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talesof-old · 7 months

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your haunting | a.s.

pairing(s): azriel shadowsinger x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, a little dubious consent wise, slight somnophilia, rhys threatening reader, reader is a rhys hater, slight mentions of insanity/hallucinations, reader sort of stalking azriel, this makes it sound way worse than it is, hand jobs (f receiving), if you squint the reader seems a little unhinged, very lightly edited

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

2023 kinktober series

no matter how hard he tries, azriel sees your face everywhere. a ghost, a shadow, a secret he’s kept all to himself. madness is a tool you’ve learned to wield well, even if it is against your lover

prompt: consensual somnophilia, wingplay, blindfolds

Azriel had gone mad.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, wings dragging on the floor as waves of your scent washed over him.

Madness was the only explanation for what was happening, for how he felt.

When Rhysand told him you’d gone missing on a mission, presumed dead, he’d refused to believe it. The bond that connected you was still there, even if you’d built an impenetrable wall around it.

After months of searching, months of longing, he had yet to find a trace of you. There was nothing. Azriel had to admit it to himself, perhaps you were dead. Perhaps, the one soul that completed his so wholly, was gone.

He had yet to utter those words aloud.

Jasmine and incense wafted through the room. He breathed in deeply and ignored the shadows curling around his hands in a frenzy. They missed you, whispering to him in the dead of night to go out and find you.

They knew something he didn’t, and despite his attempts to coax it out of them, they refused to speak it.

In some desperate grab of comfort, Azriel found himself tugging on the intact golden thread. It was the only hope he had that you were still alive.

The bond pulled taut, offering nothing but cold silence from the wall you’d set up. It was far more unforgiving than Rhysand’s.

An ache bloomed across his temples and he let the thread go slack, slinking into his bathroom to peel off his leathers and clean the muck off of his body.

You peeked from around a curtain, eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. Azriel’s wings dragged along the ground as he shut the door, and you grinned to yourself. The poor male had never found out what you did for a living. He knew you’d been employed by Rhysand, but not even the High Lord knew the extent of your expertise.

Years of training to walk in silence, to ignore the blood dripping from your hands. You were many things, whatever the individual who employed you needed you to be. You hardly worked with the same person once, but war made everything tricky. Which is how you ended up with Thesan’s grasp. Not that you would complain. He knew your violence was an asset to his Inner Court.

You crept out from behind the curtain, shadows curling around your ankles. At you request, they wouldn’t say a word to Azriel, content to interact with you on the condition that you allowed them to stay close when you did come around.

A breeze gently caressed your skin and you almost hummed. Cauldron, you missed the Night Court. The sound of running water filled your ears and you took advantage of it, rushing to Azriel’s office. High Lord Thesan was paying you a large sum of money to find out if High Lord Rhysand was going to attempt an invasion at the behest of Amren.

You stepped in, shadows wrapping around your wrists. They seemed happy to rest there as you shifted through papers, careful to leave them exactly as you found them. Paper after paper was carefully examined, but you were unable to find anything. You huffed.

As far as you were aware, Amren had been trying to get Rhysand to claim the title of High King for ages. Even Azriel had agreed with you that it was a bad idea.

Before that mission eight months ago, you’d come to the conclusion that Rhysand was a decent man, even if you didn’t always see eye to eye. All that changed when he’d caught of glimpse of your mind. Poking into a hole in the thick walls you’d created for your mind, disregarding any friendship you might have.

Anger coiled in your chest, heavy on your heart.

You slowly opened Azriel’s only drawer, taking great care to avoid making any noise. One of the shadows snaked up your arm.

Shuffling through the papers and journals, you worked through every piece until you reached the bottom.

Still nothing.

You gnawed on your inner cheek, peering down at the drawer. A small gap caught your attention. Barely noticeable, especially when covered by the many papers and books, but you knew Azriel far too well.

A kernel of guilt lodged itself into the pit of your stomach. Azriel was your mate. You were sneaking through his house, pillaging through his work, all for a job he had no idea about. You pushed away the thought. This was for the best.

His focus on finding you made it easier to catch him off guard, and find whatever information you were looking for.

The sound of a door opening had your head jerking towards the door. One of his shadows tugged on your wrist, a signal that he would be there soon. You nodded to it in a habitual response.

You grabbed the stack of papers and books, setting them on the floor and pulling on the false bottom. A click sounded and you froze, holding your breath. The false bottom gave way, revealing a small number of papers and a journal. Footsteps sounded down the hall and you were quick to move. Gently placing the false bottom back in place, and hauling all the papers into the drawer, you stood from your seated position.

Azriel passed by, barely glancing into his office. Your eyes widened and you shot a look toward the shadows. Just a few steps down the hall, Azriel stopped walking. You backed away from the desk, urging the shadows to give you cover while you hid.

He couldn’t know that you were actually here.

You slunk into the dark, back pressed against the wall and shadows covering your body to prevent him from seeing. If you kept an eye on him, he might give you some insight.

Azriel’s footstep grew closer, and you quirked a brow. Normally, he would winnow into the room, catch the perpetrator off guard and disarm them immediately.

He stepped into the room.

His silhouette blocked much of the light that could come into the room, Truth Teller in his hand. You inched around the walls of the room towards the door, for once thankful that Azriel refused to add decorations to this place.

He fully entered the room, scanning everything as though he’d find some trace of you. He bent over to open the drawer and you almost took your chance, eyes focused his every movement. It gave you something other than his body to look at, the only clothing he had on being a pair of loose trousers. You bit the inside of your cheek, the muscles on his back rippling as he leaned down. He traced a hand over the edge of the false bottom as though it would have disappeared. You thanked every deity you knew of for the ability to silently winnow.

You reappeared down the hallway, needing to draw him away from the room. You redistributed your weight on your feet, your footsteps now audible as you broke into a run.

