored the soft, sharp inhale as Elain gasped. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tighter against him as her hands dove into his own hair. Without even realizing it, he’d backed her up until her back was pressed against the brick wall. He traced the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. She opened for him, but then nipped at his bottom lip.

When Azriel pulled back, her eyes were bright, full of life and joy and something else he couldn’t name.

“What were those things you like to do at home on a Friday night?” She breathed, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. He was having a hard time comprehending her words.

“TV, video games, and a drink,” he said, forehead resting against hers.

Elain caught her bottom lip between her teeth, looking down at their feet before meeting his eyes again. “And all of that, would you like to do it with me?”

He was well aware that she was aware of her words from earlier. Of the callback she was making.

Azriel laughed, quietly. “I would happily do anything with you.”

Elain pulled his face into hers, her hands knotted into his now disheveled hair. His body fell against hers, and every logical thought that was in his mind had vanished for good as his palms braced the wall behind her.

Now that he’d had even the simplest of tastes, he could not keep his mouth off of her.

He hoisted her up, her legs going around his waist as her dress hitched up her thighs, her back still resting against the brick. When his kisses trailed down her neck and she tilted her face towards the sky to give him better access, she breathed, “I can think of a couple places that would be much more comfortable to do this.”

Pulling back, Azriel looked down into her face. Breath coming quickly, he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” she replied, shaking her head. “But we could…go back to my place. Or yours, whichever you’d prefer.”

He blinked and then that broad grin was back on his face. “You’re getting better about that whole direct thing.”

Elain could feel her cheeks heating but Azriel put her down. “My apartment is only a couple blocks from here.” He reached up and brushed his thumb over her mouth. “Want to get out of here?

Her lips parted and she gently took his thumb between her teeth. Everything inside of him went molten at the light sting of pain. He hadn’t been expecting it or the soft brush of her tongue that followed it.

“Let me get my purse,” she breathed, after he’d pulled his hand back. “And tell Feyre and Nesta I’m leaving.”

“Are you going to tell them we’re leaving together?” He asked. She looked up at him.

His hazel eyes had gone impossible dark, the ring of browns and golds and greens nearly swallowed up by the blown out pupil. Lust was written along every line of his body. He wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against his.

Swallowing, Elain asked, “Do you want me to tell them?”

Azriel didn’t hesitate as he nodded. Hell yeah, he did. He wanted them all to know.

Her eyes lit up. “Good.”

She disappeared from sight and once Azriel caught his breath, he was hurrying to his jeep. After tossing the few empty water bottles from his passenger seat into the back, along with the lighter he couldn’t find earlier, he was pulling around to the front of the bar, waiting.

A few minutes passed and he grew anxious, afraid he had done something wrong between the first kiss and now, but then she was walking out the front door and coming straight for him.

She opened the door and fell inside, giggling as she looked at him. “Are you okay to drive?”

He nodded and said, “Just a few beers, plus it’s a short drive.”

She buckled her seatbelt and when she looked back up, they were sharing breath. His hand slid into her hair as he softly kissed her, sweeter than any of the kisses they’d shared so far.

Pulling away, he took a deep breath as he put the car in gear and pulled out onto the main road. His right hand left the wheel and rested on the inside of Elain’s knee. Her focus and every nerve ending seemed to center on the slow circle his finger was drawing on the skin there. There was a rough patch on the tip of each finger, aside from the brutal scarring he often tried to hide. She’d felt them twice now, the first time as he cradled her face in his hands and kissed. She cleared her throat. “What are your calluses from?”

His eyes left the road for a split second, not even realizing his hand had moved up her thigh, incrementally. He was looking back ahead of him, but his thumb squeezed her thigh in time with the circling. “Guitar. I’ve played for nearly fifteen years.”

“Wow,” she breathed, fully turning to face him in the passenger seat. “I had no idea.”

“Seems there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he smirked, but added, “What’d your sisters say when you told them we were leaving together?”

Elain grinned as she turned towards the window. “Nesta’s exact words were, took you long enough. I won’t repeat Feyre’s. They were far too vulgar.”

Azriel was only intrigued more but before he could ask, Elain shifted and his hand slid further up her thigh. She leaned into it and suddenly, the five minute ride to his apartment was excruciating.

He could only imagine that her thoughts were running just as wild as his were. There were so many things he’d like to do to her, with her, but he tried not to get too ahead of himself.

She may want to take things slow, which he would if that’s what she wanted, without any complaints. Those thoughts, though, he couldn’t control.

Azriel pulled into his parking garage before finding a spot and putting his car in park. Once they were out they walked hand in hand into his building, up to his floor, and to his front door.

He had suddenly hoped it wasn’t too messy. Company was the last thing he had expected tonight, and he couldn’t remember exactly what it’d looked like when he stumbled out his door this morning, not having had his morning coffee.

Unlocking the door, he held it open for Elain, and braced himself as he flipped on the light. He wasn’t greeted by a mess, but there was the unmistakable sound of a bell chiming as it grew closer and closer. A sleek, smoky, grey cat poked its head around the corner and gave one mew! of excitement before prancing towards Azriel.

“You have a cat,” Elain beamed, bending down and holding a hand out for the creature to smell.

“This is Jeremy,” Azriel replied as the cat deemed Elain a friend and rubbed his head into her palm.

Her laughter was like windchimes on a spring morning. “Jeremy?”

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching at the back of his neck. “They asked me what I wanted to name and I sort of just blanked. So I went with Jeremy.”

Elain’s laughter was the cutest thing he’d ever heard. Tiny snort included.

Her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth, blushing, and stood. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” Azriel joked, scratching the cat behind his ears. “Jeremy doesn’t like to be laughed at.”

Elain’s laughter died down but it still laced her tone when she took a deep breath and said, smile blindingly brilliant, “I’m sorry, Jeremy. What other surprises am I going to find in here?”

Azriel gestured to the entryway they stood in - an open concept where they could see everything but his bedroom and bathroom down the hall. “Take a look around while I make you a drink?”

Elain’s grin softened as she nodded and began her waltz around the room. Azriel watched her tentatively while he walked behind the island and took two glasses from the cabinet, filling them each with whiskey - it was all he had.

Judging by how she handled Fireball, Azriel wasn’t worried.

When he looked up again, Elain was nowhere to be found but he came around the corner to find her near the start of the hallway, looking at his bookshelf that sat against the wall.

“Edgar Allan Poe fan?” Elain asked, fingers grazing a line of vintage collectors novels.

“A little bit,” he admitted, and was about to recite a cheesy quote when Elain started laughing quietly under her breath. She took a framed photo off the shelf of Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand in their sophomore year of high school.

“Who are these guys?” She asked, shaking her head. “You were such a cutie. I bet all the girls flocked to you.”

Azriel cringed as he handed her a glass, which she gladly took. “Yeah, I was more of a loner. Had my first girlfriend junior year and when it didn’t work out, there was just a long string of flings after that.”

“And is that still the case?” Elain asked, sipping from her glass. “Just flings?”

There it was again, that air of nonchalant that had Azriel wondering what she truly wanted to ask. He stared at her for a moment, her eyes lit with amusement, and Azriel decided that he liked Elain with a little bit of liquid courage running through her veins. They were far from drunk, but there was just enough for the playfulness to come out.

Azriel set his glass down on the bookshelf before stepping closer to her and leaning down to kiss her, slowly.

There was no rush. He wanted to take it slow, wanted to dwell in this moment with her.

His teeth bit into her lip, just hard enough for her to part her lips, allowing him to slant his mouth over hers. Elain’s tongue brushed along his and he had to fight the groan that overtook him as he shuddered. Her fingers were in his hair, pulling his mouth harder against hers. Azriel obliged. Her glass was long gone and he pushed her back until she bumped into the shelf, books and knickknacks and picture frames rattling with the force. His hands we’re wrapping around her ass, the curves tempting him more than he could even fathom, and lifted her, setting her atop the ledge. All of him was lined up with all of her. Only denim and a few layers of cotton separated them and Elain moaned as he ground the growing evidence of his need into her.

Azriel pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, “Is that what you want this to be? Just a fling?”

Her caramel eyes were wide, wild, and she shook her head. “Not if that’s not what you want it to be.”

“Once I get a taste of you, I’m not going to be able to stop,” Azriel whispered, dragging his nose along the long column of her neck. “I’m going to want to have you over and over again.”

A chill swept up her spine and when his lips found her collarbone, Elain let out a soft moan. “Then have a taste.”

Azriel cursed, words muffled by her skin beneath his lips. When he leaned back, Elain’s eyes were wild, her cheeks flushed, her chest quickly rising and falling. She meant it. She meant every word, he could tell as a lone finger trailed down his chest and stopped at his belt. She went to start unbuckling, but Azriel grabbed her wrists and pushed them back before falling to his knees before her. In acceptance, Elain spread her legs wider and then Azriel was hiking up the skirt of her dress.

