#next-gen acotar

[temperedink]

my favourite ACOTAR fic by authors not on tumblr

I wanted to give some love to stories that aren't often mentioned on Tumblr and don't reblogged over and over because their writers don't have accounts here. (I also just want more people to read some of my faves and scream about them with me.)

A Court of Ash and Sunlight by aturner1205 (Elucien; complete)

This Elucien fic had me on the edge of my seat and making up wild theories while it was posting. (I was incredibly wrong in said wild theories.) Elain and Lucien start to get to know each other better when they both are mourning her father on his birthday, and she confesses to him that she's never felt their bond. They're getting closer, and then Lucien is sent off on a dangerous mission, there's an accidental pregnancy, and Koschei after the Archerons. Tons of twists and turns here!

Fury and Siren by hurricane (next-gen; complete)

Next-gen fics where the kids are already adults are sometimes a hard sell, but these two interconnected stories get you deeply invested in Nyx and his cousins (their parents are all still around too). The first one is Nyx and an Illyrian shadowsinger (hmmm...) who's secretly been avenging abused and clipped Illyrian females, and the second is Nessian's son Caden and the only female Darkbringer who's been sent to assassinate him. These boys are definitely their fathers' sons, with their charm and flirting, but their partners do not let them rest on their privilege.

I Miss You (When the Lights Go Out), I Want to Taste the Way That You Bleed, and I Am Done With My Graceless Heart by greenvelvet_couture (Nessriel; ongoing series)

Soooo much Nessriel smut that kicks off when Azriel returns from a mission injured and Nessian want to take care of him (physically first, then sexually). Also a lot about Nesta training her post-ACOSF powers and the dangers that go along with that. But the author is VERY dedicated to the smut, bless her. Part 2 has just started and picks up with Bryce in the Night Court.

A Long Way Down by becauseofreading (Nessian; ongoing)

This one is a tough read, but it does a beautiful job of showing the recovery process from trauma and a suicide attempt. Nesta is suicidal and has deeply convinced herself of her unworthiness. Cassian is taken to task for his treatment of her and the words he's levelled at his mate, and the Valkyries, Azriel, and Elucien rally around her as she tries to heal and love herself with proper therapy. Cassian is ashamed of his treatment of her and is allowed in to help her heal if he doesn't upset her.

Where You Used to Lay Your Head by loveL (Gwynriel; ongoing)

This one is a bit of a time mindfuck, so you have to just accept that the Archerons and the Valkyries were born much earlier than they were in canon. Sixty years ago, Azriel and Gwyn were happy in their secret 20-year relationship (the IC knew he had a partner, but didn't know who she was) when suddenly Gwyn up and left him. Now she's back in the Night Court with Nesta and Emerie after creating the Valkyries in the Day Court, and Azriel is finally going to try to find out what happened that made Gwyn leave and stay away for so long.

Forgive Me, A Court of Shadow and Smoke, and The High Lady, the Shadowsinger, and the Omega, Part 1 and Part 2 by darcyshandflex (Elucien, Azris, next-gen; ongoing)

This epic series starts with Elucien and explaining why Elain has avoided him for so long--but now she's ready to fight for him. In A Court of Shadow and Smoke, we have omegaverse!Azris finally getting together (Azriel's the alpha, Eris is the omega) and all of the emotional and political issues that causes. The final two parts span 30+ years with Azris raising their three girls. When the girls are adults, their future partners are discovered, and that has long-lasting impacts on multiple courts in Prythian. This one is still ongoing, and apparently the final part is going to be sad and I'm not ready for it.

And here are three writers I would have included on this list who have since gotten on Tumblr (I procrastinated on writing this post for THAT long, but they were on the original draft!):

A Little Bit of Light Reading by @infinitefolklore (Elucien; complete)

One of my all-time favourite ACOTAR stories that I have reread a bajillion times. Elain and Lucien are alone at the townhouse and start flirting, which leads to other things, including library sex, a sorta blood duel, a reconciliation, a solstice sex party in the Summer Court, PLUS a threesome near the end, as a little treat.

I Can Wait For You at the Bottom by MissFreakingFortune/ @missfckingfortune (Elucien; ongoing)

Listen, if you're not reading this super-sexy modern Elucien rockstar second-chance romance, I don't know what you're doing with your life. Elain and Lucien were high school sweethearts who had their lives together all planned out, until Lucien left to chase his rockstar dreams. Ten years later, he's returned home for Beron's funeral and once they're back in each other's orbit, they both can't stay away. Lucien is determined to win her back, but Elain is much more wary, even though the attraction is definitely still there. There's also a great big bro Eris, and Mama Vanserra finally has her freedom from Beron so she can maybe start something up again with hot French professor Helion...and also tell him about their child, who is also going to need to know about his true parentage.

Phoenix Rising by Vivienne1412/ @annaskareninas (Elucien; ongoing, complete with regular updates)

I need you to drop everything and go read this fic. Yes, NOW. No, I'll wait.

Beron has seized control over all of Prythian and has either killed or exiled all of High Lords and other powerful fae (Feysand and Nyx are in the Hewn City dosed with faebane everyday; Nessian escaped to Hybern). The humans have also gathered enough power that they're a dangerous threat to the fae. Elain has been working as a nurse for the fae resistance efforts, and her latest patient is the long-thought-dead Lucien, the only free heir of any of the High Lords. They go on the run to protect him, as there's a prophecy about him that makes him the last hope to defeat Beron and Autumn for good, and shore up support from the Continent to get a fighting force. This is an incredibly well-written fantasy story with crazy-high stakes and DRAGONS. Go read it.

#fic rec #elucien #gwynriel #nessian #nessriel #azris #next-gen acotar #reblog with your fave non-tumblr stories! #also if any of these writers are on tumblr lmk

[animezinglife]

"Cassian is a girl dad!" posts are so fun.

Just imagine being the poor bastard who one day tries to pick said girl up for a first date only for some guy called the Lord of Bloodshed answering the door in seemingly great spirits but clapping you so hard on the back your ancestors' bones rattle. A jovial, good-natured gesture...and a warning.

Meanwhile while your date's mother, Lady Death, glares at you silently and unmoving through the doorway.

#acotar #cassian #nesta archeron #next gen #acotar next gen #headcanons #Cass would 100% be the dad to happily be a guest at tea parties and then teach his daughter how to kill with a plastic teacup #within the span of an hour #nessian #a court of thorns and roses

[velidewrites]

“You made a death bargain,” he says, and it’s like an accusation.

His mother’s eyes—his eyes—well up with tears. “Yes.”

— POV you’re Nyx finding out about your parents’ bargain :’)

#requested by an anon who CLEARLY wanted me to cry this saturday #acotar next gen #nyx #nyx acotar #feysandnyx #feysand #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #myart #velidedraws

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Apparently we’re on a High Lady Mommy Feyre kick recently…

#feyre #feyre archer on #mommy feyre #feyre and Nyx #Nyx and feyre #feyre mom #acotar #acotar fanart #acotar art #acotar fan art #nyx acotar fanart #nyx x feyre #feyre x nyx #acotar parents #acotar parenthood #baby nyx acotar #baby nyx #mom!feyre #dad!rhysand #acotar next gen

[throneofsapphics]

can i req a little drabble with nyx? i imagine nyx to be a bit like feyre but also being on the more broody side. perhaps where reader gets the “meeting the family” dinner with the IC and shes like a ball pf sunshine, complete opposite to nyx?

ambushes and invitations

Nyx x Reader

Summary: Told it's finally time, Nyx takes you to meet his family.

Warnings: none

A/N: thank you for the request! I love grumpy sunshine so much. 

“I’m excited,” you insisted - almost bouncing on your toes as you walked together. 

“You really shouldn’t be,” he grumbled, hand shooting out to grab yours. He pulled you in close - a bit too abruptly, and you stumped over your feet, a laugh echoing from your chest as you slammed into him, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady. Nyx’s mouth indented at one corner, eyes shining as he glanced down at you. Pausing, he licked his thumb, brushing against your jawline, a tinge of blue appearing on his finger. A spot of paint from earlier. Letting go of your waist, he kept his hold on your hand and your feet carried you down the path, footsteps light on the cobblestone. You’d insisted on walking - giving you time to wrap your mind around what the evening would look like. 

He’d ambushed you at your home, where you were in the middle of trying to paint a gift, and ‘invited’ you to a family dinner. You couldn’t refuse, and the limited timeframe gave you less time for a ball of nerves to build. It wasn’t wholly effective. Truth be told, you were somewhat nervous. His family was intimidating to say the least, but you’d grown up around what you considered were intimidating people, and this was another dinner - at least you told yourself that.

The next time you tripped - a loose rock, not your fault, Nyx covered it - bringing your arm above your head and spinning you.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, as you drew closer to your destination. 

“Me?” His eyes rolled. “Never, darling.” 

Your eyes lit up in amusement. “Never? Because I remember very clearly the one time -” 

A pinch to your side cut off your words, and you realized you were within hearing distance of two winged figures. You’d been distracted looking up at Nyx, and a light blush covered your cheeks. 

“Don’t stop on our accord,” one of the males - Cassian, you recognized, said. 

You grinned. “Once, we were-” 

Nyx’s hand clapped over your mouth, muffling your words. 

Both were friendly, even though you had the keen awareness your every move and expression was being monitored. That’s fine by you, there was nothing you felt the need to hide. 

They all introduced themselves, but you already knew exactly who they were. Rhys, your High Lord insisted you call him Rhys, same with your High Lady. Nyx spoke of them so freely, a few complaints littered here and there, but actually meeting them as his parents was different. Sure, you’d seen both of them in Velaris at one point or another, but this was a completely different context. Maybe in your mind you’d created a different persona for them - Nyx’s parents. Either way, the two versions from your mind had no choice but to meld now. 

“What do you do for work?” Feyre asked. This was a subject you could speak on for ages.

“I’m a teacher, for toddlers.” The spot of glitter on your wrist caught the light at the perfect time. 

“Do you like it?” Her head tilted. 

“I absolutely love it,” you replied and lulled into an easy conversation, some of your nerves fading. 

Back and forth, questions bounced across the table - about nearly every subject, and you fielded all of them the best you could. Nyx seemed to glare at anyone who asked things a bit too personal or touchy. 

-

“How’d someone like you end up with this broody asshole?” His uncle didn’t even wince as Nyx kicked him in the shin. Hopefully hard enough to leave a bruise. 

“That’s what I want to know,” Mor said - glancing between the two of you.

Nyx cut in before you could answer. “Easy, I won her over.” 

“Easy?” You raised your brows, amusement in your eyes. 

“Not exactly.” 

Your eyes seemed to say; good save. 

Gods, he remembers the weeks he spent ‘chasing’ you, and trying to get the point across that he liked you as more than a friend. You were a ball of pure light and joy, bright enough to make him seem like a dark and stormy cloud, and he loved you for it. His little ball of sunshine, although everyone else was stealing your attention right now. 

You’d been seeing each other for a few months when his parents finally put their foot down and insisted on meeting you. Everything was a bit last minute, and he felt a tad guilty for ‘inviting’ you with less than an hour, but it was a casual affair, and you were in good spirits about it - nearly exploding out of your skin the entire way here. 

So far, it seemed to be going well. You were sitting directly next to Mor, and the two of you were making easy conversation. 

Cassian caught his eye, an amused look on his face. 

What is it? Nyx slipped into his mind. 

She’s nice. Talkative. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Seems like she’s good for you. 

Nyx brought himself back into the present, aware of your conversation starting to dwindle next to him. He found you looking at him with a curious expression, but a tinge of worry in your eyes, grabbing your hand under the table, he gave you what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. 