You had to be here. Azriel didn’t want to accept anything else. He couldn’t.

If he did, he would have to admit he couldn’t escape your wretched smell. Or the visions he sometimes caught of you. But as he searched his office, he couldn’t help but wonder if you had died, and he was simply imagining that you were still breathing. There was no trace of you in the room.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, the floorboards creaking loudly. His head whipped towards the noise, keeping Truth Teller close as he closed his eyes and fell. Feyre might have described winnowing with him as falling through worlds, but the feeling was as natural to him as flying.

He landed down the hall, barely catching a glimpse of you as you turned down the corner. His head and heart pounded as he followed. Anticpation curled in his gut, followed by elation.

The footsteps stopped just in front of his room, his heart steadying. The chase was one of his favorite parts, and if you really were here, he’d catch you.

He gently pushed open the door. It swung open, creaking as it went. Nothing moved as he entered the room, not even a breeze dared enter through the open balcony. Hazel eyes scanned the room, shadows whispering that the intruder was gone.

You weren’t here.

Sudden exhaustion hit Azriel, and he slumped when the realization hit him. Rhys told him that you died. That you were gone. Maybe this was all in his head.

He shook his head, carefully placing Truth Teller under his pillow and slipping into bed. Only the Mother could free him from this sort of torment.

You watched Azriel go to sleep from the corner of his room.

Sleep dragged him unwillingly, his shoulders tense under slumped and twitching wings. Shadows curled over your shoulders and through your hair as something tugged at your heart, urging you to join him. Instead, you turned on your heel and headed down the hall, back towards his office. You needed to know what information he had, though you assumed the most important things would be left unwritten.

Or, maybe not. No one knew of this location. Not even Rhysand knew where Azriel spent his alone time.

You repeated your earlier actions until you were skimming the pages of information. Nothing of note.

Reaching for the book, you felt a pulse of power emitting from it. You blinked. Azriel must have had it enchanted somehow. Fuck.

One of his shadows that hadn’t left your side snaked over the book, that power calming. You smiled and flipped it open. The pages were thin and worn, Azriel’s telltale small, neat handwriting filling them. You took in all of it, from the Night Court’s unofficial allies and enemies, the suspicious characters across Prythian they were watching, and whatever else Rhysand wanted Azriel to keep an eye on. A familiar name caught your eye.

Yours.

You swallowed hard. If Azriel had suspected you were a traitor, surely you wouldn’t be alive. Something akin to giddiness clamped around your throat. Was he so blinded by your bond he thought you someone different entirely?

You took in the rest of the information, let it sink in as you shut the drawer and made your way back down the hall.

For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Leaving him was not as hard as it used to be, but you longed to touch him. Rhysand’s words echoed in your head.

You are not to return to the Night Court until I command it.

After everything you’d done for him, he still didn’t trust you.

In that moment, you made your choice. You took silent steps towards the bed, slowly lowering your weight onto the mattress. Azriel grumbled but went quiet again, breath coming steady and slow. Your fingertips just barely grazed his bare arms, goosebumps following your touch. He shifted, allowing you closer. You pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, watching closely as the muscles tensed. Magic crackled in your fingertips as you turned his perception hazy, all so that tomorrow he would think of this as a dream.

You kissed the back of his neck next, your hands running down the center of his back. His wings fluttered. Grazing a thumb over the sensitive point where his wings met his skin, Azriel let out a cross between a moan and whine.

Heat pooled in between your thighs.

You kissed his temple, cozying up to his body, soaking up the heat coming off of him.

He mumbled your name.

You scratched your fingers over his short hair, reveling in the way he shivered. Azriel and you used to play a game on nights when either of you were too lost in your head. The calmer one would take control for the night, luring the other in and out of sleep.

Azriel was murmuring more now, shifting in his sleep. You grinned. He was coming to. In a few moments, you’d actually be able to talk to him. It had been months of shadowing him like a fucking stalker. It was embarrassing, how just seeing him instantly took a weight off your shoulders.

He turned to lay on his side, eyes fluttering open. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mouth, chuckling when he swiped a tongue across your lips and deepened the kiss.

You pulled away, scanning every faint freckle and faded scar on his face. Half-lidded eyes watched you in return, his tongue darting to lick his bottom lip.

“Is this a dream?”

The raw, raspy words hit you in the gut and sorrow tugged at your chest. You missed him.

Instead of responding, you surged forward, mouth pressed to the skin of his collarbone, teeth grazing flesh. He turned to lay flat, wings pinned awkwardly between his bed and body. His head fell backwards, exposing a bobbing throat.

Your lips latched onto the skin there, sucking as you went, careful not to leave lasting marks. Azriel’s hand trailed up your side, fingers practiced as he unlaced your leathers. You tugged off your top, exposing the cloth wrap around your breasts. Making quick work of the wrappings, you dropped them next to the bed and went back to marking up your mate.

“Sweetness-“ His limbs were still heavy with sleep, but his eyes were all too alert as you tugged off his pants, his chest already exposed. You trailed kisses from one side of his chest to the other, tongue hot as you settled onto his right nipple, swirling around the hardened skin.

The broken moan that echoed through the room prompted a grin from you. It had been months of imagining, months of yearning. To finally cave and touch him, the feeling threatened to consume your very being.

You caught sight of his shadows, grinning as you motioned towards his face. Seeming to understand, they snaked around his eyes, blocking his vision. He huffed, grasping at your hips.

Heady emotion rushed through you as you shifted focus to his left nipple, nibbling on the skin in the way Azriel liked. A slight buck of his hips to grind against you let you know he felt the same way. Taking away his sight always made him so much more sensitive. You shimmied out of your pants, dropping them onto your pile of clothes. You’d have to be quick when you got dressed.

The thought was sobering, but you pushed it aside. No sense in hurting yourself more than once. You latched back onto his skin, kissing down the hard planes of his abdomen, savoring every curve.