She wore lilac lace panties that were already soaked. Before he pulled them slowly down her legs, he ran his thumb down her covered sex. The feeling of that alone had Elain gasping, scooting closer to the edge.

She was ready for him and Azriel loved the sight of it.

On his knees, he pulled down her thong and threw it aside without any care of where it would end up.

He traced her divide with a lone finger, letting it linger over her clit. He was gazing between her legs, staring. Elain felt the need to squirm, to make him look away, anywhere else. But that gaze was heavy and needy, like a starving man who’d been sat down in front of a feast.

“Beautiful.” His words were whisper soft and Elain could barely hear them over her own panting breaths. “The most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” Her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks heated at his unexpected praise.

She’d never had anyone call her sex beautiful before.

His thumb took the place of his finger, circling her clit slowly. As Elain’s breathing hitched, higher and higher, he slowly, gently pushed a finger inside of her.

Tight and hot and wet.

He slid another finger in and Azriel groaned as she clenched around him.

Suddenly, his fingers were gone and she forgot all about the tender words he’d whispered before. She forgot her name, who she was, as he wound his arms under her legs and gripped her by the thighs and dove right the hell in.

Azriel’s tongue plunged into her and the moan that Elain released was the most erotic, beautiful noise he’d ever heard. He licked her up and down before he set to lapping at her clit and his fingers returned to sliding deep.

Azriel looked up at her through his thick, dark lashes, admiring her raw and unfiltered beauty. Her head was tossed back, her mouth wide open, her entire body rigid as she absentmindedly, gently rocked her hips up into his mouth.

His lips sucked her clit between them, working in time with his tongue, and Elain let out a curse so filthy that he almost paused, having no idea such words lived inside of her vocabulary.

When her knees began to shake around his head, his fingers dug into her ass, holding her in place. The little moans coming from her mouth intensified and those sounds alone were nearly enough for Azriel to get off. She breathed his name and gasped as her fingers dove into his thick, tangled hair.

She came, and Azriel kept going, kept working his fingers, his tongue, his mouth until those little moans stopped, until his name no longer fell from her lips.

When he looked up, he slowly pulled his fingers out of her sex and put them into his mouth, licking them clean. Elain, panting heavily, watched in awe.

“What now?” She asked, legs still spread, dress still hiked up, baring her to him. Pink and pretty and gleaming with the evidence of her release. She was so wet for him, had been soaked before he’d even put his hands on her.

“Now?” He asked, bracing his arms on either side of her, caging her in. Had he always been so much bigger than her? He was all around her, consuming her every thought. Everything she saw, tasted, smelled, it was all Azriel.

“Now that you’ve had a taste,” she asked, tilting her head up, aching for his kiss. “What’s next?”

The devilish smile was the only warning she had before she was suddenly upside down, tossing her over his shoulder. Her laughter broke the tension as he carried her down the hall and opened a door, his hand firmly planted on her ass.

And then she was being tossed onto his bed, the expanse of rumpled grey sheets and soft black blankets warm and welcoming. Her fingers toyed with the soft fabric as Azriel crawled onto the bed and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her knee and then farther up her thigh.

Instinct had her drawing both knees up, spreading her legs for him again. She hadn’t been expecting him to go down on her again, but she certainly wouldn’t complain about it. The orgasm had been earth shattering, one of the best she’d ever had. If he was this talented with his mouth, she couldn’t wait to see what he could do with other parts.

Those kisses trailed up, from one side to the other, and though he pressed one gentle, sweet kiss to her pussy, that was it. He didn’t stop to suck or bite or lick. Just the one kiss and then he’d continued on, kissing the top of her mound and each hip bone. His lips trailed higher, his hands pulling her dress up as well, until he gazed up at her as he reached her abdomen. “Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at the dress.

“Only if you take off yours as well.” She was panting, her voice needy.

Him. She needed him.

Azriel saw that as an even compromise. He pulled himself off the bed and unbuttoned his shirt before slipping it off and dropping it to the floor. Elain pushed herself up onto her elbows as she watched him unbuckle his belt and kick off his pants. In nothing but his underwear, where his need was on full display, Azriel climbed back up over Elain, slipping her dress up as he went until it was over her head. She laid before him in nothing but her bra and Azriel’s hands freely explored every bare inch.

“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he whispered, his body fitting snugly against hers as he leaned down to kiss her softly.

Elain swallowed, hands trailing down his back. “I feel like I’m dreaming right now.”

“Is that a good thing?” He asked, his breath warm against her lips.

She nodded, the tips of her fingers disappearing beneath the band of his boxer briefs. He pulled back, giving her room between their bodies.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as she slipped her hand in and palmed him. He was frozen, not daring to move as he watched her hand move, obscured by the fabric and then he felt her hand wrap around his length.

She squeezed once, her fingers not quite able to touch each other, and Az’s head dropped into the

crook of her neck. He swore, voice husky and deep and it had Elain arching up into him.

She started to stroke him, slowly, and his lips found her neck, sucking and biting, teasing and taunting each other in the most sinful way.

“I want to see you.” Elain’s voice was desperate, pleading.

He couldn’t have denied her anything at that moment.

Azriel rolled to the side, begrudgingly losing the silken touch of her hand on him. He lifted his hips and removed his boxer briefs, tossing them to the side. As he was about to climb over her again, a hand pressed to his chest and pushed him back on the bed. He willingly laid down, eyes on her face. But she wasn’t looking at him.

She was looking at his cock. Staring, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

Azriel didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare disrupt what was going on inside of her mind. He held his breath, watching, waiting until she took hold of him and slowly pumped once and then twice before leaning down. When she licked the tip of his cock, her eyes finally met his.

The display before him put to shame every dream he’d ever had of this exact moment.

Her mouth slid over his head and down his hardened length until she took in as much of him as she could. With her tongue sliding freely against him, her head began to bob, her hands joining in, one fisting his cock and the other cradling his balls.

Azriel’s head fell back against his pillows, one hand gripping his sheets and the other weaving its way into her long hair.

Every time she went down, a quiet noise came from the back of Azriel’s throat. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t care, either. He wanted to know all the sounds she could make him make.

Letting her hand take over for her mouth, she looked up at him. “Is this okay?”

Okay? It was better than okay, it was phenomenal, probably of the best head he’d ever had.

How was she the most adorable thing he’d ever seen, even while she played with his cock?

“Amazing,” he breathed.

She smiled then, looking so cute and sexy all at once and everything he’d ever let himself dream of.

Azriel couldn’t stop himself as he hauled her up the length of his body and crashed his lips against hers. Pulling away for a frantic breath, he whispered, “I need to be inside of you.”

Elain sat up, straddling his hips, reaching between them. His hands rested on her hips and he looked up at her.

“I can wear a condom, if you want.” He didn’t mind. He was clean, rarely went without one. But with her…

He didn’t know why, but he wanted her raw. Wanted to feel everything as her orgasm slammed into her and that delicious pussy came around him.

She shook her head. “I’m on the pill.”

There was silence for a moment, but then Azriel swallowed. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated, voice soft.

Rising up on her knees, she gripped him, leading him to her center. Positioning him at her entrance, she placed her hands on his chest and sank down.

Azriel cursed, soft and vicious, fingers digging into the soft curves of her hips.

For a moment, she did nothing. When she was seated snugly upon him, her eyelids fluttered shut and she breathed, evenly, adjusting to his size, his length, inside of her. Then she began to rock, slowly, palms laid out flat against the ink on his chest. She sucked in her bottom lip and Azriel couldn’t stop staring.

It was erotic, sure, but it was also beautiful, so beautiful that Azriel didn’t think anything or anyone else would ever even compare to this moment, this vision of Elain, completely bare, slowly riding him in complete and utter ecstasy.

His hands moved along with her hips, not guiding, she had that covered. He could hear their ragged breaths in the quiet and stillness of his bedroom.

She felt so incredibly good.

And then her eyes opened.

Eyes that were bright with pleasure and ecstasy and something else he couldn’t name, yet knew was written across his own face. Her hips rose suddenly, rather than rocking, and when she dropped back down, they both gasped.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, reaching up and cupping the back of her head in his hand.

Elain nodded, leaning down towards him, still so full of his cock that words were impossible. His mouth was on hers as soon as she was close enough and he wrapped one of his strong arms around her waist.

He released her lips and breathed, “Do it again.”

She didn’t sit all the way up this time, just enough to lift her hips, but did as she was told. Again and again and again, until she was clawing at his chest, a moaning, quivering mess, right on the edge of release.

The hand that was still woven into her hair tightened, pulling her mouth back down to his, and he snapped his hips up into hers. She cried out, the sound muffled by the savage kiss, and he thrust up into her again, eliciting the same reaction. Only two more hard, deep thrusts was all it took.