“Do you have any Solstice plans?” His mother asked, a gleam in her eyes. That’s all it took for him to know she was absolutely smitten with you, but he still fought a wince at her direct question - he knew you didn’t, and if this went well he’d already planned on inviting you.  

“I don’t,” your words were softer than normal - maybe a bit unsure. Nyx squeezed your hand again, hoping he wasn’t crushing your fingers. 

“Perfect,” she clapped her hands together. “Join us.” 

“If you want to,” he added, meeting your eyes. 

Really? 

She wouldn’t have offered otherwise. 

The mental equivalent of an eye roll came through before you beamed at her and agreed. 

-

Nyx flew you home, refusing to let you walk on your own and in the dark. You chose not to argue with him this time. Besides, you liked seeing the city from above, all of the glittering lights, and especially in his arms. 

“You,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, closing your door behind him with his foot.

“Me?” 

One arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you in close. “You are wonderful.” 

Your words were muffled, face pressed against him, “where’s this coming from?” 

He loosened his arms just enough for you to look up at him. “You survived them.” 

Lips turning up at the corners, you poked his chest. “Survived?” 

“You know what I mean,” he sighed.

“Sure,” you tucked yourself back into him. 

“First, I would love to have you there,” he prefaced, hand running down your hair - and your heart jumped. “But you don’t have to come to Solstice if you don’t want to, or if it’s too soon.” 

“That might be the most words I’ve heard you say in a row.” 

He pinched your side before continuing, “I know she put you on the spot.” 

You slid one hand up to rest on his chest - just above his thundering heart. “I would love,” you repeated his words, “to be there.” 

“Thank the gods,” he breathed, pulling you close again.

#acotar next gen #next gen acotar #nyx archeron x reader #nyx x reader #nyx archeron x y/n #nyx x y/n #acotar drabble #acotar imagine

[azsazz]

Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices

Daddy!Eris x Reader

Summary: This one is a req from @acourtofmenandthirst: Eris' daughter drawing his scars on her doll.

Warnings: Mentions of scars.

Word Count: 1,639

_________________________________________

Eris peeks his head into the room, amber eyes drifting towards the cot his son, Rook, is currently crying in. The young boy, hardly a year old, has an iron grip on the bars caging him inside the intricately carved wood of his bed. Thick vines and leaves cut into the dark lumber, choked by his little fingers.

Tears stream down Rook's chubby cheeks and Eris coos, pushing into the room. Sunlight creeps in through the light linen curtains. The stained glass creation hung in the window casts colorful shadows across the creamy yellow of the walls. 

“My poor son,” Eris huffs dramatically, lifting Rook from his cradle. He’s clothed in only his nappy, reaching up to cling onto his father’s pressed shirt as if he’ll never let go again. 

Eris hopes he doesn’t. His children are growing up much too fast.

Rook sniffles, resting his head in the crook of Eris’ neck, and hiccups. Eris pats soothing motions into his son's bare skin, peppering his freckled cheeks with loving kisses as he calms his youngest child down. He rocks the little boy, waltzing up to the big windows and pushes the curtains open, letting the afternoon sun shine in full force. The room overlooks the small orchard in the back of his quaint home. Trees he’s planted himself with help from you and your daughters, an important tradition to your family. 

It started on your first date. Eris had already known you were the one—love at first sight—and kept his home away from home a secret from his family, only using it to escape Beron’s throes when he really needed it. Briar, he named it. He had cooked you a hearty meal with the most expensive, luxurious wine he could find, and after a delightful dinner, he’d walked you through the nearly empty rolling hills behind his home, hand-in-hand.

You’d commented how the fields needed more trees and had gushed on and on about what he could do with the space. His shadow hounds had run by your feet, chasing each other through the ankle-high grasses, and he’d immediately taken you to his mount and settled you in front of him, taking the both of you into town to purchase some seeds. 

It has been tradition ever since. Birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths, any and all celebrations the both of you would go into the yard and plant a tree. Maude loves her cherry trees with all her heart, and Eris is convinced the only reason his daughter ventures outside is to pluck the fruit off the trees and stuff herself silly, stumbling back into the house with stained fingers and lips.

A juniper tree for his other daughter, Juniper. This one was harder to acquire, but thriving well in the backyard, closest to the home. June doesn’t seem to understand the value of the tree yet, but someday, Eris knows that she will.

And a sweet orange tree for his little boy Rook. It had been one of your cravings when you were pregnant with him, and to plant the tree only seemed fitting. Rook devoured any little orange bits he was given with the biggest smile on his face.

He makes a grabby hand for the tree, smart enough to know where his favorite treats are from. 

“You hungry, little man?” Eris asks, and Rook babbles in response. He lifts his son, blowing raspberries on his bare stomach that has cheerful giggles bursting through the room. Rook’s auburn eyes shine up at his father, laughing only harder when Eris catches a whiff of his nappy, grimacing. “Alright baby, let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“Why is our son naked?” you muse, allowing Eris to press a kiss to your cheek while you scoop the last of the cookie dough onto the tray. Your mate and daughters had been helping you, but the girls had been more interested in eating the batter their father kept sneaking them, so you shooed them away to play with their dolls while the cookies baked and you patted Eris on the butt as he went to check on Rook. 

Your son keens, pressing his own open mouthed kiss to your cheek. It’s all slobber and suction, but you can’t help the beaming smile that splits your cheeks anyway. 

“Because he keeps burning them off, Fawn,” Eris answers you, nose wrinkling as he turns to the babe, “Isn’t that right buddy?”

Rook screeches in excitement as his father tickles his stomach. It isn’t abnormal for your son’s power to be flaring up with his emotions. You’d gone through similar situations with Maude and Juniper around this age as well. You still have the burn marks of waddling feet branded into the wood to prove it.

Placing the tray of cookies into the oven, you reach out to take Rook from your mate. “Such a little stinker,” you tease, bopping your youngest on the nose. He retaliates by grabbing a fistful of your hair and you curse mentally, knowing you should’ve tied it out of his reach. 

“Where are the girls?” Eris asks, peeking around the kitchen for any leftover cookie dough. In his mission to steal as much as he could for his daughters, he’d forgotten to sneak a taste for himself. The mixing bowl sits soapy in the sink and he deflates a little.

“Coloring in the den,” you answer, eyes twinkling. Your stomach swoops still at the sight of Eris, even more so whenever he interacts with his children. You knew he was loving, but seeing him like this, completely at ease with no worries tightening his shoulders, he looks ethereal. “Why don’t you get them washed up for some cookies?”

“Yes, please,” Eris says, stealing a kiss from you. Rook squeals and you swoon.

Leaving Rook with you, Eris takes off into the next room. He finds Maude and Juniper spread out on the floor, their coloring supplies strewn about. Thylix and Codon, two of his hounds, laze around both girls, having taken it upon themselves to become their guards. They hardly leave his daughters alone, often choosing to sleep beside their beds at night, though Eris knows his daughters let them jump into bed with them as soon as the door shuts behind him. 

“What are my baby girls drawing in here?” Eris asks, tiptoeing forward. They startle and the hounds’ ears perk up at the sound of their master, but they don’t move. His daughters look up at him with those big, round russet eyes, and Eris knows immediately that they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.

“Daddy,” Maude pouts, hiding something in front of her. Eris’ brows furrow as he wonders what she’s keeping from him, but her younger sister, Juniper, holds her doll up in the air, proudly. 

“Daddy!” June yells, pushing up onto wobbly legs and racing towards him. Eris scoops her up and she squeals, bringing her doll with her, showing off her artwork to her father. Marker streaks across the face of her plaything, reds, oranges, and pinks adorning the cheeks and dress, across the doll’s eye.

“What’s this, Junie?” Eris asks, admiring her artistic abilities. There’s potential, but if she’s going to continue her artistic streak, he better get her something more appropriate to color on. Maybe sign her up for one of the local—or Night Court—art classes.

“It’s Daddy,” she answers, beaming up at her father. His heart swells, but he doesn't seem to be comprehending what Juniper is trying to convey.

He looks around his middle daughter to his oldest, still in her spot on the ground. Her cheeks are pinked with a blush and she’s pouting at her little sister for ruining the surprise.

“Care to explain, Maude?” Eris asks, though he’s not really sure if he wants the answer.

She sighs, shoving up to her feet. She holds up her doll in front of her face like she’s going to get in trouble for what she’s done, but Eris doesn’t understand why.

Until Maude explains. “We drew your scars on our dollies,” she says, and it all clicks. The one across his cheekbone from when Beron has nicked him purposefully with the edge of his sword before he set foot into his first war. His father had said the scar would help him relate to his legion the more roughed up he looked. 

Another, peeking out from the strap of the doll's dress, right above her heart. It’s a rendition of the brand on his chest, another gift from his father. He tries not to let his children see his scars, especially that one in particular, but she must’ve seen it when she’d crawled into your bed after a nightmare perhaps.

Eris’ eyes prickle but he blinks the emotion away. His throat is thick, and he distracts himself by taking a second look at Juniper's toy. Upon catching her fathers gaze on the doll, Maude speaks again. “Junie drew Uncle Lulu’s eye scars on hers. I told her we were supposed to be drawing only yours, but she didn’t listen,” Maude huffs a little, annoyed that her younger sister didn’t follow her direction.

“That’s…that’s very thoughtful, Junie,” Eris places a chaste kiss on her forehead and she grins. “You both did such a wonderful job.”

“You’re not…mad?” Maude asks, staring up at him nervously.

Juniper kicks her legs, trying to escape Eris’ grip. He lets her down and she abandons her doll, racing for the kitchen where she can hear you talking to her brother.

Eris kneels, taking Maude’s hand in his and tugging her into his chest for a hug. “No, Maude, I’m not upset. I’m impressed.” 

“You really like it?” she asks shyly, pulling back so she can look him in the eyes.

Eris nods once, firmly. “I love it, Maude. You made me look perfect.”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #daddy!eris #azsazz next gen #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #eris #domestic eris

[acourtofswiftiesandshadowdaddies]

Masterlist + how to request

18+ = * angst = + fluff = >

Acotar:

Nyx Acheron: Mine * Misogyny >

Azriel: Tolerate It + Opposite+ Opposite (part two) + > Safe Word* > Babies > Flowers (Part I) | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V Sacrifices (upcoming)

Rhysand: Innocent *

Cassian: You Belong With Me (upcoming)

Lucien: Scars and All + >

Helion:

Eris:

Nesta:

Feyre:

Elain:

Archeron sisters headcanon:

Fourth Wing:

Xaden:

Liam:

Garrick: Worship (upcoming)

Bodhi: Missed You * >

Brennan: Perfect (upcoming) Bruises

Percy Jackson (the show):

Percy: Life Lately

Annabeth:

Luke: How you get the girl (smau) How you get the girl pt2 smau The Lucky One smau Love Bite (smau)

Clarisse

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED !!

my school has started and i have way too many drafts so i’ll slowly finish them throughout the term and then in the holidays the requests will reopen

i have a bunch of extra classes and am in a shit ton of advanced classes 😭 so i prolly won’t have time to write much.

you can still chat to me tho!

How to request:

Head to the request/ask anything tab and please specify if it's a request

State the character and your ask

for anons: add your anon emoji (if u want to ofc)

I currently write for:

ACOTAR (Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, Eris, Lucien, Nyx, Nesta, Feyre, Elain) Fourth Wing (Garrick, Bodhi, Brennan, Xaden, Rhiannon, Imogen, Liam) PJO (Percy, Luke, Annabeth, Clarisse)

Prompt Lists:

Fluff prompt list Angst prompt list Smut prompt list

#nyx x reader smut #nyx archeron #nyx archeron x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader fluff #nyx smut #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #next gen acotar #acotar series #acotar #a court of fey and flowers #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #fourth wing #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #liam mairi #garrick tavis #brennan sorrengail #bodhi durran #cassian acotar #cassian #acosf #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian imagine

[achaotichuman]

Anyway six-year-old Elucien's daughter coming home like "MOM DAD LOOK WHAT I FOUND" and it's a feral creature from the woods that snarls at them.

