#high lord

[teddyhoneybear]

| 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓶𝓪𝓲

#acotar #calanmai #the great rite #fire night #feyre archeron #a court of thorns and roses #moodboard #acotar moodboard #high lord of spring #high lord tamlin #high lord #tamlin week #tamlin week 2024 #tumblr ruined the quality #lucien vanserra #pro tamlin

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Knocked up[*]

A/N: This 🤝 Rhys just makes me so happy

Warnings: smut, breeding kink😋, slight praise kink I guess?

Word count: 1,163

“Come on…darling…a little deeper…”

He’s pushing the very air from your lungs, cock pressing so deliciously against your walls, filling you from the inside up. A whimper spills from your lips, the pads of your fingers digging into the firmness of his abdomen. Thighs spreading a little wider, muscles spasming as your head lowers, pants puffing heavily from your mouth.

“Rhys…” you breathe, heavenly heat turning you dim. “Rhys…!”

His hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze to his, star-flecked violet dancing and gleaming. “There you are…a little more for me…yeah…?” His tan skin is flushed, breathing as uneven as your own, equally near the edge. “Think you can sink down…a bit more…?”

You watch through half-lidded eyes as his stomach rises and falls with the depth of his breaths. How fluid he is, blessed with feline grace.

Biting your lip, you slide down the final inch. Pleasure crests over you, resting your entire weight on his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you—

“Woah there…”

His hands firmly grip your hip and shoulder, keeping you upright as euphoria knocks you clean from your feet. “Hey…hey, darling…look at me,” Rhys breathes, murmuring to you as you’re pulled from your stupor. “That’s it…there you go…so good, aren’t you…?”

You whimper, rolling your hips over his, both of you hissing at the concentration of pleasure. Hands go slightly limp, steadying yourself as you lean forward, spine curving. “Mmm…Rhysand…” You drag over him, eyes fluttering closed in quiet bliss. His grip tightens, one hand leaving from your shoulder, grasping the soft swell of your breast, thumbing your sensitive nipple. Flicking over its tip, grazing the crest.

“Feeling good…? Like riding me…darling?” He pants, eyes glued to your joining point, obscene squelching sounds tingling his pointed ears, like lovely silver bells. “That’s it…take it nice and deep…nice and deep…to fill you up…”

A high-pitched moan spills from your lips, gentle and needful, pawing at the soft skin of his stomach, underlined with muscle. “Deeper…take you deeper…” you pant, opening your eyes long enough to search for his hands. You swirl your hips with fervour, small bucks as you pleasurably squirm, having him hit all the good spots.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, fingers linking tightly with your smaller ones, allowing you to cling onto him as you ride his hips. “Such a good girl…aren’t you, darling?” He squeezes your knuckles and a quiet whine bursts from your lungs, spilling into the world, adding to the intimate eroticism.

“Rhys…” you whine, “Rhys…I need you…” A rough moan pulls from his chest, urgent and lustful. “How do you need me?” He breathes, “tell me what you want…” Your hips buck faster, and you flinch, air knocked from your lungs at the wave of pleasure. Lips part as your eyes flutter shut, head tipping upward as you bask in him. “Breed me…” you pant, softly. Quietly. Hardly a whimper.

He grips your hands, a reassuring heat to your nerves, rolling his hips up into you. The world turns foggy, and your body is heated butter, melting beneath the hot press of his fingertips, coating his scar-flecked skin like a protective seal. Like hot wax spilling from a candle, dripping and burning.

“Yeah? Want me to breed you?” He murmurs, watching you with wonder, head resting in the plush pillows of your bed. Teeth find your lower lip, rocking your hips faster, winding over his cock. You nod lethargically, almost drowsily, bucking onto him.

Rhysand groans, raising to meet you, touching deeper, hidden spots that have you tightening around him. Eyes squeeze shut, brow furrowing in concentration. Following the pathway that will lead you both to that wonderful dissipation of tension, pleasure flooding your bodies.

Your lips part in quiet surprise as he targets those spots with heartwarming familiarity. “Rhys…” you pant, “Rhys…!” Breathing becomes shallower, and he drags your hips over his, helping guide you, giving you the strength to move. “Come on…you can do it…give it to me.” The whispered murmurs graze your mind, basking in the swell of his cock as it presses up inside of you. Like you belong together. Perfectly fitted to slot together.

“Do it…give it to me…then I can fill you up…yeah? That’s what you want… For me to spill into you…and stuff you full of my cum…” The filthy words make you tighten around him, and you’ve tipped over the edge. Enjoy the few seconds as you soar to the peak, having taken off on sun-kissed wings. “So good at taking me…” he purrs, violet eyes latching onto yours, dark talons grazing your wobbly shields, tender and sensitive from stimulation. You hit the stars, colliding, sending galaxies spraying, nebulas bursting across your skin. His cock glides against your sensitive walls, dragging so deliciously as you reach your peak.

The moan you release sends him spilling over the edge, spurting into you as he groans, gripping you back as your fingers tighten together.

“So good…so good, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “take everything…every drop…drink it all up. So good.” The pleasure doubles…triples with every caress of him inside of you, feeling the hot, milky liquid spill into you, latch onto you, nestling deep. “That’s it…take all of it…make sure it sticks…” he groans, colour tinting his glistening skin. “Gonna fill you up so good…make sure you carry it…tucked away, to nestle inside that lovely cunt.”

You flutter around him, sporadically bucking your hips in gentle surges, moving whenever your muscles allow you to. “So perfect…doing so well…so good to me, aren’t you?” His fingers squeeze yours through the aftershocks, letting you ride out your pleasure as he grits his teeth. He wants to be gentle with you tonight, so he pushes away that urge to flip you onto your back, to worship your pretty pussy with rough, hard strokes of his cock.

Rhysand moans with you as the waves fade to gentle tingles beneath your skin, settling down on his hips, panting heavily. You move to shift off of him, but he holds you a little firmer. “Can’t have it leaking out, can we?” He breathes, rolling his hips against you. A whimper spills from your lips at the action, squeezing his knuckles as he keeps your hands preoccupied. Thighs too weak to lift off him, you’re unable to move by yourself, remaining sat on top of him, cock pressing deep inside.

“Thought you wanted it to stick, huh?” He purrs softly, thumb stroking over the bone of your wrist. “Wanted to get knocked up…to let it take root?”

Teeth push into your lip, biting it as you wind your hips over his.

You can feel it as he stiffens inside of you, turned on by the slightest stimulation.

Ready for round two.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#Rhysand #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #Rhys #High Lord #high lord rhysand #Acotar #acotar smut #Rhysand x reader smut #October

[spacerockfloater]

Okay, but why did every High Lord bring one, maybe two companions to the meeting, while Rhysand and Feyre invited all of their pals and extended family? And allowed them to speak as if any of them has any real experience on ruling a court or actual authority to do so? That was so fucking wild. And the other High Lords just, accepted it? Out of fear? You’re telling me that six fucking High Lords couldn’t put Rhysand in his place, when it is canon that Tamlin alone can rival him?

And they all willingly helped bring Rhysand back? You’re telling me no one thought that “Hey, maybe we’re better off without him!”? Even though he was evil personified and a fucking pain in everyone’s ass? Aren’t the High Lords supposedly cunning and selfish? Was no one afraid that he might come back with a sliver of their power like Feyre did? Not even a knife to my throat could convince me to help resurrect that winged rat. I’d throw a ball celebrating his death the moment I got back in my court.

#acotar critical #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #anti inner circle #anti ic #anti cassian #anti morrigan #anti amren #anti sjm #sjm critical #anti feysand #hl meeting #high lord #high lord helion #high lord tamlin #high lord tarquin #high lord beron #high lord kallias #high lord thesan

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Hello lovely!! Would you ever do a part 2 to Bad Idea right? Maybe the IC finds out about reader and Eris? 👀👀

I had planned for Part 1 to be a drabble only but I loved your ask so much that it’s going to be a short series now! I present to you, part 2. Thank you for this fun request!

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 2

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

Sleeping with a male your dad hates is fun… until you get caught.

A follow up to the drabble “Bad Idea, Right?”

Part 3

Warnings: 18+ for sexual content, language

Holy mother and all the bullshit gods my ancestors prayed to, I’m so royally fucked.

A necklace. A damned necklace, and my family’s overall inability to mind their own business, sent everything spiraling.

Nobody paid any mind to the jewelry I chose for Starfall until Amren set her eyes on the unique amber and gold hued necklace dangling from my neck - coveting the thing. Its unique jewels apparently something she’d never seen in her over 15,000 years of living.

Lucien, who had come with Vassa, Jurian, and Helion in tow, of course, overheard the conversation. With his wealth of knowledge and abundant need to be the biggest know-it-all in the room, Lucien chimed in that the gems came from the Autumn Court, typically only worn by the leading family and their closest affiliates. His brows furrowed with contemplation as he waived a hand toward my décolletage asking, “Which makes me wonder, where did you come across this piece?”

Damn it, Lucien.

And damn it, Eris. Leave it the prick to give me a gift that’s as much of a pain in my ass as he is.

Reading the look on my face, Lucien and Vassa’s son, my childhood best friend, Adish cut in- “Oh, I uh, I gave it to her for her birthday a couple of years ago. I’m surprised you two forgot.”

Lucien and Vassa looked to eachother in contemplation, not totally buying it, but not pressing further.

I mouthed a “thank you” to Adish before Amren pulled me back in to inspect the piece further.

Naturally, Uncle Rhys had step in at that moment - reusing the same joke that I have heard a hundred time since I was a child - Amren is a firedrake who will snatch the necklace right off me blah, blah, blah.

“It really is a lovely piece.” Aunt Feyre joined in, my mother, Aunt Nesta, and father with her. The three sisters inspecting it closely.

Holy shit, have these people never seen a necklace before?

I could have sworn that one of my shadows rolled it’s not existent eyes in agreement.

“Where did you get that?” Dad asked. “Apparently I need to keep it in mind for your mother and aunts for Solstice.”

“Oh, um, it’s from the Autumn Court, Adish gave it to me two years ago for my birthday.” I replied, innocently tracing a finger along the gems as I gave a forced smile.

It was then that my all-to-observant, spymaster jr., little sneak of a sister made her presence known. “No he didn’t! Adish got you a scarf from the continent that year.”

How the hell did this little shit remember these things!?

“Whatever, Azalea, it must have been a different year then.”

“No sissy! He never bought you a necklace - he bought you a bracelet, and two pairs of earrings, but never a necklace.”

Good gods. This child.

Rolling my eyes at my snoop of a sister, I coolly replied “Whatever, Azzy, I suppose my memory isn’t quite as good as yours.” Silently praying to whoever would listen that nobody pressed further. Dad’s shadows agitated but settled when my own shadows wound over to mingle with them.

Amren gave me a suspicious look that could only mean trouble - but fortunately kept her mouth shut. As the remainder of the group dispersed to interact with the crowd, Amren grabbed my arm.

“Be careful, girl. I know better than to tell you what to do, just… keep your wits about you.”

Her intense eyes locked with mine to which I shrugged the comment off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I am not a fool, girl. I do not know you to be one either. Be careful.” the tiny fae chided as she sauntered off to find Varian.

Keeping a collected facade but needing some fresh air, I casually made my way toward a secluded balcony on the backside of the House of Wind.