“You look so perfect, sweetheart.” Azriel nearly keened at your words as your palm trailed up his thigh, massaging the thick muscle. He tensed beneath you. You sucked on the skin over his hip bone, ignoring the way his cock strained in his pants. His legs trembled as you continued touching everywhere but where he wanted it.

Azriel was going to die if you didn’t touch him. Every time your lips made contact with his skin it set a part of him on fire, and he was burning from the inside out. You were here, in front of him. A tangible thing.

He would let you have your way, but his impatience won out. You let out a yelp as Azriel gripped your hips, pulling you up and then under him. The shadows scattered, instead coming to watch all around him. He buried his head into your neck, breathing your scent in deeply. It had become such a comfort to him, that mixture of jasmine and incense.

“You’re here. You’re mine.” His lips attached to the junction of your neck and collarbone, sucking and nibbling on the skin while you were rendered breathless beneath him.

He could never get tired of the feeling.

Your hands came around his body, feeling for that sensitive spot at the base of his wings. Your fingers sent electric shocks through him, and when you found it, he thought he might cum from it alone. He whined as you stroked along the tips of his wings, cock pulsing and rubbing against the seam of his pants. Azriel buried his face in your breasts, shaking with your every movement. He hadn’t had sex since you disappeared. Couldn’t, not without you.

Desire crackled in his blood as you continued your ministrations, moans bubbling up in his throat as though he was a teenager all over again.

“I missed you, Az.” The words would be his undoing.

He choked on the rush of emotions that overtook him, tears pricking at his eyes.

You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.

The fact that you were here with him was too much. It wasn’t enough.

He moved down your body, pulling your panties with him until they gathered at your knees. The calculating, wild look in your eyes made his cock throb. He debated ripping your panties off of your body but decided against it, instead letting you pull your legs from the fabric and then tossing them somewhere into his room.

Calloused hands caressed your skin and you shivered, Azriel’s body hovering over you like some vision of a dark angel. His fingers trailed up you inner thighs, parting them until he made contact with the spot you needed him. You mewled as his fingers grazed your clit, jolting at the increased sensitivity. His face twisted into a look of reverence, and a part of your heart broke.

You surged forward, his finger still rubbing your clit, and smashed your lips against his. His shadows wrapped around your limbs, featherlight in touch. A fever was threatening to take you. You needed him, now. Every inch of you yearned for his touch, needed him closer.

Azriel let out a startled groan when you nipped at his lips, your tongue swiping into his mouth. He took the moment to slide a finger into you, leaving you gasping at the intrusion. A second finger was added and before long, that all too familiar knot tightened in your stomach. You pulled him closer. His wings arched above you and you reached behind him again, fingers finding the spot that had him cumming no matter what. The underside of his wing, right next to where wing met flesh. He swiped at your clit and your back arched, legs trembling. But you’d made up your mind, he was going to cum with you.

You played with that spot as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, a chorus of whimpering moans and gasps coming from both your lips. He bared his teeth as you massaged his skin, body shaking with restraint. Your orgasm was fast approaching as he added a third finger.

“Az, please,” you weren’t sure what you were even asking for.

He continued his pace, rubbing at your clit in rough figure eights. Your orgasm washed over you, and your nails scrapped over Azriel’s wings. He came with a roar, slumping into you as he let you ride out your own climax. Your legs shook under his, and you went limp as you slowly came to.

“I love you, Azriel.” He lifted his head, hazel eyes brimmed with tears.

You cooed, using your right arm to pull him down to your chest and rake your fingers through his sweaty hair. Your other arm came around him, massaging the tail of his spine as he dropped his weight onto you. He murmured the same words to you, broken and full of pain, and for a brief moment, you allowed the wall between you to come down. Grief came rushing in, followed by anger and fear, and before you knew it tears were streaming down your face. Rhys would lose his mind if he found out you were here. But watching Azriel grieve for a woman who hadn’t even died was too much to bare, even for you.

“I love you.” The words were a prayer against your skin as Azriel’s breath evened out. You sighed against him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before guiding him off of you. As you did, his eyes flashed open and his expression morphed into one of pure panic, hands grasping your sides and fingers digging into your skin.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just need to clean up.” He nodded, watching you again with those half-lidded eyes. You left the room, padding into his bathroom and pushing away that distressed feeling in your chest. You grabbed a rag and dampened it in the sink, returning to Azriel half asleep on the bed. You’d stay until he was dreaming once again.

It didn’t take long to clean him up and switch out his clothes, dressing and then curling up beside him, knowing that it would be weeks before you’d see him again. As his breathing evened out and his body went limp, Azriel’s shadows curled around your shoulders and arms.

“I have to go again, my loves. Take care of him?” They gave your wrists a little squeeze before scattering, allowing you to leave in the dead of night. With each step you took, a brick was added to the wall between you and your mate, and you buried your breaking heart within it.

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel smut #talesofold kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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acourtofsmut · 2 years

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sleepy shadows

(softdom!azriel x sleepysub!reader)

rating: (NSFW/18+)

a/n: hello, lovelies!! 😇 I took an edible, and this came out from within my soul. This is barely edited and super short… whoops. 😬 But, I saw someone post the other day in search of Azriel content with shadow play, and I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Here you go! Enjoy! 🤗🫶🏻

warnings: smut, sensory/erogenous zone play, shadow play, sleepy sex, overstimulation kind of (f. receiving), and softdom vibes

Your eyes felt heavy, every so often they would slip shut only to be jolted awake. That familiar tug in your chest soothing you back to sleep. His chest was currently pressed up against your back while you both laid on your side on the bed, one hand cushioning your neck as the other torturing your naked figure.

A teasing hand traces your ribs leaving you riddled with goosebumps and slightly gasping for air. You want to thrash away from those lovely, tortuous hands.

Curl away from them, but you force yourself to curl into them.