Said feral creature is Tamlin's six-year-old daughter, Dahlia.

#she's working on managing her powers #give her some time #she'll stop biting helion eventually #acotar #elucien #tamlin's daughter #also elucien's kid is mischievous as fuck #she was taught by all her uncles how to sneak out #tamlin #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #acotar next gen

[areyoudreaminof]

Just For Mama: A Mother's Day One Shot.

This one goes out to all the MILFS. Just some next gen fluff for your weekend!

Feysand: Nyx (11)

Nyx lined up the brushes on the table for the sixth time. He needed them to be perfect. 

The remodeled art studio certainly was perfect. He and Papa planned it for months, and Nyx drew up the plans himself. The north wall was torn down, making way for a large bay window that would let in natural sunlight from dawn to dusk with a perfect view of the mountains. Little crystal ornaments were clipped onto the windowsill, throwing prisms of rainbow light all over the room that had been painted a warm cream color. Nyx had written to Cricket and Froggy to send them from the Day Court. His cousins had sent back an array of colored crystal charms, with one large lilac colored crystal bat. Nyx hung that one right in the middle of the room. 

Mama didn’t exactly need a new studio, but Nyx had wanted to do something special for Mother’s Day. It was technically a Day Court celebration, but his cousins were shocked that they didn’t celebrate it in the Night Court. “You don’t do anything for Mother’s Day?” Cricket had said with wide eyes a few years back, “At all?” But Nyx had been so taken with the idea, he went right to Papa, who agreed. So, Nyx had been doing small things for his mother every year on that spring day. Mama loved every single card he made and kept all the wooden figurines he had carved for her on her desk. 

But this year, Nyx wanted to do something bigger. Aunt Nesta had given him the idea last winter, pointing out that Mama’s regular studio faced the east, which didn’t get the best lighting from the afternoon onwards. It was why she painted in the mornings. He had drawn up his sketches that very night and brought them to Papa the next morning who had the builders in his office by the early afternoon. 

Papa had simply told Mama there was a plumbing problem and that the studio needed to be rebuilt. Mama bought it, though Nyx suspected she knew something was up. Nyx had presented his plans to the builder, a large green skinned orc named Neekar. “Measurements are only an inch off. I take on apprentices at twelve,” the orc grunted with satisfaction, “You can study when you come back from that camp of yours.” Papa just sighed and Nyx beamed with pride. 

Nyx came to the site every single day after lessons to work on the studio. He sanded and stained small beams of wood, he hammered nails and fetched tools. Nyx watched Neekar in his team in awe as they sawed and whittled away, explaining their technique as Nyx jotted down notes. 

Now, the day had finally come to bring Mama to the new studio. He gave one last look around, before he launched himself out of the room, stretching his wings in such a way to give him more momentum as he came face to face with his father and blindfolded mother. 

“Is that you Nyx?” she reached for him, stretching her fingers out. Nyx laced his own through them. “It’s me. Happy Mother’s Day.” 

“Anyone want to explain what’s going on?” Mama inquired with a tilt of her head as she pulled Nyx to her. He was nearly as tall as she was now, the top of his head sitting just below her chin. 

“Nyx has a surprise for you, darling,” Papa said, his violet eyes glinting with mischief, “Lead the way, son.” 

Nyx nodded, slowly leading Mama across the hall and stopping at the door. “You can take your blindfold off now.” he said, as he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and opened the door. 

Mama removed the blindfold with her slender tattooed fingers. Her blue eyes crinkled in joy as she saw Nyx in front of her. He just hoped she didn't see him shaking as he took her by the hand again and led her into the studio. 

Mama gasped behind him and Nyx sighed in relief. Sunlight poured through the windows and filtered through the hanging crystals in cracks of multicolored light. New canvases had been stretched and propped up on easels, while clean brushes and wooden palettes sat ready to be used. 

Mama turned around, stunned at the new studio. “Did you do this for me?” Mama asked in wonder, her eyes round and her mouth agape. 

“I drew the plans and Papa helped.” Nyx replied bashfully, leading Mama to the frame that held the sketches he had done in the dead of night. Mama touched the glass with tears in her eyes. 

“I just called the builders,” Papa corrected, “Nyx was in here every day after his lessons doing something. He made this room all on his own.” 

“The master builder said he could take me on as an apprentice next year,” Nyx blurted but Mama cut him off as she pulled him in for a bone crushing hug. He wrapped his arms around her then, closing his eyes as she rocked him ever so gently. At the camps, some of the other boys gave him hell over his mother; that she was High Lady, that she was human once, that Nyx loved her so much. One of the first drag out brawls he had gotten into was with a particularly snide boy back at Windhaven who insulted her. Nyx split the boy's lip and broke his nose. 

“I love you, sweet boy.” Mama whispered in his ear, before kissing him on the forehead. 

“Love you too, Mama. Happy Mother’s Day” Nyx murmured against her neck, squeezing her harder. 

Mama pulled away as she cupped his face in her hands. “An architect’s apprentice at twelve? I think you might be the most accomplished heir the Night Court has seen.” Her blue eyes twinkled as she laughed. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Papa sighed as Nyx felt his cheeks and neck go red. “You can build yourself a house up at Windhaven.” 

“I might,” Nyx grumbled, “and my sofas won’t have dried barf on them.” 

“And that my darling, is how you’re going to unite Illyria, ” Mama teased, “With your talent, wisdom and cleanliness.” 

Papa drew them both into his arms, “If Nyx can pull this off on one of Helion’s made up holidays, I’d hate to see what he has up his sleeve for Solstice.” 

“Just you wait,” Nyx smirked, “I might add a whole new wing to the house.” 

______________________________________________________________________________

That night, Feyre watched the moon rise in the windows of her new studio, stars and galaxies blinked in the moonlight that washed across the peaks of the mountains. Feyre stroked the slabs of wood on the windowsill. Nyx created this, she thought with wonder and pride, he built this with his own hands. 

He did, he had the idea months ago. Rhys said in her mind as his arms snaked around her waist from behind. 

Feyre rested her head back on Rhys's chest, "We've done alright by him, I think." 

Rhys hummed in agreement as he turned her to face him, "We really did." 

Elucien: Cricket (9), Froggy (5)

It was times like this where Cricket wished she had gotten fire powers. 

She could technically turn the stove on by herself, she was nine , but she always had to have someone help her in the kitchen, since the stove had to be lit with a match and she was too short to not have to stand on a chair. “Supervision.” Papa called it. That’s why he was here, over her shoulder, watching Cricket stir the porridge in the small pot. 

“Perfect,” Papa murmured, “let’s add the cinnamon shall we?” 

Cricket sprinkled the small shaker of cinnamon sugar over the porridge, taking care not to put too much. Even though Mama ate her porridge sweet, there were still strawberries and blueberries to add, and there was warm raisin bread that her little sister was buttering on the table. 

The soft pink light of dawn and the sea breeze filtered into the kitchen. It was Mother’s Day in the Day Court, a celebration of motherhood. Grandfather swore they had always celebrated it, but Papa told Cricket that it only became a holiday when Grandmother came to live at court. Either way, Cricket and Froggy had brought Mama breakfast in bed for as long as they could remember. They’d spend the day at the beach, then have a big dinner with Grandfather and Grandmother on the balcony under the stars. 

“I think the porridge is done.” Cricket announced. With a wave of his hand, Papa put out the flame on the stove. Mama was still asleep, unusual, since she liked to get up with the sun. But there was some sort of party last night, and they got home late, so Grandmother stayed with them, since she didn’t like late parties. Cricket vaguely remembered a kiss on the forehead when she was dead asleep. 

“What time did you get home?” Cricket asked.

“Too late,” Papa replied, “Grandfather got into some sort of dance competition with some of the scholars, it was absolutely horrifying, but we couldn’t take our eyes off of it.” 

“Did he win?” Cricket tried to picture Grandfather dancing inside a circle with the scholars. 

“No, the astronomers beat him.” Cricket snorted and swallowed her belly laugh. 

“Leave it to cool while we cut the berries,” Papa whispered, “Everything alright, Froggy.?”

“Yes.” Froggy answered softly as she set down the butter knife. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, pushing her golden hair back from her face. “I haven't filled the vase with water yet.” 

“Let me do that,” Papa said as he kissed each of them. He took the crystal vase to the sink, filling it with water. Quickly, the girls gathered up the large bouquet of orange and apple blossoms they had picked yesterday. They had raced in the groves to see who could get the most flowers, scaling each tree like monkeys. Cricket had won, but just barely. A bowl of ripe oranges and apples sat on the table, another present for Mama. 

Froggy put the absurdly large bouquet into the vase, while Cricket arranged the last bits of fruit into the large porridge bowl. Papa set down a small velvet box on the tray, the sisters giggled as they caught each other's eye. Papa lifted the tray and the girls held back their giggles as they entered Mama and Papa’s room. 

Mama slept soundly, her curly hair braided across the silk pillowcase. Cricket opened the curtains, letting the now golden dawn light brighten the room. Froggy crawled gently on the bed, while Cricket flopped down face first. 

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they squealed as Mama opened her eyes and arms. The girls scurried into her embrace, latching on and kissing her face all over. Mama just laughed and kissed them back. Papa set the tray down across Mama’s lap and stole his own kiss as Cricket and Froggy snuggled on each side of her. She touched the white and pink blooms with awe.

“Oh, how beautiful! Did you girls pick these yourselves?” 

“Yep,” Cricket nodded, “we picked lots of fruit too.” 

“We can make orange juice and apple pie!” Froggy added breathlessly. 

“Maybe we can make some juice for our picnic at the beach today?” Mama added. 

“I’ve already got the pitchers out,” Papa laughed as he stretched out next to Cricket, wrapping his arm around her back to touch Mama’s hair. 

“And what’s this?”

Cricket and Froggy shot up with excitement as Mama opened up the small velvet box. The little golden chain inside had two delicate charms that wound together; a small honeysuckle and a wisteria blossom, the flowers associated with both of them. Cricket with her wild honeysuckle scent, and Froggy, a soft and delicate wisteria fragrance. They held their breath as tears filled Mama’s eyes. 

“Are you gonna put it on?” Froggy whispered nervously. Cricket swallowed her own anxiety. 

“I’m never going to take it off,” Mama promised as she took out the delicate chain reverently. “Let me,” Papa said, as he rose to latch the chain around her neck. 

“Thank you,” Mama breathed, kissing them both and wrapping each arm around them. “I love you both so much.” 

“Love you too, Mama.” Froggy whispered. “We love you the most.” Cricket added. 

Cricket and Froggy sank into her embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of honey and jasmine, of the sea breeze that wafted through the wood and sandstone room, just as it always had. They smelled the familiar scent of Papa as he managed to embrace all three of them, of the sun on their faces, or warm mornings just like this, and cool nights at home. 

“I think,” Mama announced, “it is a perfect day for swimming and a picnic.” 

“It certainly is,” Papa agreed, “I wonder who can get ready first?” 

Cricket and Froggy squealed and scrambled off the bed as they raced for their rooms. “No winnowing, Cricket!” Froggy shrieked as her sister laughed maniacally. 