Finally free of the crowd, I released all of the tension I’d been holding in, taking deep breaths in an effort of calming my nerves. I am an adult capable of making my own choices but… given the inner circles complicated history with Eris, and my fathers overall hatred of the male, I’d rather nobody know that we fuck each others brains out on occasion.

Frowning down at the necklace, I muttered curses to it that would make my mother, dear sweet Elain, keel over.

Too wrapped up in berating the jewelry, I didn’t notice the male behind me. I startled at the smooth voice cutting through the silence, his low tone dripping in lust. “Ah, little Shadowsinger, If you’d prefer a ring instead, I’m sure we could arrange that. Though I do say the necklace compliments your lovely assets quite well.” His eyes roved hungrily up and down my body, a primal gaze darkening those amber eyes and filled my core with heat. I nearly rolled my eyes back into my head as the intoxicating scent of mahogany and crackling fire filled my nostrils.

Regaining my wits and refusing to let him see how he effected me, I met those bedroom eyes with nothing but contempt. “Fuck off, Eris. Why are you here?”

He stepped closer. I stood my ground, no way was I going balk away from the challenge.

“Come now, little one, is that any way to speak to a High Lord? I was invited to the celebration tonight, as all of Prythian’s leaders were.”

Fair enough, but I wouldn’t let him win that easily. Waving him off, I commanded “Go find somewhere else to be a pain in the ass.”

Eris closed the distance, grabbing the wrist I had waived him away with. His head dipped down as his plush lips grazed the shell of my ear. His deep, sensual voice sent chills through me as he replied, “I can only promise pleasure when it comes to that beautiful ass, Y/N.”

Releasing my hand, Eris reached both hands around me, palms pressing into my ass as his fingers hitched my dress up to expose my thighs and barely clothed cunt to the brisk evening air. In one swift motion he scooped me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around him. As his lips crashed into mine I bit the lower one just hard enough to draw blood before licking it away and kissing the hurt. His tongue then swooped into my mouth, battling for dominance against my own, a low growl escape his throat, reverberating through me.

Placing me on the balcony ledge, Eris situated himself between my spread legs, desperately palming at my breasts as I threw my head back to expose the column of my throat to him. He lightly nipped down the length of my neck and my protruding collar bones before falling to his knees before me. His lust-filled eyes met mine as he cooed, “You could bring any male to their knees before your beauty, but this…” he pushed aside the lace thong, exposing me to him, “this gorgeous, dripping cunt belongs to your High Lord, and your High Lord only.”

His skilled tongue deftly swiped up my center, eliciting a moan from me. I looked down into his eyes - mesmerized by the amber hues peering at me from under his lashes. My fingers found purchase in his fiery red locks as I firmly stated, “I belong to no one and you are not my High Lord, Eris.”

His responding nip to my swollen clit drew a sharp gasp from me. Eris let out a satisfied hum in return as he resumed feasting like a starved male. Perhaps that’s what kept drawing me back into the bastards bed - his insatiable hunger fueled by that eagerness to please that only amplified with the calloused remarks I threw at him. Most females fell at his feet - throwing themselves at the chance to serve a High Lord. Whereas most males ran as far away as they could upon realizing that my father was the infamous Shadowsinger.

One of my shadows caressed the base of his neck, circling back around as to tilt his chin up. His needy eyes met mine again. “Fuck me, Eris.”

In an instant he was up, standing before me. Biting my lip, I clenched my thighs together at the sight of the incredibly evident arousal pressing against his trousers. He fumbled with the buckles on them, when suddenly a grating sound filled the air - the balcony doors flying open. “Sissy! Aunt Mor wants to see your neckl- oh wow, who is that!?”

Fuck me. This cannot be happening.

I jumped up, pulling my dress down before my little sister could see the exposed flesh.

I scrambled for words, voice cracking as I scolded, “She can wait, Azzy, just go back inside.”

It was too late though, as my father’s shadow that had been trailing her all evening had already reported back and before Eris or I could flee, my father, mother, Uncle Rhys, and Lucien winnowed onto the balcony.

————————————————-

Stay tuned for part three!

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #azriel #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #eris x reader #Azriel’s daughter #shadowsinger #eris x oc #bad idea right #based on an Olivia Rodrigo song #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #high lord #amren #Rhysand #lucien vanserra #feyre #elain archeron #elain x azriel #elriel #Elain archeron daughter #queen vassa #jurian acotar #helion spell cleaver

[peregryn-lord]

Thesan here: I want to call a high lord meeting. High lord reblog to accept. Please. Please. Please

@imnotaquamanihavebetterhair

wait, only Tarquin I guess then? Or is Eris a high lord?

#acotar #roleplay #thesan #high lord #high lord meeting #please

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: Chapter Six

A Modern Feysand AU

She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?

A/N: I would like to thank "girl i've always been" by Olivia Rodrigo for helping me produce this one. Thanks for your patience and your love on the last chapter. Enjoy, and let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Also, I make no promises on the accuracy of international travel, time changes, and FBI investigations from this point forward. Welcome to the world of fanfiction, everyone--everything is subject to the machinations of my own mind. 😈

Sorry if the editing is crap. Needs must, and all that.

TW: drinking/alcohol

Strictly Confidential Masterlist

My other, completed, Feysand AU: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting

Chapter Six

It took Rhysand two days—two days—to get in touch with Feyre after Azriel’s attack.

“I’m going to kill you,” Feyre hissed through her teeth as she stepped onto the Illyria Station platform, the final station on the Prythian City Metro Line. Rhys’s eyebrow rose at the venom in Feyre’s voice, one large hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her away from the train and through the station, up the stairs, and into an awaiting black car.

“You realize you just threatened to murder a federal prosecutor,” Rhys noted as he tapped on the window separating them from the front seats. The driver pulled away from the curb.

“What of it?” Feyre asked. “Bare threats won't get you anywhere in court.”

“Maybe so, but if you do kill me, there are plenty of witnesses on the platform who could testify to your intent.”

“Good luck tracking them down when you’re dead,” Feyre said, holding Rhys’s gaze, his eyes twinkling in the dimness of the car.

Feyre almost smiled back at him, at the way words tripped so easily off her tongue whenever Rhys was around. But she swallowed the urge, instead rolling her eyes and slumping down in the leather seat, Rhys’s eyes tracking her every move. “Are you going to tell me if Agent Lapis is alright or not, or are you just going to press me for more information on—?”

Rhys lunged forward, his large hands covering her mouth. “No names until we get to the safe house.”

He waited for her to nod, his very large body taking up so much space as he hovered over her, the scent of salt and citrus enveloping her at his closeness.

Feyre struggled to suck down a breath, and it wasn't because Rhys was covering her mouth.

“Don’t you trust your driver?” Feyre asked when Rhys removed his hands, her body suddenly cold as he slid across the leather seat, back toward his side of the car.

“Of course I do,” Rhys said. “But we can’t be too careful. After Azriel’s attack, it’s best we take a little more care with our conversations, where we are, who sees us together.”

Feyre didn’t say anything, folding her arms over her chest.

Rhys blew out a breath. “Azriel is fine. He took a bad beating, but he’s had worse. He’ll be on his feet in another day or two, albeit with a few extra bruises.”

“And do you think it was—was—” Feyre pressed her lips together, unsure if she refrained from saying Tamlin’s name because of Rhys’s caution or because she still could barely fathom that someone she had thought she knew might sanction such violent behavior.

Rhys nodded curtly. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. We can talk then.”

The ten minutes passed quickly, Feyre mentally reviewing the information she had gathered in the past few days. She had managed to glean the location of Tamlin’s next business venture by going through his phone well past midnight the night before, slipping his phone from his nightstand and hiding away in the closet until she had found something, anything that might put a stop to everything Spring Solutions was doing.

Illyria was a pleasant enough town, if a little run down. The small main street the town car carried Feyre and Rhys down boasted a few cafes, a restaurant or two, and even a bar. Feyre caught sight of a bookstore, already closed for the evening, at the very end of the street, and something else that might have been an arts and crafts shop. She continued to observe as they left the main street and entered a series of residential neighborhoods, partly because she had never visited Illyria before, and partly because it gave her something to do in such a small space with Rhys mere inches away.

At last, the driver turned into a gated neighborhood full of quaint historical homes. The car pulled into the driveway of a red-brick home, two stories tall, with black shutters and white columns. Feyre unbuckled her seat belt as the car pulled around the back of the house, entirely out of sight of the street.

“Home sweet home,” Rhys said as Feyre rounded the car to stand next to him.

“Home?” she stammered, turning to stare up at him.

“One of them,” he said. “Once upon a time.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes as he strode up the back steps, producing a small key and unlocking the back door. He stepped back to let her enter first, and Feyre slid past him, her elbow brushing his stomach as she set foot on the dark wood floors.

Rhys followed her, flicking on a light switch, a warm glow flooding the hallway as Feyre delved further into the house.

Warm dark floors stretched down the long hallway that spanned from the back door directly to the front, the rooms of the first floor on either side of the hall. To her left was a small kitchen, with white appliances, light wood cabinets, and forest green tile backsplash. To her right was a closed door that she guessed led to a bedroom or office. Rhys ushered her toward the front of the house, gesturing to a small sitting room to their right. Across the hall from the sitting room was a small dining room. Both rooms boasted floor to ceiling, built-in shelves bursting with books and trinkets of all shapes and sizes.

Feyre settled herself onto a grey couch in the sitting room, gazing around the small space as Rhys ensured the curtains facing the street were drawn shut.

“This is your house?” Feyre asked as Rhys, satisfied with the curtains, crossed the plush red rug to the fireplace on the far wall, leaning down to start it with the push of a button. Flames danced to life in the hearth, Feyre’s brows raising at the sight. The house itself felt old, quaint. But the fixtures—the fireplace, the chandelier above them, even the appliances in the kitchen, were all quite modern.

“I grew up here,” Rhys said. “It was my mother’s house. My father didn’t want it—hasn’t been here in years—after she died. He gave it to me, told me to sell it if I wished. I thought about it for a while. It’s too far from the city for me to live in full-time. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else living here. So I decided to keep it, update some of the appliances, the heating system, all that, thinking one day I would sell it for a higher price after all the improvements. But I… haven’t.”

“It’s lovely,” Feyre said.

Rhys gave a brisk grin, sitting down on the couch across from Feyre and clasping his hands between his knees. “Azriel and Mor should be down any minute.”

Feyre's brows creased, but Rhys shook his head. “Azriel’s staying here while he recuperates, and Mor arrived about an hour before us to check on him and make sure things were in order for this meeting. It's nothing... like that."

Feyre nodded, filing away the information for later.

They sat in comfortable silence while they awaited, and the creaking ceiling above Feyre told her Mor and Azriel were aware of the scheduled meeting and coming to meet them any second. Indeed, they emerged from the narrow staircase that occupied part of the central hallway, Azriel’s face several shades of black, blue, and yellow bruises.

“Gods above,” Feyre breathed, leaping to her feet and meeting Azriel halfway across the room. “Are you alright?” She asked, arms reaching toward him before she realized she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

But Azriel softly gripped her upper arms, his swollen lip breaking into a small smile. “I’m fine, Feyre. Occupational hazard.”

Feyre let Azriel lead her over to the couch after she greeted Mor, who had frozen in the hallway, gazing wide-eyed at Feyre and Azriel. At Feyre's "Hello," Mor swallowed, stepping into the living room at last.