Elain shattered around him, crying out as she did so, her nails digging into his skin to keep herself grounded.

Azriel continued to thrust himself up inside of her, a little slower, a little gentler each time until she was nothing more than a quivering pool lying against his chest.

He gave her a moment to breathe, gave her a moment to piece herself back together before he pulled on those beautiful golden-brown locks until she met his gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and she had no words but she nodded in perfect agreement.

He was still buried deep inside of her when she sat up and pulled on his hips, not wanting him to take himself out for even a second. Azriel rolled them over until he was on top and framed her face in his hands before he kissed her.

It wasn’t hot and hungry like it had been before, but slow and sensual.

He kissed her until her hands left his chest, started roaming over his body. Kissed her until her legs wrapped around his waist, begging for more without having to say a word. Grinding his hips into hers, pushing her into the bed.

Wrenching her mouth from his, Elain moaned and Azriel’s kisses continued on her neck, her throat. He kissed down to the valley of her breasts, still contained in her bra, and he slid his scarred hands beneath her and unclasped it. As he sat up, giving her room, Elain removed her bra straps one by and tossed it aside, both of them completely bare to the other at last, his hard, thick cock still inside her.

She could have sworn she felt him throbbing deep inside as his eyes took in her breasts, hands cupping each. His mouth covered one, tongue swirling around her rosy, pink nipple, and sucked as he palmed the other. His teeth bit down and Elain moaned his name, the word tumbling from her lips like a prayer.

It snapped whatever tether he had on his restraint.

Sitting up on his knees, Azriel gripped Elain by the hips, pulling nearly all the way out, and slammed back in.

Elain cried out, her back bowing off the bed, not in pain, but overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure.

He set an unrelenting pace, fucking her as hard and deep as he could, watching as she fell to pieces beneath him. Elain gripped her breast with one hand, her other circling her clit frantically.

“You close, baby?” He asked, lips right by her ear. His voice was lower and deeper than she’d ever heard it. The sound of it and the unexpected use of a pet name alone nearly threw her over the edge, starlight and fireworks and ecstasy shimmering around her vision.

She met his gaze and nodded, reaching for him. Azriel covered her body with his, his mouth slanting over hers. His thrusts were relentless, driving home hard and fast and deep, and Elain’s release slammed into her. She moaned, loud and slow, and Azriel fell over the edge right alongside her, pulling out and spilling himself on the creamy skin of her stomach.

Azriel’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head, his body fully rigid as he came. Elain watched, chest heaving, utterly in awe of the sight before her. He was beautiful, and for a moment Elain thought that it was strange to think so. She had never thought that men were beautiful, at least not in the sense she felt when she looked at Azriel, just then, after making love to her so perfectly.

He collapsed onto her body, careful not to crush her as rested his forehead in the crook of her neck, but rolled them onto their sides. The softest of touches brushed along her arm, along the column of her neck until she squirmed.

Azriel’s fingers froze as he chuckled. “Ticklish, too? Look at all the things I’m learning about you tonight.”

His voice remained low, rough, tired but carefree. She smiled as she started running her fingertips up and down his muscular back. “I’m not ticklish,” she muttered, but they both knew it was a total lie.

They laid in contentment, both of them with their hands on one another as they caught their breaths.

Then they heard a growling, grumbling noise, and Azriel pulled back to look at Elain.

She was blushing, looking like she wanted to melt into the mattress.

“Hungry?” he asked, grinning down at her.

“I didn't get dinner,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Sorry, that was so loud.”

“You let me get inside of you,” Azriel teased, burying his face in her neck, biting the sensitive skin there. “You’ll moan my name as you cum, tear at my back, but you get embarrassed when your stomach growls a little too loudly post sex?”

“It’s not lady-like,” she laughed, playfully pushing him away.

He did as she bade him, rolling away from her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. He returned from the attached bathroom a minute later, a warm washcloth in his hand, still gloriously naked. Shamelessly, Elain watched as he approached, taking in every inch of sculpted muscle and inked skin. He smirked, not saying anything about her blatant ogling, but he hadn’t failed to notice the way her eyes caught on certain parts of his body, lingering just a longer than others. Azriel quietly cleaned her up, then tugged her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. As he leaned down to kiss her, her stomach made another room-deafening growl and she buried her face into his bare chest as he began to laugh. Grabbing a t-shirt from his dresser, he pressed a kiss to her head. “Let’s get you something to eat before you decide to eat me.”

Elain took his shirt, which swallowed her as she put it on. She left him standing in the middle of his bedroom as she paused in the doorway to the hallway and the kitchen beyond, looking back at him. “Oh don’t worry. I’ll do that again later.”

Without another word, she padded towards the kitchen on bare feet.

His eyes darkened as he watched her go, long, tan legs tempting him from beneath his t-shirt.

When he’d decided to go out with his friends after work, this was the last thing Azriel had ever expected to happen. He’d left his comfort zone, taking a chance on a night of fun rather than spending another night home alone.

As he followed her into the kitchen, picking her up and setting her on the counter to watch as he made his infamous microwaved ramen, he was sure as hell glad that he had.

#snelbz x the lady of death collab #elriel #elriel supremacy #elain archeron #elain x azriel #azriel #azriel x elain #pro elriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #elriel month #snacmc #snacmc collabs

[shallyne]

Feysandmonth Day 24: Free prompt

Miss Santa

Sweet little idea I had, enjoy!

Words: 3,753

TW: mentions of death

Feyre is visiting a city for her job as Santa where she meets a sad stranger

Feyre skipped through the snow, a grin plastered to her face. She waved to elves she crossed paths with. Some playing in the snow, some enjoying the few moments of sunshine and some were simply working. Carrying packages, taking care of the reindeer or they were on their way back to the workshop.

Three years ago Feyre couldn't even imagine that she'd walk through here with such an easiness. Three years ago, after the death of Feyres father, the question of who would keep the christmas business, the workshop, going stood in the room. Feyre herself never wanted to do the job, never had planned to do it. Her father's death was so unexpected that the heir wasn't yet chosen. Her sisters had their things packed so quickly that Feyre didn't have a choice, she had to stay here. It took her all of the three years to make out a system, make an environment that everyone was comfortable working in. As much as she despised not having a say in taking over the business, she found herself quite enjoying it now. Especially after one of her most trusted elves brought her the report from the human realm. The christmas spirit was in full swing.

"Good morning!" Feyre chirped as she pushed open the doors of the workshop. Elves smiled and greeted her. Feyre smiled back at everyone as she went to find her friend. Her smile grew when she spotted her white hair. "Guess what?" Feyre asked as she hopped onto the counter, right beside where Viviane stood and worked. Viviane smiled, her blue eyes shining as bright as the ice sculpture outside when the noon sun shone on it. "Good news?" Viviane asked.

"The best!" Feyre said, snatching a lollipop. Her friend rolled her eyes, although the smile never left her mouth. There were enough lollipops for everyone, there even were too many. Feyre made sure that no child would get less than the other. "The spirit is going all over the world." Feyre continued, unwrapping the lollipop. "Everyone is ready and happy to celebrate."

"Everyone?" Viviane asked, putting a bow on a present.

Feyre sighed. "Okay, maybe not everyone. There are some grinches here and there but a lot of people are in the spirit. I'll get the grinches, too. At the latest when it will snow on christmas eve. Everyone wants a white Christmas, right? Well, most. Some. Anyways, I'm excited."

Viviane laughed, sounding as soft as winter's first snow. Feyre didn't know how Viviane did it but she, and her husband Kallias, embodied winter. They would have been the perfect fit as Santa, but that's not how it worked. Sadly. At least she had them by her side, helping her out.

"By the way," Feyre said "The sleigh to Velaris is ready tomorrow morning. The Velaris inspection won't take longer than a day but if you want to visit your friend you can stay over the weekend."

Viviane sighed and pushed the finished present to the side. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I can't..."

"What?" Feyre asked. "Why?"

Her friend smiled and held a hand over her stomach. Feyre gasped. "Are you pregnant?"

"I am!" Viviane said laughing. Excited Feyre jumped from the counter and hugged her. She knew that Kallias and Viviane had tried for a baby for about two years now. She was so happy. Every child that was born at the northpole was treated as a wonder, but she was mostly excited that her friends biggest wish came true.

"Congratulations!" Feyre said. "That's so wonderful, when did you find out?"

"Just this morning." Viviane told her. "Kallias wanted me to stay home today but I couldn't. I wanted you to be the first to know." her eyes became sadder. "I wish I could travel to Velaris, if it would be to tell Mor but it's just too risky."

"Of course you can't, don't worry about it." Feyre calmed her down. "I'll travel myself and if you'd like you can write your friend, Mor, a letter and I personally will give it to her."

Viviane hugged her again. "Thank you so much, Feyre. I'll write it as soon as I am done with the wrapping."