Elain finally rose from the sheets and crossed the room, meeting Lucien halfway. She closed her eyes, as she embraced him, savoring the laughs of her girls across the small house they had lived in for years. The laughs that had echoed across her visions as she fought her way across a frozen wasteland and lake. Visions of red and golden hair that gave her the strength she thought she didn’t have as she destroyed a sorcerer's box and made her way back to Lucien. 

Her daughter’s had been her dream once, and now they were her reality. A messy and loving reality. 

She rose up on her toes, kissing her mate. “We should have a Father’s Day, I think.” 

“Don’t give my father any more excuses to blow smoke up his own ass,” Lucien laughed. 

“No, we’ll just blow smoke up your ass.” she leaned in again-

“Will you two stop kissing for once?” Cricket hollered from across the hallway. “You have one more minute to get ready!” Froggy shrieked from somewhere in the house. 

“Ready?” Lucien asked.

“For my family, always.”

Nessian: Oriana (4)

Oriana kicked her feet and flapped her wings along as she hummed. The picture looked very good, she thought. She colored in the lines she drew, a picture of her, Mama, Papa and her poofy kitten, Pudding. She made sure to put the House in there too, Mama said it was part of the family. 

“Mrow?” 

She turned to Pudding, his round face was cocked with confusion. Oriana sighed as she explained the picture again. 

“It’s Mother’s Day so I made Mama a book. That’s you and me, and Mama and Papa. I didn’t have green for your eyes though.” 

A green colored pencil appeared on the rug next to her. “Thank you, House!” she chirped to the House, who flickered a light in reply. Quickly, she filled in the eyes of her cat in the picture, finally satisfied with the result as Pudding pawed and rolled the rest of the pencils around the floor. 

“Mama is going to love your book,” Papa said, as he lowered himself down on the carpet next to her. 

“I know,” Oriana replied. She had been practicing her letters and she could write very well now. She wrote Mama a book about a Valkyrie helping a nice dragon and defeating an evil wizard. Aunt Gwyn helped thread ribbon to the pages. All that was left was to finish up the cover with a picture of her family. 

“Are we gonna eat at Sevanda’’s still?” Oriana asked, putting her book on the table, next to that wrapped box of new training leathers for Mama. “Can we get fried squid rings?” 

Papa made a gagging noise, “You can get fried squid rings, sweetheart. Mama is on her way back from the library, why don’t we get changed for the symphony?” He placed a kiss on her nose and Oriana kissed him right back on his before she ran back to her room, Pudding trailing behind her. 

The House had opened her wardrobe and suddenly, it seemed to Oriana that she had a lot more dresses that she remembered. 

She and Mama went to the symphony all the time after school and training. They watched the musicians rehearse during the day, but this was the first time Oriana got to see them perform with all the fancy grown ups. If Mama is going to wear her silver dress, Oriana thought, maybe she would wear silver too. But Mama loved it when she wore red, and she also wanted to wear her Valkyrie ribbon. Taking a deep breath, she dove into her wardrobe. 

_________________________________________________________

“I’m ready!” Oriana chirped as she bounced into Papa’s view. She had decided on her favorite red dress, purple socks, and her sparkly sandals. She held the ribbon in her hand that she wanted to tie around her head. Her cousin Cricket always kept her red hair short, so Oriana cut hers to her chin the same way. 

Papa scooped her up and twirled her, “You look beautiful, Ori. Why don’t we take the socks off, it’s not cold outside or inside the Symphony.” He set her down, unhooking Oriana’s shoes as she bounced on one foot. 

“Okay,” Oriana chirped, “can I wear my ribbon?” 

“Of course you can, would you like me to put it on?” 

“Not too tight,” Oriana demanded  as Papa tied the ribbon around her dark hair. 

“Never, sweetheart.” Softly, Mama’s voice carried in from the hall with another voice, Aunt Gwyn and Papa gave her a grin. “Are you ready to go surprise Mama?” 

“Let’s go!” Oriana squealed as she flapped her wings, hurling herself towards the hallway.  She used her wings to propel her steps, as she threw open the door. She didn’t think, just flew right into Mama’s arms. 

“Happy Mama’s Day!” Oriana exclaimed with a giggle, “Surprise! We’re going to the symphony!” 

Mama just laughed as she bounced Oriana on her hip, “Surprise indeed!” 

Aunt Gwyn placed a small stack of books on the little table by the door, “I won’t keep you any longer, Happy Mother’s Day.” she beamed brightly at Nesta before smacking a kiss on Oriana’s cheek. 

“Aunt Gwyn, are you gonna have a baby?” Oriana asked. 

“Oriana!” Mama chided, her face turning red as an apple.

Aunt Gwyn laughed, her pretty blue eyes sparkling, “Maybe one day.” 

“Well, could you have one now so I have someone to play with? Nyx went to the camps and Cricket and Froggy are at the Day Court. So, I want a baby cousin to play with.’ Oriana clasped her hands together tight and bounced on her feet. “Please.” 

“Don’t you have friends at school and your art class?” Aunt Gwyn giggled.

“Yes, I got lots of friends but I want another cousin.” Oriana thought for a moment. “A girl or a boy. Just a cousin who's fun.”  

“Well, when Uncle Az and I have a baby you’ll be the first cousin to know.” 

“You’re having a baby?” Papa  asked as he walked into the room. 

“Yeah, Aunt Gwyn’s gonna have a baby so I can have another cousin,” Oriana announced, “But not right now.” 

Mama and Aunt Gwyn just started laughing. 

___________________________________________

Oriana got her fried squid rings at Sevanda’s and she got extra whipped cream on her strawberry cake. They ate on the balcony and watched and waved at people walking down the street. At the symphony, an old High Fae female told Oriana she looked like a princess, “She’s my princess,” Papa had said proudly. Oriana watched the symphony reverently on Mama’s lap, bouncing along to the drums and tubas and she had only gotten tired during the flight up to the House. 

Now, in the dim light of her bedroom, Oriana scrambled up onto her bed, book in hand. “This is for you.” she puffed as she snuggled next to Mama. “It’s a book! Aunt Gwyn helped me tie it, but I wrote it all by myself.” “That’s me and you and Papa.” Oriana pointed at the figures in the drawing on the cover. “I put silver for my eyes and your eyes, cause we have silver eyes. And I used black and red for my wings!” Oriana pointed to the blob shape, “There’s Pudding,” she said, affirming her cat’s presence, “and here’s The House.” 

Nesta set the picture down reverently on the bedside table. Grabbing Oriana into a hug, she inhaled the sweet scent of mountain juniper. “I love it so much.” Nesta said softly, kissing Oriana’s face all over. “I’m going to show everyone in the library.” 

Oriana rubbed her eyes, the lights from her flower and star lights began to fuzz in vision as Mama’s song and arms cradled her to sleep. 

“Night, night, Mama.” she mumbled as she stepped into her dreams. 

Nesta listened to the soft rhythm of her daughter’s breath as she held her, a ritual she completed every single night since Oriana was born. 

The very idea of motherhood had terrified her, her own mother took residence in the back of her mind, whispering doubt into her ear. The first time Nesta had felt her child move, a sheer sense of terror washed over her; would she be another incarnation of her mother? Would she place all expectations of grandeur on the chest of her child with no thought for breath? 

But, the moment Madja had placed Oriana on her chest, her mother was banished from her mind. Instead, a door opened in her heart, revealing a vast and wondrous sky of love for her daughter. Her name, Oriana, an old Illyrian name, sounded like a song, and it was one that Nesta sang every day. She and Cassian had made this beautiful little girl; with Nesta’s blue gray eyes and dark hair that matched Cassian’s, but still had that baby fine texture that made it impossible to stay tidy for long.

Yet, she was completely her own person, a curious and creative child who loved music and stories. Nesta delighted in every moment, even if she did want to take refuge in the deepest pit of the library some days. 

The House had dimmed the lights softly, as Nesta stroked Oriana’s face, studying her Illyrian brow and Archeron nose, of the rosebud lips and cheeks that dimpled when she smiled, which thank the Mother, was every single day. Soft wings that curled at the top in a way that Cassian’s didn’t. Did his mother have wings like this, Nesta had often wondered, was this something Oriana carried of a grandmother that would have surely loved her? 

The door creaked as Cassian almost silently crept inside. “I missed storytime, didn’t I?” He lowered himself softly on the other side of the bed, wrapping their little girl and Nesta into his own arms. 

Nesta closed her eyes as she drifted off, at peace in the tangled arms of her family.

TAGLIST: @asnowfern @born-to-riot @bunburyahoy @belabellissima @c-e-d-dreamer @conebrain @cowboylament @cursebrkr @damedechance @dawneternal @foundress0fnothing @goddess-aelin @kataravimes-of-the-shire @iftheshoef1tz @lucienarcheron @moodymelanist @moonpatroclus @cauldronblssd @octobers-veryown @queercontrarian @sassyhobbits @tunaababee @thesistersarcheron @separatist-apologist @secret-third-thing @chunkypossum @the-lonelybarricade @thelovelymadone @xtaketwox @popjunkie42 @yanny-77 @wilde-knight @luciensdefenseattorney @reverie-tales @velidewrites @lamija-v @laxibbeb @witch-and-her-witcher @itsthedoodle @missfckingfortune @rosanna-writer @mossytrashcan

#acotar #next gen oc #next generation #feysand #feyre x rhysand #elucien #elain x lucien #nessian #nesta x cassian #i heart milfs #nyx #nyx archeron #background gwynriel #feyre archeron #rhysand #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

[dawneternal]

A Duckling and a Beast

⚘ Just thinking about Tamlin being a dad and calling his baby 'Duckling'

⚘ Warnings: super fluffy, little bit of angst. Minimal editing.

⚘ Word Count: 655

⚘ Read on AO3

Worry and doubt and guilt had pulled Tamlin from his sleep, ravaging his nightmares and forcing him awake. He turned over in the bed, comforted by the outline of his sleeping mate, painted silver by the full moon. But there was still a restless piece of his spirit, adrift in a churning sea of memory and pain. So he slipped from the bed as quietly as he could to do the only thing that would truly quiet his mind.

He found his baby already awake, staring up at him adoringly with those grey-green eyes. Tamlin could not help his smile as he scooped her up, so tiny in his hands, and held her to his chest. She snuggled in immediately, chubby, pink cheeks against his bare chest. He ran a hand over her soft, golden curls that reminded him so much of a downy duckling. Everything in his mind quieted.

As they swayed in the moonlight, he could feel the infinite potential radiating from her, soothing every fear. The absolute assurance that she would become someone extraordinary dissolved all of his feelings of inadequacy. He would do anything to see it happen. If his mind stumbled, his body would know the path, tethered to this little soul in a way that he could not explain.

After all, if the mating bond was a bridge between his soul and Briar's, how might he be connected to this tiny being that was half him and half her?

His salvation. Those little hands that he was so sure would grow and accomplish such amazing things. She would do everything he never could, have everything he had always wanted, and he knew it because he was determined to make her happiness his purpose. He was no longer a failure. Because she was his gift to the world, and she had righted all his wrongs just by taking her first breath. With only her beautiful existence, she had fixed it all.

Amazing, how it all settled. How the world quieted and the beast in the den of his mind ceased roaring. It had been such a long time since there was such peace. Love had chased away the chaos. Briar had forged the path, had crafted the gates to this beautiful land of calm and bliss. He would make sure they wanted for nothing, his little family. He would fight anything, death itself, to ensure their contentment. He would conquer hell and claw his way out of the earth if he needed to.

The little duckling drifted back to sleep in his arms and his gaze turned toward the window. He thought of showing her every marvel of the court she'd inherit. Golden sunshine on her face, a warm breeze chasing them through the forest. He'd hold her hands under a bubbling brook and let her walk barefoot through velvety soft moss. When she grew older, he'd walk her to every corner of the court, along each border until she had them memorized. The future had not held such promise in so long.