“You were truly concerned for him,” Mor noted, taking a seat next to Rhys as Feyre forced Azriel to sit down first before she settled herself next to him.

Feyre folded her arms, glaring at Rhys. “Ask his Royal Highness the United States Attorney.”

“She threatened to kill me for making her wait this long,” Rhys admitted, eyes never leaving Feyre’s.

“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m fine,” Azriel said in that soft, but cutting, voice of his. “And I appreciate it, Feyre. I really do.”

Feyre tore her gaze from Rhys’s violet eyes and met Azriel’s hazel ones, nodding once before she strengthened her resolve.

“I know where Tamlin’s going next,” she announced.

----------------

One week later, the plans were arranged.

Cassian and Mor would board a plane for northern Washington State, hours after the private plane Lucien and Tamlin had chartered that would take them to the same place. The agents had arranged to rent a car to follow the two Spring Solutions higher-ups to the manufacturing plant that Tamlin had arranged a relationship with. Thanks to the vague map Feyre had found that first night of her sleuthing, the group had determined the estimated location of the exchange—the place Tamlin would accept responsibility for the non-compliant environmental materials. Then, the FBI Agents would trail whatever transport Tamlin had arranged until he either stored it or disposed of it. At that point, they hoped to have witnessed enough illegal activity that there would be plenty of cause to make an arrest—or at the very least to bring charges against Tamlin and Spring Solutions and end the illegal operation once and for all.

The plan made sense, despite the limited information it was based upon. The agents had planned everything to perfection. The intel Feyre had provided had allowed them to skirt the problem they had run into time and time again—because Tamlin and Lucien flew privately, under an ever-changing roster of company names other than Spring Solutions, and were careful to take nondescript vehicles to the private airport, it was difficult for the FBI to follow the duo when they jetted off to consult with their next client. But Feyre’s provision of the location had changed everything. The entire case might be resolved in less than a day.

Feyre, however, was pissed.

She had provided the information. She was the one who continued to stay with Tamlin, who still slept in his bed, in order to get this information for the FBI. And yet she hadn’t been invited to come along for the bust.

It was infuriating, and the worst kind of insult. She had spent the better part of an hour arguing with Rhys, Mor, and Azriel about it as they had discussed the information in Rhysand’s mother’s home that night a week ago.

It all came down to protocol, however, and civilians weren’t to be pulled into such dangerous surveillance activities if it was avoidable. And unfortunately, Feyre was a mole and nothing more. Cassian and Mor were the FBI agents, and they would be taking the lead in the investigation. Not even Rhysand was going.

Feyre lay on her couch, her casebooks unopened on the coffee table next to her as she stared at the clock on her phone. She was at least trusted enough to be told what time Cassian and Mor’s plane would be taking off—2:27 p.m.

Feyre rolled her eyes. What an honor.

The clock turned to 2:28, and she knew they were gone.

Feyre sighed, rolling off the couch and laying on the floor for a minute. Then two. Then three.

If they didn’t catch Tamlin—what then? How much longer would she need to stay here?

Feyre knew she could change her mind at any point. The FBI, and Rhysand, wouldn’t blame her. But what then? How could she live with herself knowing she had taken away the FBI’s only viable opportunity to bring down Spring Solutions?

No, Feyre didn’t have a choice. She was in this until Tamlin discovered her treachery or he was behind bars.

Eventually, Feyre peeled herself off the floor and padded through the empty apartment toward her closet.

Sure, it was 2:28 pm on a Friday, but Feyre didn’t have plans for the rest of the day.

Or the rest of the weekend.

So why not jump into her pajamas and read for her Corporations Law class until her eyes ceased focusing properly?

Feyre snorted at herself as she flicked on the light in the closet. Here she was, an informant for the FBI, a job that sounded so glamorous, so important, so mysterious.

And yet it was mid-afternoon on a Friday and Feyre was already shedding her bra for the day.

What was her life?

She sighed as she crossed to the enormous dresser against one of the walls of the closet. She shoved aside the suit jacket Tamlin had worn that morning, hastily discarded over the top of the dresser, the fabric emitting a faint crinkling sound as it hit the floor.

She had just reached into the drawer to retrieve the tattered old t-shirt and sweatpants that she slept in when she froze, slowly turning to gaze at the navy blazer, crumpled on the floor at her feet.

Because that crinkling sound. . . That wasn't just fabric.

Feyre knelt, sweatpants forgotten as she fished through the pockets of Tamlin’s jacket. A month ago, she wouldn’t have even considered doing this. Wouldn’t have been so hyperaware of everything having to do with her boyfriend, so anxious that the sound of what was probably a gum wrapper wouldn't have raised her hackles.

But a month ago, she hadn't known her boyfriend was a criminal mastermind.

Feyre drew out a small slip of paper from the inside breast pocket of the jacket.

It was a receipt.

A receipt for a set of plane tickets.

And in tiny black script across the top was the destination of those tickets, scheduled for that day, October 7th, at 10:53 a.m:

Dublin, Ireland.

Fuck.

---------

“Where the hell are you, Feyre?”

Rhysand’s voice was so loud in her phone speaker that Feyre actually held it several inches away from her ear as she responded.

“The airport…”

“You’re kidding. " Feyre heard what sounded like a door slamming in the background of the call. "You are actually calling me because you thought it would be fun to give me a heart attack as a prank, and you’re actually home right now, on your couch, watching The Nanny or whatever ridiculous show you and Mor were discussing the other night in Illyria. You’re not at the airport about to board a flight to Dublin because your boyfriend purposefully set a red herring in case anyone was on his tail.”

Feyre didn’t respond, just smiled at the woman manning the security line Feyre currently stood in, shedding her shoes with her one available hand, the other holding her phone to her ear.

“Feyre. Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re not at the airport.”

“Can’t, sorry. Oh, hold on, gotta send my phone through the x-ray machine thing.”

Feyre ignored Rhys’s protests, placing her phone on the x-ray belt, call with Rhys still active, before she stepped into the line to go through the human scanning machine.

It was at least five minutes before she made it through the line and retrieved her stuff from the security belt. To her surprise, Rhys was still on the line when she retrieved her phone.

“Turn around right now. What are you planning to do when you get to Ireland? Find Tamlin and confront him yourself?”

“Of course not!” Feyre exclaimed, checking the departures board and smiling as she saw that her flight was right on time, although in her eagerness to get to the airport, she had arrived much too early. She had at least an hour before boarding the flight that would take her from Prythian to New York, where she would transfer to a flight to Ireland. “I just want to follow him and record everything he does.”

Except for vague background noise, and something that sounded like the rumble of traffic, the line remained quiet for several long moments.

“I swear, Feyre Archeron, if I die before I turn thirty, it’ll be because of you and this gods-damned case.”

“You’ll thank me later!” Feyre said brightly, and hung up the phone.

An hour later, Feyre had shuffled toward her gate with the rest of those boarding her flight to New York. She had spent the last hour consuming two glasses of wine at the airport bar, her productivity while reading for her Environmental Law class sharply declining as her glass emptied. Her original intention had been to stick with one small glass of wine so that she might fall asleep more easily on her flight.

But after half an hour of staring at her textbook, a sizable pit had formed deep in her stomach. Was she truly flying to Ireland for the weekend? Chasing Tamlin halfway across the world to—to what? To make up for the fact that she had fallen for the red herring Tamlin had left in his emails, had given the FBI wrong information, and sent them in the complete opposite direction of Tamlin’s true destination? She had nowhere to stay when she got to Ireland, no idea where to start on finding transport to whatever location Tamlin had arranged his rendezvous.

So Feyre had ordered another glass of wine, and downed most of it in the last ten minutes before her flight started boarding.

Thus the world had taken on a softer light, a slower quality that had loosened Feyre’s shoulders so much that she didn’t even care about the nearby toddler who had been crying for the last half hour, or the strong smell of weed emitting from the woman in front of her, or the enormous man who was standing a little too close to her, smelling of citrus and the sea and—

Feyre whirled around.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded when her eyes met violet ones, the intensity of Rhys’s gaze reminding her of her tipsiness.

“You thought I was going to let you run off to Ireland by yourself?”

Feyre bit her lip, suddenly wishing she hadn’t had that second glass of wine. Rhys was so poised, dressed in his signature black suit, pressed to perfection even after what must have been a long day at work. The shadow of a beard graced the lower half of his face, and his sea salt scent caressed her, pulling her closer. . .

Feyre blinked once. Then twice, reaching an arm out to steady herself against one of the barriers used to corral the boarding line.

Rhys's eyes narrowed. “Are you—drunk?” He asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice.

Feyre folded her arms. “I’m not drunk,” she insisted. “I had a two glasses of wine.”

“You can barely stand up straight,” Rhys noted, pocking her shoulder with a finger.

Feyre flashed her palms up at the prosecutor. “I’m fine, see? I was having a perfectly wonderful time until you decided to show up and crash my spontaneous trip to a foreign country.” She didn't mention the wave of relief that was sweeping through her even now, as she realized she wouldn't be leaving the country for the first time all by herself.

“Did you tell Mor and Cassian?” She asked, changing the subject, although the creeping grin on Rhys’s face told her he wouldn't let this go anytime soon.

And for some reason, Feyre didn’t mind that he found her amusing.

Tamlin would have told her she was being unprofessional, would have chastised her for doing something as unsafe as getting a little tipsy in the safety of an airport. Even though he and Lucien drank during their own travels, Tamlin would see Feyre’s unsteadiness as a weakness, something she should only do with him around.

And while Rhys was laughing at her, she didn’t feel . . . judged. Teased, yes, and perhaps a little embarrassed. But not ashamed.

Rhys gave a curt nod. “They’re staying the night in Washington and flying back tomorrow. Weather conditions are awful up there, so no planes, even private ones, are going up until the morning.”

“Will they fly over to meet us?” Feyre asked, falling into step beside Rhys as the line started moving, bringing them closer and closer to the gate.

Rhys shook his head. “If this trip is as short as Tamlin told you it would be, by the time they got to Ireland, they would have to board the plane to come back again.”

“So we’re on our own,” Feyre muttered, allowing the flight attendant to scan her boarding pass.

“We’re on our own,” Rhys echoed as they stepped onto the jetway.

------

It was a very long night. Feyre slept for most of both of their flights, occasionally waking up to turbulence or to use the restroom or eat the snacks the flight attendants provided. Every time she did, Rhys was a solid presence next to her, wide awake and reading through various legal documents on his laptop, his privacy screen preventing her from glimpsing much. If he slept at all, Feyre never saw it.

When they touched down in Dublin, Feyre jolted awake, something soft against her temple. She looked up, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she met Rhys’s stare.

“Sleep well?” Rhys asked, shifting in his seat, the movement jostling her.

She reared back, tearing her forehead from where it had been resting on Rhys’s shoulder. “Yes, I—I did,” she said, sure her cheeks were burning bright red. She had slept on his shoulder. Had probably drooled all over him while he read his professional legal documents and thought of her as a very silly, very impulsive young law student. “Sorry,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

But Rhys only shrugged, folding up his laptop and sliding it into the backpack beneath the seat in front of him. “No need to apologize. I’m positive my shoulder is much more comfortable than the window.”

Feyre huffed out a breath, a grin tugging at her cheek as she thought about just how muscular Rhys's shoulder was—if it was more comfortable than the window, it was only by a margin.