"Do not exhaust yourself." Feyre said. "Take breaks as needed and if you need help, please ask."

"Yes, of course." Viviane said.

"I am so happy for you. Both of you." Feyre said as she made her way back to the office.

The rest of the day Feyre planned the routes for her elves on christmas eve. Picking out specific routes and sleighs and reindeers. Changing Vivianes routes, too, now that a little christmas miracle grew inside her. Though she had to put Rudolph back in the stable. Viviane was the only one who could handle him since her father's death. Not even Kallias could calm him down when Rudolph is in one of his moods. He was always a little diva but she never knew that he would be that bad without her father. At least he listened to Viviane.

After that Feyre helped the newer elves and showed them how to properly wrap presents. Viviane gave Feyre an envelope before she went home for the day.

When Feyre went home herself after all her elves left, she couldn't shake the feeling of excitement. She barely traveled, just on christmas eve. It was always her dream to travel and explore the world when one of her sisters would take over the workshop. It would stay a dream but she could at least travel for very short times, for work purposes. It was better than nothing.

The next morning she stood in front of the mirror. Turning three times to check her outfit. She was wearing brown pants, a white sweater and white boots with fur and a light blue cloak. She looked beautiful and she would fit right in with the people. A double win. She put Vivianes envelope in the Inner pocket of her cloak and went out. Her sleigh with Bryaxis already waiting. She gave Bryaxis a little kiss on his adorable snoot. She knew he would be her reindeer the moment Feyre entered the stables when she was six years old. She spotted the little weird-looking calf and instantly fell in love. So did Bryaxis apparently because since that day they are an inseparable duo. It was always a wonder how reindeer would change eye colors when the seasons changed. Golden in the summer to blue in the winter. Though Bryaxis was special. He did have golden eyes in the summer but when winter arrived his eyes turned into a deep green. Bryaxis was also bigger and stronger than other reindeer, though Feyre didn't know that when she met him the first time. He was always special to her.

Viviane and Kallias were already waiting. As they said goodbye they were going over the rules while Feyre was away. She also congratulated Kallias for the exciting news before she jumped on the sleigh and traveled to Velaris. The difference between the northpole winter and the mortal winter were shocking. Even if she already knew what was coming for her. That's also the reason why she was so bundled up in clothes and had gloves already stuffed in her pockets.

It wasn't a long flight until Feyre reached Velaris. She flew over the river, the Sidra if she remembered correctly, which sparkled like sapphire. As Feyre looked for a spot where she could leave Bryaxis, she was admiring the city. It was beautiful. And if it was beautiful by day, Feyre could just imagine how the city of starlight would look at night.

Feyre left her sleigh and Bryaxis in a forest near the city. She let Bryaxis wander on his own, she knew he would be back when he was needed.

She walked through the city, admiring every little detail. Feyre was excited to see how the city prepared for christmas. Every building was decorated, so were the streets. Christmas music was streaming out of shops and restaurants and the smell of traditional christmas meals and sweets made her mouth water. To her delight she even found a huge christmas tree in a quarter. It almost looked like an artists quarter. Feyre tried not to pay much attention to shops, afraid she could spot any painting equipment. She didn't touch any paint for three years now. She was afraid that she could miss it but she wouldn't if she won't pay any attention to it, so she kept admiring the christmas decorations. She finally realized why Viviane loved coming here, it was such a joy doing the job in this city.

Feyre continued wandering the city for the whole day. There was barely a corner that wasn't decorated. A warm feeling spreading inside her when she witnessed all the joy. Mostly though when she witnessed the children laughing and playing in the snow.

In the evening Feyre took a little detour to a bar. She was alone, no one would be here to judge her. She did her job and now she was enjoying the evening. She sighed as she looked up at the sign. Rita's. Sounds good, so she went inside. The atmosphere was really nice inside but it was relatively full, so Feyre hurried when someone left his place at the bar. She quickly hopped on the stool and smiled at the man beside her. "Hello." she said. He didn't look at her. His head hung low and he was staring inside his almost empty glass. Feyre ordered a drink when it was her turn and looked back at the man. "Hard day?" she asked.

Finally he looked up. His eyes were a deep, crushing blue. Almost violet in the lights, matching the shadows under his eyes. That man definitely had a bad day. "You could say that." he answered.

Feyre smiled reassuringly and reached out her hand towards him. "I'm Feyre." Reluctantly the man shook it, a strand of his raven black hair falling in his face when he moved. "Rhys." he sighed. "I never saw you here, are you new?"

"I am just traveling through here." she replied. "So Rhys, are you excited for christmas?"

He emptied his glass before he answered. As he ordered a new one, Feyre got her drink. "No, not really." he replied.

"Why not?" Feyre asked.

He sighed again. Opening his mouth and closing it again. Feyre feared that she might have overstepped. She was about to apologize when he leaned a little closer and said "My mother and sister died a few years ago around this time. I am not one to celebrate big since then. I do it for the rest of my family but I could live without it."

"Oh." Feyre said. "I'm so sorry, that's- I'm so sorry."

Rhys shrugged and took a sip of his drink. Feyre echoed the movement when he asked "What about you, Feyre? Are you excited for christmas?"

Feyre smiled at Rhys. "I am! Some would even say I'm obsessed."

"Oh?" he asked.

"Mh-hm." she hummed, nodding. "Christmas is very special where I live."

"And where is that?" Rhys asked.

"Far away." Feyre answered.

"Mysterious." Rhys replied. "So you're celebrating big? With gift giving and dinner and all that?"

Feyre giggled. "Yes! Though it's not the receiving of the gifts that everyone is excited about, it's the giving."

"Wow, a real Santa." he said, grinning.

Feyre raised her glass. "You are not the first to call me that."

They continued to talk about everything, drinking and laughing. Feyre found out that Rhys has two adopted brothers and a cousin. And Amren, who wasn't related to him but she was not less family because of that. They became the closest people to him. In return Feyre told him that she had two sisters who left home to travel.

"What about you make a wish to Santa?" Feyre asked a few hours later, a little tipsy.

"To Santa?" he asked, chuckling.

"Yes!" Feyre said, scrambling for a piece of paper. When she found one she put the envelope for Vivianes friend on the counter for a second to get the pen that was somewhere in the same pocket at. As she gave it Rhys he asked "Morrigan?"

Feyre took the envelope back that he looked at and smiled. "Yes."

"That my cousin!" he said.

"Really?" she giggled. "What a small world!" she gave Rhys the pen and the paper. "Write down your wish."

"I don't think anyone can fulfill my wish." he sighed.

"Just try." Feyre said. He shrugged and wrote something down. He folded it two times and slid it to Feyre. "I'll get it to Santa as soon as possible!" Feyre said, putting it in her pocket.

"You promise?" Rhys mumbled.

"I promise." she said.

They both stood up and went outside. They didn't talk much, except for Feyre telling Rhys that he is too drunk to get home alone and that she will bring him. He had put an arm around her shoulders as they walked towards his home. They were nearing a beautiful townhouse, lights still burning inside. Feyre quickly realized that this was also the address she had to bring the envelope to. She sighed, what a coincidence.

As Rhys clumsily scrambled for his keys, Feyre already knocked. A beautiful blonde woman opened the door and when she spotted Rhys she looked relieved. "Mor!" Rhys said, hugging her.

"There you are." she said relieved. "Go inside, I'll be there in a second."

He nodded and pointed to Feyre. "That's my new friend. Be nice to her. Goodnight, Feyre."

"Goodnight, Rhys." she said as he walked inside the house. She smiled ate the woman at the door. "You're Mor?"

"Yes." she smiled. "Thank you for bringing Rhys back in one piece."

"You're welcome." Feyre laughed. "But I also have something for you. A letter from Viviane." she handed Mor the letter. She looked worried at Feyre. "Is Viviane okay?"

"She's perfectly fine." Feyre assured her. "You'll see when you read the letter."

Mor nodded. "Thank you."

Feyre stepped back and smiled at her one last time. "Enjoy the holidays."

"You too!" Mor said as Feyre already walked back to her sleigh. As expected Bryaxis found her on his own and they traveled back the same night.

An hour after midnight they were both safe back home. Feyre brought Bryaxis back to his stall, fed him and brushed him. She hugged her reindeer and then went home herself. When she took off her coat, Rhys's piece of paper fell out. She opened it and it took her some moments to decipher his drunken scribbling.

Dear Santa, I wish to be close to the stars. - Rhysand

Feyre smiled at his signature. Though the wish had her thinking. Rhys was probably right, that was a wish that she couldn't make come true. It still didn't left her mind. She wanted to fulfill this specific wish.

She didn't come up with anything until one day, when she sat in her office and looked out of the window. Looking towards the stables, watching some elves leading reindeers in and out. That's when she got an idea.

The last few days before christmas were the most stressful. That was normal, it was always like that, even when her father was still in charge. The last details had to be finished, everything ready to get loaded onto the sleighs.

