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wishcamper · 3 months

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Nesta, Interrupted: gendered perceptions of alcoholism in ACOSF

CW: addiction, sexual assault, gendered violence.

Creds: I’m a licensed counselor with a degree specialization in treating addiction. I have career experience with multiple modes of mental health, trauma, and substance use treatment in women-specific carceral, institutional, and healthcare settings. And I know anyone can come on the internet and say that, but I pinky promise.

The short version:

ACOSF stigmatizes alcoholism in line with cultural standards.

Western culture feels differently about female and male alcoholics due to systemic sexism, and thus treats them differently.

Women’s experience of alcoholism is often compounded by or even a result of systemic factors and intersectional identity.

Nesta’s treatment in ACOSF, while repugnant, is in many ways very accurate of attitudes today.

(I’ll be using “women/men” and “male/female” to denote cis afab and amab people. Little research exists on the experiences of queer, nonbinary and gender expansive considerations in addiction and recovery, which is a fuckin’ shame. Studies are also largely conducted with white participants due to enormous barriers to treatment for Black, Indigenous, and people of color, so this convo is inherently incomplete where it neglects those intersections.)

Okay, first things first: ACOSF is a book that stigmatizes alcoholism. I will not be taking questions.

The number one thing to understand is that in America, land of Miss Sarah, we are very bad at addiction treatment (tx). Why? Because our culture hates addicts has as stigma around addiction. And female alcoholics bear a very specific set of stigmas based in their identity.

In Susanna Kaysen’s memoir Girl, Interrupted , Kaysen’s character is institutionalized following a non-fatal suicide attempt. When evaluated, she’s diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, that bastion of diagnoses perfect for people (75% of whom are female-identified) who don’t fit into our polite definition of functioning. As the book unfolds, she reflects on how (white) women are often pathologized when they buck against systems of oppression that create the dysfunction in them in the first place. That is not to say other women in the institution are not genuinely in need of help, nor that mental illness in women is always from a systemic wound. But it’s crucial in the treatment of female addiction and mental health disorders to considered the systemic factors of gendered violence and patriarchy, and the attitudes we hold about women who struggle with drinking.

Think about female alcoholics in media. If she’s young, she’s a loose, reckless sl*t looking for trouble and deserving of the reality check when she finds it (Amy Schumer in Trainwreck, Lindsay Lohan in general). Or if the woman are older, they are discarded, or gross, or pathetic, or evil like anyone Faye Dunaway played or Eminem’s mom in 8 Mile (deep cut lol). Men are afforded a much larger spectrum of experiences and struggles - Ernest Hemingway, Leaving Las Vegas, Sideways, the dude from A Star is Born, Frank from Shameless (brilliant), frat boys, blue collar workers, introspective tortured artists, fucking IRON MAN. I could go on forever, but I hope that illustrates the depth and diversity of male-centric stories of alcoholism not often afforded to women.

One of the most empathetic and accurate portrayals of female alcoholism, in my opinion, is in the show Sharp Objects (the book, too, but actually witnessing it makes a difference). We see Amy Adams’ Camille swig vodka from an Evian bottle while fending off vicious, veiled attacks from her verbally and emotionally abusive mother and experiencing flashbacks of teenage sexual assault. We watch her struggle to find emotional safety in her conservative hometown, both wanting to fit in and get out in order to survive. We GET why she drinks and I have trouble blaming her for it even as she wreaks havoc on herself and others. We can see her clawing just to make it out alive, and alcohol is the tool she’s using to do it, for better or worse.

Which is where Nesta enters the chat. When we get our first glimpse of her alcohol use is ACOFAS, it’s portrayed as something everyone knows about but that she’s still mostly keeping it together - her dress is clean, her hair is neatly braided, she doesn’t need a chaperone to show up to a family event. The deterioration between ACOFAS and ACOSF is alarming, and we know that alcoholism is a progressive condition so that tends to happen. Was there a particular trigger? That’s hard to say. Solstice certainly didn’t help, especially with the pressures to perform and conform to the standards of the Inner Circle aka the people in power. I imagine seeing her sisters bouncey and reveling in the world that stole them and killed their father was probably.. tough, to say the least. The barge party seems to be a turning point as well, though this one is more confusing to me. But given the child abuse, extreme poverty, sexual assault, kidnapping, bodily violation, witnessing her father’s murder, almost dying, WAR - and that’s not even to mention essentially becoming a refugee - it would be amazing if she DIDN’T drink. She 100% has complex trauma, and is looking for ways to cope.

No one with full capacity dreams of becoming an addict when they grow up. Addiction, in my professional and personal experience, is largely a strategy for coping with a deeper wound. People don’t drink to feel bad. They drink to feel good, and to survive. Nesta herself is drinking to survive, but it’s having the unfortunate side effect of killing her at the same time. As she slides into active addiction, the thought of her own death may even be comforting, and alcohol in that way is her friend. (There's some interesting research right now framing addiction as an attachment disorder, but I don't know enough to speak on it much.)

So she obviously needs help. That’s not a debate. What is a debate is how the IC should best go about intervening. A variation on the Johnson method is used in ACOSF (the one from the show Intervention) and appears to be successful only because they threaten her if she doesn’t comply. This method has mixed data to support it, and while it’s very good at getting people into tx, there is a higher relapse rate for those who receive it (1). The “family” gathers and tells her the ways she’s hurt them and tell her the consequences if she doesn’t seek the help they’re offering. And again, so many of their reason are the effects on THEM, how she’s making THEM look, not her pain.

The IC’s ignorance and dismissal of her alcoholism in ACOSF is frankly mystifying. Why do they intervene on all the drinking and sexing, anyway? It seems like they’ve been fine enough with it up to this point. But now it's gone too far, not because of her illness but because she is embarrassing them. And I don’t know about you, but between Cassian apparently fucking half of Velaris and Mor’s heavily documented emotional drinking, that’s hard to square. It makes it feel much more likely that they don’t like the way she is coping, that she is not fitting into their picture of who she’s supposed to be. This picture is inherently gendered, because Prythian society and those who live in it have explicit and implicit expectations of gender roles, whether they’ll admit it or not. Cassian and Mor are playing their roles well; Nesta is not.

That leads me to believe it is NOT all about her, but the systemic and internal factors influencing their perception of her and the ways she’s struggling. It’s distasteful to them for her, a female, to be deteriorating this publicly, despite the fact that her very identity makes it harder for her to function in the patriarchy of Prythian. We hear almost exclusively about sexual violence against women, aside from 2 male characters. Past or present assault of women is a major plot point on multiple occasions (Mor, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie, Rhysands mom and sister, the lady of autumn, Cassians mom, Azriels mom, I could go on). But something about the way Nesta is contending with that is unacceptable, and I believe it’s because she’s not trying to cover up her dysfunction. In prythian, we keep these things hidden- Mor’s assault is never processed in full, Azriel’s mom seems to be alone at Rosehall, priestesses are literally hidden inside a mountain for centuries. Women process trauma alone and in the dark, but Nesta is in the light and she is loud. She is refusing to hide her problems, and the IC don’t like that, whether they realize it or not.

So why don’t the IC understand this? Like I said earlier, as a culture we hate addicts, or what they stand for, in very much the same way I think we hate people experiencing homelessness. We convince ourselves it was a series of bad choices that led someone where they are, choices we would never make because we are smart, smarter than them. We believe are more in control than that. We can prevent bad things from happening to us because we are good, because we are better than whoever it’s happening to. But the reality is almost ALL of us are one hospital stay away from homelessness, just as all of us are one trauma away from addiction. And with female addicts, we have another layer of expecting women to only struggle nicely and quietly, or to go away. Intersectional factors are at play here, too: white women are much more likely to have alcoholism attributed to mental health and trauma factors, where people of color often suffer the same addiction being more associated with crime. You can imagine how that plays out differently.