To endure it because it feels so overwhelmingly pleasurable. His hands gliding up to circle your nipples. Your nipples have always been an erogenous zone, eliciting little gasps and moans to escape your lips. Always making your hips start to buck in search of friction. Instinctively, you reach a hand back and grasp at his neck, threading your fingers through his silky black hair in order to lock you two together.

“Stop being so cruel…” you sigh, tightening your grip in his hair, a pout gracing your lips. A scarred finger traces down the front of your stomach. The place you are the most ticklish… as his finger lowers, your abs clench in anticipation of his destination. You can’t help but mewl, whining out a breathless, “pleeease.”

Your pleas only earn you a throaty chuckle, “stop being so needy…” Azriel growls softly at the back of your ear. In a shiver of pleasure, you arch your back, pressing your butt against his hard member. He starts to slowly thrust once his cock settles snugly between your cheeks, grunting lightly.

Suddenly, you feel that familiar shadowy presence along your skin, immediately recognizing the tingle of the comforting darkness.

His shadows.

They start to trace along your skin like his fingers, honing in on the particularly sensitive areas. Within seconds, you are quivering. A ball of pleasure, almost too overwhelming.

That ache in your core becoming too much to bare, you beg, “inside me… please. Put it inside me…. Wa-wanna…”.

“Okay, sweet girl. Okay…,” he interrupts soothingly as his tip swipes at the wetness between your legs. His voice turning a bit more rough, “I’ll fill you right up, (y/n),” he growls possessively, his arms wrapping around you. Holding you just the way he wants you.

Your body completely exhausted, all you want is a release. “But, I’m so tired. I-I- don’t know… I-if I can move,” you manage to get out drowning in sleepy bliss. You want to cum, but you can barely keep your eyes open. Knowing exactly what you need, his hand strokes along your head, “I’ll take care of you, my love, just relax…,” cock pushing inside of you slowly.

Inch by inch. Filling you up deliciously. The head of his cock massaging against that spot that has you whimpering, out of breath. Once he’s full sheathed inside you, you feel his shadows start to play with your clit. You gasp as the motion feels exactly as if it’s his tongue licking you.

The shadows increase their pace, wiggling back and forth vigorously while adding a bit more pressure. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as the pleasure turns hot and you feel yourself clench around his cock. He groans slightly thrusting a bit more inside, his shadows beginning to vibrate.

A searing hot pleasure shoots through your body, tensing as you cum hard, his arms wrapped around you tighten bracing you for the pleasure he was bringing you.

Your core beginning to pulse, milking his cock as you rock back against him. Squeezing him until you are just left twitching every once in a while.

Collecting your breath, eyes closed, you feel so high. Carefree, drunk on pleasure, you let him continue thrusting.

Just taking the overwhelming sensation, Azriel groans in your ear, “I’m close, sweet girl. I’m cumming inside that adorable, perfect pussy,“ he purrs into your ear. A couple more thrusts and he paints your walls, his seed warming you from within. Coming to a stop, Azriel slowly pulls out of your warmth, the both of you hissing softly at the disconnect.

The last thing you hear is “go to sleep my love, I’ll take care of you.” Your mind going fuzzy and in utter bliss, your brain finally allows you to fall asleep.

(thank you so much for reading this far! much love 🤍)

#a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of war and ruin #acotar smut #acotar #acotar fandom #azriel smut #azriel x reader #dom!azriel #azriel imagine #azriel drabble #Cassian smut #rhysand smut #Lucien smut #eris smut

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greenleaf777 · 6 months

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Do you know how many new readers I have come across that were told that Gwynriel was the endgame love story only to read the actual books and end up confused cause they only see Elriel and gwynriel is nowhere to be seen???? Why are gwynriels purposely misleading people? LOOOL

Why lie? They’re gonna read the books and find out anyways. Upping the numbers into your ship doesn’t mean that SJM will write gwynriel all of a sudden.

#elriel #acotar #anti gwynriel #azriel x elain #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acofas #acowar #acomaf #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of war and ruin

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incorrectacotarwords · 8 months

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Eris to Azriel: put your hands behind your back so this is a fair fight, you can’t be trusted to use those beautiful hands to distract me.

Eris: Again.

#incorrect acotar quotes #in honor of azris week #and the week I’ve had #acotar #incorrect acotar words #incorrect acotar #incorrect quotes #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #azris x eris #azris supremacy #it’s for azris week #a court of silver flames #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acowar #acofs #flames and shadows

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hyacinthoideshispanica · 2 months

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"Leave this world... a better place than how you found it."

Semi-regular comments/posts I see from Gwynriel and/or Elucien shippers: The Elriels are getting more nasty towards us because deep down, they know their ship won't become canon. They are blatantly ignoring canon evidence and desperately trying to convince themselves that they're right. It's so embarrassing and sad to see how truly delusional they are! I can't wait for the next book announcement to prove us right!

Regular comments/posts I see from Elriel shippers: The Gwynriels and Eluciens are getting more nasty towards us because deep down, they know their ship won't become canon. They are blatantly ignoring canon evidence and desperately trying to convince themselves that they're right. It's so embarrassing and sad to see how truly delusional they are! I can't wait for the next book announcement to prove us right!

Me: One way or another, at least half of this fandom is going to be deeply disappointed with whatever becomes canon, and an announcement isn't going to end the ship war. It's only going to make things worse.

Regardless of who you ship, please don't add to the hate. Don't take your anger out on other fans if your ship ends up not happening. Likewise, if your ship does happen, please don't purposefully flaunt it in front of other fans.

Leave this fandom a better place than how you found it.

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bombitart · 3 months

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Tamlin and Feyre after Calanmai from “A Court of Thorns and Roses” by Sarah J. Maas.

#romance #romance books #book art #book cover #young adult #tamlin acotar #tamlin #high lord of spring #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of war and ruin #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury

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buckyysdoll · 7 months

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hi, could you write an enemies to lovers with Nesta?