“What time is it?” She asked.

“Dublin time?” Rhys looked at his watch, Feyre’s eyes tracking the flick of his wrist. “About seven am. . . Prythian time? Two am. What time did you say Tamlin’s meeting was?”

“Not until this afternoon—two or three.”

“Plenty of time to find a hotel, then, because someone decided to come all the way over here without a plan,” Rhys said, his fingers gripping her chin lightly for a fleeting moment, his lips pursing as he gazed down at her.

“Come on, Night,” Feyre said, following him from their seats and out into the aisle. “Live a little.”

Feyre regretted those words two hours later, after the only hotel with a vacancy they could find had one room available--with only one bed.

“Are you sure you don’t have anything else? We’ll even take a bed and a pull-out couch,” Feyre pleaded with the receptionist, who was so busy staring as Rhysand that Feyre doubted the woman even heard her question.

“What was it you said to me on the plane, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked, glancing down at her from the corner of his eye, his fingers tapping on the front desk. “Live a little?”

Feyre groaned, exhaustion tugging at her limbs, at her very soul, despite the sleep she had managed to find on the plane. “Fine.” She snatched the keys out of Rhys’s hand and stomped over to the elevator, arms crossed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Rhys offered as Feyre led the way down the hall, her suitcase rattling behind her.

“That’s ridiculous,” Feyre said. “It’s a king bed. Plenty of space.”

What was she saying? No amount of bed space would be enough if she was sharing it with Rhys. He was so . . . all-consuming. Feyre could feel him behind her even now, though she knew he was several feet away.

She unlocked their room, Rhys’s arm sliding above her head to hold the door so she could drag her suitcase inside.

"Thank you," she said quietly, swallowing at the gesture.

Neither of them spoke as they took turns in the bathroom, each taking a quick shower to rinse off the travel. Feyre let Rhys go first, insisting that she had to call her father anyway. But instead of calling, she sat on her side of the bed and thought about what Tamlin would say if he knew she was sharing a hotel room with another man.

Even if her relationship with Tamlin had an expiration date, even if it was over in Feyre’s mind . . . It wasn’t over in Tamlin’s.

Sharing a bed with Rhys, sleeping on his shoulder, flirting with him . . . It was one of the worst betrayals, no matter what Tamlin had or had not done. She knew her boyfriend would be livid if he knew about what she was doing with Rhys. Even if nothing had happened between them, even if Feyre wasn’t sure she felt anything more than sexual attraction for the federal prosecutor who had suddenly turned her entire life upside down... It was wrong.

Even if being with Rhys brought out a side to her that had long been dormant. She spent all of her time with Tamlin and Lucien these days.

How long had it been since she had joked with a new friend? Spent time with someone who shared her interests, her career path? Done something just because she wanted to?

She had booked an international flight without a second thought, for crying out loud.

She had never done something like that before.

And Rhys had followed. With some grumbling, yes, but he hadn’t tried to drag her out of the airport or convince her to change her mind.

And perhaps he cared more about indicting Tamlin than he did about Feyre’s safety, but . . . Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhys understood just how badly she wanted to see Tamlin pay for his actions. That he understood the guilt that clawed at her in the middle of the night, the guilt that told her she should have seen it, should have recognized that there was something fishy about Tamlin’s business, should have done something long ago to stop it, something that might have prevented what Rhys’s sister had endured…

Feyre was startled out of her spiraling thoughts by the sound of the bathroom door swinging open, Rhysand emerging in nothing but black sweats, his hair still damp from the shower.

Feyre’s mouth went dry.

“I, ah, left my shirt out here,” Rhys offered, crossing the room to his suitcase, every muscle on display.

Feyre bit her lip at the sight of his cheeks, which had turned every-so-slightly pink, before she averted her gaze.

She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing her stuff and shutting the bathroom door behind her.

Tamlin would certainly object to the sight of a shirtless Rhysand.

Feyre took a very, very cold shower.

---

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[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xix – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 4,700+

masterlist

After the meeting of the High Lords, Y/N didn’t see Eris for quite some time. He was bogged down with his duties. And Y/N could only assume he was barely eating or sleeping with the amount of work he was dealing with. Her stomach sank at the idea of Eris not taking care of himself. Someone needed to make sure he was doing both of those things. 

However, Y/N’s usual schedule of breakfast, training, and library continued. 

But on this morning, Lucien came to her after training. 

“Would you like to go riding with me?” He asked as Y/N drank water. 

The Weapons Master had already exited the training grounds, leaving her exhausted and alone. Well, not really alone. For she had two of the smoke hounds as her guards and company still.

They now eyed Lucien wearily, not appreciating how close he was getting to their master's mate. 

But Y/N’s eyes beamed with the question. “Really?” 

Lucien tried not to tease her for being so excited. In actuality, he felt guilty for such a simple thing clearly bringing her such joy. If he had known that, he would’ve asked long ago. 

He studied her current state. “Yes, really. Perhaps you would like to change before doing so?”

Y/N looked down at herself. She was covered in mud and dirt. And what couldn’t be seen, but surely smelt, was the sweat she’d released from all her training. There was even a few cuts and scrapes across her hands and arms from little nicks she’d received while sparring. 

“Yes, perhaps I should clean myself up first…” Y/N mumbled as her face got hot with embarrassment. 

Half an hour later, Y/N appeared from her bedchambers freshly bathed. Her hair was still wet, but braided. And she wore a riding outfit that Lucien was sure the handmaidens had helped her pick out. 

“S-Sorry to keep you waiting,” Y/N quickly muttered, only able to look at the ground as she shut her bedchamber door behind her. 

“It wasn’t long at all,” Lucien tried to tell her. 

They hurried to the stables, which Y/N had no complaint about.

Two horses were already saddled and waiting for them when they reached the royal barn. A stableboy had both reigns in his hands. 

“What’s this?” Lucien asked, pointing to a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to one of the saddles. 

The stableboy seemed embarrassed and wouldn't look Lucien in the eye when he answered. “The High Lord demanded that Lady Y/N never go on horseback without at least two weapons on her saddle. I am just following orders, my lord.” 

Y/N smirked and stepped toward the horse that was now very obviously hers. It was a stark white gelding, covered in muscles, but held a kindness in his eyes as he greeted Y/N. 

“What’s his name?” Y/N asked the stableboy. 

“Aengus, my lady.” 

“Aengus,” Y/N muttered to the horse with a smile as she softly stroked his face. 

The stableboy cleared his throat awkwardly. “The High Lord also stated that Lady Y/N is not to leave the estate without an escort.” 

“And what am I then?” Lucien snapped. 

Y/N chuckled as she easily lifted into the saddle. “Lucien, don’t start.” Then she turned to the stableboy. “That is fine. But may they remain behind us?”

The stableboy looked relieved at having her support. “Yes, Lady Y/N. Only five will be joining you. They will meet you at the gates.” 

“And what is your name?” Y/N asked sweetly. 

“Cian, Lady Y/N.”

“Thank you, Cian. We will be seeing much more of each other now. Perhaps I can help you brush the horses after we return.” 

He smiled and bowed his head. “Of course, Lady Y/N.” 

She leaned down to stroke Aengus’ neck. “Ready for some fun?” She whispered. 

The white gelding neighed happily and stomped his feet, proving just how ready he was. 

Y/N turned to Lucien, “They will learn quickly that they need to keep up.”

And then she whistled, signaling Aengus to make his escape. The horse quickly jolted into a gallop out of the gates.

It only took Lucien a second or two to follow, but even that made him fall far behind. 

He hoped Eris didn’t hear about this little stunt, because it would be him that he reprimanded. Cauldron knew Eris would never scold Y/N for anything. Lucien couldn’t even imagine his brother so much as slightly raising his voice at his beloved mate. 

——

Y/N looked to the right to see one of their Autumn guards 50 yards or so off to the side of them. A guard was placed the same distance in all directions of them, putting her and Lucien in their perimeter of safety. If anyone sought to hurt them, they’d have to go through one of the guards before ever reaching them. 

Y/N and Lucien slowed their horses to a brisk walk. 

“How did you know I would want to go on a ride?” She asked. 

Lucien smirked. “Eris said you love horses.” 

“I said that to him once, in passing, when he was still but a stranger.” Y/N shook her head. “Yet he remembers all my words as if they hold such weight.” 

“Because they do,” Lucien countered. 

Y/N ignored him. 

“You know, if you let him get to know you more, he could remember more than just the things you say in passing…”

Y/N’s head whipped around to glare him. “Really? You of all people want to make such comments to me? You flee from your mate every chance you get.” 

“That is not fair and you know it, Y/N. I tried with Elaine more times than I can count – far before you ever joined our ranks, might I add. She wants nothing with me.” 

“And perhaps that is her right,” Y/N growled. 

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t your tune when you were unaware of having your own mate…” 

Y/N halted her horse to glare into his eyes. 

And he couldn’t help but feel guilty when she did it. 

“Stay out of it, Lucien.” She grumbled before whistling, signaling Aengus into a gallop back to the Forest House. 

Their fun had been ruined, all thanks to Lucien.

The guards quickly followed after her, not bothering to make sure Lucien was with them. But he already knew they weren’t there for him anyway. 

——

Y/N cantered through the gates of the estate and up to the Forest House to find that Eris was saddling his own horse.

And there were nearly thirty sentries already mounted and waiting for their High Lord. 

Eris immediately turned when she halted Aengus just a few yards from him. 

“Where are you off to?” Y/N asked through heavy breaths. She’d pushed Aengus to his highest speed as she’d made her escape from Lucien. 

“Visiting the surrounding villages,” Eris answered. 

Then Y/N’s guards caught up. The High Lord glared at them, noting how they let his mate get away from them. It was obvious that would be discussed when Y/N was out of earshot. 

“May I come?” Y/N blurted out before she could stop herself. 

Eris blinked, evidently taken aback by her request. 

“I promise I will keep to myself,” she added quickly, as if her very presence would be a burden to him. 

Eris frowned, not at her, but at the idea that she could ever see herself as such a burden. “That will not be necessary. You may join me, if that really is your wish. Though I worry the day will bore you…” 

Y/N beamed at his admission. “Oh, I would never find it boring! I have been wanting to see the villages of Autumn. I have read so much about them!” 

Eris tilted his head. “Read?”

But before she could answer or mentally scold herself for saying too much, Lucien came galloping over to them. 

“You are supposed to stay with her,” Eris growled. 

“You try keeping up with her,” his youngest brother shot back with exasperation. “Cauldron, she rides like the wind.” 

But Y/N ignored him, acting as if he weren't even there. And of course Eris caught it.

He ignored his youngest brother as he mounted. “We must leave now to make it back before dark.” 

Lucien glanced back and forth between his brother and Y/N. “She’s going with you?” 

“Yes,” Eris answered with boredom in his tone. “And you are staying here.” 

If his mate was annoyed with his brother, then he would choose her side.

Lucien scoffed. But rode back towards the royal stables. Clearly he didn’t wish to accompany them that badly, for he didn’t even put up a fight. 

“Is this some trick?” Eris asked Y/N quietly, so no one else could hear. “Do you intend to make your escape?

Y/N smiled and leaned toward him. “Guess you will have to wait and see.” 

—

The Forest House was now just a small structure in the distance behind them. Y/N watched it get smaller and smaller before turning back to Eris. 