So what is the effect of all this? Gendered expectations lead to not only external stigma around addiction and tx, but also to internalized stigma which can limit willingness to seek tx. (2) Many social forces encourage women to drink and discourage them from telling anyone. Factors such as poverty, family planning, access to education, racial discrimination, and location can make services harder to access. Internally, women are more likely to enter treatment with less confidence in their ability to succeed, but report more strengths and more potential to grow recovery strengths during and following tx. For men, the pattern is reversed (3). And women have more successful tx episodes overall when gendered considerations are a part of the design and implementation of services (4). For Nesta, the effect is that she’s forced into treatment and copes by having hate sex with her ex and changing herself to conform to her family’s expectations while the House and the Valkyrie’s actually take care of her. I do not see how Sarah drew the line from there to recovery, I truly don’t. If anything, she recovers in spite of the ICs intervention, not because of it.

In summary, Nesta Archeron deserved better. Nesta deserved the same compassion the book gives to men who are struggling, and it’s a reflection of not just the book’s culture but the author’s culture that she doesn’t get it. Female alcoholics are worthy of treatment that integrates their identities, as those identities are often essential factors contributing to their addiction. What's shown in ACOSF is a reality many women live, and they shouldn't have to.

Barry Loneck, James A. Garrett & Steven M Banks (1996) The Johnson Intervention and Relapse During Outpatient Treatment, The American Journal of Drug and Alcohol Abuse, 22:3, 363-375, DOI: 10.3109/00952999609001665

Groshkova T, Best D, White W. The Assessment of Recovery Capital: Properties and psychometrics of a measure of addiction recovery strengths. Drug Alcohol Rev. 2013;32(2):187–94.

Best D, Vanderplasschen W, Nisic M. Measuring capital in active addiction and recovery: the development of the strengths and barriers recovery scale (SABRS). Subst Abuse Treat, Prev Policy. 2020;15(1):1–8.

Polak, K., Haug, N.A., Drachenberg, H.E. et al. Gender Considerations in Addiction: Implications for Treatment. Curr Treat Options Psych 2, 326–338 (2015). https://doi.org/10.1007/s40501-015-0054-5

#nesta archeron #pro nesta #alcoholism #mental health #sexism #acotar #acosf #stigma #rehabilitation #prythian university #sjm critical

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anthrologies · 7 months

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instagram algorithm serving me so many reels lately of people reading sjm books and then complaining about the characters like "when you're trying to finish acosf but nesta keeps getting in the way" or "acotar5 is coming next 😁 but it's going to be about elain 😔" (side note NOT EVEN CONFIRMED!) why are you even reading the books if you hate the characters so much. do you guys know you don't have to read them?

#i'm gonna just be a hater in the tags here sorry if you like these theories but they're stupid #oh my god i saw the stupidest one last night that started with 'cc3 spoilers'#first off the book isn't even out yet so why are you framing this as if it's confirmed info or something #anyways #then it said 'bryce and the inner circle losing the war... until the real OGs show up' and then it rattled off tog character names #like... you really think that cc3 is going to feature an entire war being fought in the acotar universe? and the acotar books will just what #skip over that whole war? and war in one universe being told in the books of another universe?#be so serious right now #and my friend told me that she saw a theory that the female on the cover of cc3 is aelin and it means that aelin will be in the book #and i was too stunned to speak when she told me that but i was like WHY #WHY would the main character from a DIFFERENT SERIES be on the cover of CRESCENT CITY #i'm not saying that aelin can't or won't make an appearance in cc3 #i think if she does it will be very brief!#with where i am in hosab now i think the female on the cover is ariadne but idk #oh or it could be hypaxia since she's a necromancer? i'm JUST getting to that part so i don't really know yet #yaz thinks it's danika which i think makes the most sense #i also think bryce's time in prythian will be brief maybe like 200 pages but who am i to say #anyways why are people bothering to read crescent city at all if they obviously only want to be reading acotar #no one is forcing you guys to read this series!#you people would not survive a single jane austen novel

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abraxos-and-ataraxia · 2 years

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Trying to figure out calanmai really just has me wondering if sjm forgot about the plot holes it left behind. I’m prepared to take creative liberties w this holiday

#acotar #for fic purposes of course #I need a backstory and the opportunity to fill out the acotar universe is too much to resist #current thought: the one day when fae are allowed access to all courts (security is a nightmare lol)#how else are ppl supposed to find their mates if they’re in diff courts?#I like the idea that calanmai was originally for that purpose but dividing prythian changed the story #‘find the maiden’ my left foot #also it ties into Rhys finding feyre :)#hella cute of me honestly

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hiddlestaan · 2 months

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A Court of Bloom and Deceit

Multi-chapter Story

Author's note: The story follows the events of ACOSF, but I have changed some important story elements. The primary change is Helion's family and story. This is a multi-pov story focused on the Spring Court and its High Lord. There are original characters added to this story and I'm very excited for you to meet them!

Summary: Eloise Spellcleaver has spent her entire life hiding, one way or another. When she is finally presented to Prythian, she's eager to prove herself at whatever cost. Perhaps that's why she ends up at the Spring Court as an emissary tasked with unsheathing the spell of an enchanted book rumored to have plagued the High Lords of the Spring Court for centuries.

Chapter 1:

The rays of sunlight are as blinding as the day before and the day before that.

An eternal glow of resplendent light-- that is my loyal companion. Aside from my daily interactions with Helion, I hardly ever commune with other fae. A few select individuals know of my existence, like my lady’s maid, Elva, and the High Lord and Lady of the Winter Court.

The Day Court was among the three courts that openly rebelled against Amarantha. When Kallias knew defeat was near, he winnowed to Viviane and begged her to protect his people. Vivianne and the remaining survivors of the Winter Court hid in a small city near Winter’s borders. Vivianne used every morsel of her power to veil and shield the sanctuary city, always opening its closed borders to those who could find their way to the city. I hadn’t known about the rebellion. Hadn’t known that people, my people, were risking their lives only to be slaughtered by Amarantha’s ruthless forces. Before I could protest and beg to stay by his side, Helion had winnowed me to the borders of the sanctuary city. He had kissed my brow before winnowing away. He whispered something, but I never heard it over the howling winds of the Winter Court. That was the last I saw of him for nearly fifty years. By the Mother’s grace, Vivianne had found me. I was certain death would come, and a small part of me welcomed it. I welcomed the warmth and peace that it would bring. But, it was not my time. Vivianne used her already depleting powers to warm me up and bring life back into me. And, so, for fifty years, we hid and evaded capture. It was a different sort of torture, knowing you were safe while those you loved were in danger-- knowing there was nothing you could do to help.

Every now and then, Vivianne would receive reports from sentries who would venture out beyond the city’s borders to bring back those who sought santuary-- to bring back any news of our loved ones Under the Mountain. I still remember Vivianne’s soul-crushing scream that shaked the snow-capped mountains of the city when she received report of the two dozen Winter Court children slaughtered at the hands of Amarantha. It had taken every sentry to hold her back-- to stop her from going Under the Mountain and demanding retribution, from exacting revenge for the horrors committed against her people. Report after report came, detailing the suffering of Prythian. And there was nothing we could do about it save for our useless prayers to the Mother.

After fifty long years, Amarantha was finally defeated. Not long after, Helion and Kallias winnowed to the small sanctuary city in the Winter Court. Kallias had fallen to his knees before Vivianne. Holding her as if she would be taken away if he were to let go. He had proposed to her then. My heart lightened as I saw them intertwined with each other. A small glimmer of light after five decades spent in darkness. I had thought things would be different after the events that transpired Under the Mountain. I was certainly different. Helion made Vivianne and Kallias swear to never utter word of my existence and who I truly was. If anyone were to ask of the female who had spent those long and cold fifty years by Vivianne’s side, they were to say she had perished. I would be forgotten. The people I had survived alongside would forget me. I wondered if they would mourn me, remember me. I was taken back to the palace at the Day Court to live out the rest of my life in hiding. All my life, I’ve been hiding, one way or another. But I should be thankful. I could have spent fifty years Under the Mountain. Surely I should be grateful.