— 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 —

જ⁀➴ — • summary: when you’re broken and wounded, you end up at the doorstep of the one person you shouldn’t want; • pairing: nesta archeron x f!reader (hope this is okay !) ; • a/n: i’m sorry this is so so late ! i really do hope it’s okay though <3 ; • cw: reference to domestic abuse, unsupportive family (slight anti ic, but just for this fic — i adore all of them and always will, sorry), vague ref to suicide but not really meant; angst with hopeful ending <33

MAIN MASTERLIST

With every step down the streets of velars, the pounding in your head only heightened. Slick drops of blood fell and beaded at the cut on your lip, and your eyes burned with unshed tears.

It was raining, though, which helped; it cooled off your skin that was fever pitched, burning. Each pelt of the cold, hard storm, the whip of wind at your cheeks, was at least some distraction.

A way for you to decidedly not think about the male who'd just come to the town house; the male who your brother had sworn you to marry, and of whom behind closed doors sure had a cruel temper.

Surely all of them knew.

But if they did, they didn't say anything; Cassian's fury was a quiet, deadly thing. Azriel of course knew every slight secret but was still ultimately powerless against his high lord. Noble as he was, Rhysand's will would be final; it was his way, or no way at all.

Even Mor, your best friend, even Feyre — both knew this pain for themselves, yet did nothing. For what was best for velaris still had to come first: you knew it, would honour it, too.

Even if bruises were already forming on your albeit quick-healing skin; even if hand marks printed your wrists and your cut lip was split and still bleeding on down.

There was only one person in the world who you just wished to talk to, but you knew that you couldn't. She was the very same one whose silence you would rather live in, beyond anyone's voice.

She was your call to rest, and the fire you breathed in, the woman you loved —

Or rather, "female" now, you supposed. Everything had changed since that day by the river.

That look in her eye, like she knew ... You shook off the thoughts of her, just like always. And, just like always, they stayed. There truly was no point in resisting her pull

On your way through the city, guideless, not knowing where to go or what even to think, you passed such warmth on the faces of your own brother's people, who had become something like your people, too.

Mothers cracked worn, broken smiles at their babes but they did it, the joy was still there underneath. And though so quiet, their children still laughed, still found humour and joy in your grey, broken world.

It was for each of those faces that you stuck by your choice.

The bargain tattoo on your lower arm burned.

Further down you walked through each great, twisting street, the Rainbow a ribbon at your side. You'd not said a word to the others about where you had gone, having stormed out of the house in a fury; tears had threatened and been so damn close, with your brother and your family only in the next room.

But could they really be family if they'd heard the crack, all the shouts, and did nothing? Could they still be those people you loved if they hadn't tried to stop you, hadn't asked you to stay?

You didn't know where you were heading until you'd already come to the street where she lived. Though your mind was unwilling, in denial, your feet knew the path; could've tracked any route to her blind.

A heartbeat, two, a thought of what am i doing, and then it was stairs, a great many. they wound on up, further still, to the floor of her room.

To your sweet light. Your Nesta.

You'd been in love with her since the day that you met all those months ago beyond the wall; seeing her stood there, chin up, eyes narrowed with disdain - it was her strength that had first pulled you in.

And just as for then, for every day since, there was that same unyielding steel. The will and the fire just beneath her skin that had pulled you to her as though by no conscious choice.

She had been the woman that you'd have got down on your knees for, and would've yielded to without question. Now she was the female who did nothing but show how much she despised you - coating her words with venom and striking them true in the places only she knew would hurt.

Still, she was your mate, and she knew it. Just like you did.

Neither one of you'd say it.

You were two sides of the same, lost coin, at the mercy of the males who thought they knew for best. You knew that your endings were not destined to be happy, but more so, that they certainly could not entwine.

Standing just by her door, you could hear the sound of her breathing from here. By the soft, quiet tone, she stood just on the other side of it, but she'd never seemed further.

She was destroying herself, and little did you know that you placed such a crucial role in it. Seeing you like this, and knowing your pain? She didn't know how to confront it.

Having to watch you wed yourself to a male, and an abuser no less? She would kill him, or herself.

But she, just like you, had been under Rhysand's thumb and couldn't bear to face the truth of her love. By her estimation, you were always better off far from her, and so the best way to ensure that? Hate and hate disguising love.

You raised your fist to knock but she was already there, door open, eyes wide. They scanned your face while she tried to school her features into indifference, but you knew each one of her tells by now.

Something within her was desperate, frantic, but she hid it well all things considered. To anyone who wasn't her mate, they would've seen just that old blank look. Disinterest.

But only by the pattern of your breathing, she had known that you waited outside. That you'd come to her door. Her nostrils flared, and that old, forced look of disdain at last took root.

Nesta. Your Nesta.

She said nothing, and just took in the sight: you stood on her doorstep, leaking blood from your cheek. Your lip, too, was split from a backhand and no quick healing power had yet sealed the hurt.

Your balance was unsteady on your feet, the weight of the day and your relief for her blinding. You tried not to show quite how you leant against the doorframe, how you relied on its support to hold yourself up while you couldn't.

But of course she knew.

And judging by her brief flash of panic, banked only by sheer will, and her need for indifference? Some part of her, however small, cared.

Tension thickened the air with that truth.

Nesta opened the door another fraction of an inch, thought better, so it seemed, and relented. Then she turned, her back to you, and walked back through her apartment, and you tracked her with your aching eyes as she moved. It was all you could do.

But the open door was an assumption, an aren't you coming? left unsaid. It was all she could give without saying the words, because the Mother above knew she could not speak it.

So you followed her, just like always, the shadow to her steps and too far from her warmth. You craved her closeness with every soft step and your hands clutched each other so they didn't reach out.