The duckling began to fidget and fuss, to Tamlin set his sleeping darling down into her bassinet. Softly, he picked up his fiddle and began to play. He made the notes gentle and smooth and easy for her ears. Humming the words to the ancient song, he watched the wrinkles between her tiny brows melt away. Her small whimpers and cries turned into steady breaths as she slept, lured into a place of lovely dreams. Such trust she had in him already. He tucked it away into his heart, a thing to be cherished, a thing to fortify him should he ever falter. Her guardian. Her protector. The oath was written on his bones, older than the lullaby he coaxed from his instrument. Like all of the love in his chest was a thread in the tapestry of time, something truly immortal. His gift to the world.

#tamlin #tamlin oneshot #tamlin fic #tamlin fanfic #tamlin fanficton #dad tamlin #dad!tamlin #tamlin acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #spring court #the spring court #spring court fanfic #spring court fic #spring court fanfiction #tamlin's daughter #acotar au #acotar headcannons #acotar headcanons #acotar next gen

[ennawrite]

i love having a bad memory cause i’m rereading my fic just to make sure things flow correctly and I’m just like wow…I kinda ate this shit up 😭

⭐️for those interested, you can read the fic here ⭐️

(it’s a Nyx x Tamlin’s daughter story, with themes of disrupt in the NC. I plan on exploring it more in future chapters)

#acotar #acotar fanfic #pro nesta archeron #pro emerie acotar #pro valkyries #anti rhysand #anti amren #inner circle critical #nyx x tamlin’s daughter #nyx archeron fic #acotar next gen #acotar fic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic

[animezinglife]

Lucien: [minding his own business, making little foxes out of fire to make Nyx smile and laugh] Feyre: Feyre: Rhys, I want another. Rhys [realizing what/who inspired this]: what the fuck

#this is so stupid but Feyre's shameless musings towards Lucien will never not be hilarious to me #acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #lucien vanserra #acotar next gen #nyx #incorrect quotes #crack headcanon

[velidewrites]

Nyx, High Lord of the Night Court 🦇

#in acofas feyre buys a fabric called the void and that’s what he’s wearing here! #nyx #nyx archeron #nyx acotar #feysand #acotar next gen #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #myart #velidedraws

[itsphoenix0724]

can i please request feysands daughter reader who is in a relationship with eris’s son. They’re sneaking around and when eris and the inner circle are away for a meeting in the townhouse she sneaks her in and they makeout. They’re however caught by the whole inner circle + eris. and they literally throw eachother away and act like nothing happened but everyone knows👀😭 nyx knew already and nessians daughter knew too

Kiss Me In The Quiet. (Leander Vanserra x Reader)

Warnings: Making out, a little spicy

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Hi love! Thank you so much for your request! I actually had a lot of fun with this, and if anyone is interested I would definitely be willing to write more! I appreciate the visit to my inbox, please come again! As always, constructive criticism is welcome <3

“AURELIA,” You yell down the hall to your little sister's room, and you hear her treading footsteps pad to your door before it creaks open. “You have my emerald hair comb, and I need it back for tonight.” She averts her eyes quickly, her grip tightening on the door. 

“I gave it back to you after I borrowed it.” Her cheeks are turning bright red. Your poor little sister has never been able to lie because of her obvious tell. 

Your Uncle Azriel had politely ruled her out of spy work after that. 

You shoot her an incredulous look, and she cracks immediately. “Please just let me wear it for one more night! You don’t even like emeralds!” You roll your eyes and turn to face her from your vanity chair. 

“I do like emeralds. I need it back, Aurelia.” 

“But you never even wear it. You haven’t worn it in years!” 

“That’s completely irrelevant, it's mine, I need it back!” 

“But-” 

“No buts! Get your own if you like it so much!” 

“Sisters!” Your brother bursts into the room, still looking rumpled, even though you and your sister are almost completely ready to leave. “You both have more jewels than you know what to do with. Aurelia, if you want one so bad, I’m sure Mummy and Daddy dearest will get you one for solstice.” He rubs out the crease in his eyebrows, looking so much like your father at that moment that it scares you a bit. You and Aurelia whirl on your brother, now finding a common enemy. 

“Stay out of this Nyx!” You both yell in unison. Your elder brother holds his hands up in surrender, backing up a step from the budding argument. 

“I’m not trying to intervene,” he promises, “But we’re leaving for the townhouse in twenty minutes with or without the both of you.” He sends one final look before exiting the room. Hopefully, to make himself look presentable.

“The comb, Aurelia.” You send your little sister one final look, and she stomps away in a huff, grumbling all the way, but returns the comb to your room. You pin the comb in place, holding back your hair from your face. The beautiful matching emerald green dress hugged your figure. Applying one final touch to your makeup, you were out the door and down the stairs to meet the rest of your family. Your Mother and Father looked like the pinnacle of night-kissed royalty. Your Father always looked at your Mother like she hand strung every star in the sky, it made your heart lurch in your chest and your thoughts cloud with one male. 

One male who you knew for a fact would be at this meeting tonight. 

Taking your father's arm, you appeared in the cozy living room of the townhouse. Your Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian, along with the twins Cassandra and Cordelia, had already arrived. Your other cousin Atlas is also perched on the arm of a loveseat, shadows whispering in his ears. Nyx immediately flocks to your cousins, Aurelia leaves to find your Aunt Elain to discuss a new baking technique, leaving you alone in the center. You spot the High Lord of Autumn in a Burgandy waistcoat. He shakes hands with your Father and presses a kiss to your Mother’s knuckles. His son stood dutifully beside him, copying the actions of his father. His eyes found you a moment later, and bolts of lightning shot through your body. 

Leander Vanserra affected you, and the asshole knew it too. 

His russet curls were brushed back tonight, and you missed the messy waves framing his face, preferably by your doing. You had to move on before the staring contest between the two of became obvious. You needed to escape the trap of his gaze, maybe get something to drink before the fire lit in the pit of your stomach consumed you whole. You just had to wait for the adults to leave for the meeting, and your cousins and siblings just had to get drunk enough to slip away into your corner of the library.

Disappearing into the kitchen you dip into one of your Father’s expensive bottles of whiskey, pouring yourself three fingers worth, and trying not to remind yourself that the color resembled a certain male’s eyes. A warmth appears at your back and steals the glass of bourbon right before it reaches your lips. Strong hands wrap around your waist, and you turn around to find the offender pressing your cup to his lips, downing the drink. 

“That was mine you know.” The hand rubs soothing circles into the curve of your waist. Despite your admonishment, Leander seems perfectly content to crowd your space and steal your drink. 

“You seem to have misplaced it, it couldn’t have found its way into my possession otherwise.” The feline grin that stretches across his face makes you want to kiss him stupid and chase the burning whiskey down his throat. He seems to agree with your sentiment because his amber eyes haven’t left your lips. “Meet me in the library at eleven-thirty. Our parents are returning at midnight.” His voice drops an octave, pouring into your veins like slow-melting sugar. 

“Only thirty minutes, I feel you may be overestimating yourself Vanserra.” He adds to your high with a dark chuckle, hand coming up to gently clasp your jaw. He tilts your head to the side, and the sight of your obedience lights sparks in his eyes. His thumb rubs over your bottom lip in a sensual promise. 

“Oh Fawn,” he tuts. Just the right amount of condescending to make you melt. He leans down so his lips are level with your ear, his lips brush against you with every word, and you stomp down every shiver threatening to surface. “We both know I can make you fall apart in five.” After that he pulls away completely, draining the rest of your whiskey, and sets the crystal glass face down on the counter. Your eyes track his tongue as he licks the remainder off his lips, he winks at you once before abandoning your heaving form in the kitchen. 

You really needed a glass of whiskey now, maybe the whole fucking bottle, if you were going to get through this night. It was only eleven. You still had half an hour of making nice to do. Walking back into the living room you found Leander sitting enthralled in conversation with your cousin Cordelia.

Two can play at his little game. If you leaned forward a bit, and if his eyes dipped to the neckline of your dress that was none of your business. 

“Where is Pandora tonight?” Cordelia asked with a slight red tinge to her tan cheeks, hulking wings ruffling behind her. You fail to hide your smugness at the way Leander doesn’t even seem to hear her question, too preoccupied with staring at you. Your cousin calls his name again and he glares at you before answering her. 

“Pandora elected to stay with my mother tonight. She was feeling a bit ill.” You don’t fail to miss the way Cordelia’s wings droop at his response, but you have no time to ponder it further as the large grandfather clock chimes once.

It’s eleven thirty. 

You announce to the group that you have to use the restroom and excuse yourself. Making your way to the library, wandering through the stacks you stop infront of a painting to lean against the small table underneath it. It’s quiet in here, with nothing but piles of books surrounding you and the blanket of moonlight streaming through the windows.  It takes five minutes for Leander to appear out of the shadows. 

“Leo,” you whisper. He’s on you in a second, pinning you in place with a searing kiss. His warm hands trace the curves of your body, lifting you in one solid motion onto the table. You get your earlier wish, hands rushing straight to his hair to get a hold of the curls you love so much. He heaves a breath before moving to kiss down your neck. 

“That was a dirty little trick you played in the living room Fawn.” He bites particularly hard at the crook of your shoulder. You thank the Cauldron for your inherited gift of glamouring because that’s sure to leave a mark. 

“Oh, my poor Lion,” he simpers at the nickname just like he always does, melting like candle wax in warm sunlight. You abuse the spot where his neck meets his ear and drawl in a voice like star-flecked silk, “Payback for what you did to me in the kitchen.” He lets out a laugh that dissolves into a moan. 

“It seems I have some apologizing to do,” His voice drops into that low timber again as he skims his hands along the underside of your breasts. 

“I was promised five minutes,” You smile as his hands start to bunch up the bottom of your dress growling at the sheer amount of layers blocking him from his destination. He’s just about to drop down to his knees and give you exactly what you’ve been waiting all evening for. 

And then the door opens. 

You two snap apart with impressive speed, even by fae standards. You pretend to read a book that had been abandoned on the table and Leander feigns looking at the titles on a nearby bookcase. 

“Alright,” Calls your mother's voice, “would the two of you like to explain something?” She raises one eyebrow at you, looking over at your clearly disheveled state. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You turn a page in the book you’re reading, the random words skimming past your eyes. 

“Sweetheart.” 

“Yes, Mother?” 

“Your book is upside down.” You sighed in defeat, closing the book and leaning your back against the wall. Your mother smiles, blue eyes alighting in victory “You owe me twenty gold marks, Rhys.” You shoot her an incredulous look as Eris appears and claps a hand on his son’s shoulder. 

“How did you find out?” Leander winces eyes darting between your parents. 

“It’s not as if the two of you make a conscious effort to hide it.” Your brother’s voice comes booming from the back, “You two practically eye fuck each other every time you’re in the same room.” Atlas smacks him upside the head as Cassandra’s laughter echoes through the library. 

“Can we please just talk about this later?” You feel your cheeks flame in embarrassment as you jump off the table. Your mother escorts you out arm and arm back into the main area of the townhouse.

“We certainly have a lot of talking to do about this later.” You know it will be a long discussion, even worse when your father starts on about inner court politics. Looking at Leander he seems to be getting a similar discussion if Eris’s muttering whispers are anything to go by, but he’s still sending you that sugar-sweet smile. 