He wouldn’t leave her side since they left the estate, choosing to ride right alongside her. 

“May I ask perhaps a silly question?” She asked. 

Eris nodded. 

“Why do we not just…winnow to the village?” 

He smirked at her. “It is a fair question. But there are many who reside between the Forest House and Falanaird. I wish to see how even the smallest homes are fairing.” 

Then his smirk grew to a full smile that was almost mischievous. “Besides, the village would be in a panic if their new High Lord appeared before them out of nowhere. I thought it would be better to give them a fair warning of my arrival. By the time we are a few miles out, someone will have alerted them of my presence.” 

Y/N grinned at him. “We are going to Falanaird. I have heard it is quite beautiful…”

Eris narrowed his eyes. “How do you know of Falanaird, little witch?”  

Y/N felt her face heat at his pet name for her. If anyone else used it, she was sure it would irritate her. But coming from him, it only felt sweet. 

But she remained quiet. 

Eris persisted. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your reading you mentioned, would it?”

“I have been reading about the histories of Autumn Court,” Y/N finally admitted quietly. “After training, I go to one of the libraries and read.” 

“What for?” Eris asked.

Y/N laughed. “To learn about your home, of course. Why else?” 

Before Eris could fully let that settle in, she sat up straighter in her saddle and pointed in the distance. “Look!” When he followed her gaze, she was pointing to two small fae children who were standing at the gate of their little cottage, staring at the High Lord’s traveling company with mesmerized expressions

When Eris locked eyes with them, they gasped in fear and ducked behind the fence. 

“They are only little ones,” Y/N scolded when she saw that Eris had a dark look. “There’s no need to intimidate them.” 

Eris blinked, realizing it was a habit that had been ingrained in him for centuries to intimidate any and all who looked upon him. 

But he knew Y/N was right. What good would it be, having children fear him? 

The High Lord let out a sharp whistle, and the entire company came to a halt. 

He jumped off his horse and moved to a small wagon that had been trailing in the back. His reached into a basket. When his hand reappeared, Y/N realized he had grabbed two cookies from what she now realized was a wagon full of food. 

Eris walked to the edge of the fence where the two young ones were hiding on the other side. 

They slowly peaked over it when they heard his approach. 

“No need to fear,” Y/N heard Eris mutter to them. “We are only passing through.” 

With slow hands, each of them reached out to take his offering. And their eyes lit up when they realized what he was handing them. 

They screeched, “Thank you!” And then ran off in a fit of giggles, surely to eat their cookies before their parents could find out and reprimand them. 

Eris then returned to his horse as if nothing happened. And the company continued without questioning or even looking quizzically at their High Lord. 

But Y/N wasn’t going to let it go unnoticed. “I like when you let others see your kindness, Eris.” 

He refused to look at her as he responded with, “I only did it because you went out of your way to guilt me…”

Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

—

They finally reached Falanaird about an hour later. 

Someone had clearly done as Eris suspected, and warned the entire city of their High Lord’s surprise visit. 

Y/N saw the tension fill Eris’ entire posture as everyone stared. He couldn’t sit any straighter in his saddle. She could see his internal struggle of trying to figure if he should be stern and cold as their leader or break the cycle and lead with kindness and integrity. 

They stopped to dismount. 

“Hold your arm out,” Y/N whispered to him hurriedly. 

He looked at her with confusion. 

“They are scared of you,” she hissed. “Offer me your arm. Trust me.”

To her surprise, Eris did as she said. Like a gentleman, his left arm was held out and Y/N gently placed her hand on his bicep. She noted how thick and strong the muscles were there. 

A red-brown haired male came to greet them. 

“Lord Callum,” Eris greeted formally. 

Callum bowed his head deeply. “To what do we owe the pleasure, High Lord?”

“I am surveying the cities of Autumn Court. Much has been ignored these past centuries. I plan to remedy that with a tour of my court.” 

Callum didn’t hide his surprise at such a gesture. Then his gaze shifted briefly to Y/N. “I see you have graced us with the heroin that is your mate.” Then he bowed at her and greeted her with, "Lady Y/N."

Y/N gave him a shy but warm smile. But she promised Eris she would stay quiet and she was not at all versed in political conversations, especially ones at a royal level. 

“Y/N was rather excited to hear we were visiting Falanaird,” Eris answered. Then he looked down at her with an encouraging look. “Weren’t you?” 

Y/N nervously cleared her throat before saying, “Yes! I heard Falanaird is responsible for the best harvests in all of Prythian. I was excited to see the city for myself.” 

Callum seemed to straighten with pride as such a compliment. “You honor us, Lady Y/N.” 

“Let us discuss the needs of the city, Lord Callum.” Eris commanded. 

Callum bowed his head and gestured for them to walk into the city. 

“Make sure to keep that kindness in your eyes,” Y/N whispered to Eris when everyone else around them was distracted. 

Eris’ face immediately softened with her instruction. But he kept Y/N on his arm as they were guided through the city. 

Callum gave Eris detailed updates on various businesses and citizens of Falanaird. Eris rarely interrupted and when he did, it was to ask for more details on certain matters. 

“And how are the crops fairing this season? I know with the last, there was some issues that my father had little patience for.” 

“Aye,” Callum agreed darkly. “The eggplants and carrots are suffering. The creek used to direct water to the beds has been misdirected and we have been unable to fix it permanently.” 

Eris frowned but nodded.

“What is blocking the creek?” Y/N asked suddenly. 

“A giant pine tree, Lady Y/N. It then flows into a river that we have built an irrigation system for those specific crops.” 

Y/N looked to Eris before continuing. He seemed both amused and curious as to where she was going with her question. 

“Could you take us to it?” She continued shyly. 

“The ground is muddy and no place for a lady,” Callum tried to warn her. 

Y/N smirked before teasing him with, “Worried about getting mud on your nice clothing, Lord Callum? I will survive.”

They hiked through a nearby forest to get to the creek Callum referenced. Eris moved Y/N’s hand from the crook of his arm and laced their fingers instead to help her through the hills and mud. She knew he would never let her fall or so much as trip. 

“We have tried to use fire wielders to incinerate it, but the wood is too moist,” Callum explained. 

“I guess it is a good thing your High Lord is here then?” Y/N answered with a smile. Then she turned to Eris. “If I remove the water, can you set the fallen tree alight?” 

Eris nearly scoffed at the question. “I can destroy it even without your efforts.”

Y/N laughed. “Then by all means…” 

With the wave of his hand, Eris set the tree into flames. Even from their distance, Y/N could feel the warmth of it. 

Through his magic, the tree was nothing but ash in just a few seconds. 

However, the creek was still too low to move the water where it needed to go. 

Y/N stepped forward quietly and then kneeled. She looked at the water as if she were about to have a conversation with it. 

Slowly, she started chanting in a whisper. It was once again a language Eris did not know or understand.

But the water started rippling. He heard crashing of water in the distance, and a mini-monsoon of waves came rushing from the creek’s source, filling it up to the brim. 

Callum looked on in awe. Some of their escorts even let out quiet gasps.

Y/N looked up at the sky. 

Everyone stood behind her, but Eris was at her side. So only he saw when her eyes glazed over in white, like they had on the night they’d killed Beron. 

She chanted again. It seemed to echo through the forest. Like nature was chanting back. 

Thunder cracked over them. 

And then the next second, rain started pouring. 

Callum smiled up as the storm soaked him. 

Y/N turned to him. “Hopefully that does it.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/N. You do not know the miracle you have bestowed upon us.” 

Then he watched on as Eris immediately removed his cloak to cover Y/N’s head and protect her from the rain. 

“Follow me,” Callum said. “There is an inn where you can seek shelter.” 

Eris grabbed her hand again, hurrying them to follow Callum. 

But when they reached an inn at the edge of the forest, the two of them were already soaked. 

Y/N giggled from the ridiculousness, especially when she looked up at Eris to find how irritated he seemed about being wet. 

Without realizing what she was doing, she stepped forward to brush some stray hair off his face and behind his ear. 

“Shall we have a drink?” She asked his sweetly. 

And just like that, Eris’ irritation disappeared and he smiled down at his mate. 

He nodded and nudged his head at the barstools in the tavern that was the bottom floor of the inn. 

His sentries were close on their heels, eyeing the patrons who had already been in the tavern upon their arrival. 

“Keep your distance,” Eris commanded. “I do not need you breathing down my neck.” 

They did as he said, grabbing tables and taking standing posts far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on their High Lord’s conversation. 

The bartender clearly recognizes Eris, but didn't let it stop his gruff and abrupt attitude when he asked them what they wanted to drink. 

He slammed two giant mugs of ale in front of them, and then left them alone. 

“I see you have more clever tricks up your sleeve, little witch.” 

Y/N frowned a bit. “If I am being honest, they come as a surprise to me, as well.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Ever since that day you found me in the woods…something new has come to the surface. Something…powerful.” Her brow furrowed as her eyes glazed over and she remembered her last days in Night Court. “I almost killed Azriel when we were sparring. I summoned a lightning strike and it almost hit him.” 

Eris smirked. “It would have been a cause for celebration.” 

Y/N pinched his arm. “That is not funny!” 

But Eris’ amusement disappeared as he said, “I will not forgive him for what he did to you. You should have given him your wrath.” 

Y/N stared down into her ale. “The wind said you threatened him when you found out he forgot about me. I guess…I guess it makes sense now that I know our…umm…connection.” 

Eris watched her a moment before he answered. “Well, he would be dead if I did not care about how upset it would make you.” 

Y/N’s face got hot at his confession. So she distracted herself by looking around at the tavern. It was cozy and the light was colored in oranges and reds, only being lit by a hundred candles and two roaring fireplaces. 

“What are your thoughts on Falanaird?” Eris asked after a moment.

“It is beautiful,” Y/N answered immediately. 

“It is no Velaris,” he pointed out. Then a tiny bit of hope sparked in his eyes as he locked gazes with her and added, “But perhaps one day it could be.” 

“Or perhaps…” she replied slowly, “it will be better.”

Eris looked out the window as the rain pelted the glass harshly. “How long did you make it rain for?”

Y/N shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed. “I have not a clue.” 

He laughed. “We could be here all night.” 

“Good thing we’re already at an inn.”

Both their minds went to the scandalous implication of what she may have meant. 

But then Eris remembered what Feyre had once shared with him, what Y/N had confessed to her about her past lovers. And he couldn’t stop the darkness from taking over his face. His grip tightened dangerously on his ale. 

Unfortunately, Y/N interpreted Eris’ sudden shift as his disinterest in the idea of ever sharing a room with her at an inn. 

“Why have you been researching Autumn Court in the libraries?” 

“Library,” she corrected. “Singular.” 

He narrowed his gaze. “You know what I mean. Stop evading my question.” 

Y/N sighed. “I live here now, do I not? I figured I should learn about its history.”

“And you did the same for the Night Court when you lived there?” 

She opened and closed her mouth. “Well…umm n-no, actually.”

Eris looked out the windows again. “Thank you…for your help today, Y/N.” 

“You’re the one who burnt down that giant tree as if it were nothing.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he quickly told her. 

Y/N swallowed, sensing that he was going to say something that would make her heart skip a beat. 