Immediately, as you entered the space, the scent of her filled up each small corner of you. Any prior void, she became; every empty second spent in this city, this life, without her — she healed with that scent alone.

It was piercing, just as she was — and you needed it to breathe. Needed her, your icy Nesta, your sweet warrior born of thorns.

She'd dressed simply today, as though planning nothing but to just stay in this room in the city. You still couldn't help but notice, though, how her dress was uncharacteristically rumpled, and her fine mass of golden-brown hair was sifting its soft journey out of her bun.

As ever, she was devastation; still, she was gorgeous beyond capable thought.

But it was almost as if she'd hurried to dress, though you couldn't think she'd want to impress you ... maybe she did have plans, and you were keeping her from them —

And then the thought hit.

So dazed had you been by her company, by her rare generosity — you hadn't even noticed. You’d been so wrapped up, absorbed in her, that you hadn't spied the rumpled, wrecked sheets of her bed. Hadn’t seen the creased shirt on the floor that was obviously male, and forgotten in haste.

You hadn't heard another heart beat through the wall, nor another's breathing through the thick door. You hadn't smelt the scent of sex so poignant in the air, and the smell of a male, his release.

But you did now, as you traced her outline with your eyes, watched her frame receding out of your view.

Something you couldn't quite bring yourself to name kindled sharp in your gut, and you could neither see nor think beyond it. You took one inhalation, two; Nesta was still out of the sight in the kitchen.

Another inhalation, exhalation — third, fourth. She was back in your sight and would not cow to shame.

In her hands she held loose articles — medical supplies, or what little she had of them. She wasted no time with words, wasn't idle; just silently gestured to her rumpled, strewn bed.

Still, by her guidance, you sat; perched just on the edge, honing focus elsewhere. So long as you tried not to breathe, then the fury in your bloodstream wouldn't burst past its banks.

It took great effort but the feral streak within you tempered down; with clenched teeth you held on firm to your composure. What little was left.

Whether she knew or not how you felt, she didn't show it in her expression. Her machinations were firm, and precise, as she put down a wet cloth, a clean strip of gauze.

But her hand where it met your skin was painstakingly gentle, more so than you'd hoped. Whatever tenderness this was given freely, it was more than your life's worth to question its taste.

Still, you noticed how shed hesitated, waited, read your expression before moving in. She was holding back from something, you knew — Nesta never had been one to have an open disposition.

And yet in truth? It was as though she couldn't bring herself to touch you like this, take your blood on her hands. As though it would be some kind of silent violation to the mutual denial of your bond.

As if. As if.

Nesta's fingers — her pointer and middle, from her right hand — ghosted the skin of your cheek, grazing so lightly above the gash that your partner-to-be had so callously left on your face.

You didn't miss the clench to her jaw or the sudden dark flare of something primal in her eyes; all of that steel, that white hot fire you adored, had your aching heart caught in your throat.

"Who did this to you?" Her words were flat, and you knew that she knew quite precisely who had. There was no inflection in her tone and it sounded out more as a statement than a question at all.

Nesta didn't meet your eyes as she took up the rag and raised it to the fresh, welling cut. It was you that couldn't seem to look anywhere else but at her, still just always at her.

You swallowed down your words but your voice dredged them straight back up, catching slightly on your speech as you aired them.

If being honest with yourself just this once, you only spoke at all just to hear her reply. It didn't seem to matter what she said only that it was her that said it, she who still wouldn't spare a glance for you now, and who hated you even in pain.

It took a bold moment, a sharp flare of pain as she focused her hands on her quick, dabbing movements, but you answered "He did" and then just like that — her banked fire stoked back to life.

Nesta made no response, but she winced almost imperceptibly to see that you'd flinched at her touch. From then on, her fingers stayed light as they worked.

The intention in her softness made you ache.

Indeed, your eyes were desperate as you watched her, and something settled deep in your chest much like reverence. If telling the truth? You’d admit that you'd housed that dull pain in some way since the moment you'd met; when you'd first seen the woman with steel in her spine that had not cowed to you, nor your kind.

And oh Mother, how you loved her.

Without warning, without any pretence, a low, destraught sound caught in her own throat — her only indication that the truth you'd revealed pulled out some truth from her that she'd fought to keep hidden.

You moved then, just without thinking, and touched your fingers to the inside of her wrist. She stilled beneath your hold and looked at you, allowed herself the privilege of this one light reprieve.

For there was something intimate in it, that touch — your pulse jumped beneath the surface of your skin. Every part of you was aware of her to the point of physical pain, and she was the same for you, you knew. The mating bond stretched between you, so taut and endless and yet not ripe to know.

Nesta's eyes met yours in a snap of clear focus, dipped down to your hand, came back up. Tears glistened in the deep grey hues of her eyes but you knew that she'd never admit it.

Fury and pain for you, blindness — it fully was a terror for her, feeling like this. It warred all at once within in her heart and right then? You didn't need to speak. Didn’t need to acknowledge anything at all.

You knew that there was so much that you both wished to say, and yet couldn't. Maybe not yet, or ever. But a soft hope ignited anyway that you wouldn't let die — hope that maybe one day. One day.

You loved Nesta Archeron too much to think beyond it, and what was more? The female before you loved you too. She loved you so much that she feared it every day, with every breath; but each time she tried to say it, show it, something in her died.

What she didn't know, though, was that you'd wait as long it took — centuries even — for her to be ready. And if she still wasn't? Then perhaps she could grow just to see you as a friend, if that was all you could be.

You were to wed another male for your court, but that didn't mean a thing to the love of a mate; perhaps years could pass and maybe then, maybe then, you could finally choose for yourselves.

For now though, there was enough in the silence of the room that you stayed still, only held on to her hand.

And the most remarkable part? She, your Nesta, held yours back.