You get the feeling in your gut that everything will turn out okay. Just as long as he keeps smiling at you like that.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar imagine #acotar next gen #vanserra family #acotar x reader

[throneofsapphics]

More nyx x sunshine readerrrr

Maybe she gets attacked or something

I need drama

misplaced chivalry 

Nyx x f!Reader

Summary: visiting with your family goes horribly wrong

Warnings: death, graphic depictions of violence, blood, minor injury, references to torture, a hint of angst & fluff, not proofread well

A/N: I did see your other ask, thank you for your request! I hope this hits the drama mark. same reader as ambushes and invitations, but they can be read separately !

Solstice with Nyx and his family was more than you could’ve imagined. Garlands, decorations, wine, food, music, and great company. 

Unfortunately, with the holiday over it meant it was time to do your annual obligatory trek back home. You managed to delay yourself two days before the guilt started creeping in. Estranged would be the best way to describe your relationship with your parents. They didn’t approve of your move to Velaris, or of your chosen profession. 

Trying to imagine the negativity flowing from your body, you took a few deep breaths before approaching the house. Outwardly, it was pleasant - normal. Red brick, a neat garden, a path leading right to the front door, a few chickens could be heard clucking from the coop behind the house. Absentmindedly, you wondered if your father ever got around to expanding that. 

Inside the house, it always felt strained - even before your relationship with them began to fall apart. There was still love, still good memories, and you put most of your conscious effort into focusing on that. It would be a good visit, and maybe things would begin to mend. Worst case you wouldn’t see them again. Your throat caught, despite the tension that’s the last thing you want. 

Three knocks on the wooden door, shaking out your knuckles, and you took a step back, rolling your shoulders and planting your feet like you were headed right into a conflict. 

Your mother answered the door, a worryingly pleasant smile on her face as she tugged you into her arms, squeezing tight. “You’ve grown so much,” she commented. 

Fighting back a wince or sharp retort, you beamed at her. “It’s good to see you.” 

She hummed, grabbing the crook of your elbow to lead you further inside. The scents of your childhood hit you at once, the vague smell of apple pie, old leather furniture, and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

“... made your favorite,” you hadn’t realized she was speaking and quickly added your thanks. Your father came in, shooting you a smile as well, and that was basically a warming welcome from him. 

Later, you realized just why they were being so pleasant. 

“Ella’s daughter completely cut them off,” your mother commented, shooting a nervous look your way. Right - they were scared you’d do the same. 

“That’s a shame,” you moved some food around on your plate. Not really, you figured she wouldn’t do it without a good reason. The night was pleasant - no judgemental comments about your profession or choice on where to live, no prying questions about your personal life or if you’d get married soon. When your mother nearly begged for you to spend the night, you decided it couldn’t hurt. 

-

Nyx knew you didn’t have the best relationship with your parents, and you’d declined his offer to come with you - outright - but he wanted to be there for you in some capacity. 

Your home village wasn’t terribly far from Velaris, and still in easy Daemati range, so he cast his mind out, searching and focusing on you, like his father taught him. 

“How’s it going?”

Around a minute later, “Surprisingly good, I’m going to spend the night.” 

He fought the disappointment that he wouldn’t see you later, and reminded himself to be happy for you. 

“Should I say good luck?” 

He could’ve sworn a soft laugh came through. “Maybe.” 

You filled him in on a few more details, and eventually he promised to check in the next morning, ignoring your gentle teasing, calling him a mother hen. 

-

It happened at breakfast before breakfast. The faint tang of copper filled your senses and you launched out of bed, reaching blindly for the knife Nyx had given you, well aware your knowledge extended to sticking the pointy end at them. 

First, your mothers body laid by the door, limbs sprawled at awkward angles, chest unmoving. The door was still open, the remains of a greeting still on her lips, the knife lodged in her throat. Scanning the room, it felt like time stopped, your entire world screeching to a halt. Three bodies laid on the floor, all dead. You heard one faint familiar heartbeat and scrambled down the stairs, feet sliding in the pools of blood. 

Wood splintered into your knees as you slid the last few feet to your father, the knife lodged in his chest. 

His eyes were half-glassed, knife lodged in his chest. You knew he’d killed the other three men. How had you not woken? Had he cast some kind of shield, now faded as life left him?

You gripped his hand tight, squeezing as his eyes focused. 

“Run,” his voice was hoarse, filled with pain. 

“I’ll get a healer,” the words were just above a whisper, told in vain - you both knew it was too late. 

“I’m proud to be your father,” one tear dripped down his cheek. The first tear you’d seen from him. 

“Stop,” you choked. 

“We both loved you very much,” the faintest squeeze, maybe just a twitch of his fingers. “Run.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” you snarled. Your magic had already cast a basic shield around the room. It wouldn’t hold under heavy assault, but you’d be damned if you let him … die alone. 

Maybe it was part of your nature, to accept the inevitable, to try and bring joy where you could, but you focused on him - repeating the happiest memories of your childhood until his chest stopped moving. Just then did you sob, as you closed his eyes. 

It was stupid to stay here, but you were in shock - you couldn’t leave.

-

It was normal for a short delay between responses, and he waited. A chime of the clock - five whole minutes, and nothing. It shouldn’t have taken this long, and he knew you wouldn’t ignore him. 

“Are you alright?” He tried. 

“Help,” the word was so bleak, your voice desolate and burdened in a way he’d never heard from you, your mind completely open. Fear struck him as he saw through your eyes, fear that could either freeze him in place or bring enough anger to topple mountains. Blood - everywhere, five bodies - two that looked like your parents, three others - and your hands. You were knelt on the floor, one hand still in the pool of blood, the other holding your fathers hand. He could imagine your wide eyes, stuck open in horror. 

One of the bodies was still moving - chest still breathing, rising to his feet, the knife lodged in his thigh, pulled out and already healing - and you didn’t know.

“Run, y/n, run.” Nothing. He needed to get you out of there. Panic he hadn’t felt before hit him. “I’m coming, love.”

In that second, as he was still watching through your eyes, there was just enough time for the man to slice at your back, movements uncoordinated, a strike designed to incapacitate - not kill. You dodged in time for the blade to slice across your shoulder. 

The next second, a wave of dark, pure night slammed him against the opposite wall with a loud crack. Bound in ropes of magic, he left him alive for now. For answers, later. He slid his arms under your shoulder, and he winnowed directly to the river house - right outside his father’s study, where he knew at least a few of his inner circle were gathered. You were limp in his arms, chest heaving with silent sobs, hands clenching at him like a lifeline. 

“I’m here,” he murmured, one hand running over your hair. There was no indication you heard his words. 

One arm held you close to him as the other banged on the door, his mind showing a sequence of the last few minutes to everyone inside. He was beyond words, too fucking angry to try and explain. 

The door flew open. His father, eyes a dark stormy night, anger rolling from him in waves, his mother’s anger matching, but switching to worry as she spotted you. Azriel and Mor were there as well, and Nyx vaguely registered his father grabbing them and disappearing. 

His mother gently ushered them inside, Nyx lifting you into his arms - your body nearly frozen. As magic healed the small gash on your shoulder, as it made the blood disappear, he still held you close, still ran his fingers through your hair and said over and over again, “i’m here, i’m with you, you’re safe,” even as his mind wandered towards how soon he’d be able to get revenge on your behalf - revenge he knew you’d never seek out. Gods, you were more likely to try and show them mercy. Like hell that would happen on his watch. 

“He said he was proud of me. He said he loved me. He cried.” Nyx jolted as you whispered, the first words in the last two hours. You’d fallen asleep on him - but he hadn’t moved an inch, not as people came and went out of the office. Nobody suggested he try and move you, nobody dared to get too close to you, not with his temper and protective instincts barely under wraps. As far as he knew, your father had never said those words to you. Nyx didn’t know how to reply, so he placed a kiss on your forehead. It was stupid to be mad at a dead male, but he wished the male would’ve told you as often as you deserved.

Nyx only left you alone after you were secured in a room warded as heavily as possible, impenetrable except by him or his family. 

“We’ll need to talk to her, eventually,” his mother said carefully. His fists clenched at his sides, but he nodded. 

“Did you get anything from the male?” 

“Azriel’s working,” his father replied, eyes searching his face. 

“I want to see,” Nyx insisted. 

“You don’t need to see that,” his mother argued, but his father held his hand out, understanding flashing in his eyes. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, but she was still protective. 

Apparently, his mother knew when she was fighting a losing battle. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” she promised. Nyx sent a grateful nod her way, and took his fathers hand. 

By the looks of it, Nyx knew Azriel was conducting a special symphony of pain - one reserved for those who’d hurt people close to him. He watched, leaned back against the stone wall - arms crossed, as each word was pulled out of the male, resisting the urge to filter through his mind. 

He waited to comment until Azriel packed up for the night, until the cell door had closed, a barrier in place - one the male wouldn’t hear beyond. 

“What are you thinking?” the shadowsinger offered - not a demand or command, but letting him know he’d listen. 

“They weren’t trying to kill her,” he tucked his hands into his pockets, hiding anger-induced shakes. “They wanted to get to me.” 

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed. Hearing it from another was worse than his own mind. Would you hate him now, resent him? Being with him put you in danger, and he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to you. 

Azriel read his expression easily enough - he was the only one who could. “Pulling away from her won’t keep her safe, not that they already know.”

Nyx exhaled slowly, “it’s my fault.” 

“No,” the other male said sharply, insistently. “You’re not to blame.” 

The words were futile, he’d keep blaming himself. 

-

“I’m so sorry,” Nyx’s hand ran over your hair, your eyes blinking to adjust to the sun streaming through the windows. Why was he sorry? He was sitting next to you, you were laid in an unfamiliar bed, but you knew the hunch in his shoulders, the worry in his eyes. 

The events of the previous day hit you, slamming into your mind, filling you with an unfathomable grief. 

“There’s no reason to be,” your voice was hoarse and rough. “You saved my life.” An uncomfortable silence filled the room for a few minutes, and for once you didn’t have the energy to break it. 

“It’s my fault they came for you,” you could feel the guilt in the statement, and knew exactly what was coming next. He’d try to leave - to ‘keep you safe.’ Nyx was stubborn as a mule, but this was something you wouldn’t budge on. Sure enough, he said, “you’re safer without me.” 

Planting your palms on the mattress, you pushed yourself up to sit - the remnants of the sleeping tonic making the movements slower than usual. It was misplaced chivalry, some kind of attempt for him to be noble and assuage unnecessary guilt. Usually you were slow to anger, but this was enough to piss you off. 

“Do you not like me anymore?” You asked. He blinked, surprised. “Are you not attracted to me?” 

“Of course I am,” he stumbled over the words. 

“Is there a valid reason you don’t want to be with me?” 

“It’s not safe-”

“I don’t care,” you insisted. 

“I can’t put you in danger,” he insisted. 

You weighed the next words carefully, deciding what would get the best reaction. “Are you scared, Nyx?” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “If that’s the only reason you want to leave me, I won’t accept it.”The steadfast look in his eyes wavered, and you knew you had your in. “Tell me you don’t want me anymore.” 

He shook his head. 

“Say it,” you insisted. 

“Of course I still want you,” he muttered. Evidently, he’d realized he wouldn’t get his way. Good. 

Your body swayed as you reached for him, and he grasped both of your shoulders to steady you. There was the slightest twinge in your shoulder, thanks to the wound from yesterday, but besides that you were in good shape. 

He noticed your small wince, and tried to move away, but you reached for him, cupping both of his cheeks, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. Eyes fluttering shut, he let out a slow, slow breath. 

“Until you have a good reason, you’re stuck with me,” you murmured. 

“It’s not stuck,” Nyx groused, and rearranged the two of you, laying you down, head resting on his chest. 

You hummed in content. The grief would come later, but for now you could lean into this moment, lean into his quiet strength.