“I find it…difficult deciding who I am supposed to be as High Lord of this court. I do not want to be my father, that I am sure of. But after centuries of wearing a mask…it’s harder to take it off than I ever could have imagined.”

She nodded. 

Eris stared at her a moment before finally confessing, “I find it easier with you at my side. That is what I am thanking you for.” 

Y/N reached for his hand, softly covering it. “Kindness is not a weakness. Just like cruelness does not equate to strength.” 

“Even Rhysand wears a mask to control his subordinates,” Eris argued. “I have seen his charades at the Court of Nightmares.” 

Y/N watched him with confusion. “But why compare yourself to him?” 

“You have seen the headway he’s made as High Lord. His true court is made up of dreamers, not high-borns given power by birthright alone. He has assured female Illyrians have the same opportunities to train as males, and tried his hardest to put a stop to wing clipping. The citizens of Velaris do not fear him, they respect him. How am I not to compare myself?” 

“That is his legacy, not yours.” She urged. “You have only been High Lord for a month, Eris. Give yourself time. You have plenty of it.”  

But Eris said nothing in return, only got lost in his internal battle of self loathing and unrealistic expectations he has put on himself. 

Y/N leaned forward. “Do you know why I insisted that Callum shows us the empty creek? Because I knew you could fix it. And what your people need to see is that you care – about them, about their cities. They need to see that you do not believe you are above their troubles.”

She leaned back. “So you go to village after village in Autumn Court, and you show them that you care.” 

Eris could stop his beaming from her words. “You will come with me?”

Because what did any of this matter if she didn’t?

Eris was starting to realize he couldn’t do any of it without her. 

“And when it is safe for you to leave?”

Y/N frowned at such a subject being brought up. 

She nodded toward the windows. “It has stopped raining.” 

One of his sentries approached. “High Lord, we should start our journey back to the Forest House before it gets too late.” 

Eris reached into his pocket for coins to pay the bartender. 

“Don’ botha,” the bartender spat his his thick accent. “It’s on the ‘ouse.” Then his eyes shifted between the two of them as he dried a glass. “For riddin’ us o’ that favver o’ yours. The both o’ yer.”

When they got outside, someone had already brought their horses for them. 

Y/N tried to return Eris’ cloak to him, quietly handing it to him. The thick fabric was damp for their attempt at shielding her from the rain.

Eris took it, lightly blew on it, and handed it right back to her. 

Y/N eyes widened in surprise when she found that it was completely dry and also warm like it had been sitting by a fire for hours. 

“Keep it,” he instructed firmly. “The sun is setting within the hour.”  

—

They were only 20 or so minutes from the Forest House when Eris saw Y/N’s head bob from falling asleep. 

Her horse, Aengus, kept moving closer and closer to Eris, as if he was worried for his rider and was making sure Eris would be able to catch Y/N if she fell off. 

She was in an exhausted and delirious daze. She could hear the conversations around her. But they felt unreal, like she was in a dream or sleepwalking. 

“Should we move her to the wagon to sleep, High Lord?” One of the guards asked quietly, as if he feared waking her. 

“That won’t be necessary.”

Then Y/N, half asleep, felt a tug on the right side of her saddle. A large mass mounted her horse and pulled themselves behind her in the saddle.

But she recognized Eris’ scent and warmth immediately, stopping her from startling and fully waking up. 

“You were falling asleep in your saddle, little witch. And at risk of falling right off your horse,” Eris whispered in her ear. “Go back to sleep.” 

His arms reached around her, taking her reigns and also caging in her body protectively. 

And she did just that, leaning back against her mate and falling into a deep sleep now that she knew she would be safe from falling off her horse. 

What she didn’t think about was that Eris could have easily winnowed both of them home. She would never put together that her mate finds any way to extend their time together – even if it existed as her falling asleep against his strong chest and he rode them home safely. 

Y/N barely stirred when they returned to the Forest House and Eris gently pulled her from the saddle, landing on the ground with her in his arms. 

His footsteps echoed down the halls.

“Cauldron, what happened?” She recognized Leonora’s worried voice in her sleep. 

“She is only sleeping, mother.”

“The poor thing must be exhausted. Waking up at the crack of dawn to train herself nearly to the point of collapsing. Only for you to force her on a trip to Falanaird afterward.”

Eris sighed. “She insisted. I am going right to the Weapons Master after putting her to bed to tell him their lessons are canceled tomorrow. She needs rest.” 

“Perhaps you should take the day, too.” Leonora urged. “Together.”

--------

Please please please please please please let me know what you think! Be like @pancakefancake

Chapter XX

#gust & flame #eris #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns & roses #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #autumn court #high lord #high lord of autumn court #lucien vanserra

[demi-lancer]

'parry this you fucking casual' - Rand to High Lord Turak

#i amuse myself at least #wheel of time #rand al'thor #high lord #turak #tv #fantasy #spoilers

[oh-my-damn]

You don't understand... I'm obsessed.

I am one million percent a Rhysand girlie. And I am requesting fic recs IMMEDIATELY pls I need

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand girlie #the night court #high lord #batboy #cutest bat in the world #batboys #acomaf #acowar #mandy reads #fanart

[ladydevena]

Can I just say, the fact that the high lords don’t all wear generic crowns in their colors, but it actually ties to their courts makes me happy?and they probably all have quite a few different themed ones?

Tamlin with his burnished gold laurel leaf crown at the wedding that was a courtly version of the calanmai crown he probably dawns each year? And his tithe crown is so suited to more strict moments with its representation of wealth and stability?

Tarquin with his silver cresting waves and blue gemstones for a casual night out on the town? As asymmetrically stunning as the very waters he connects his court to, the blues of the stones glinting with white and green and the depths of the very ocean hidden by the brash, crashing beauty created by the surface?

Helions spiked gold crown as vicious and pointed yet beautiful and picturesque as the suns rays? As warm in color as his skin yet simple and statement making in it power just like helion himself- not needing much adornment to radiate the strength, beauty and deadly power and wicked intelligence he holds?

Rhys has a raven feather crown which makes me wonder if previous highlords of night weren’t just serpentile like the creatures of the hewn city but dark winged and raven featured in some way? (And Feyres crown - complimentary to Rhys isn’t just a newly made item, it existed in tandem with his for previous ladies of night I’m assuming so it ties to the court that way as well?)

Autumn court with its mixture of Medieval English and conqueror era Spanish style in my head? With traditional red and green stones highlighted the most and silver and gold alike, crosses and points to their headwear? Very formal and structured, not just to denote their position, but to reinforce tradition, wealth, class structures, very inline with what I’d assume of the autumn courts viciousness mentioned in the books? Beautiful but vicious.

Winter court with near white shining metals, carved glass and crystal bases for ice diamonds; blue, gray, & frosty fogged stones? Dark blues and wicked gnarled features representing barren branches and shards of ice????

Dawn court with its sweeping elegance and love of beautiful embellishments and pension for color? The people are noted to be largely from Xian as noted by SJM and I always imagine dawn court to be a beautiful mix of Indian and Chinese culture, and the jewelry reflects it, beautifully Intrically carved warm toned metals that depict stories or symbolism entertwined with the culture? Stoned used abundantly yet they’re never garish? They only enhance and bring out the beauty of the crowns and reflect the cultures within the court itself?

(Like I’d love to dive deeper into it and maybe make or paint the crowns one day but that’s a different story)

That’s it that’s the post grammar be darned.

#this was written from memory so if any of the crowns are wrong please comment and I’ll edit!!! thank you!! #acotar #sjm universe #sjmaas #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin acotar #high lord #night court #rhysand #feyre archeron #day court #dawn court #winter court #autumn court #summer court #spring court #prythian #tarquin #beron vanserra #kallias #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver #thesan acotar

[purple-writer8]

Masterlist :)

hi, im very nervous to be here! i am a wattpad author, coming over to tumblr because i have many many many ideas to write about all sort of different characters. tumblr is going to be that place where i sort of dump all of those oneshots i come up with!

My wattpad is mainly for Aemond Targaryen so if he’s your cup of tea, check it out!

i am a huge swiftie, and i thought it would be cool that all one shots be based on a songs of hers (maybe gracie abrahams too) so most of them will be named after her songs and incorporate quotes from them

ACOTAR

Azriel

Closure - Part 2

Heather

Delicate

Rhysand

The Lakes

Eris

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Comment to join my taglist :)

#acotar #azriel acotar #rhys acotar #acosf #sjm #acomaf #acowar #acofas #nesta acosf #feyre #azriel #azriel one shot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #house of the dragon #simon ghost riley #rhysand #rhys #velaris #night court #high lord #fae #high lord rhysand #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel imagine #batboys #batboys x reader #azriel supremacy #acotar x reader

[tadpolesonalgae]

High Lord!Eris x reader: Servitude[***]

A/N: I’m very split on this fic since I love monsterfucking but I crave dialogue

Summary: The night Beron dies and Eris inherits the Autumn Court throne, he goes a little mad from the sudden surge of power, and needs to work his frustrations out - kind of like Calanmai - and who better than you? You practically stumble straight into his lap

Warnings: reader having a CNC/rape kink?, monsterfucking, exhibitionism, dubcon in parts, it’s not breeding kink but there’s definitely something

You’ve been fantasising for too long, and your scent has shifted.

You sigh, heavily, feeling the familiar heat of arousal lick between your thighs. This was an utterly inopportune moment, couldn’t you have waited at least until you were in the privacy of your own home? Not out in the middle of the woods, and especially not on the court-wide day of mourning—tradition for when a monarch passed.

The news had spread like wildfire through summer-crisped leaves, ravishing the city until there wasn’t a single soul that didn’t know. Now all that was left to see, would be who the power would come to, who would inherit the throne out of Beron’s sons.

Heat is still thrumming beneath your skin, but it’s less prominent. You might get away with sneaking back into the city without someone catching your scent, and cornering you. Maybe hauling you into a side alley, and pushing your clothes away, shoving you against a wall - or maybe they’d bend you over - tearing your underwear from your wet heat—

Shit.

Maybe it would be a better idea to finish yourself off out here, in the woods, where someone’s less likely to find you. Especially at this hour. Your teeth find your lower lip, tugging it with indecision.

Eventually you begin quietly moving deeper into the forest, where the trees were thicker, shrubbery taller and more dense, vines stringing from the branches like limp chains. Everything seems so…erotic. From the mushrooms lining the forest floor, to every root large enough for someone to bend you over.

You swallow, undoing the ties of your cloak, too hot to keep your clothes on, folding it over your arm. If you’re going to do this, you’ll damn well enjoy yourself. You locate a nice little clearing, spotting a tree that looks comfortable enough to perch upon. It’s massive, and you wonder for a moment how many centuries it’s seen—if it’s older than your own people.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you begin stripping off your dress, peeling away layer after layer until you’re utterly bare to the night breeze. You imagine every soft gust of wind is a gentle caress from the elements, touching your skin greedily, wrapping you up. You shiver with delight, the heightened sensitivity of your body as you wrap your cloak over your shoulders—a barrier between your naked heat and the dirt coating the large root you’ve selected.

With a shaky breath, you lean back against the trunk, parting your legs a little, then—to hell with it. You straddle the root, the thick maroon fabric the only thing between your heat and the bark. Slowly, so slowly, you begin winding your hips, eyes rolling as your clit presses into the material.

This is so wrong, and it sends frenetic zaps of energy straight between your spread thighs. Fuck, it feels good.