Feyre spent most her days and nights in the workshop, even after she had sent the elves home. This year would be perfect she promised herself. A christmas that would make all the Santas before her proud. She'd show them that the first Miss Santa could make it. Even if she never received any training whatsoever.

Though the first christmases were a huge disaster, it was a surprise that nothing irreparable ever happened with her non-existent experience.

She had done it, she would continue to do it. She would continue to make a great job, like this year. After all she had the best trained elves and the best trained reindeers on her side.

Thanks to their preparations the previous days, Feyre could send her elves home earlier to take a good rest before the stressful christmas deliveries. She even went home herself. Feyre took a nice bath and jumped into her favorite christmas pajamas and went to sleep.

The two years before, she had nightmares before the big night, but this time she dreamt of a pair of beautiful, violet eyes and raven-black hair. Rhysands soft smile when she had told him about her life and her love for christmas.

The next day she hopped in her work clothes. Red pants and a red cashmere sweater. The white boots she had worn when she was in the mortal lands and a red cape, trimmed with white fur. The cape was the only traditional thing she had kept, the rest she had changed with clothes she preferred. Feyre had kept the colors, though. Viviane already waited, giving Feyre a pair of gloves that fit perfectly to her outfit. She thankfully smiled at her friend as Feyre put them on and went to her sleigh.

She patted Bryaxis and turned around, to look at all the gathered elves.

"We have worked so much this past year to make this christmas perfect." Feyre began her speech. "Everyone of you did a great job and I am incredibly proud of you all. Let's go and make the kids happy."

The elves cheered, to Feyres surprise. She was never one to hold big speeches, not like everyone had before her, but they still cheered. Feyre smiled and bowed her head, hopping on her sleigh. "Let's go, Bryaxis!" she said. Bryaxis made a happy noise as they roared into the sky. Feyres elves a choir of laughter behind her.

To Feyres delight the deliveries of the presents went smoother than the years before. Changing and planning new routes saving her ass.

Luckily it was still dark when Feyre was done with all the presents. She didn't hide her sleigh this time as she parked it in front of Rhys's townhouse and knocked on Rhys's door. When a light went on upstairs she knocked again. Shortly after Rhys opened the door, sleepy. "Feyre?"

"Merry Christmas!" Feyre chirped, smiling brightly at Rhys. "Put some clothes on, I am here to make your wish come true." when he opened his mouth she said. "Faster, we don't have much time. And wear something warm."

He turned around confused, looking back at Feyre. She gestured him to hurry. It took him five minutes until he was back, dressed in a thick, dark sweater and black pants. He slipped in his shoes and threw over a coat. Feyre didn't wait and dragged him with her to the sleigh.

"What is that?" he asked as Feyre pushed him towards his side.

"Just hop on, you'll see." Feyre said. She ran around to her side and sat down beside Rhys.

"What wish?" Rhys asked. Feyre handed him the note he had written that special evening. He read it and raised a brow. "And how do you want to make that true?"

"You'll see." she repeated. "Hold on." she added as she took the reins. Once again she soared high. Higher than usual, higher than the clouds. When she turned to Rhys he looked around, deathly pale.

"Oh." Feyre said, letting go of the reins. She grabbed the blanket she had ready for Rhys and put it around him. He broke his gaze from the sky and looked at her. "How? Don't tell me you're Santa's child."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "I AM Santa!" she said.

His eyes went wide. "Isn't Santa old and....I don't know, fat?"

"Hey, no fatshaming on my sleigh." Feyre warned. "And no, humans have rewritten the stories so many times over the years that the real history got lost." she explained. "Though, it is usual for Santa to be male. Every son was automatically chosen as the heir, if it was more than one son then it was Santa's choice. My father never had the chance to sire a son. Trust me, he tried, but my mother died before she could give him a son. My father was very in love in her so he never got another partner after her death, not even to sire another child. So it was between me and my sisters to be heir, though I seriously doubt that he would have chosen me. He died three years ago, before he had chosen a heir and trained any of us. You might have realized that the last two christmases have been...chaotic, to say the least."

Rhys snorted, confirming what Feyre had said. She chuckled and continued her story. "My sisters weren't interested in being Santa, neither was I honestly but they were gone quicker than I could have said something." Feyre shrugged. "So I am Santa now."

"It's not chaotic this year." Rhys said.

Feyre nodded, watching the stars around her. "My elves and I worked hard to make it perfect this year." she said. "I had to change some things, but it works."

When she looked to Rhys, he was also watching the stars. "You did make it a perfect christmas." he quietly said. "Thank you."

Feyre smiled, tears dwelling in her eyes. Rhys couldn't know but it was that kind of reassurance that Feyre had needed since she started as Santa. Although she didn't tell him, she was extremely thankful for his words.

Feyre let him watch the stars in silence as they flew through the sky for the remaining hours in the dark. When the sun started rising she turned around, flying Rhys back home.

"Do you live at the northpole?" he broke the silence.

"I do." Feyre answered. He nodded and then said "You still didn't answer how this is possible."

"Christmas is a magical holiday." she answered.

"Back to being mysterious?" Rhys asked.

Feyre laughed. "Yes."

He chuckled. "Can you leave the northpole at any other time of year?"

"There isn't any reason to but technically, yes. I can leave anytime." Feyre replied. "Why?"

"Because I'd like to take you on a date, Feyre." Rhys said softly.

She looked at him, his eyes shimmering like stars. As snow began falling, she smiled and said "Well, that's good because I'd really to go on a date with you, Rhys."

Taglist: @reverie-tales @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 @feysand-month @elentiyawhitethorn

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #Feysandmonth #feysand month #Feysandmonth22 #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #feyre darling #high lady feyre #rhysand #rhys #high lord rhysand #rhysand archeron #high lord of the night court #feysand #feysand au #feysand fanfiction #feysand fan fiction #Feysand fanfic #feysand fic #acotar au #acotar fanfiction #Acotar fan fiction #Acotar fanfic #acotar fic #baby bryaxis #bryaxis #feysandmonth

[woeddbeanna]

Apparently Dagon was another daemati too? Idk who that is but some Rhys Stan said that on tik tok

Hi, anon! I don't know who Dagon is, honestly. I am not English-speaking and in my translation this character probably has a different name or was simply missed, if it exists at all.

Of the official daemati, we have Rhysand, Feyre, the King's nephews, and the "unnamed Amarantha daemati". But you know what seems strange to me? The fact that these thoughts are generally nowhere, except for Rizand's excuses, are not found. They were created only for Rizand to say "It's not me."

Besides, what tyrannical sadist as Amarantha was wouldn't force a man who was suspiciously keen on saving Kallias' life to kill someone else instead of Kallias? Besides, why did Rhysand squeeze out the brains through the ears of that guy from the court of summer, and not another daemati? Why was Rhysand not revealed at all if people who could get into the heads of others were running around? This is so strange that I will believe in Rhysand's innocence only if some book is published with an explanation for all Rhysand's deeds, and in the third person.

By the way, I went through all the sources that I could find, and did not find Dagon anywhere... It seems that this is still someone's headcanon.

#sjm books #acotar #books & libraries #anti rhysand #daemati #sara j maas critical #anon ask

[lorcandidlucienwill]

So I'm kind of obsessed with evil Tam Tam now so I rewrote the Rhysand death scene in ACOWAR. Enjoy!