#acotar next gen #next gen acotar #nyx archeron x reader #nyx x reader #nyx archeron x y/n #nyx x y/n #acotar drabble

[azsazz]

Winter Winds

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon req: ik you probably won’t get to this in a while but i just read “in ribbons” and absolutely loved it!! got me so hot and bothered. anyway, thinking abt az, reader, and the kids got me thinking…what if the entire ic and their kids are all at wind haven for some trip or something. the oldest kids are pre teens, a bit older maybe. while at the camps, someone attacks the reader and she’s like seriously hurt. like seriously seriously hurt. az goes ballistic, and all the kids get so worried. but especially the older ones, maybe wren baz and zuzu, they get super angry and want to help az get revenge for their mother? 

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood and gore. Traumatized children but they are otherwise unharmed.

Word Count: 4,921

Notes: You didn’t think I forgot about posting today, did you? Silly. I didn’t make them pre-teens, they’re I guess a bit younger than that but close, but I think I’ve got most of the idea in here, except the revenge part. Sorry about that and sorry in advance this one’s kinda sad.

_________________________________________

“Daddy?!”

His son’s frantic voice slices up his spine like an icy blade, plunging deep and cleaving him in half.

At the sound, Azriel’s body flashes hot with adrenaline and everything else slows to a crawling pace.

He spins on his heel instantly, ignoring the grumbling of the camp warlord who’d been reporting to him, now muttering under his breath about letting his savage brood run wild in the camps, that he doesn’t know how to raise them.

His family means more to him than anything, and that terrified shout from his son to grab his attention isn’t one he’s heard in years.

Something is very very wrong.

Azriel’s heart stammers in his chest like the frantic beat of wings in war when he locks eyes with his second oldest son, Baz.

He shouldn’t be out here alone, even if he has been in the training camps for nearly two years now and knows his way around. If any of the warriors had grabbed him and thought to teach the Azriel a lesson through his child…the spymaster shivers at the thought.

The more pressing concern, the one that makes his brows twitch into confusion and fuels his feet forward and nearly halts his heart in his chest, is that young Baz isn’t dressed for the cold. The Illyrian mountains in the peak of Winter could give even the most attuned warrior frostbite in mere minutes, and Baz isn’t even wearing a coat.

Worse yet, there’s tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks, cherry red from his journey.

He must’ve run the entire way to meet him in boots that are untied and tripping him in his haste to find his father. If someone’s stolen his jacket Azriel will be the last thing they see as he–

Azriel’s slipping out of his own coat, uncaring that the snaps rip open by the base of his wings. He needs to get his son bundled up, and quickly, before he comes down with something worse than the cold Azriel already knows is in his future. He scoops Baz into his arms, wrapping him carefully and hugging him close to his chest. His shadows swirl around both of them, already preparing to winnow them away.

“What’s wrong buddy?” he’s whispering, wiping the tears from his son's bruning face. Sometimes he and his older brother will get into arguments that have one of the boys running to Azriel in a fit full of tears but never something quite like this. Baz knows how to put his coat and tie up his boots and not to run across the camp alone–

The little boy in his arms releases a sob that nearly shatters the snowy peaks of the mountains surrounding them, “Mommy–”

He doesn’t need to continue. Azriel winnows them back to the house without a second thought, hugging Baz tightly to his chest, lips pressed to the crown of his sweaty black hair. He hopes that his son can’t feel him trembling, fisting his hands in his coat to stop the shaking. If something has happened to you he doesn’t know what he will do. How he will survive.

But he would’ve felt it, if there was something wrong, through the bond you share. He lets his shields slide down, reaching out for that golden thread, the one that feels like warm summer winds in the night sky, your hand caressing his soul.

There’s nothing.

Azriel gives a sharp tug but receives no response as he and his son arrive in a mass of black shadows on the front porch. The bond grows more taut with worry the more he tries, desperate pleas for you to respond that go unanswered as he shoves the door open with a heavy boot. 

The house is in complete chaos.

His shadows scatter immediately, searching and returning with whispers of bloody fingerprints on the counter top, streaking across the wall in his bedroom, on the doorknob to the bathroom, while he frantically searches the room for the rest of his children.

Horror coils his gut at the scent of his mate’s blood, thick in the air. It makes him choke, hot and heavy in the back of his throat.

Azriel sets Baz down, nearly tearing the door off of its hinges when he shuts it and turns the lock. He allows himself a single drawn out breath while his mind reels for a plan of action.

Wren looks more worried than his little brother, though Azriel knows that his eldest is trying his best to keep his emotions together for his siblings.

He had a screaming Jax in his arms, the younger boy clearly distraught about the heightened feelings of anxiety and concern smothering him. He reaches up for Azriel as Wren carries the struggling babe closer, trying his best to keep hold of his brother.

“Dad,” Wren breathes a sob of relief, but Az notes the twins in their playpen, Malos’ cries are loud enough for the silent wailing babe beside her, four sets of tiny hands curled around the brim of the pen with white knuckled fingers.

“Wren, I need you to watch your siblings for a little bit longer, okay?” Azriel’s voice is strained with tension as he calls out to Rhysand in his head, his golden eyes a hair wider as he searches the room for Zuzu. He rubs a reassuring thumb across Wren’s cheek and over Jax’s hair, trying to calm the little boy down. “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass will be here any minute, alright bub? They’re going to take us all to the River House.”

Wren’s lip quivers but he’s squaring his shoulders as he looks up at his father, “Mommy’s hurt.”

“I know,” it pains him to say it, but by now he knows, “I’m going to get her, will you and Baz help the little ones put on their shoes please?”

Wren nods and sets to work helping his father while Azriel rushes towards the bathroom where his shadows have located both Zuzu and you.

He finds Zuzu is sitting in front of the bathroom door, banging on it as she wails for you. Her throat must be raw from the screaming because she sounds horse, tears dripping down her face and snot bubbling from her nose.

Azriel hears Rhys and Cassian appear in the living room, and he lifts Zuzu up from under her arms as Cassian appears, his first thought to help his brother.

“Az–” Cassian sounds nervous for his brother. When he’d gotten the call a short time ago telling him that he and Rhys needed to pick up the children because something had happened to you his heart dropped, terrified for his best friend.

“Just take her, please,” Azriel pleads, letting the worry he feels coat his words. His throat is tight with emotion and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep himself from going berserk because he can see the red painted handprint on the brass knob and the smell of your blood is overpowering.

“I’ve got her,” Cassian nods, and the look in his hazel eyes gives Azriel brings forth that last shred of hope as his brother turns away and he twists the knob.

His knees nearly give out at the sight of you, unconscious and lying in a pool of your own blood. You look paler under the luminescent faelights, the hand holding together the gaping wound in your side now slack in the puddle of crimson.

Your name is a cry of helplessness on his lips as he dives forward, knees cracking against the tiles as he slides closer, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in your neck and caressing your face with the other, a shaky hand brushing the hair back from your face.

His shadows have alerted him that you’re breathing, but barely so, and he releases a shaky breath because he wasn’t able to feel the barely there beat of your pulse beneath his fingers with how badly they’re desensitized from his own burns and the pounding of his own heart.

But Gods–the gash in your side is something a warrior would receive in battle, like you have taken a long sword to the side, your flesh tearing open, muscles and blood and–

No, he doesn’t want to think about whether he sees an organ or not. No, he needs to focus on stopping the bleeding. Azriel can’t help but think, his beautiful mate…who has done this to you?

Rhys and Cass both appear within seconds, having called for the best healers in Velaris to the River House, where his children now are, under the care of the High Lady and Inner Circle themselves.

“Az,” Rhysand murmurs, hardly louder than a simple breath as he takes in the state of the room. His spymaster, on his knees in a pool of your blood as he tries his best to stop the bleeding. The towel you had grabbed is already sopping wet with blood and there’s no signs of it slowing.

His wings are drooped low behind him, the slippery warmth of the floor against the thin velvety skin is a reminder of exactly how much blood you have lost.  Had he been any later, had you not sent Baz–

“Help me.”

It makes both brothers freeze, the utter helplessness, the devastation in Azriel’s voice, so small, so soft, unlike anything they’ve ever heard.

They jump into action.

“Az,” Cassian approaches him like he’s approaching a wild beast, unsure of how to approach this side of him, soft footing and hands raised in surrender. The spymaster lets his brother place a hand on his shoulder, turn him from his spot so that they’re looking at each other.

Cassian has never seen Azriel so panicked, not in the 500 years they’ve been best friends. Not through the wars, the nightmares, the births…not even through the mild complications you’d gone through when the twins were born. No, he was a solid wall, not an ounce of emotion had cracked through the barriers he had built, but this…

His chest heaves with every breath he takes, short and quick and filled with anxiety. Azriel’s hands are vibrating when Cassian takes them in his own. He doesn’t care that he’s kneeling in your blood, that Az’s hands are slippery with it, all he cares about are his friends.

“Az,” he tries again, and the usual honeyed gaze of the shadowsingers meets his own. He’d startled him. Can see the swirling emotions racing behind his eyes; the hatred, the scared, the utter fear, his mind unable to grasp onto one feeling long enough to put thought into it. “We’re going to take you to the River House, okay?”

He’d carry him if he had to, but Rhys can get the job done. There’s worry that Azriel might explode, break completely in his hands and let the beast within him finally take over. And if that happens, he’s glad the children are far away, because no one, not even Cassian nor Rhysand, will stop him from turning the Illyrian camps into nothing more than a tornado of black mist.

Azriel isn’t seeming to comprehend what he’s saying, head tilting down to look at where his hands rest in Cassian’s grip, thumb sliding through the cooling blood on his hands like it’s not the ichor of his mate, painting his hands the color of Cassian’s siphons.

Rhys comes around the both of them, crouching to place a hand on each of their shoulders. The wisps of darkness that carry them through the planes of the continent must strike something within Azriel because he’s tensing under his touch and wrenching away.

“Az,” Rhys commands softly, hands raised to show no sign of wanting to corral his brother’s anger, “The babes are right in there.”

The reaction from his statement is near instant, locking down his emotions little by little like the scales of his armor retracting into his leathers, until there is almost nothing left.

Azriel spins on his heel, already heading towards the shut door between him and the muffled cries of his children on the other side.

Cassian steps into his path, stopping him. 

He watches the spymaster assess him with a trained eye but Cassian’s already weighed his brother's reactions in his head, being a true warlord himself. There is no way he will let the children see their father like this, worked up with their mother’s blood all over them.

Rhys draws the attention of the shadowsinger again, both Illyrians goading him like a tiger waiting to strike, “(Y/N) is this way. She’s with Madja and her best healers.”

The sound of your name strikes him low, chest caving and reaching down the bond for you again, knowing there will be no response, a wall of icy metal stopping him from entering.

Azriel glances at the door again, but makes his way towards the room you’ve been hauled off to, worried for your wellbeing.

The saliva is thick in his mouth as he ascends the stairs, his brothers tight on his flanks. His hands are curled into tight fists and he can feel the cracking of your blood on his hands in a way that would normally be calming if it were anyone else's blood, but not yours.

Never yours.

He pushes into the room and doesn’t look at the wound or the few nursemaids that are crouching over you. He doesn’t look at the bowls of water stained crimson, the towels dripping or the clothes they’d cut you out of, he keeps his focus on your closed eyes.

He’s quick to find his place at your side, perching out of the way as he reaches for your hand but freezes when he catches sight of his own.

“Here,” Cassian’s soft voice has him looking up, the warlord holding a freshly damp rag for him to take, not even a touch of red on it.