Your lips part as your slick begins coating your cloak, enabling your hips to glide back and forth as you slowly hump the tree, as if you’re grinding against it’s leg. Like a bitch in heat. Your eyelids flutter, nipples peaking as you cup one of your breasts, fingertips dancing over the sensitive skin as you continue winding your hips. Faster, and faster.

Your body is beginning to move on its own, following an innate rhythm your arousal taps into. Back and forth, back and forth, clit gliding smoothly over your slick cloak, the texture of the bark delicious beneath you.

A breeze lifts, carrying your scent with it, cooling your skin as heat builds in your lower belly.

A twig snaps and you freeze, back curving as you peer through the dark clearing.

There’s nothing to be seen…but you can feel it.

The starving weight of hungry eyes.

You can feel them devouring your body, fucking you senseless in the perceiver’s mind.

Isn’t this just what you wanted? To be seen? For someone to watch as you indulge in pleasure? How many times had you fantasised about that delicious weight of a lustful gaze when you’d left your curtains a little too wide, or when you’d moaned after not fully closing the windows? Now someone is watching, and you dare stop the show?

That won’t do at all.

If they had come to kill you, you’d surely be dead. So they must be here for the performance. And who are you to withhold it?

————

The power thrummed beneath his skin, thundering through his body as it ravaged his mind, ripping sense from it’s firmly seated place.

One moment, he’d been calming himself with a midnight stroll through the apple orchards, too tense to sleep, and the next, this power had come crashing down onto him, riding his rationality until it was whipped into submission, yielding to that greater sense.

He’d know what it was the moment it happened, and while he was pleased that it had been passed to him, dread had coiled in his stomach at the pure strength that was now his to control. Eris knew the transformation would be coming any second, and he couldn’t afford to be anywhere near the Court Palace when it happened. Using the limited control he had on his magic, he winnowed deep into the forests surrounding the citadel.

And then he had yielded.

His nails became hooked, growing and sharpening into deadly blades. Canines protrudes from his upper lip, lethal enough to slice with the softest brush. His skin hardened until it was ensconced in scales, rippling with the growth of corded muscle.

Eris no longer moved on his two feet, but four, triple-pronged paws. A mighty tail snicker-snacked behind him as he silently slithered through the undergrowth. Hunting.

He needs to hunt, needs to chase something. Become the predator that has taken over him entirely. Satiate its needs before he can return to his Fae form.

He knows he could become larger, could grow big enough to trample the lush forest that has served his court for years, and that is now his to control, but he manages to keep the power contained. Despite how wildly the magic thrashes and writhes to be set lose.

Almost as if the Mother is urging him on, he catches a scent in the wind. A mouth-watering, dizzyingly appetising scent. So inherently feminine as it wafts to him on the breeze. A growl he doesn’t recognise drags from his throat as he begins tracking it, needing to sink his teeth into whatever it is.

Eris keeps close to the ground as he silently bounds through the dense shrubbery, mighty paws carrying him with lethal quiet. Closer and closer, until he can practically taste that sweet, sweet scent on his rough tongue.

There you are.

The beast inside him hushes, settling into a low crouch, ready to pounce at any second.

For a moment, he’s back in control, watching. And that’s all he does. Watches as you peer around the clearing, trying connect that other presence you feel to a pair of eyes, but you can’t find him. But you know he’s there.

He doesn’t question why you’re out here, or what the hell you’re doing stripped bare in the middle of the forest in the dead of night. All that matters is you’re there, ripe for the taking.

Your hips begin winding over your thick cloak, and he nearly growls with hunger. The sweet scent is coming from you, arousal making him drool as he contemplates how he wants to take you. He doesn’t feel like drawing it out. He wants it now.

And he can tell you’re already close.

————

Bushes rustle, but you continue moving, spurred on by the sounds.

Your eyes slide shut, revelling in the pleasure, the heat that’s coiling in your belly. A little longer and you’ll be there. You’ll come undone before that strange set of unknown eyes.

A growl pulls you from your fervour, and you freeze.

An awe-full, terrifyingly great creature prowls forward, long, hooked claws glinting in the moonlight. It’s eyes are slitted, reptilian features crowned by a halo of straight, pointed tusks. The eldritch animal stalks forward slowly, moving with languid grace toward you, and you can see the muscles rippling beneath the tough, scaled skin.

No. It’s not an animal. There’s nothing remotely normal about this creature.

Arousal slams into you.

One look into it’s slash of pupil and you can sense the beastly Fae power thrumming beneath its armoured surface. He’s been transformed.

The beast prowls closer, and you keep utterly still, nipples peaking in the cool night air. A low growl rumbles through the clearing, and you can swear you see its chest vibrate. There’s a sinister gleam in its eye that has something primal in you begging you to bow. To run, or scream.

He snarls, stopping just outside of your reach, leaving you within his.

Maybe he wants you to stop. Maybe he’s the guardian of this forest and is preparing to rip you apart for performing such a sacrilegious act.

Swallowing, trembling, you shift, moving one leg over the root, so you’re practically side-saddle. You aren’t foolish enough to turn your back on the magnificent beast.

“I’m sorry…” you stammer quietly, fear tracing up your spine. His nostrils flare, and he purrs. As if he enjoys your terror. “I didn’t mean any harm…” you beg, softly, nails digging into the material of your palm.

His slitted eyes take you in, peering at your elevated position on the root. His nostrils flare again, and the delicious scent of your fear and arousal twine together, and he needs.

Your breath catches as he noses roughly at your belly, shoving between your thighs, tongue pushing out. Your eyes roll as the Fae creature begins lapping at you, the rough, slick muscle rolling over your clit, and your hips buck. Keep still. The beast seems to command with his eyes, making certain he won’t have to hunt you down now that he’s found you.

A whimper spills from your lips with the forcefulness of his licking, and you nearly topple backward. His head dips, bringing the tusks closer to you, and you grip on desperately. The beast’s head tips back up, and you’re pulled forward, so you’re toppling forward onto the column of his snout.

The Fae bucks his head, hoisting you higher, your thighs spread over the lower bridge of his nose, breasts pressing to the space between his eyes as his tongue fucks into you. A startled moan bursts from your lips as your clit glides across the scales ensconcing his powerful form. Your back curves, allowing him deeper as the hot, rough muscle drives within your sex.

The pleasure crests over you, and you cry, delighting in the delicious sensations being gifted to you. Your hips wind, desperate to ride out the orgasm, and it’s as if his tongue spasms, sending those eye-rolling vibrations to your wet heat.

Panting fills the clearing, along with that deep, beastly purr. He seems satisfied with himself. Until he tilts his head downward, and you slide off his slicked scales onto the ground. You wince with the drop, landing on your ass, before you’re peering up at him.

He prowls closer, until he’s over you, and you’re having to crane your neck to see him. But your eyes catch between his hind paws, and your breath catches. You whimper at the sight of it: he’s hard, his cock widening a little beneath his tip, a pearly bead of come nestled in his slit.

He’s big. Far too big for you.

Fear coils within you as you shift onto your hands and knees, attempting to frantically crawl out from under him, but he pursues with a deep growl. It’s a warning you realise, through whatever unearthly magic he possesses that allows him to make such a drastic transformation.

It’s a warning you don’t heed, too occupied with attempting to escape.

One large paw crushes down into your shoulder, though the pressure lessens when you whine. Instead it shifts to the base of your neck, talons hooking smoothly over your shoulders as if they were fashioned around your bones. You whimper, wriggling desperately as his tail twines around your hips, keeping your ass in the air.

“Please…” you beg, using all your fae strength to push against the creature that will surely wreck you. “Let me go…”

His grip tightens, and it’s then you notice his paws have shifted. Instead of having them end in triple-pronged talons, it’s now five fingers. They’re still much too eldritch to be fully fae, but… You crane your neck to try and get a look at the monster, but it’s difficult. All you can make out is the corded muscle of his arm—not paw.

You whine when his tip presses against your entrance, and you can practically feel that pearly bead of come mix with your own release as he slicks himself up. His tail constricts, pulling your hips back to him, and he pushes in. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan as he fills you up. Big, but not unmanageable—definitely a stretch.

A hiss rips from between your teeth when he moves to draw back, and it stings. You need longer to adjust, you can’t go as you are. He’ll tear you to pieces.

Eris senses your hesitance, the too-tightness of your cunt. He growls impatiently. He’d already prepared you, now he needs you to come to that perfect state of ripeness. He can’t set himself lose until you’re there, ready for him.

The tip of his tail rolls over your clit—it’s the most he can manage in this new body of his, how little control he has over its fine details. His tongue lolls out, and he licks along your neck, purring at the flavour, tasting your arousal.

Heat is already blooming in your lower belly when he begins moving. And when he draws his hips back, to press back in, your back arches with pleasure. This time, when you wriggle against him, you need him deeper, need him to be filling you up, and spilling into you until he’s dripping down your stomach.

It’s like he can sense your desires, as if his senses are so powerful they reveal everything to him. His hips draw back, and he slams into you. If his tail hadn’t been holding you in place, you would have surely been knocked forward. You moan, a deep, needy sound that he replies to in his chest, the noise vibrating against your back.

He picks up the pace, already beginning to pound into you, and it’s as if he wants to you scream, like he needs to hear what he’s doing to you. His hips roll, and the swell of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot inside of you, and you can’t help it.

The short scream tears from your lips, making him snarl in delight, gripping you firmer as he continues assaulting your senses. Your back curves, and you begin to match his pace, pushing back against him.

That white-hot coil tightens in your belly, and your vision blurs.

Eris’ taloned hand leaves your nape, hooking beneath your shoulders as he lifts you upward, your back flush against his warm chest. A shiver runs over you at the mind-numbing contrast: the heat of his chest to the cool whips of midnight air along your front. The rough pads of his fingers dance over your chest, and the tears spill, drip-dropping straight to the earth beneath you.

He grazes your nipples and you think you might fracture beneath the pleasure he’s subjecting you to, how his cock keeps abusing that one spot over and over and over. His tail rubbing over your clit while his fingers warm your breasts.

There’s nothing you can do to prevent it as the pleasure against crests, more powerful than last time. Your whole body trembles as your muscles seize and spasm, cunt fluttering around him wildly as you lose yourself in the frenzied washes of euphoria.

Eris feels your delight, feminine satisfaction tinting your scent as you come, and he feels himself release.

You moan sharply, suddenly, feeling as his come shoots into you, cock spilling precious pleasure inside your wet heat. You can feel it, feel the light pressure in your lower abdomen as he fills you up, so thoroughly that he’s dripping down your stomach before he’s finished.

He gives you so much.

You’re panting, breathless, feeling like you’ll never need again if you have him. So deliciously male.

Above you, he sighs heavily. The strain has lessened, and he feels himself beginning to revert back into his old self. His arm remains hooked beneath your chest, but his tail releases you, shrinking away as scales melt into skin, tusks transforming to long, silky locks of hair that cascade over your shoulders, tickling you slightly.

You gasp, indulging in the soft press of his skin, hand gripping his wrist, wanting to keep touching him. His hips draw back, and you whine from how empty you feel, but you manage to shift onto your back, taking in the male who just ravished you.

He’s beautiful. Magnificent grace radiating from him, and you know you wouldn’t be able to escape him if you wanted to.