Stay with the High Lord. The Suriel’s last warning. Stay … and live to see everything righted. A lie. A lie, as Rhys had lied to me. Stay with the High Lord. Stay. For there … the torn scraps of the mating bond. Floating on a phantom wind inside me. I grasped at them—tugged at them, as if he’d answer. Stay. Stay, stay, stay. I clung to those scraps and remnants, clawing at the void that lurked beyond. Stay. I looked up at Tarquin, lip curling back from my teeth. Looked at Helion. And Thesan. And Beron and Kallias, Viviane weeping at his side. And I snarled, “Bring him back.” Blank faces. I screamed at them, “BRING HIM BACK.” Nothing. “You did it for me,” I said, breathing hard. “Now do it for him.” “You were a human,” Helion said carefully. “It is not the same—” “I don’t care. Do it.” When they didn’t move, I rallied the dregs of my power, readying to rip into their minds and force them, not caring what rules or laws it broke. I wouldn’t care, only if— Tarquin stepped forward. He slowly extended his hand toward me. “For what he gave,” Tarquin said quietly. “Today and for many years before.” And as that seed of light appeared in his palm … I began crying again. Watched it drop onto Rhys’s bare throat and vanish into the skin beneath, an echo of light flaring once. Helion stepped forward. That kernel of light in his hand flickered as it fell onto Rhys’s skin. Then Kallias. And Thesan. Until only Beron stood there. Mor drew her sword and laid it on his throat. He jerked, having not even seen her move. “I do not mind making one more kill today,” she said. Beron gave her a withering glare, but shoved off the sword and strode forward. He practically chucked that fleck of light onto Rhys. I didn’t care about that, either. I didn’t know the spell, the power it came from. But I was High Lady. I held out my palm. Willing that spark of life to appear. Nothing happened. I took a steadying breath, remembering how it had looked. “Tell me how,” I growled to no one. Thesan coughed and stepped forward. Explaining the core of power and on and on and I didn’t care, but I listened, until— There. Small as a sunflower seed, it appeared in my palm. A bit of me—my life. I laid it gently on Rhys’s blood-crusted throat. And I realized, just as he appeared, what was missing. Tamlin stood there, summoned by either the death of a fellow High Lord or one of the others around me. He was splattered in mud and gore, his new bandolier of knives mostly empty. He studied Rhys, lifeless before me. Studied all of us—the palms still out. There was no kindness on his face. No mercy. “Please,” was all I said to him. Then Tamlin glanced between us—me and my mate. His face did not change. “Please,” I wept. “I will—I will give you anything—” Something shifted in his eyes at that. But not kindness. No emotion at all. I laid my head on Rhysand’s chest, listening for any kind of heartbeat through that armor. “Anything,” I breathed to no one in particular. “Anything.” Steps scuffed on the rocky ground. I braced myself for another set of hands trying to pull me away, and dug my fingers in harder. The steps remained behind me for long enough that I looked. Tamlin stood there. Staring down at me. Those green eyes swimming with some emotion I couldn’t place.

"No."

I sobbed. "Please, Tamlin. Please. I will do anything." Tamlin smiled, and it was purely animal, nothing but vicious triumph in his stare. "I already have everything I want." I stilled as I recalled the words from all those months ago. When Tamlin had begged Rhysand to end the bargain, that he'd give him anything he wanted. And Rhysand had replied with those words. The words Tamlin now flung back at me.

I snarled. "You bastard-" Beron's wicked smile threatened to undo me. I lost it, jumping at Tamlin. A hard shield had me bouncing on my ass to the unforgiving grass. "You may possess a small kernel of each of our powers," Tamlin said quietly, with nothing but venom in his voice, "but I am a High Lord. And you will do well to remember that."

I stared at the bastard I once loved who had somehow become everything I came to hate. "How can you claim to love me if you won't do this for me?"

Tamlin continued to smile that vicious, vicious smile. "You don't get to rewrite the narrative. You don't get to spin this to your advantage." Throwing back my words from the High Lord meeting back to me. He had remembered, it seemed. Every damned, cursed word. "I saved your life back at the Hybern's camp," he continued in that quiet voice. "After everything you did. I owe you nothing. The man who loved you died the moment you decided your petty grudge against me was reason enough to reduce my innocent people to cinders."

Tears flowed freely from my face now. My stupid revenge plan had ruined everything. Lucien had been right. I should've listened. But it was too late. I could only watch in horror as Rhysand's body was reduced to nothing but dark mist, as the kernels from each of the High Lords flowed directly into the chest of Tamlin.

A heartbeat later, small balls of fire danced around his fingertips. Then dark mist. Then water. Tamlin stared at his fingers, entranced. "Thank you, Feyre, for this wonderful gift." Then he winnowed away, leaving my broken heart waiting on the other side. Even as some numb part of me registered the fact that the Night Court's land had chosen me as its next leader.

#tamlin #pro tamlin #anti rhysand #anti feysand #villain origin story

[marzannazillah]

AN: Hi everyone so, I started writing. I technically have everything planned out on what I want to happen and the general storyline but I just haven't written it all out. 😅 This is the prologue for the story, I'm gonna try updating at least once a week. I don't anticipate this being a super long series. Just can't see myself doing that as I don't feel like I have that in me. Anyways I apologize ahead of the time for any grammar mistakes, I'm my own proofreader and you know how that goes. Also, I can not guarantee that any ACOTAR characters/timeline will be accurately portrayed. So please do get mad at me for miss representing something/someone. My only priority is to my OC’s main character storyline. And that means I will have collateral damage to other characters you may love. So apologies in advance. PS. I haven't named the OC so drop your recs in the comments. I may just pick one. All ACOTAR characters belong to Sarah J Maas. No plagiarising or stealing of my work please don't be that person. Okay finally on to the story, congrats if you got this far.

Prologue: Warmth

A common misconception about my inability to stay dead is that I must not fear death. That because I do not truly die, I have nothing to fear. I wish that I did not fear death, that it felt like a warm embrace, a feeling of knowing. But it is not, every time it is as bitter and crushing as it always is. And I fear each death the same as the first.

——————————————————————

Some would call me stupid, and naive for trading my life for my brothers. While he would have had a quick death, mine was prolonged by my gift of immortality. I became Amaranatha’s favorite source of entertainment. When your prisoner can't die, you don't have to worry about having restraint. You would think killing someone day after day would get boring. It didn't, not for her. Perhaps I was foolish, trying to protect Kallias.

These are the thoughts that creep into my head while I lay in my cell. My breath fogs in front of my face, my lips coated in frost. I would say I was cold but I've long forgotten what being warm felt like. I can't blame that on Amarantha or my cell. I've been cold since my magic surfaced. Though that's a time I wouldn't like to reflect on at the moment. My cell gives a dreary enough mood without trudging up those memories.

My fingers begin to tingle, I turn so the cold damp stone bites into my back now instead of my side. The clink of my chain is obtrusive to the quiet of my cell. I wiggle my fingers in the minimal space my chained gauntlets allow. They're cold and enchanted against my magic, it's not fun to torture someone when a brush of their hand can leave you as an ice sculpture.

My breath catches in a quiet laugh of the Attor that got the pleasure of being the first victim that resulted in my fancy jewelry. I bet he makes quite the excellent piece of decor now.

That small joy is caught short when I hear the steps approaching. my eyes snapping to the cell door, short and fast. Not the Autumn brothers then, they are hard and slow. Like their minds. I take a deep breath preparing for what’s to come. Focusing on the gold string that stretches out from my chained hand, the string that is tied around my ring finger underneath all the metal. The one that pulls taught when he’s close but for now lays loose. And so I stare at something that only I can see because it is the only thing that soothes the fear that grows inside me for the death I’m about to face.

The death that comes over

And over

And over

And over

And over.

Tags: @momlo @legionsofthehungry

#acotar series #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar #sarah j maas #acotar x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader

[azulyrae]

What did you like and dislike about ACOSF & ACOWAR?

ACOSF

For starters, I don’t believe that ACOSF was meant to be a book meant to redeem Nesta. Instead, it was written in a way that showcased her healing journey and explained her reasons. Like Sarah, I had a bad phase as a teenager, where I was so deeply hurt that I lashed out at my close friends and said a choir of awful words. It was a very lonely period, and I’m of course forever grateful to the friends that lingered, while also understanding those who didn’t.

That being said, it was refreshing to see Nesta learning to open herself more and let go of the past. One of my friends — who know me since forever and stayed —, told me that I was a lot like Nesta and should absolutely read her book, and that’s what made me start reading ACOTAR in the first place!

I loved reading her create bonds outside the Inner Circle and how she found a place for herself. I lover her powers and the stairs and her relationship with the House of Wind. I remember reading the entire book in a day because I couldn’t let go of her. ACOSF made me cry and laugh and close my legs, it was easily one of my favorite books from last year. Nessian is also my favorite couple of hers and I really love Cassian but Nesta stole the scene for me.

As for what I disliked, might be a hot take (🥲) but I don’t understand where Sarah is trying to go with Rhys. Of course, there’s also the matter of different POVs, but his personality changed drastically and we read a glimpse of it in HOFAS as well, and damn I miss the old him.

Another thing is that, at least where I live, Nesta is far from being popular. I believe that led Sarah to be a lot more cautious while writing her relationships, which, to me, damaged a bit of her character. I stand with the fact that she should never have apologized to the person that called her a waste of life, it was honestly frustrating to see her kneel too. The reason why so many people — and that’s an opinion of mine, only —, still can’t read Nesta with an open mind is because Sarah never gave us a chapter where Nesta had an honest talk with Feyre, the solemn thing that everyone was expecting for. Those two never had any closure whatsoever.

Finally, the whole pregnancy arc was plain awful to me. It seemed like a hushed decision meant to soothe the conflicts between Nesta and Rhys, and a reason to stripe Nesta’s powers from her. Worst part is that in HOFAS, we see that Nesta and Rhys are still professional haters of one another, so??? What was the arc for???

ACOWAR

I don’t have a lot of problems with ACOWAR. It was a fun read with a lot of action and interesting scenes such as when Feyre had to face the Mirror or when she made that deal with Bryaxis. I particularly enjoyed the participation of the other Courts and that’s, quite frankly, my only issue with the book.