After the events with Amarantha and Hybern, Helion took it upon himself to warn me of fae deception and the dangers of Prythian.

I knew though. As much as I could lurking in the shadows of day.

After all, I was born into deceit.

Edeline, sister of Helion and my mother, had been murdered after giving birth to me. I have no recollection of the female my uncle still mourns. No memory of the female who was said to have loved me. No connection to the female who birthed me and died for me.

Helion has told me the tale enough times to have it engrained in my mind and heart. Edeline carried me to term, never revealing the identity of my father. Helions says that she must have had good reason for it. When he brought up the subject, she had paled and retreated far into herself. He made the decision then to never bring it up. Helion was always like that with his sister. Their parents had said that he doted on her too much, protected her from the realities of life. And he would have continued to do so, to protect and shield his sister.

The morning Edeline gave birth to me had been like any other. The sun was shining brightly above the marble stone palace, like it as always has. Servants were bustling with my impending arrival. Helion had been a nervous wreck, so unlike himself. But, in a way, he was always like where his sister was concerned. He knew of the challenges of childbirth, and this was one danger he could not shield his sister from. Helion wasn’t the only one acting differently.

Edeline was not herself in the days leading up to my birth, or so Elva claims. Elva often lulled me to sleep with stories of her. I had come to know Edeline to be a strong, albeit stubborn female. Elva says I remind her of her, in appearance and personality. I had an image of her in my mind based on stories, but that’s all I had. Helion had taken down any and all portraits of her-- too ashamed to look into the painted eyes of his sister whom he had failed to protect when she needed it most. I imagined she had a dark and rich complexion like Helion, one that would glow beautifully under the sun. If my hair were any indication, she must have had dark-chocolate hair. And her eyes, I was told they were identical to mine-- a golden honey color. I struggle to imagine her as anything but sunlight personified, but in the days leading up to my birth, Edeline was as pale as a ghost, as if the very essence of her had been sucked away. She was always nervous, her light scattering at the slightest sounds or movements-- constantly surveying her surroundings.

When the time came to give birth to me, Edeline had not been afraid. She pushed and pushed and pushed until sunlight bathed me. Then my cry was heard, strong and healthy. Edeline never held me. The moment I was out and safe, she urged Elva to hand me over to Helion. In all his happiness, Helion had left his sister in her room to recover. He hadn’t known that would be a decision that would haunt him for centuries to come. Elva tried to stay with my mother, but she refused, insisting that she be left alone. And, so reluctantly, Elva left too. Edeline was alone when she died. I often wonder if she was afraid, if she had known. Though I was just a newborn, I swear I heard the bone-shattering scream that lurched out of Helion when he saw what remained of his beloved sister-- of my mother.

Scattered stories from Helion and Elva depict Edeline as a serene, benevolent sort of female. I find it incredibly hard to believe that anyone would murder her. Perhaps, she, too, held secrets no one knew about. Helion, however, never stained the honor of his sister. As the story goes, he ravaged Prythian to find the murderers, but to no avail. It’s why he keeps me close, only under the care of those he trusts most-- forbidden from exploring the Court my mother had called home, the home she loved.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #sjm universe #tamlin #lucien #helion spell cleaver #tamlin x oc #lucien x oc #feysand #gywnriel #nessian #kallias x vivianne #prythian

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itsswritten · 2 months

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“To the stars who listen and the dreams that are answered”

ＡＺＲＩＥＬ

One-shots

⁂ Share your pain

In the wake of a heated argument, you and Azriel find yourselves adrift, the once unbreakable bond strained. Faced with the questions of whether love can endure the shadows of past traumas, can you work through this?

⁂Threads of Hazel

A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

Might write a part 2 for this

Mini Series

⁂ Gone

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final Part

Sometimes it take's heartbreak to move on...or to realise what you've always had.

⁂ Wings - this is a universe of the same couple filled with one-shots and drabbles.

Wings | butterfly kisses | more coming soon

ＡＺＲＩＳ

(Azriel x Reader x Eris)

༄ When the sea calls for three

In the aftermath of war, peace reigns over the realms of Prythian, but the delicate balance hangs in the hands of two unlikely mediators—You and Lucien. As the newly appointed Emissaries of Peace, your duty is clear: maintain alliances, foster understanding between courts, and navigate the intricate webs of fae politics.

But when fate deals an unexpected twist, revealing that you possess not one, but two mates, the tranquillity you've worked so hard to uphold is suddenly threatened. Caught between two males who refuse to share, you find yourself thrust into a precarious position, torn between duty and desire.

What will you do and who will you choose?

Intro | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 - coming soon!

ＥＲＩＳ

~pending~

#acotar #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #acotar masterlist #eris x azriel #eris x reader x azriel #eris x y/n #eris x reader #eris x you

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utterlyotterlyx · 21 days

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Say Yes To Heaven

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - There was no bond that could compare to yours and Azriel's, not even in death.

Warnings - heart breaking angst and sadness, swearing, loss of a loved one, fluff, you're going to cry because I did before I even started writing this.

Work Count - 4.4k

Based on this ask

"I must be in heaven."

Prepare yourself...

Cedar had become your favourite scent.

It intoxicated you the moment he stepped into the room, the quiet male who kept to himself, shrouded in shadow, scanning the room intently whilst lingering toward the back of his clan.

Heart clenching in your chest, you examined him, the infamous spymaster of the Night Court who you'd never met before. He was beautiful, beautiful like moonlight and rain, and you beheld him with such grace that you never gave to anyone.

It was as though the universe knew, and as you glanced to him, you knew too. His stare hadn't found you yet, but he was looking for something, for someone, like he too could feel the gravitational pull that had taken hold of his essence the second he had stepped over the threshold of the ballroom.

A gold strapless dress clung to your figure, Helion's signature halo entrapped in your unbound waved hair. The candlelight embraced you in its golden glow, finding a kinship in you, and you basked in it. Originally from the Autumn Court, you had found a place in Helion's court as his second, his closest friend, his confidant. But something told you that the second the Shadowsinger looked to you, there was little Helion would be able to do to keep you.

Air escaped his lungs as he found the one his shadows had been whispering to him about. There you stood at the edge of the dais, your assigned place at the event thrown by your High Lord, skin glistening and eyes teeming with blissful shock. Your hands were folded in front of you, your shoulders were pushed back and your entire was poised and elegant.

Azriel cared little for court politics as his feet carried him absentmindedly in your direction, and not once did those hazel pools of torment move off of your face that was glowing in the light. He came to a stop before you, visibly breathless, and took your hand in his, feeling that pull swirl into a pit of yearning need in his stomach.

Sultry plucking of a harp consumed the room, an ethereal melody that possessed him like a siren did a sea merchant. A tune that was making him swoon, it complimented you and the moment perfectly.

Standing on the step below you, you looked down on him, expressionless but with soft features that he wanted to touch and etch into his memory. The world slowed, Azriel swore that it was you that stopped the world from spinning, to freeze time in that moment as that golden thread in his chest found its needle inside of your soul.

"Azriel," he told you his name, seemingly being the only thing he could coherently say to you, scanning your face in patient desire to hear one syllable fall from those lips with your hand still in his.

Tilting your head to the side, you smiled softly, "Y/N," your voice was angelic, soft like summer rain, as melodic as a lullaby.