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protagonistkiller · 7 months

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I think I’m hilarious Pt. 3

#a court of silver flames #incorrect acotar quotes #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of dreams #a court of frost and starlight #cassian

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deceitfulapple-eatingscoundrel · 4 months

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kateartpocket.

#Sarah J Maas #SJM #A Court of Thorns and Roses #ACOTAR #A Court of Mist and Fury #ACOMAF #A Court of War and Ruin #ACOWAR #A Court of Frost and Starlight #ACOFAS #A Court of Silver Flames #ACOSF #Nesta Archeron #Elain Archeron

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taniaconm · 6 months

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The other day it struck me that FEYRE COULDN’T READ OR WRITE. Honestly with everything that happened I sort of put that to the bottom and I became really aware of it the other day and MOTHER SPARE ME! WHAAAAATTTT?! I mean, no one ever cared to teach her, and even then she was the one who brought food to their table, the one who went into the woods to hunt at freaking 14!!!! The one who took care of her sisters wants and needs. The one who promised to keep them safe. The one who stood up for them time and again, the one who gave and gave… and no one even cared of teaching her how to read and write!!!! IM SO ANGRY.

Not her mother, not her father, not Nesta nor Elain.

(Now I love them both but man! Why didn’t they care?!?!)

Not even Tamlin, he was all “if you want I can write the letter for you.” He was more worried about her image and the wedding than the fact that she literally couldn’t read!!! (I’m so offended) he never brought it up. He knew and sort of ignored it.

But the point is, Rhys did. It is such a beautiful and tender act of love. Feyre felt ashamed when he discovered she couldn’t read. And I think about it and it’s such a vulnerable moment when Feyre tells him no one ever took care of her, not just not teaching her but with everything else.

And Rhysand taught her, Rhys did care. It is such a great gesture of love like “Don’t be ashamed of it, it’s not your fault, let me help you, let me take care of you.” It’s one of those things which feels so intimate and tender. For me it feels like Rhys helped baby Feyre to read, he helped healing her inner child who was ignored and pushed aside all the time. He healed her. And she did the same for him.

Even when Rhysand thought she was going back to Tamlin, he took care of her, he even mentioned that she’s to be a High Lord’s wife and she is expected to be able to read, so he taught her.

So beautiful how he loves her so much he just wanted to help her so she could be able to do something as easy as read or write, he helped her to be more independent, to be ready for whatever she could face.

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acourtofsmut · 2 years

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red hot handprints

(dom!lucien x sub!reader)

rating: NSFW/18+

warnings: pet names (my love/little minx), spanking (f.receiving), light restraint, sub space, and mild foot play

a/n: so I wrote this whole thing like two nights ago… then, my phone died and it fucking disappeared!?! 😡 after calming myself down, 😇 I resolved to rewrite it. Lucien’s hands must be so warm, and I just have a feeling that he would love the look of his handprints on your ass… 🤭 i hope you enjoy! much love 🤍! 🫶🏻

summary: fed up with Lucien ignoring you, you decide to take matters into your own hands which quickly results with you bent over his lap… enduring the wrath of his red hot hands.

Those luscious, red locks… captivating eyes, one russet and one gold… beautifully scarred face… mouth-watering, golden-brown skin. You had been wanting Lucien all day, each glimpse of him leaving your cheeks flushed and the butterflies in your stomach fluttering as he went about his busy schedule. The quick kisses and lingering touches he granted you throughout the day keeping you uncomfortably warm, longing for the moment the two of you could retire to your bedroom for the night, truly having him all to yourself.

However, the moment you two were alone, Lucien had other plans. He had promised to only spend at most thirty minutes finishing up his paperwork, but, for the past hour he has been ignoring your pleas for attention. Hunched over his desk, not even deigning to turn himself around to give you a glance.

Utterly restless, you couldn’t even distract yourself by reading the romance novel you were currently obsessed with. Slowly, the seed of frustration within your chest sprouted roots, making you bolder as you grew needier and needier. As a last resort, you decided to take matters into your own hands, becoming desperate enough to do the one thing you have never needed to do since you’ve been with Lucien… the one thing Lucien has told you countless times would result in you bent over his lap.

“If you think that I can’t see where your hands are going, then you are sadly mistaken, my love,” Lucien’s gruff voice drawls, sending a shiver down your spine as your hand descends towards the hem of your lacy, pink nightgown. Of course, you already knew he would be able to sense the destination of your hand, ever perceptive of your every move.

Ignoring his warning, your hand continues it’s path.

“(Y/n), you better not…” his words falling on deaf ears.

“But you won’t touch me-” you begin to whine, hoping to coax him away from that desk, only to be interrupted.

“My love, give me ten more minutes and I promise you can have me all to yourself,” he exasperates, head finally turning towards you sprawled on the bed, tired eyes darkening as he takes in the scrap of lace barely concealing your body from his roaming eyes. Arching a perfectly sculpted eye brow, he asks, “do you think you can do that for me?”.

You shake your head in defiance, pouting, growing beyond frustrated. The scent of your arousal permeating the room, you could tell the exact moment your heady musk reaches him. His nostrils flaring, jaw clenching slightly while the grip on his pen tightens. His faltering restraint emboldening you to make the final move. You lift the hem of your nightgown up to your belly, exposing your glistening core to his hungry eyes.

“Either you touch me, or I’ll touch myself,” you declare, spreading your legs wide, beginning to trace your fingertips along your inner thighs. A mischievous glint lighting up in your eyes, testing his limits.

“You little minx,” he snarls with amusement, closing the distance between the two of you swiftly. In the blink of an eye, you find yourself face down, bent over his lap, bare ass on display for his eyes to feast upon. Putting up a little fight, you try and wriggle yourself out of his grasp. Chuckling lightly, he pushes you back down on the bed with ease. Your heart rate accelerating as you feel him fastening both your hands with one of his behind your back. Your belly tightens, silently loving the mild restraint.