I’m not sure whether it was Sarah’s choice or a conflict with her publishers but I do believe that the events of the War were more than enough to fill up a fourth book. I felt that Nesta’s experience with the Cauldron being the turning point that gathered all of the High Lords was a bit hushed. Sarah could’ve given a lot more depth to certain High Lords, especially those who held grudges against the Night Court — such as Kallias or Tarquin —, and written whole arcs focused on having Feyre and the Inner Circle convincing them that an alliance was crucial. Again, it was hushed and the political aspect of the story was lacking, but maybe it wasn’t something that she decided for herself. And maybe this is just my I-love-Feyre-and-I-miss-her-deeply ass speaking, but I wish she had more scenes and development during the War.

I loved writing this though!! You’re more than welcome to share your opinions as well. 🤍

#please don’t fight me

[separatist-apologist]

The Wildest Winter

In the cracks of light, I looked for you

Summary: Viviane had not been Under the Mountain. As her childhood friend, Kallias had been protective of her to a fault over the years- had placed the sharp-minded female on border duty to avoid the scheming of his court. He didn't let her near Amarantha, either. Didn't let anyone get a whiff of what he felt for his white-haired friend, who had no clue- not one- that he had loved her his entire life.

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | AO3

[six months before the curse]

“Are you sure about this?” Viviane asked, eyeing the curved blade in her hand. Not with distaste for the crystalline steel glimmering beneath a full sun, but because it was inherently an unfair fight. She had to wonder if Nikolai, who had remained behind after Calanmai, was even aware of what she could do with carefully timed ice alongside a Winter Court blade.

Nikolai had stayed to help her train more sentries they hardly needed. Autumn wasn’t so desperate they’d stage an invasion, though Kallias was unnerved after the ice bridge had gone tattling to the High Lord, who of course had money for more soldiers. Nikolai was to oversee and Kira had been begrudgingly called back to court. 

That, Viviane supposed, was for the best. Nikolai had come home that morning coated in blue, his eyes wild, his skin practically frosted over. Whatever had happened had unnerved him enough he refused to speak about it and Kira had sworn up and down nothing had happened.

Viviane wondered which was worse—they had sex and it was so good it freaked them out, or it was so bad they couldn’t make eye contact any longer.

That was how she felt with Einar. All that build up only to be fucked on his dining room table for the better part of two hours. She hadn’t dared tell Kallias the reason she couldn’t finish wasn’t because Einar was no good—he’d done his best with his lips and tongue and teeth—but because she couldn’t get her friend out of her mind. She’d tried. Viviane had taken control, had climbed into Einars lap, eyes locked on his.

Not Kal, not Kal, not Kal—

For all the good it did. In the end she’d faked it and gone crawling home like a miserable, terrible friend. Viviane still didn’t know what had possessed her that day. Maybe Calanmai merely heightened the tension growing between them, twisting it into lust. It had faded by morning—faded with each new carefully drawn sheet he’d made for her where he detailed how much it cost to treat the water each month. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder and woken alone in bed. Kallias had likely put her there before venturing into the city himself, because when Viviane woke, he smelled as though he’d been drenched in arousal not long before and his hair had been wrecked. 

It didn’t inspire jealousy in her, at any rate, which made it easy to write the whole night off as a one off. 

“Square up, Viv,” Nikolai ordered. She almost rolled her eyes at the command. They stood down in the valley in a makeshift training ring Kira had erected decades before. It would have been the perfect place for expanded barracks and an armory, had the High Lord ever allowed her such a thing. Perhaps Nikolai’s influence would change all that. It was the second to last missing puzzle to crafting her city as a major player. The very last was convincing both Kallias and the High Lord that the emissary from Hybern should be allowed to visit—to trade with them. Not just Hybern, of course. Autumn, Spring, and Summer, too. And with even a fraction of the High Lord’s court coming to live in Wegen, even if it was just to ski when the weather was mild, was enough. 

Barracks first. 

Nikolai pulled his icy blade from its sheath, the metal singing in the air. Viviane ignored that Einar had come to watch, his dark eyes blazing with curiosity. She also ignored that Kallias had said he’d come three days before and still hadn’t. All of those things were distractions.

She twisted her blade, offering a show of her teeth that wasn’t quite a smile. She waited for him to lunge before offering her own strike. Nikolai, she’d been told, had some magic of his own. Viviane wanted to find out just how much. And, perhaps, wanted to show off to the people she oversaw, if only a little.

 It was a careful dance of her feet and body, of knowing how she moved against the wind and the squelching mud. Nikolai was a warrior, trained just as she had been, though not quite as quick on his feet.

Not as careful with his magic. He was the first to strike, panting as he sent a blast of skin shredding ice her way. Viviane barked out a laugh, dodging it easily.

And then rained a torrent upon him. Nikolai had to choose between defending his person with his blade and risk her icy wrath or block the ice and risk her blade. It was the oldest trick in Viviane’s book. She thought that because she used her magic so infrequently, and never at its full intensity, that people often forgot what hummed in her veins.

Forgot why a future High Lord courted her attention. 

“Mother save me, Viv,” Nikolai panted. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Her victory was short-lived. As she walked to her friend, offering him a hand and noting where the blood staining his lips and cheeks, a new voice called through the mountain air.

“Now me.” Nikolai’s smirk told Viviane everything she needed to know. She turned, her eyes finding Kallias as he swung his powerful body over the fence with ease. Just to the left of him was Einar, watching her friend with guarded, almost distrustful eyes. She’d forgotten he’d only been interested in her when he learned Kallias was up at the palace.

It was a question for another day. Kallias had never once let her beat him and Viviane didn’t relish being beaten into the dirt in front of all the people she was supposed to oversee. 

“Where’s your sword, Kal?” she taunted, annoyed when Nikolai handed his over before leaving them alone in the muddy pit. 

“Miss me?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. The cold air ruffled at his white air, all but kissing his fair cheeks red. 

“Were you gone?” she replied blithely, pretending to examine her blade.

He shook his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I missed you.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m funny, I’m pretty, I’m smart…all the things you lack—”

His blade sang through the air before she could finish, crashing into hers with such force it made her bones vibrate. Gone was Kallias’s easy amusement–those eyes were practically granite against his glacial face. She had to remind herself that this was how he focused—this was how he’d always been in the ring.

Your enemies won’t smile when they kill you, Viv.

She smiled, noting how he stumbled ever so slightly—not enough to turn things in her favor but enough to remind her that Kallias was so easily distracted by someone acting in a way he didn’t expect.

She sent him that first blast of ice, catching him against the cheekbone. He snarled, flinging his own magic viciously back at her. He was so much stronger she couldn’t avoid it all—she felt the burning sting against her exposed neck. She smelled the salt of her blood in the air but didn’t dare touch it. Not when Kallias’s blade came singing towards her. Viviane slammed to the ground, her whole body squelching into the cold, muddy ground in an effort to block him. 

It was easy to forget what Kallias was beneath his refined clothes and his fascination with numbers. He’d taught her to fight, afterall. His body was a weapon—he was an animal. He snapped his teeth against the cold, one of his thighs pressed between her legs as he bore his blade closer and closer to her wound.

Viviane took a risk, letting go of the hilt of her sword to press her frosted palm against his face. He roared against the pain, distracted just enough for her to plant her boot into his chest and push away. There was nothing fun about this fight anymore—it wasn’t quick like with Nikolai, nor was it particularly like a dance. It felt like a true battle where only one of them could walk away with their pride unwounded. 

Kallias sent another vicious blast of ice and wind directly at her, one Viviane offered up in equal measure. He cut his face again, though not half as bad as his own shards, which sliced through her jacket, exposing her skin to salty mountain air. 

She hissed, slammed right back to the ground as Kallias snarled in her face. His teeth were inches from her neck, his thigh wedged between her leg so hard she could feel the radiating heat. The only thing keeping him from pressing his body wholly against her was her blade between them.

Her arms shook from the effort.

“Surrender, Viv,” he whispered. “Let me clean up the blood.”

“You’re a bastard,” she replied. It didn’t matter. He wrenched her blade from his hand, tossing it to the ground and then pressed his own gently against her skin.

“An admirable effort,” he murmured, removing his blade and replacing it with his hand. All at once his body was off hers and Viviane couldn’t decide if she was angry or she was disappointed.

She took his hand, her body aching as she stood. No one made a sound—not Nikolai, who watched with eyes rounder than saucers.

And not Einar, who had gone ashen in the wake of their brutal showdown. 

“What’s with them?” she whispered, letting Kallias brace her body against his own.

“They’ve never seen your kind of raw power,” he offered charitably. And maybe that was true. Maybe they hadn’t expected that kind of magic to blow out of her.

But privately, Viviane thought it was Kallias who had surprised them. She’d forgotten what he was like when he was unleashed—how uncomfortable the High Lord had once been of him and the magic glowing silver from his skin. No one had ever dared voice those concerns out loud, but Viviane understood them as she looked from the shocked faces of the warriors around them.