Azriel had heard of you from Rhys who considered you to be a friend as much as Helion, you were a dream walker, able to tread along the line of the sleeping and living worlds unnoticed, to create and infiltrate the dreams of others, to throw your essence into the wind and see where she carried you.

A rare thing, so rare that you were the only known dream walker to walk Prythian in a millennia.

"I've been waiting for you," you dipped your head and smiled, a blush creeping up to your cheeks that made him grin at the captivating beauty of it.

Taking a step down from the dais, you peered up at the male whose wings were shielding you from the crowd of your friends no doubt staring at you both, a bewitching speckle of gold in your eyes, "So have I."

"I must be in heaven," Azriel smirked into your shoulder as he rolled his hips into yours.

He had dreamed of that moment, of having you laid bare beneath him, shuddering and moaning in delicious delight.

Azriel had waited months for it, he had waited as you took your sweet time to accept the bond, no doubt dragging it on purposefully to drive him mad, you were infuriating like that. He had waited until you had decided to leave Helion and settle your roots in Velaris, he had waited until you were ready to take that step, and not once did he complain or rush you.

The night you had accepted the bond formally was the same evening Azriel had moved you into the house he had ordered Rhys to build for you both the moment they had returned from the Day Court after meeting you. It was light and airy, it was brimming with warmth and love, it was the perfect harmony of both of your intertwined souls.

Azriel danced with you in the candlelight, holding you close to his chest and muttering his silent thanks to the Mother for the gift that was you, a mate who wasn't afraid of him, but who was instead enamoured by him.

It was that night you had cooked for him and assured him that you were ready, that he was everything that you ever needed and wanted. Azriel had gladly, and quickly, ate the meal you had presented to him before gathering you up in his arms and taking you to your shared bedroom.

"Say yes to heaven," you had breathlessly muttered back to him, your nails digging into the skin of his back and running along the thick membranes of his wings, "Say yes to me."

Azriel kissed you, moving inside of you like it was the only thing he was sure was right, that it was the only thing that made sense. Your bodies moulded together like molten gold in a crown casing.

"Yes. A thousand times yes," he spoke over your lips, grinning and capturing your lips in his own, running his fingers up your sides and furling them into your hair.

Entwined with you was the only place that gave him sanctuary, the only place where peace was able to find him and where the demons wouldn't dare journey to. Home.

Two hundred years of you.

Two hundred years of coming home and having you by his side, two hundred years of falling in love you with you more and more each day.

Not one bit of you had changed in that time, you were still the gentle, caring, loving soul that he met all those years ago. You still wore your signature gold, your eyes still sparkled with adoration when he walked into a room, even as your family grew with the additions of Feyre and her sisters, not once did your bond falter.

Even Rhys knew that he and Feyre couldn't compare to the bond you shared, a bond of tormented nightmares soothed by your touch, a bond of universe shattering love and yearning, a bond so strong that nothing would ever come between it.

Azriel never stopped smiling, he never lingered anywhere knowing that you were at home waiting for him, everywhere he went he took you with him, or a piece of you if you couldn't be there physically.

Rhys had sent your mate back to you with a smirk, noticing his incessant fidgeting on the chair before his desk, and Azriel didn't need telling twice before he bellowed from the house and soared into the skies, following your scent all the way to the hearth of your home.

You stood with your back to him, head peering over your shoulder like you had heard him coming from miles away, hair clipped up and spilling over your face, "Az," you breathed and rounded the seating area to bury your face in his chest, nuzzling into his cedar and warmth like a babe to a blanket. Azriel curled his arms around you, his shadows peppering your face in sweet kisses and dancing across your shoulders, "I've missed you."

The longest you and Azriel had ever gone without one another was a week, any longer and your bond would ache and crack, forcing you back together and humming in delight at the first featherlight touch before your bodies collided.

Cupping your face in his marred hands, hands that you had never grimaced at, he scanned your face like he did every time he returned to you, with glazed eyes, sketching your face to memory just so that he could dream of it when slumber took hold of him, "I missed you so much, my little dreamer."

His kiss was tender, full of exhaustion and need to have you close. Azriel scooped you into his arms, not being able to stop his lips from touching every bare patch of skin on show to him before he undressed you and made love to you for hours. Making sure that you knew how loved you were, how much he starved for you.

Once your head was nestled onto his chest and his fingers were tracing patterns into your shoulder, you felt him sigh, the exhale making your head drop a couple of inches. Craning your neck, you silently asked him what was wrong, your brows furrowing as he spoke, "Promise me that you'll always be by my side."

"I'll never leave you, Az."

"Promise me," he begged, "Promise me that you'll come back."

Caressing his cheek, your soothing voice uttered, "I'll come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream. I'll come back, always. I promise," a familiar burning coiled around your forearm, blank ink swirled and settled into the skin that lay there, a matching one appeared on his forearm and you wound yourself into him as tight as you could.

Tensions were rising with the war against Hybern looming and you knew that he was terrified, you knew if it was only him, if he didn't have you, then he would be fine. But he wasn't ready to lose you or himself, not when he wasn't ready to stop loving you.

Azriel had flown into a blind rage once Cassian had told him what you had been ordered to do.

The war was looming, accelerating even, and Azriel was trying frantically to keep you out of it.

Rhys had ordered you to dream walk into Hybern, into the King's sick and twisted mind. It was the only leverage they had, that the King didn't know of you so wouldn't know how to prepare against your abilities. You'd be able to figure out his plans, you'd be able to warp his mind into making the wrong move.

It was an order that you had agreed to, albeit begrudgingly, "I can't do it here. If there's any chance he knows of me and can use my magic to trace it to the source, then I can't be here."

Rhys had made sure to keep Azriel out of the meeting, he had made sure to busy him with something else, he knew that he wouldn't allow it, and Rhys needed you to agree. It wasn't like he enjoyed coming between you two, he loved you like a sister, he doted on you and appreciated every single thing you did from his family.

After the cauldron, you were instrumental in healing both Elain and Nesta, you infiltrated their dreams and filled them with light, you plucked away the horror, much like you had done for Azriel when you had first began your relationship, and locked them away in the chest in your mind where the nasty things went. Even Feyre had leaned on you, and you had gladly done the same for her, coaxing away her sickness and making her into the powerful female she had grown into.

Your gift was serene, you very rarely used it to do something bad, but the King of Hybern was a monster, one that needed to be stopped, and the war was drawing closer, and they were running out of options.

"You're not going anywhere," Azriel had growled from the doorway, glowering like the devil in disguise at his brother before approaching you, running his fingers down the side of your face and placing his lips on your forehead.

"Az," you trailed off, taking his hands in your own and forcing him to meet your gaze, "We don't have a choice."

Azriel shook his head, "I can't be away from you," he was terrified, terrified that you leaving would mean that he would never see you again.

Tears bubbled in your eyes, "I know," your bottom lip wobbled, "But you can't come with me. This is a part of me that I'm not proud of, I don't want you to see this. You're needed here, you need to protect our home."

"You are my home, y/n. Not Prythian. Not Velaris or the darkness. You. You're my little dreamer, I need you here where I know that you're safe."

"If I don't do this then we won't have a home to come back to, we won't come back to each other like we promised."

"No-"

"Az, we don't have a choice," you cupped his face and his fingers curled around your wrists, "I can do this, and we can win. And then we'll go home to our little house by the Sidra and make all of those babies we talked about, okay?"

Silence, "Okay."

Turning to Rhys, you told him, "There's a dream walker temple on the edge of Summer. I'll go there, I work better at dusk," you focused back on your mate as the sun began to dip in the sky, "Take me home. Please."

One more moment, one more moment of your love consuming you before the realisation settled in that there was a real chance that you'd never see one another again.

Azriel stood on the grass of your home, clutching onto you with every fibre of his soul, "What if we don't-"

"Don't say it."