You feel a large, hot hand stroking the skin along the back of your thighs all the way up to your plump cheeks, preparing you for the punishment you are bound to receive. Squealing, his lips pepper kisses along your sensitive lower back, sucking lightly as he parts with a hum in appreciation.

“So needy, so impatient,” he muses, kneading the soft flesh. Goosebumps erupting as he gives your ass a light, affectionate swat.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… trying to touch yourself right in front of me…” he tuts, “so bold,” he adds, nipping your ass with his teeth. You hiss at the slight pain, your body tensing, left leg kicking up at the knee. With preternatural reflexes, his hand shoots out, catching your foot in a tight grip, thumb pressing into the sole. You giggle, squirming on his lap, fighting against the ticklish sensation, thumb now starting to draw circles. Gripping his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin, pleas fall from your lips. Begging for him to relinquish his torture. Finally taking mercy on you, he stops the motion, planting a kiss to the spot his thumb was. Leaving you trying to catch your breath, tears lining your eyes from laughing so hard.

“And, you know what happens when you are bold…” he chides, mumbling against your foot, voice taking on a gravelly tone laced with arousal. You practically scream, mouth falling open silently when you feel his hot, wet tongue dip out. Tracing from your heel to the tip of your big toe. With the final flick of his tongue, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, tears swelling. As the tension leaves your body, the ache in your core becomes more pronounced… and absolutely unbearable.

“Please, just spank me already,” you half plead, half demand, voice cracking. Pushing your bottom up into the cup of his hand while unsuccessfully trying to turn yourself around to catch a glance of the gorgeous male.

“Hmmm, my poor little minx can’t even handle a little tickling…,” Lucien teases, lips quirking upward, clearly enjoying your helpless, needy state.

He lands a light swat on your left cheek causing you to jump. You hum out in appreciation, relishing in the burning sensation. His hot hand soothing the light sting.

Tears finally falling in relief, you whimper out, “more please.”

“Alright, alright, my love… how many do you want?” Lucien concedes.

“H-how ever m-many you w-want…,” you stutter out through small gasps, clearly worked up as Lucien’s long fingers dip into the wetness between your legs.

“Let’s see how many spanks it takes to make your perfect ass redder than my hair,” he purrs, your core clenching at his lewd words. Wetness leaking down your folds, mostly likely dripping onto the bedsheets. Smelling your rush of arousal, Lucien’s growl echoes throughout the room. Squirming in anticipation, you bite your lip as you rub against his hard bulge hearing him hiss out at the friction.

“Count for me, my love.”

Smack!

Jumping at the burning sensation, your brows furrowing as your cheeks clench momentarily. You whimper out softly, “one.”

Smack! Smack!

Hissing when he plants two successive spanks on the same area, just below your left ass cheek.

“Gods… your ass is already turning pink,” he muses, “so fucking adorable.”

Lucien’s hand practically dwarfing your left thigh, palm resting on the back as his long fingers splayed on the curve of your inner thigh, pointer finger gliding through the wetness along the seam of your folds.

“Three!” you moan out when the tip of his finger circles around your swollen bud gently, avoiding the most sensitive part of you. Too soon, his hand leaves your core.

You feel the rush of air before the strike of his hand this time, tensing prematurely.

SMACK!

Breath hitching in your throat, a groan escapes your lips. More guttural than any noise you’ve made tonight. Your bottom burning from the harsh force of the spank.

“F-four,” mewling, you can’t help the hiccup that erupts.

“Good little minx,” Lucien praises, rewarding you by releasing your arms from the strained position they were in. Sighing in relief, he helps you place your arms underneath your head, dropping kisses along the length of your spine. Melting into his touch, you hum in appreciation. Once he arrives at your tailbone, your short reprieve is over.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Left, right, left. Reeling at the assault, your hands instinctively grip the bedsheets. Thighs squeezing shut, eyes closing. Lost in the overwhelming sensation. The sensitive skin left burning, as your mind is slightly fuzzy.

“How many?” his voice seems muffled, like he’s far away. Too far away. Able to prop yourself up and turn to face him, your pink, tear-stained cheeks make his chest pull taught. With wide eyes peering up at him, you beg, “kiss, please,” softly.

“How many, my love?” he repeats himself, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs wiping away your tears.

Blinking up at him, your brows furrow adorably, trying to remember what number you were on and how many spanks you needed to add.

“Six?” you guess.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “seven,” he corrects affectionately, smirking to himself at your worked up state.

Pouting out your bottom lip, Lucien lowers his head to capture your bottom lip, tugging lightly. Your lips part automatically, inviting him inside. Tongue dipping into your mouth briefly, tasting you.

Too soon for your liking, he pulls away, glancing back at your ass. Chuckling lightly, he gives you another peck.

“Well, my love, it only took seven spanks…”, he drawls as his hand traces the curve of your spine, down, down, down to your raw cheeks, “to get your perfect little ass redder than my hair,” he graces each cheek with a light peck, almost apologetically, making you shudder.

“Sorry for ignoring you, my love. There’s no excuse for leaving you feeling so neglected that you need to touch yourself,” he admits, voice taking on a sincere tone, maneuvering you to lay on your stomach, head resting on a pillow.

“S’okay,” you mumble out, eyes closes shut from exhaustion. His limbs wrapping around you, cocooning you in his embrace. Breathing in his comforting scent of fallen leaves and rich oak, you sigh in content. Completely sated, you savor the feeling of being in his arms.

“Although, I do have to say… I quite like how your ass looks when it’s painted with my red, hot handprints,” he purrs into your ear, leaving a lingering kiss to your temple.

(thanks for reading this far! show your support if you enjoyed! much love 🤍!)

#acotar smut #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of war and ruin #acotar #acotar fandom #much love 🤍#lucien vanserra #Lucien vanserra smut #lucien vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris loves peach #lucien loves peach too #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar drabble

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