He’s tired, eyes half lidded from the effort of keeping the sudden surge of power contained, but he’s managed. And it’s his now.

Fire blazes in his gaze as he takes his female in—you. He can feel the warmth from your skin, hand cupping your jaw, talons shrinking to elegant nails. You tip your head, and he takes you, mouth slanting over your own as he carefully pries your lips apart.

You moan, arms snaking over his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as you kiss him fervently. Your eyes slide shut, allowing him inside, wet heat lapping against your tongue and you grip him tightly.

You won’t let him escape either.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Eris #eris smut #autumn court #High Lord #High Lord smut #Eris x reader smut #Eris vanserra

[simkaswriting]

Rhysand x y/n moodboard

#Rhysand #ACOTAR #rhys #acotar x you #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #night court #bat boys #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #high lord #acotar aesthetic #aesthetic #acomaf #acowar

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Spring Fever

Tamlin x Reader - Smut - Angst - Fluff

After an outburst directed toward an unwanted visitor, a resident of Tamlin’s manor prepares to face the consequences of her actions but the High Lord has something else in mind.

warnings: smut, language

Moonlight and night air filtered through the edges of the pastel velvet curtains as the beat of my racing heart overtook the silence of my bedchamber. Seated at the edge of the large four-poster bed in my now permanent room, I took steadying breaths. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Repeat.

Who was I to have shown anything less than reverence to the High Lord of the Night Court? To his credit - in his own fucked up way - he’d tried to help Tam out of the stupor he’d spent years in but the male had been through so much already. How could the face of the mate of the love of his life bring any peace to his already broken soul?

These visits always ruined what small progress Tamlin had made. I tried to remain calm but damn it - Tamlin had finally stopped curling up outside of my door at night, on alert for any hidden threats. He’d given me a genuine smile on a stroll through the gardens just this morning. He’d even cooked this evening. Yes, a simple meal of roast venison and root vegetables, but a meal nevertheless. He was making progress and as if he sensed it, Rhysand showed up to “check in” on Tamlin right after dinner.

And just like that, Tamlin’s demeanor crumpled. I couldn’t take it anymore, the irreverence toward my mate’s own trauma. My temper rose to a point of no return, pouring out as spewed vitriol very unbecoming of a lady in the manor of a High Lord.

To his credit, Rhysand only eyed me with intrigue and didn’t mist me on the spot after I suggested he take his “good intentions” and shove them up his ass and showed him the door.

Tamlin only eyed me with an unreadable expression and requested that I stay behind while he escorted the Night Court’s High Lord from the estate.

Deciding against pressing my luck further I exited the foyer and saw myself to my chambers where I now sat waiting for the inevitable lecture, hell, maybe he’d kick me out. I only lived here out of his generosity. His tolerance of me certainly spurred on by the unaccepted mating bond that snapped when the magic chose me on Calanmai.

Two lonely souls bound together by fate.

We’d spent the past ten months living in companionable silence, both healing from the wounds our souls bore. And now, I’d likely torn down the careful progress we’d built brick-by-brick in one fell swoop.

The creak of my door withdrew me from my self-loathing retrospection and the quiet thud of boots crossing the wooden floors grew louder with each step in my direction. I didn’t look up. Couldn’t face him. Didn’t need to as the tension between us laid it all out clearly.

He’d never laid an ill-intentioned hand on me, we rarely even touched. Calanmai was a one-time thing. We’d brushed hands a time or two at the dinner table, he’d caught me as I stumbled in the garden once. I almost - almost - flinched as my High Lord’s hand came into my peripheral but all I was met with was a broad, gentle palm to the nape of my neck and the soft caress of a thumb running along my jaw line. I looked to him with furrowed brows, eyes lining with silver as I awaited whatever came next, but all I was met with were deep green eyes filled with anything but rage.

I averted my gaze as he fell to a knee in front of me. “Look at me, dove.” his typically gruff voice softer than I’d ever heard.

He waited patiently before I turned my head to look upon him once more. His eyes bore into mine, searing right into the depths of my soul. I could feel my heart hammering as his breaths grew rapid.

“You-“ he spoke, one large hand remained caressing my jaw as the other covered my own hands, folded in my lap. “You defended me.”

I puzzled. Was that a shock to him?

His emerald gaze flicked back and forth while remaining locked on my face, searching for an answer to an unspoken question. Why?

Withdrawing one of my hands from his grasp and resting it delicately upon his muscled chest, I replied definitively, “Because you’re mine.”

His breathing paused, rose lips pressing into a firm line. Processing. The silence between us pressing into me like a blade.

His voice cracked with his next words. “You want me?”

“I have since your eyes found mine on fire night.”

Before I could shift, or speak further, his lips were crashing into me like the violent swell of a storm falling upon rocky shores.

My lips gaped, breath hitching at his response, the desire I’d shoved deep within me pouring out at once as I opened for him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, dancing along mine. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me as he lifted off of his knee, leaning over me as I slid back deeper onto the bed, careful not to let my lips leave his for even a moment - eliciting a groan from Tamlin.

My finger tangled into his long, blonde hair as he braced his weight over me with one arm, his other holding my hip, thumb running over the silk of my cherry blossom dress.

“You’re mine.” I rasped out in a hushed murmur between our shared breaths, pulling away just enough to look into the eyes of my mate again.

My chest heaved, breasts rising and falling with each gasp. I managed another whisper, “You’re mine, Tam.”

With those words, he lost any semblance of control. His fingers tugged my hair, exposing the column of my neck to him. His soft lips pressed heated kisses along my jawline, down to my neck, giving little nips and licks over the corresponding hurt as he went. “You’re mine.” He growled back, possessiveness overtaking his tone.

All I could manage was an “mmhmm” as he pulled the neckline of my dress down, exposing my breasts to him, his lips latched onto a peaked nipple and gods - the mouth on this male. As he licked and sucked on my breasts, jolts of electricity shot through me, straight to my core. I needed him lower and he knew it. His claws unsheathed, shredding through my dress and undergarments. I shivered as his stubble grazed my abdomen with each kiss tracking lower and lower. So close to where I needed him. My legs fell open in invitation, displaying the dripping need he elicited from me. His pupils blew wide as he took in the sight before him, realization of just how desperately I wanted him activating the most primal facets of the mating bond.

He pulled back, eyes boring into mine once more. “Say it, Y/N.”

My heart nearly shattered at the pleading expression of his features. This was real. My desire for him so tangible that he need only run a finger up my center to remind himself. But this was deeper than that, deeper than just want, deeper than mere lust.

“Tamlin.” I whispered.

“I’m yours. All of me.”

And I could have sworn the slightest hint of silver lined my mate’s thick lashes as he let loose that final reign of restraint.

His mouth latched onto my clit. A male starved. Starved for affection, starved for intimacy, starved for understanding, for love. But I saw him, all of him - and I wasn’t afraid.

His tongue laved against my core, moving with expert precision as he teased my most sensitive nerves, swirling around my clit before lowering to my entrance. He groaned like my essence was the sweetest nectar of any flora in his court and I couldn’t hold back the moans and praises spilling from my lips.

A thick finger plunged into me, curling so deliciously as he sucked my throbbing clit. He’d send me over the edge in no time. “Please.” I begged as the imminent release had me on the edge of a precipice.

I whimpered as he pulled back, the sharp angles of his chin and plush lips shining with the coat of my arousal. I could have come just from that sight alone. His deep voice sending chills through me as he commanded, “Say it, one more time baby. One more time, and then let go for me.”

His mouth returned to my core, latching back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves as two fingers now curled inside of me, his other hand tweaking a rosey nipple, “I’m yours. I’m yours. Oh gods, Tam. I’m only yours.” I chanted as release barreled through me. My sex pulsing around his fingers. His hips bucking into the bed in time with my orgasm, desperate for friction.

And I was greedy.

“Tamlin.” I spoke through heated breaths. “I need more.”

With a flick of his wrist, his clothes were gone. My jaw dropped when he rose to his knees before me, his erect length already beading with precum.

I licked my lips, raising myself to admire as he gave a few pumps to his heavy, aching cock. My mouth watering with the need to taste him.

He splayed a hand between my breasts, pushing me back into the mattress. “Time for that later. Need my baby coming on my cock.”

“Oh gods.” I moaned at the words, my core was an inferno with them at the realization that my mate needed to be in me just as badly as I needed to be filled by him.

And fill me he did. His head easily slid through my slick folds and I knew that length, and fuck, that girth, would hurt in the most pleasurable of ways.

“All of you.” I whimpered. “I need all of you. Now.”

With that he scooped me up, spreading my legs to straddle his hips. He braced his weight on his arms behind him, his muscles flexing with the shift, and crossing his legs, spreading my legs further across him.

“Take what you want.” He commanded.

And I realized then that he wanted me to set the pace, that he’d never risk hurting me. Especially since it had been so long since we’d been together.

I aligned his length to my entrance, locking my gaze onto him, admiring the planes of his gorgeous face before meeting the sea of emerald taking in each micro-expression of my own face.

“Yours.” I spoke boldly, and sank down each thick inch of his cock until I was seated to the hilt. The pleasure quickly overtaking any semblance of pain.

Chills spread through me at the loud growl of satisfaction he let out at the sensation of my cunt gripping all of him. I remained pressed down, gently swiveling my hips to adjust to his size, and pressing a hand to the slight bulge his length created in my belly.

“Fuck.” I whimpered. “You’re so- oh - you feel so…” my brain couldn’t formulate any words beyond that as another gasp escaped my lips as I rose up slowly and sank back down again, moaning in pleasure with each stroke of his length within me.

My arms wrapped around his shoulders as he shifted up, easing the weight off his arms and taking over, lifting my hips and sheathing me back down his cock, over and over, harder and harder, my heavy breasts bouncing in time with the pace. The sounds of my wetness gushing with each thrust was obscene. Removing one hand from my hip, he slid it between us and pressed his thumb to my clit. Within seconds I fell over the edge again, my face falling to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, incoherent babbles pouring from me, muffled by his neck.

“Gods” thrust. “You’re” thrust. “Divine.” He thrust my still fluttering pussy down onto him once more and let out a loud groan as he found his release, the pulsing of his cock as he spilled into me threatened to push me over the edge once more.

Our breathing evened out as he remained sheathed within me. I kept my face buried into his neck, refusing to let this moment of bliss end. My mate had yet to loosen his grasp on me, so we stayed like that, reveling in the feel of skin on skin for some time.

Finally I rose off of him, though he was hesitant to loosen his grip. “Stay with me tonight?” I asked hesitantly. Afraid he’d once again retreat to his chambers or to the hallway outside of my door.

Tamlin laid down pulling me onto his chest, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Every night.” He spoke into my hair.

“Every night.” I hummed in agreement.

——————————————————-

General ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

@tamlinweek - tagging you for Day 3 “mates” but not sure if it counts since I posted this on Sunday. This is my first of any “weeks” I’ve participated in 🥰

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fluff and smut #acotar smut #acotar angst #acotar fluff #spring court #rhysand #high lord #Tamlin’s mate #fated mates #acotar oneshot #Tamlin #Tamlin smut #smut #angst #fluff #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #tamlin week 2024 #tamlinweek2024 #tamlin x reader #tamlin x oc

[allyjoe755]

#poll #acotar #high lord acotar #high lord #Eris #Tamlin #Rhysand #tarquin #acotar poll #acotar fandom