"Y/N," tears spilled down his cheeks as they did on yours, your hands were fisted into his shirt and your forehead was pressed against his.

Purple had began to float across the sky, a warning that time was waning.

"I will see you when dusk meets dawn. I will see you in the stars and clouds. I will see you again," you strained through strangled sobs, "I love you Azriel. Thank you for finding me and giving me two hundred years of love and wonder. Thank you for loving me and becoming the only home I ever needed."

"You rescued me from myself," he breathed, "I'll look for you. I'll dream of you. I would go through all of my pain over and over again if it means that you're waiting at the end of it. I'll see you on the other side of the stars, my little dreamer. I love you," he blinked hard and tears fell from his eyes, ones that you brushed away before kissing him deeply, "Go. If you don't go now then I'll never be able to let go of you. I can't watch you go. Please y/n."

Pressing your lips to his one more time in a featherlight embrace, you stepped from his arms, shuddering at the cold that shrouded you in that moment and sobbed at his outstretched hands that were searching for you.

And then you disappeared, you vanished before your mouth could betray you and tell him what you had both been dreaming of.

It had spent your energy but it had worked.

Your journey into his mind had been successful and once you rose from the golden stone floor of the dream walker temple and saw the sun loom on the horizon, you screamed the news and findings into Rhys' mind and simultaneously flooded the straining bond with love, sighing as a tidal wave of adoration flowed back to you.

You had to get there, you had to reach the battlefield and help. Being Helion's former second meant that you were a gifted warrior, and even living in Velaris hadn't allowed you to take a break from that part of your life.

Ash floated from the sky, landing on your face as you winnowed to the edge of the field and gasped at the sight. There were mangled bodies everywhere, there was screaming and crying, and fighting surrounded you like your own personal nightmare.

The sky was dark with smoke and you frantically tugged on the bond, begging it to lead you to your mate. There was a chance now, a real chance that you'd both be able to go home and live the dream you'd always wanted.

Blue flashed in the corner of your eye and you saw him, he was surrounded, back to back with Cassian as a circle of enemies encroached on their position. Glancing to your side, you ripped a steel tipped javelin from the body of a long gone foe, throwing it in the air and grasping it with a perfect grip before hurtling it through the sky, smiling as it ripped through a total of six enemies.

Azriel and Cassian both snapped to your direction in awe at the fact you'd just taken out a third of the enemies around them with one throw. Cassian chuckled and relished in tearing the rest of the males limb from limb whilst Azriel nodded to you, asking if you were alright and only waiting a single beat for your confirmation before he continued on his onslaught.

There would be time to reunite later.

The war was bloody and horrible, you had never enjoyed killing anyone, but you were a ruthless and formidable opponent, no one could have tore you down when you had met Mor on the battlefield and made fast work of clearing the area.

You continued to fight, you continued and fought with every ounce of energy you could spare. You fought through the cauldron breaking and Rhys dying, you fought through the last remaining minutes before the surrender.

You fought until you realised that you couldn't feel him.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you dropped your sword and glanced around, noticing that none of your friends were on the battlefield, you dropped you sword and ran. Struggling panting breaths flew from your lips as you ran, hurtling over piles of bodies and around healers scouring the grounds for souls to save.

The camps were brimming with bloody males and females, all being tended to, some happy and others in shock. You tugged on the bond. Silence. You tugged on it again. Silence.

A clearing appeared and you saw them, you saw Cassian with his head in his hands, you saw Rhys leaning against Feyre and her red puffy eyes. The skimming of rocks alerted them to your presence and Rhys darted to you, "Where is he, Rhys?"

Your thick braid waved around as your head whipped across the clearing furiously, "I can't feel him. Where is he?"

Rhys grasped your arms then, forcing you to look at him. The entrance to the tent flapped in the wind and you could faintly see the drooped wings trailing off the table. Rhys was struggling to speak, he was taking in your furrowed brows and wide eyes, the parted lips and the softly shaking head, "No. No," you said to no one in particular as you took a step to the side.

You reached for the bond again only to feel nothing on the other side and you gasped, taking a tentative step toward the flapping entrance of the tent and inhaling deeply, faded cedar and night kissed air.

Your heart had registered it before your mind had, it was shattering in your chest and you grasped your stomach as it swelled in pain, gasping as it settled. Cassian cradled you in his arms, not being able to say anything, but looking up at him confirmed it and you burst into the tent without a second thought, clasping the entrance closed behind you.

Light floated through the tear in the far corner, slicing across the floor and over his figure, but you couldn't move, you couldn't breathe.

"Az?"

Nothing.

"Azriel?" You took a step toward him, praying that he was just injured and asleep, but as you took one glimpse at his face, you crumpled to your knees.

There had never been pain like it, you clawed at your chest and crawled along the dirt to the hand that was outstretched to you, like he had reached for you just before he left. You nuzzled your cheek onto his palm, begging for warmth, for some form of life.

Cold greeted you and you screamed, you screamed a strangled cry and sobbed, pulling on his hand and cupping it over your face like he was going to wake up and curl his fingers around your chin and kiss you and cry with you.

But he wasn't.

You grasped onto the edge of the table where he lay and drank in his pale face, his body void of dancing shadows, and you crawled into the tiny space at his side, curling onto his chest and rubbing your cheek against his leathers, "You promised," you cried, muffled into his icy skin, and at the words, you felt a searing pain spread across your body, one of broken bonds and promises as your tattoos began to vanish one by one.

Only in death will you be free of our promises, my little dreamer.

"Please, please, bring him back. Give him back to me. I can't live without him. Please." Craning your neck, you peered up at him, at his closed eyelids and peaceful smile, like he had drifted off into slumber and was dreaming of you. "We had it, Az. We were there. We're having a baby. You need to come back to me."

Silence.

Heart breaking sobs flowed through you, so painful that Nesta had to enter the tent, a sob escaping from her own lips at the sight of you curled into Azriel's lifeless size, you had draped his arm over you, you were pressing your lips to the space below his ear, you were begging the Mother to bring him back to you.

"I was going to tell you after this, after we'd won. It would have made it all worth it, Our own little baby, our own little dreamer. Come back to me," your face crumpled, "You promised you'd never leave me."

Nesta approached, fingers outstretched to you and she placed a hand on your shoulder, watching painfully as you turned Azriel's head and placed your lips on his, sobbing against them and clutching your stomach, "I'll see you on the other side of the stars. I'll come back to you even if you can't come back to me. I'll dream of you every day. I love you, Az. I love you."

Mor refused to leave you, she cradled you as you cried and rocked you to sleep, she listened to your fearful sobs of going through your pregnancy alone, and she cried with you. They all cried harder, like air didn't deserve them when Nesta had told them of your condition, of losing Azriel and carrying his child.

Mor had continued to hold you as your body finally gave in and sleep confused your soul, carrying you to the place where the Mother knew where you needed to be.

Warmth floated over your figure, and your weary eyes opened, wincing at the light flitting through the open windows. Coffee and cedar clung to the air, and you shot upward, searching the landscape for the person you were breaking for.

"Hello, my little dreamer," his voice was like a symphony and you exhaled, straining your sadness in the action, and turned to the side to see him sat to your side. Azriel smiled sadly at you and thinned his lips, "I missed you."

A sob thundered through you and he was on you in an instant, cradling you to his chest and stroking your hair, "You left me."

"I know. I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry," he pulled away and rested his forehead on your, tips of your noses touching and eyes scanning your face like they always did.

He was there but he wasn't, a symphonic figment of your imagination, or the Mother's final gift to you, to let you have him mentally if she couldn't allow you to have him physically.

"We're having a baby."

Azriel smiled, doing his best to contain his tears for you, he had to be strong for you, he was the one who had left you in the world of the living without him, "I heard you."

"You did?"