Kallias had all the markers of the next High Lord. 

She reached between them for his arm. She didn’t want to think about how she’d lose him should that ever come to pass. 

“Take me home,” she murmured, pressing her head into his shoulder. 

He was just her friend—at least for now.

KALLIAS: 

[five months before the curse]

“Kal–” Kallias cut off her breathless plea, his tongue delving back into her mouth. More, he needed more. He couldn’t stop the desperate glide of his hands over her naked form, mapping her skin beneath his palms. Beneath him, Viviane moaned, grasping at his hair so viciously she was in danger of pulling the strands out by the root. He didn’t care. 

Still clad in his pants, he ground against her, desperate for relief. Kallias was drowning in the scent of her arousal, drinking it down while he tasted every inch of her mouth. Kallias needed to put his tongue between her legs, needed to know if all of her was sweet. She was warm here, open and inviting and he was so wrecked he couldn’t get his stupid body to catch up with his screaming brain.

He was running out of time. He couldn’t explain it. Something was ticking loudly in his head, some countdown to his doom he wanted to avoid. Wanted to ignore in favor of his female clawing at his back. 

“Kal,” she panted, arching her neck so he could nip kisses down her skin. His fingers tugged and teased at her pebbled nipples, drawing more of her arousal into the air. Burying his face between her breasts, Kallias inhaled deeply. This was what he’d been missing. This was what he needed.

He’d never felt so wild in his life. He was unrestrained for perhaps the first time in his life and it was all Viviane’s fault. He pushed apart her legs roughly, taking a moment to admire the splayed out form of her on his silken silver sheet. 

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, lifting her leg to press feather soft kisses up her thigh. She squirmed, eyes locked on his face. She wanted to watch? Kallias held her gaze, lowering his face until he could kiss the pale, pink lips of her cunt. Viviane exhaled, whimpering for more.

It was a dream, he thought. She was a dream, spread open for him to taste. He went to take that first hot taste of her, to slick his tongue over her clit—-

A banging on Kallias’s bedroom door dragged him from an all too familiar dream. He’d never gotten that far before. Usually Kallias woke just as he was about to remove her clothing. To find his head between her parted thighs was a new, almost exciting development, at least where his imagination was concerned. Nothing had changed between him and Viviane. As far as he knew, she was still seeing the disappointing male in Wegen and he was…well, Kallias was doing the world's shittiest job courting her. Unless, of course, utterly obliterating her with his magic counted as some romantic overture.

He very much doubted it. Viviane might have forgiven him for it, but the people of Wegen certainly hadn’t. They’d watched him with narrow-eyed suspicion the following day, as if he might turn her to a block of ice if she displeased him. As if Viviane wasn’t capable of removing his balls should he ever deserve it. 

That vicious knock forced Kallias to snarl. Night still poured through his half open drapes and his cock was throbbing with need. “What?” “Get up,” Kira’s voice whispered from behind the door. “Right now, get up.” He shoved the blanket off his naked body and stuffed himself in the first pair of pants he could find, artfully arranging himself so it wasn’t entirely obvious he had an erection. Kallias pulled open the door, shrugging a shirt over his head.

Kira looked scared. Wide-eyed in the flickering hall light, she lunged for his wrist and began dragging him down the hall. Kallias was barefoot, though so was she, a robe hanging off her small frame.

“What is happening?” he hissed, running a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to keep it from falling into his eyes.

“Gunnar,” she whispered. “Oh Gods, Kal….he…”

A mournful wail interrupted what Kira had been about to say. He knew that voice.

“Gunnar?”

“Killed his wife,” Kira managed, practically shaking as she led him towards the throne room. “She wanted to leave him, too. And I guess…”

Kallias’s steps slowed as he imagined it. Wanting someone so badly you would have done anything to possess them, only to realize they didn’t want you back. The females at court had been lobbying hard, but Gunnar’s wife had been against them. 

“What changed?”

Kira shrugged. “Special treatment for her, hell for everyone else? I’m sorry,” Kira added softly. “I shouldn’t…he killed her.”

Kallias started to ask Kira how she could possibly know that, but the scent of blood flooded his senses. He understood why when he came into the vividly bright throne room, joining the other courtiers flooding in to witness the spectacle.

The High Lord stared at his son with lifeless eyes while his son clutched at his wife's bloodless body, kneeling half naked in her blood. It was the gravest offense in their court—to take a life, especially one as defenseless as Gunnar’s wife had been. 

All Kallias could see was Viviane laying there, her silver hair stained red as her blood cooled beneath Gunnar’s naked knees. She would have wanted the same—maybe not to leave him, given how dutiful Viviane could be, but the autonomy to be more than just the High Lord’s wife. She would have been vivacious and, when angry, vicious. 

She would have died, too. Kallias put his hand over his chest, unable to get the image out of his mind. He might have winnowed straight to her had the High Lord not taken a step towards his hunched over son. 

Everyone fell silent. Even Kallias didn’t believe the High Lord would kill his own son, law or not. Gunnar made no move to defend himself and Kallias wondered if he even realized what his father meant to do until it was too late. Gunnar twisted, eyes wide as he took a gasping breath of frigid air.

Kallia couldn’t watch this. He turned, pulling his arm from Kira’s grasp. He didn’t need to be present to hear that frigid death rattle or to know the High Lord had turned his son's lungs to ice. It was the end of a dynasty as old as their territory, ruined over one spoiled male too unused to being told no. 

Kallias flexed his fingers as warmth twanged through his body. He stumbled, almost crashing into a wall in an attempt to steady himself. His palm caught against the smooth surface, steadied by Kira who had followed him out.

“Kal—”

“Don’t,” he rasped, hating himself for the first time in his life. The High Lord would realize, would know the truth of the matter soon enough. His son might have inherited had he been a better father. And now a new line would rise through Winter, assuming Kallias lived long enough to see the High Lord fade. 

“Kallias—!”

A woman's high pitched scream forced a groan out of Kallias, his knees buckling beneath the weight of a vicious, violent cascade of magic. His palms stung, bracing his weight against the smooth floor while raw, unstemmed magic raced through his veins unrestrained. He looked over his shoulder to Kira, who knelt beside him. Her face was etched with her terror, the screaming in the throne room just behind him ringing in his ears.

“What did he do?” Kallias managed, bowing his head against the onslaught. 

“Could you survive the loss of your own child?” Kira whispered. The scent of warm blood filled the air, driving out all other thoughts. Had the High Lord truly chosen to kill himself rather than live with his grief? Kallias forced himself to stand, his legs shaking. Kira helped, bracing him against her body while he got his runaway heart under control.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Kallias whispered, flexing his fingers. 

How would he ever explain this? To the court, his people…to Viviane? 

“Go,” Kira told him. “The longer you make them wonder, the longer they have to plot against you. Shore up your power now.”

He had only a second to make a decision. It should have been Nikolai, he lamented. Kira ought to have remained with Viviane. 

“Get your sword,” he ordered. Kira’s eyes widened, and yet she nodded, racing down the hall. He had moments to get himself together, to step into that blood-soaked throne room and pretend this was normal–that he was normal. Kallias flexed his fingers, reveling in the feel of his magic, of the newness thrumming beneath his skin.

He took a step, swearing the world around him seemed to tremble. The screaming stopped and, with a breath, Kallias stepped into the room. The sight laid before him threatened to turn his stomach. Gunnar knelt before the corpse of his once beautiful wife, a block of frigid, blue ice. Beside him, the High Lord lay in his own rapidly cooling blood, his heart half torn from his body. It was all so gruesome, so unnecessary. Kallias knew that even if he lived for a century more, he’d never forget the sight. Not of the court that now belonged to him, all staring with wide, mistrusting eyes. 

Kira skidded into the room, flanked by several sentries. She still wore her blue night dress, comical against the vicious look on her face.

“Kneel,” Kallias ordered, watching those sentries from across the room. He needed their support if he didn’t want to die in the next few days. The transition between one family to the next was rocky—or, so he’d been told. Winter had always avoided those kinds of shifting power plays. His eyes drifted back to the High Lord, who loved his son so much he couldn’t tell him no. Would have seen all of Winter crumble beneath one spoiled lordling's whim then govern as he should. 

It was a reminder for Kallias, who turned his back to the kneeling nobility, of what he stood to lose. How things could go wrong so quickly—how he might lose focus if he wasn’t careful.

It felt strange, ascending the white cut dais to the glittering blue and amethyst throne. Kallias seated himself atop it, sweeping his eyes over the room. 

High Lord. 

He’d never wanted it.

#daddy winter #kallias #viviane #kallias x viviane #this is me trying to fix my mistake with canon #i thought kallias was crowned HL UTM #but hes not #i forgot that tidbit so i apologize