His throat works against a swallow as Azriel takes it, scrubbing his hands like he’s the one who’d rubbed his skin down to the bone and left these scars.

He does the best that he can without spiraling. He’s had blood on his hands before, many times, but the fact that it’s your blood has him reeling, immediately stopping the work on cleaning his own hands in favor of helping you clean yours.

When he’s done he hands it back to Cassian who gives him a soft nod and a sad smile. Neither are the things he wants to see right now. All he wants to see is you opening your eyes and looking at him, smiling, laughing, unharmed.

There’s nothing else to do but wait, which he does so quietly, stroking his thumb across your forehead while his other keeps your limp hand firmly tucked in his grasp. 

He doesn’t look at the wound they’re stitching up, but he can’t help himself from reaching down the bond every few minutes, silently praying to the Mother that you will respond.

His brothers wait by the door. Rhys lets Cassian get cleaned up and check on the children while he watches Azriel from across the room, his own heart aching for his brother in this situation, to be near his own mate at a time like this.

But he stays put because that’s what any of them would do for each other, even when Cassian comes back, hands clean and clothes new, no traces of your blood on him.

They know that there will be no moving Azriel from your side to clean up, so they don’t even try. When Feyre dips her head into the room, catching a glance at you and your mate on the lone bed, a handful of healers working frantically around, they share a look.

It’s Rhys who approaches him this time, making sure his footsteps are heard by the shadowsinger as he nears.

He watches Azriel’s shoulders pull up taut, his spine stiffening and shadows curling his rounded ear that the High Lord is approaching.

His golden gaze is a harsh glare, a warning to stay away, and although Rhys understands the look, it still hurts.

“Az, maybe you should get cleaned up,” he suggests softly, keeping a healthy distance away from the bed. The healers have started sewing up your wound, having been able to stop the blood and stabilize you, and their work will be done soon.

The shadowsinger’s face doesn’t change as he looks back down at you, dismissing Rhys with that single action.

“The kids,” he tries, “They’re worried. They want to see you.” 

Azriel nearly startles at the mention of his children. They’d been half scared to death when he’d last seen them, frantic and worried about their mother just as much as he was. He can see them all clearly, Wren trying to be strong, Baz’s red face wet with tears, Zuzu and Jax and the twins all crying out for help, understanding that something was horribly wrong.

“The kids,” he murmurs, as if he’s not even there. Azriel pets your hair again, smoothing his fingers down your cheek, across your lips, finding their way to the juncture of your jaw and throat, where your pulse is.

Rhysand waits with a baited breath as Azriel counts, comes to whatever conclusion in his mind that he can, grasping for some sort of sign that you might be okay.

The beating of your heart is constant, evened out even though one of the nurses has already told him as much. He won’t leave you if he doesn’t think you’ll be okay.

But he knows you would want him to make sure the children are okay, so he places a kiss on your hand, ignoring how the warmth hasn’t quite returned to it completely, before settling it comfortably at your side and standing from the bed.

He follows his brothers from the room and as soon as the door snicks shut behind him and the wail of Zuzu is carried to him on the whisper of a shadow, he breaks.

He makes a break for his children, his flight sense kicking in but he’s hauled backwards into the arms of Cassian, holding him tightly across the chest as he struggles. 

If he were in his right mind he’d be able to figure a way out of his hold.

“Az, you have blood all over you,” Cassian grits, his breath puffing with the struggle of keeping Azriel in his hold. He’s writhing like an animal, trying to tear his way through whomever he needs to to get to his family. “You can’t go in there like this. You’ll scare them.”

That makes him stop struggling, worming his way out of Cassian’s touch.

“But Baz didn’t have a jacket on–”

“He’s already been looked at by a healer,” Rhys supplies, trying to calm the skittish shadowsinger.

“And Zuzu’s been screaming her head off,” he retorts just as easily, mind reeling at how his children must be feeling.

“She’s been given a soothing tea for her throat,” Cassian adds, fiercely protective of them as he is his own children.

“And Jax–”

“Jax is an empath,” Rhys agrees, ushering Azriel towards the other end of the hallway, “And it’s normal for him to react like that with all of the emotions running rampant in the room at the time. You need to calm yourself down if you are to hold him, your reactions will harm him more than Wren’s. For now he’s fine. They’re all okay, Azriel. Here and in one piece, waiting for you.”

Azriel’s wide eyes are glossy as he looks between his brothers, back and forth as if he’s searching for anything other than the truth there.

He won’t.

“They’re okay?” he asks again, not quite sure he believes it.

Both of his brothers nod, “They’re okay Az. Promise.”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

You feel like utter shit.

Like you’ve been carved down to the bone with a blade. There’s a pounding in your head and when you open your eyes the room spins, bright with light. Your head goes with it, the whispers of words striking like a bell tower to your brain.

“(Y/N)?”

That voice silences everything.

You squeeze his hand, blinking against the faelights until the three Azriel’s you see finally become one, perfect, mate.

“Az,” you breathe.

He bites his lip, hardly able to contain the relief he feels in this moment. He knows you’ve just opened your eyes but he’s squeezing his shut tight and resting his forehead gently against your own.

And the bond floods with warmth, his breath catching in his throat.

“I’m here,” your free hand finds his hair, smoothing through it the best that you can in your weakened state, “I’m here, Love.”

He nearly whimpers, would have if his mind hadn’t gone immediately into spymaster mode, seeing you awake.

He pulls away from you all too quickly, sitting straight in his spot beside you, the golden glow of his iris’ swimming with dark shadows.

“Who.” he asks, and it’s not a question. It’s the only word he can get out, voice dipped in steel and as sharp as the blade he’s been filing for the days you’ve been under rest.

“Some old relative,” you cough, throat dry, and you hiss at the pull in your stitches. Azriel is quick to help you drink some water down, soothing the roughness in your voice and the pounding in your head. “Claimed to be so, at least.”

“Fucking bastards,” he spits, the shadows in his eyes sweeping into hot, angry flames, “I’ll kill every single fucking one of them.”

“Az,” you sigh. You love your mate dearly and this is about as normal a reaction as you would expect from him, but you’re so achingly tired. “Are the kids okay?”

He shudders at the thought of something happening to your children and kisses across your knuckles, your hand in his shaking ones. 

“Yes, the babes are fine.”

You settle a bit more, knowing that truth. The fact that Azriel has referred to them as babes shows you just how terrified he truly is.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers, propping his chin where your hand is holding his.

“Tired,” you offer, because you’re afraid that a joke might push him over the edge. “Can I see my babies?”

Azriel looks like he might protest. You’ve been changed and brought to a different room once the painkillers and healing drinks the nurses had forced down your throat had begun to work, but he thinks of his rowdy children and your fresh injury, he worries for you.

But you’re pleading, “Please, Love. I need to see them.” And he gets it.

Because he finds himself needing to see them as well.

“Drink some more water, tell me what happened, and I’ll get Rhys to bring them in.”

You hold his gaze, nodding finally. 

Azriel helps you drink some more water, nearly a whole glass before you begin.

“I was on my way back from the mercantile,” you start, swallowing harshly as you wrack your brain for what had happened. “Just a quick trip to get some treats for the little ones,” you laugh dryly, tears welling up in your eyes. Azriel’s quick to thumb them away, caressing your cheek with his warm hand.

“I didn’t see him coming until it had already happened,” you admit shamefully. Your mate had taught you better than that and you had failed him.

Your mate sends nothing but warmth down the bond because while you may have been taken by surprise, he knows you didn’t go down without a fight.

“I didn’t understand how bad it was until after he was laying in the snow next to me and I looked at my torn coat and saw all the blood.”

You remember crying out as his blade slashed across your body and took you to your knees. You’d been able to act through the pain, kicking a foot out behind you and sweeping your attackers feet from under him. 

It was easier to pry the longsword from his hands when he was gasping for air and even easier to make sure he never took another breath again.

“I don’t remember getting home,” you exhale a shaky breath, “I was just holding my side and there was so much blood Az, so much blood.”

He shushes you softly, upset with himself that he’s asked you to share this story. If he had known your attacker was dead he wouldn’t have asked and before he can try and stop you you’re already continuing.

“I was afraid to go home,” you admit, and his hand clutches yours tighter, “I didn’t want the babes to see me like this.”

Your admission hangs over the both of you, loud in the otherwise silent room.

“I’m glad you did,” Azriel’s voice is thick with emotion, “If you hadn’t and I had lost you…”

“You didn’t,” you reassure, maybe for the both of you, “Let’s not think about that.”

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to think about anything else but he nods, agreeing.

“I hid it the best I could, but you know Wren,” the thought of your oldest brings a smile to your face, “He’s so smart, that one. I told him to watch the babes for me while I went to clean up and he tried to talk to me, tried to ask me what was wrong but I just kept going, telling him that I was fine and would be out in a minute…” you trail off because you weren’t out in a minute. On the floor unconscious in a minute more like.

Azriel kisses your knuckles, lingering on your fourth finger before he answers, “He told Baz to come get me. I was talking to a commander and he came running up screaming and crying out for me. Scared me shitless I tell ya. Didn’t even have a coat on.”

Your eyes bulge and you try to sit up, distressed over your son out in the mountains without a coat, “Is he–'' your question is cut off by a hiss and Azriel’s on his feet guiding you back down onto the bed, gentle hands on your shoulders. 

“He’s alright, Love. They all are. Got them all checked on while they were helping you. Not even a sniffle,” Azriel soothes. He relaxes when your shoulders droop and you settle back into the pillows.

“Thank you,” you whisper, thumb brushing across his knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). So fucking much,” he breathes, shuddering when you caress his cheek.

You tug on him weakly, puckering your lips for a kiss that he easily ducks down for, the tension melting away from his body now that you’re awake in his arms.

“Can I see them now?” you ask as soon as you pull away. Your mate huffs playfully, already calling out to Rhys in his mind.

The door slams open, Wren and Baz racing into the room with the Inner Circle hot on their heels. Rhys is holding Zuzu, Feyre’s hugging Jax close to his chest while Cassian and Nesta each hold a babe, their own boys trailing in behind them.

Azriel shoots to his feet, catching his two oldest sons around their waists before they can launch themselves at you.

“Mommy,” Wren cries from his father’s grasp and Baz bursts out into tears at the sight, reaching over Azriel’s shoulder for you.

“Az, let them go,” you scold lightly, but caress the bond, thankful for stopping them before another injury could happen.

“Boys, you need to be gentle with mommy, okay?” Az holds each of their arms, making sure that his order has been received by each son before slowly letting them go.

They’re both on your uninjured side, Baz tumbling into your arms. He climbs up onto the bed and you hold him close, letting him cry into the crook of your shoulder, reaching out for Wren with tears in your own eyes.

“Hi baby,” you whisper, voice thick.

“Mom,” he breaks, tears spilling as he climbs up next to Baz, letting you run your fingers through his hair.

You bite your lip, holding your boys as close as you can, before looking around the room at the rest of your children, your family. 

Each one is looking at you with smiles, some pained, some relieved, some teary, and you know that if something had gone wrong, that your children would be in the best of hands.

Your teary gaze slides back to your mate. He hadn’t looked away from you while you were taking everyone in, seeming to know exactly where your mind had just been. But he doesn’t want to think about that right now, all he wants is to hold you and his children as close as he can, forever and always.

Cassian hands Knox off to Azriel as he rounds the bed to your injured side, taking the spot next to you to block your injury as he gestures to his brothers and their mates to bring forward the rest of your children.

Let us know if you need any help, Rhys speaks to Azriel and the shadowsinger nods, looking at you with the babes all curled in close, hugging each other tight.

He knows they won’t leave you now, but he doesn’t care because everyone is here together, in one piece.

One big family.

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