Azriel hummed, looking at you with adoration and wonder as his hand drifted to your abdomen, "You can do this," tears threatened to spill down his cheeks and he blinked them away furiously, "I know it's hard, and I know you feel alone, But I will always be here, you'll always be able to find me in your dreams."

"It's not the same," you strained, clutching hold of him like your life depended on it, which in that moment, it did, "I need you. Come back."

"I can't, my little dreamer," he caressed your cheek, stroking the reddened puffy skin with the pad of his thumb, "I'm too far gone. But I can stay here, on the edge of life and death with you until you want to send me away."

"I'll never send you away. I'll never let you go."

"We're having a baby," his voice cracked and you knew he was breaking, breaking at the thought of not being able to hold you during your labour or go to the bakeries to pick up your favourite sweet treats, of not being able to sing your babe into rest with his melodic voice, "I'm going to be a dad," you nodded, on the edge of breaking with him, he lowered himself to your barely there swell and ran his fingers over the surface, "You be good for her. She's the best thing that the Mother ever made. I'll meet you one day, when the time is right," then he moved back up to you, sketching your face to memory like he always did.

"On the other side of the stars?"

"On the other side of the stars," you confirmed, pressing you lips to his and letting him hold you in his ghostly embrace, allowing your two hundred years worth of love to consume you, "You'll be waiting there for me?"

Azriel ran his fingers down the slope of your neck and shoulder and pressed his lips into your hairline, "Oh my little dreamer, I'll wait a million years for my soul to dance with yours in the stars, and that day will be the best day of my existence."

Authors Note

I cried all the way through this, I broke myself oh my godddd

335 notes · View notes

sarahs-library · 5 months

Text

Forgotten: Pretty Eyes

A/N - Forgotten is giving me serious writer's block right now, so here's a little smutty snippet from the same universe before the story begins. You aren't together yet, the bond has snapped for Azriel but you remain blissfully unaware. Also I love the idea of meddling Nesta. This is also my first time publishing any smut, so hopefully it doesn't seem as cringey to you as it did to me re-reading it.

Word count: 4704

Warnings: Smut

Forgotten Part One ☪ Part Two ☪ Part Three

Your POV

Settled into the plush leather couch, you pulled the blanket up to your chin, creating a cozy nest for yourself. You balanced the book Nesta had given you on your lap, the worn cover a familiar weight against your skin. The floral sundress you wore fluttered around your legs, exposing the delicate skin of your knees, which you instinctively tucked beneath the warm embrace of the blanket. Once comfortable, you flipped open the hardcover to read the synopsis inlaid on the first page and snorted. Gratuitous smut, that much was predictable. But the story revolved around fated mates who couldn’t stay away from each other, despite every glaringly obvious reason to. Her recent recommendations had all centered on this theme, which you found puzzling. You couldn’t understand the Fae’s obsession with them, or Nesta’s for that matter.

Sure, you understood the religious aspect, most cultures had deities or worshipped magic in some form. Prythian’s Mother was no different in your eyes from the innumerable nameless gods you’d encountered in your travels over the years. But even so, the Fae's sanctification of basic biology was unique. You cleared your throat and looked up.

“Excuse me? House?” It felt strange, to address an inanimate object. You hadn’t quite believed Nesta when she first told you the House was sentient, a byproduct of her cauldron-made power. But it had seen to your needs enough over the last few months, often without prompting, that you’d found yourself creating a tentative relationship with it. “Do you have another book for me? Nesta’s been recommending so many of these, I’d rather read something different.” A moment later, a small pile of books dropped onto the table next to you. You thanked the House as you reached for the top book on the pile.

A God cursed to remain locked in his mountain hold until his soulmate frees him…You stopped reading with a frown, setting the book aside with the other before taking the next one. And then the next. You reached the end of the pile, all books about soulmates or fated mates or love pairs. Maybe the House had misunderstood you. You gathered the books up again, this time placing the one Nesta had lent you at the top of the pile and addressed the House again.

“Sorry, I meant do you have anything different than a romance? Maybe something with a bit of action and adventure?” The pile didn’t vanish, no other books appeared either. You waited for a few seconds. “House?” You knew it was close with Nesta, perhaps you’d offended it by inadvertently insulting her reading tastes.

You considered getting up from the comfy nest you’d created in the sitting room to go to the library and pick something off the shelves yourself. You eyed the book at the top of the pile again and sighed. Grabbing it you cracked open to the first page. Only then did the pile vanish, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. In its place stood a glass filled with fruity, fizzing pink wine from the Summer Court. It knew that you preferred it to the heartier reds more commonly found in the Night Court. You thanked the House and took a sip from the wine glass before turning your attention to the book propped open against your knees.

A dull pain in your neck drew you from sleep. Your dry eyes adjusted to the low lighting as you began to sit up. You groaned and massaged the sore muscles in your neck and shoulder, cursing yourself for falling asleep in such an awkward position. The book, still open at the last page you were reading, slipped from your lap and hit the floor with a dull thud. Fae light housed in a dark glass shade flickered to life on the table next to your empty wine glass. Freeing the blanket from where it was tangled between your legs, you bent to retrieve the book from the floor. The hand you reached out stopped shy of the cover, the tips of your fingers brushing against the shadows that teeming it, burrowing under the pages.

They didn’t shy away from your touch. Instead, they pushed the book across the floor into your open hand. You grasped at the leather-bound spine, cool shadows curling between your fingers and sliding up the back of your hand.

“Thank you.” You inclined your head and righted yourself on the sofa, expecting them to disperse in search of their master.

“Don’t tell me you’ve joined Nesta’s smutty book club too.” Reflectively you gripped the book tighter as the voice came from behind you. After months of living together at the House, you were beginning to be able to decipher Azriel’s moods. Smooth, dark, and low his tone of voice rarely gave away what he was feeling. But the slight elongation of some vowels and the emphasis on the word smutty told you he was amused. A delicate flush rose on your cheeks, and you resolved not to look at him.

“I mostly go for the wine. But Nesta said this was one of her favourites, though I’m not sure why.” The shadows that had helped you retrieve the book began to climb up over the edge of the sofa, to investigate further as you held it in your lap. You could feel him inching closer behind you, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Satisfied with their investigation, or at whatever silent command Azriel gave them, the shadows began to return to his side. You were unsure of how cognizant they were. As one of them brushed against the soft skin of your thigh, exposed from where your dress had ridden up, you wondered if it was intentional. You were glad to not see his face. Not while his shadows snitched to him about the colour dusting your cheeks and the very long, very explicit description of the mating frenzy between the main characters you’d been reading before you fell asleep.

“Too tame for you, sweetheart?” You’d been playing this game for weeks now. Glances that lingered a hair too long to be appropriate. Comments that bordered on suggestive but still gave plausible deniability. Any excuse to touch, to feel the other’s skin as you passed a dish at family dinner or assisted Azriel with demonstrations for the priestesses.

And you hated it, the effect he had on you. You knew, somewhere deep inside in a place you didn’t want to acknowledge, that he was part of the reason you’d taken advantage of Rhys’ hospitality. Why you hadn’t been itching to leave, to find another place after you landed unceremoniously, bleeding and half-conscious, in the Night Court all those months ago.

You sighed. “No, it’s not that.” Azriel was standing directly behind you now. When you took your next breath his scent, night-chilled mist and cedar, filled your nose. “I know she and Cassian are disgustingly in love, but I’d prefer her to give me at least one recommendation that doesn’t revolve and two people finding out they are mates, and then fucking for the next 100 pages.”

Azriel made a low, humming sound. Not in agreement, but in consideration of what you said. You thought he was going to speak, grace you with a sarcastic remark. Instead, he leaned over the back of the sofa. His face was so perilously close to your neck that you could feel the hot breath he exhaled, as he plucked the open book from your lap. He retreated as quickly as he’d come; you instinctively turned, reaching one hand up to stabilise yourself against the plush leather.

His hazel eyes met yours, and the triumphant smirk he gave you ignited both irritation and something primal. Held aloft in one hand, he lifted the book to his eyeline as the shadows flicked swiftly through the pages. Landing on the passage he wanted, he began to read aloud.

“His manhood was hot and hard and thick with lust. He pounded into her rough and ready, their gasps puffing in the air, steam rising off their skin.” Your cheeks flushed deeper. You hauled yourself up the back of the sofa, resting on your knees, attempting to use the leverage to lessen the advantage his greater height gave him. Reaching out, you tried to snatch the book from his grasp only for him to move it away just as your fingers brushed against the cover. He took a half-step back, still within arm’s length but not close enough for you to reach without losing your balance.

Azriel arched a brow, eyes alight with thinly veiled amusement as he took in your flushed face. You noticed the way they strayed, just for a moment, following the path of your exposed neck down towards your chest. A traitorous part of you preened under the attention of his gaze. Instinct prompted you to press the advantage he’d unwittingly given you, using the moment of his distraction to vault over the back of the sofa and close the distance between you. Azriel’s wings flared behind him, but he didn’t retreat from the sudden proximity, even as your hand reached up to grasp the book over his own.

Dragging his eyes away from you, he feigned nonchalance as he continued to skim the pages of the book. You realised your mistake then, calf muscles straining to keep your weight steady as you stood frozen on arched feet. His eyes didn’t leave the page even as his other hand came up to rest on your hip. The fabric of your dress felt dangerously thin as the warmth from his palm and slightly splayed fingers seeped through. Thin enough to feel the callouses on the finger that skimmed tantalisingly close to the edge of your underwear.

“The male says such filthy things.” He allowed you to pull the book down but didn’t relinquish his grip. Hazel eyes met yours, darkened even in the fae light. Slowly lowering your weight back onto the balls of your feet, you held his gaze. You were acutely aware of how little space was left between the two of you. Cool shadows brushed against the bare skin of your legs, catching on the hem of your dress and skirting at your waist. The breath you inhaled, made ragged by the proximity, filled your lungs with Azriel’s scent. Lust fogged your thoughts, quietening the voice in your mind that warned you of the precipice you teetered on. Even through the haze, you recognised there would be no going back, not once you acted on this.

“Do you like it when your lovers speak to you like this, sweetheart?” His voice, guttural and slow, seemed to speak directly to the embers now burning within you. He edged closer, enough that the fabric of your dress brushed against the scaled leather on his chest. You backed away, even as you felt your body react, but kept your eyes trained on Azriel’s face. His shadows returned to him, agitating a breeze that carried the unmistakable scent of your arousal. Azriel inhaled deeply, savouring it like a man half-drowned. His gaze became predatory as he prowled closer to you.

You felt the brush of cool leather against the heated skin of your back and the curve of your buttocks. He stepped closer, muscular arms brushing your waist on either side as he rested his hands on the sofa, caging you in. You held his gaze, even as he lowered his face close enough that your breath mingled. You tried to grasp at something, formulate a scathing remark that would disseminate the tension, that would allow you to step out of this room with your friendship still intact. All you could focus on was how easy it would be to reach up, tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, and bring his face down to close the distance between your lips. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk and he feigned closing the distance, tilting his head before passing over your mouth and whispering in your ear.

“You haven’t answered my question.” His breath danced over the shell of your ear, and you fought against the urge to arch your back and press yourself into his chest. His lips ghosted over the skin of your neck as he traced the curve down to where it met your collarbone.

“My preferences regarding lovers are of no concern to you.” He stilled against you.

“Is that so?” The words caressed your skin, drawled and meant to provoke as he made the return journey back towards your lips. You managed a breathy affirmation, even as he trailed fire in his wake. The barest of touches, feeding your desire for more of them, more of him. You didn’t notice the hand until his palm slid up to rest on the side of your neck, gripping your jaw between scarred fingers and thumb. His grip was firm as he pulled back to look at you.

“Such lies from such a sweet, little mouth.” His thumb stroked a path up, sweeping across your plump lower lip. You parted them on instinct. Lust-darkened eyes met your own, and a moment of clarity passed between you both. One that spoke of more than just base needs or primal instincts. Hiding in his eyes was a promise of more. Something that neither of you were ready to address just yet.

"You have such pretty eyes," Azriel's thumb dragged your lower lip down, his husky baritone stoked the fire of arousal coursing in your veins. "I can't wait to see you looking up at me, with my cock in your mouth." His other hand moved to your hip as he trailed his thumb down, palm splayed as he traced your jaw; your neck to where the cut of your dress lay at the valley between your breasts. He toyed with the edge before moving his hand to trace down your other side, thumb brushing the underside of the swell of flesh you desperately wanted him to pay more attention to.

His grip tightened for a moment at your waist before he hoisted you into the air. You gasped in surprise at the sudden movement before he perched you precariously on the edge of the back of the sofa. The increased height made your face almost level with his, something that Azriel took full advantage of as he captured your lips with his own. Your hands moved to steady yourself on his broad shoulders, fingernails digging into the leather as you swept your tongue against his bottom lip. You opened your thighs in invitation, Azriel stepped closer so that your chest was flush with his. His hips settled between your legs; your thighs clenched on either side as he deepened the kiss. His skilled tongue stroked against your own as you moaned, breathing heavily through your nose.

His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling it aside as his other hand moved down from your waist to trace a path under your dress against the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His mouth left yours, moving to capture the soft skin of your neck, lathing his tongue against it in between delicate bites as his fingers slid higher on your thigh. You rolled your hips, trying to coax him as his fingertips grazed lace. You slid your hands over his shoulders, finding purchase as you pulled him closer. You felt him smile against your neck as he trailed kisses lower, freeing his hand from your hair, as he pulled the delicate fabric of your dress down roughly to expose your chest. You barely registered the sound of it tearing as one hand came up to clasp your breast, thumb running over the peaked nipple as he bent further to capture the other between his lips.

You groaned as he continued to nip and suckle and bite at the pert bud, hazel eyes observed your through dark lashes as you arched into him, bringing one hand up to tangle into his dark locks. He groaned against your skin as you pulled at it, moaning his name in between panted breaths.

“Fuck, Az. Please…” he sucked hard on the nipple caught between his lips, releasing it with an obscene pop and a parting flick of his tongue against the tip.

“Please what, sweetheart?” His mouth moved to capture the nipple under the ministrations of his thumb, the callouses rubbing deliciously against the sensitive skin. Words died on the tip of your tongue as the fingers dancing beneath your skirt finally brushed against sodden fabric, rubbing against the slick folds of your pussy. He grunted in approval as he continued to probe, pushing a finger into your aching hole as much as the lace would allow. You moved your hand from his shoulder, taking advantage of his bent position to trace two knuckles against the dark membrane of a wing.

Azriel’s growl was feral as he bucked his hips. His mouth left your breast to kiss up your neck, teeth scratching against the pulse thrumming at your jugular.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a wicked, wicked tease?” His lips once again met your own in a rough, opened-mouthed kiss. You purposely dragged your knuckles back over his wing, it flared out under your touch as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth. You pulled back, your lip catching before he released you. He stared at you, panting and pupils blown wide. You smirked as you put your hand back on his shoulder, resolving to explore the sensitive expanse of his wings further another time. You trailed your fingers down, feeling the hard expanse of muscles on his chest and abdomen before settling on the strings of his leather breeches.

“I may have heard something like that before.” You pulled at the knot, struggling to undo it with just one hand. Azriel’s hand left your breast, placing it over your own to still the movements. You furrowed your brow, questioning him with a gaze as he made no move to help.

“There’s something I need to do first.” He stepped back, moving out of your reach as you planted your hands on either side of the sofa to steady yourself. His wings flared for balance as he slowly lowered himself to one knee, then the other, maintaining eye contact with you as his hands slid under your dress. Tracing up to your hips he caught hold of the lace of your panties, slowly pulling them over your thighs and past your knees to drop over your bare feet onto the floor. His eyes never left yours as he rucked the thin skirt up to your waist, leaving you panting and exposed under his gaze. His eyes trailed down slowly as if committing the sight of you to memory, taking special note of the flush on your neck and chest, littered with a constellation of bruises he had sucked onto your skin. Lower still, until his gaze came to rest between your legs, fixated on the way your cunt glistened in the fae light.

“I can’t tell you how often I’ve dreamed of this.” He ran the back of his hand down the side of your thigh as you opened your legs wider for him to nestle his shoulders between your knees. “Of how you taste, what you’d look like underneath me, the sounds you’d make when you cum for me.” He made sure to catch your gaze again as he lowered his mouth towards your slick folds. The hand that wasn't tracing your thigh moved to part your lips as his tongue delves between them. He moaned against you at that first taste. Dragging his tongue in a long sensual stroke up, barely brushing the edge of your clit before returning to tease at your entrance. Biting your lip your hands found his hair, wrenching him closer as you slid your knees over his shoulders. He cupped your arse, rough fingers digging into supple flesh as he fucked you with his tongue. Languid strokes that brushed his nose against your clit every time he pushed in deeper.

You moaned, grinding against his face, the hand not tangled in his hair circled at your nipple still coated in his saliva. His tongue slid up through the wetness to toy with your clit, circling dangerously around the edges before he caught it between his lips, suckling on it hard. You cried out his name at the delicious pressure, bordering on pain, his eyes watching you through dark lashes as you writhe and grind against him. He releases your clit, pulling back after a small gentle parting lick.

“Look at you.” His thumb moves up to trace your clit. He looked debauched, lips swollen and pink, chin soaked with your pleasure. “Such a pretty little cunt.” His thumb slides down through your wetness as he teases it through your puffy folds. “So wet for me, just begging to be fucked.” You felt your pussy clench as he traced past the hole, dipping further down in between your cheeks to toy with the wetness around the puckered ring of muscle there. He returned torturously slowly to where you needed him most, before plunging one finger deep inside of you. You moaned at the intrusion as he curled his finger up, rubbing purposely against the sensitive wall before pulling out. He added another finger to the first, inserting them at the same glacial pace, finally looking away from your face as he watched your walls stretch to accommodate his thick fingers. It wasn’t enough, you needed more of him.

“Please,” you begged, tugging at his hair. “Please Az, I need more. I need…” You trailed off as another finger slid into your tight hole, the pace still slow as he watched you grind your hips against his hand, trying to fuck his fingers deeper and faster into you.

“Whatever my beautiful-“He stopped himself, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, eyes on your face again. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” And with that promise, he lowered his mouth to your cunt again. The speed of his fingers increased, fucking into you with abandon as he caught your clit between his lips once more, licking and sucking, dragging his teeth gently over the sensitive nerves. He skilfully brought you to the precipice of your release, alternating between curling his fingers and lathing his tongue against your clit before slowing down. You keened, undulating your hips against his face and hand. Shadows bled out the sofa, fixing your hips down as he continued to tease.

“I need to see you cum for me.” He growled against you before pressing himself deeper into your folds. Your legs shook as his fingers fucked you harder, as his mouth latched onto your clit with a hard suck. His hazel eyes were fixed on your face, watching as you climbed towards your peak. Your grip tightened on his hair as your release built. Until finally, it snapped. Sending you careening toward the most exquisite bliss you had experienced in your immortal life.

“Azriel! Oh Gods…” Your legs shifted on his shoulders as your muscles clenched under your release, trapping his head between your thighs. He continued to lick and suck you gently as you came down from your pleasure, fingers moving at a more leisurely pace now as he watched you, eyes filled with lust and awe. You relaxed slowly under his ministrations, enough to begin to bring you towards pleasure again despite how oversensitive your nerves felt. You unhooked your legs from his shoulders as you moved your hands towards them, pulling as his leathers. He released you from his mouth, pulling his fingers out and admiring the wetness left on his hand rolling down towards his wrist. He rose, allowing you to capture his face between your hands in a searing kiss. You groaned at the taste of it, both of you mingled together on the tongue he stroked slowly against yours.

Moving your hands down you broke the kiss, nestling into his neck and tracing the dark marks of his tattoos with your tongue. Under both your hands the knot holding his leathers closed came away easily. You pushed your fingers under the tight band, grazing the head of his cock with your thumb. Azriel panted into your shoulder, his grip on your waist tight as you continued to tease the head, rubbing circles slick with pre-cum into the sensitive skin.

Azriel became rigid under your touch. You pulled away from his neck, from marking him with bruises similar to the ones on your own, to look at his face. A dark tendril curled around his ear, whispering to the shadowsinger. His face darkened and he let out a vicious curse, pulling away from you and turning his attention towards the foyer.

You could hear footsteps now, heading in your direction. Azriel was a picture, rock hard against his leathers, hair a mess from where you’d carted your fingers through it, full lips swollen and red. You looked down at yourself, bare breasts peeking through the ripped fabric of your dress, skirt rucked up still baring your cunt to the room.

“Y/N! I know you’re here. You’re keeping us all waiting.” Nesta was in the hallway now, heading towards the only way in or out of the sitting room. You slipped off the back of the sofa, righting your dress and trying to pull the ripped fabric of the bodice closed with little success. Azriel’s eyes had turned calculating, all trace of lingering lust gone as he ran through possible ways to get you both out of this situation. If you were anywhere else, he could have winnowed you away. You cursed whichever of Rhys predecessors put such stringent security measures on the House to a painful eternity in Hel.

Shadows moved to open the large windows next to the fireplace to let in a breeze, biting cold and pushed through the room as Azriel’s siphons glowed. A fire started to burn, smoking more than normal, its acrid smell filling your nose. Azriel gestured to the sofa, the blanket still coiled on the seats.

“Get under.” You moved quickly, throwing yourself down as you used the blanket to cover up your ruined dress and bruises. Azriel strode toward the window, taking one glance back as you tried to settle yourself before he slipped out into the sky and the fading light. You rested your head against the cool arm of the leather, bringing your legs under the blanket as you feigned sleep.

Nesta’s footsteps stopped at the threshold of the open door.

“Y/N.”

You let out a low groan, stretching as you pretended to drag yourself from sleep. You rose so only your face was visible over the back of the sofa, blanket clutched to your chest as you took in Nesta standing in the doorway. Her silver eyes scanned your face as her nose wrinkled at the smell of the poorly burning fire.

“You’re late.” Silver burned in the eyes she fixed on you, angered at the perceived social slight.

“I’m sorry, I was reading. Must have fallen asleep.” Your heart pounded as she assessed you. You hoped she’d put it down to the shock of being rudely woken rather than your anxiety at being almost caught.

“Everyone’s waiting in the library, let’s go.” You nodded in agreement, mind whirring as you tried to figure out a way out of the room, out of your ruined clothes with the reek of arousal still clinging to your skin, without raising any suspicions.

“I’ll um, meet you there. I just want to quickly freshen up and grab the book from my room.” Nesta’s eyes scanned you, before inclining her head and turning to leave.

“Five minutes,” she ordered as she left, “or we’ll start without you.” You collapsed back into the sofa, relief flooding your veins as you tried to calm your breathing. You hadn’t noticed the way her eyes had fixed on the dark lace half-hidden underneath the sofa before she left.

Thank you for reading, to everyone who asked to be added to the tag-list I think I've included everyone I can but some blogs I couldn't tag so apologies if that's yours.

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