fuckyestherest
Fuck Yes, The Rest!
ACOTAR enthusiast and big fan of suporting creators!PFP from @evalescoart
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Gwynlain fic idea (mod or canonverse):
Gwyn has been pining after her neighbor for months with her plant filled terrace, freckled smile when they bump into each other at rhe mailbox, and the constant smell of baked goods coming from her open sliding glass door. When Elain first asks Gwyn to come over to fix her shower head, she assumes she's just taking advantage of the tall, lesbian next door like any drop dead gorgeous girl with a smile like that would.
But Elain keeps having issues that Gwyn has the tools for, and besides, every time she comes over, she leaves with her belly so full from the delicious plate of food Elain prepares her as a thank you, how can she even grouse this is what they have a maintenence person in the building for?
Finally, after weeks of these ongoing repair jobs, Elain corners Gwyn at her front door after she's just gotten back from the gym, demanding to know why Gwyn hasn't asked her out yet and if it's her cooking or she's just not her type - what is it???
Gwyn is thankful she's already red and sweaty from leg day to cover up her blush as she stumbles through, "No - I mean, yes! You're my cooking - I mean, my type, yes!"
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The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Three
☁︎ notes: sorry it took so long to get this one out 💛
Clementia really is the goddess of mercy and healing but I made up the part about the feathers. There will be more half real/half made up references to mythology so buckle in lol also Eris is kind of Cardan-coded in this chapter
☁︎ warnings: talk of injuries, talk of Beron's abuse, drunk characters
☁︎ word count: 1.9k
☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist
☁︎ tags: @cauldronblssd @mybestfriendmademe @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove
The ring summoned Aya again nearly a week later, just as she had finally made it back to her dorm room in the Healer’s wing. Lessons had run late, after which she had been called to a family dinner by Thesan. Her feet were sore and the pair of clean pajamas waiting on her bed called to her. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of what sort of injuries had prompted that ring to glow, regret sinking its claws deeper into her gut. Another long night of keeping Eris’s soul tethered to his being?
She heaved a deep sigh, shouldered her bag once more, and winnowed away from her cozy room.
The designated winnow spot was in Edana’s private courtyard, surrounded on all four sides by her rooms. The Lady had carved a spot out of the wards - or had bribed someone to do it. Edana or one of her two trusted guards were to wait for Aya in the courtyard. The written copy of the bargain details instructed that if anyone else were to ever greet her, she was to winnow back to the Dawn Court without speaking to them.
All very calming, naturally.
Tonight, one of Edana’s guards met Aya in the courtyard, which she considered a good sign. The guard did not say anything, only nodded in greeting before turning on his heel. Aya shivered in the Autumn chill and trailed after him. No one had told Aya the guards’ names yet, and she was too shy to ask. They were a little intimidating, stone-faced and armed to the teeth. Obviously, they cared about Edana's safety a great deal, and she had not stopped to wonder what they thought of the Lady hiring a strange healer and adding her piece to this hidden game board.
The dark-haired man led her through Edana’s sitting room to the stone passageways. She followed him through the dim, winding halls, finding them to be as deathly silent as the first night. She was beginning to wonder if the whole house had a curfew, or if they had all simply adopted this code of silence as a means of survival. Everything had been tainted such a suspicious color after that first night.
His feet made no sound against the stone floor, even in those heavy, clunky-soled boots. Aya followed suit, keeping her steps light, though her satin slippers would not have made much noise anyways.
When she crossed through the wards into Eris’s rooms, a wall of commotion wrapped itself around her, such a contrast from the silent hall that it made her jump. Eris was cursing and arguing with his mother, the second guard attempting to aid her in holding him down. Aya’s widened eyes flicked to the couch by the hearth where a bruised and bleeding man lay unconscious. Or sleeping. He was nearly a copy of Eris - redheaded and tall, with broader shoulders and bulky muscles.
“They got drunk and had a fight,” Edana sighed as Aya made her way to the big bed.
“Bastard had it coming,” Eris spat loudly, trying again to free his arm from his mother’s grasp."
“Stay still,” Edana snapped, “You were stabbed, for Mother’s sake.”
Aya gasped at that, and Eris turned his head toward the sound. He had not even noticed her come in, too focused on earning his freedom. When his gaze landed on the healer he let out a cry of delight and held a bloody hand toward her without even so much as wincing.
“All is well,” Eris pronounced, “Clementia has arrived.”
“Hush,” Edana hissed, “Or your father will hear you.”
Aya’s skin felt hot, her stomach dropping in fear of the knowledge that the High Lord was at home tonight. She chewed her lip and set her satchel on the edge of the bed. Eris was still as a statue now, watching her with interest.
“Clementia is an angel of mercy,” Edana said to Aya, rolling her eyes as other guard chuckled. “He likes to read mythology.”
Aya’s cheeks burned and she looked down at the heir, his amber eyes fixed on her. She shook her head and grabbed a wet rag from the side table. She was familiar with Clementia’s legend but she had not made the connection of who Eris thought she was.
“Did you receive my prayer of thanks?” Eris asked, a hand clutched to his chest like he must brace himself in her presence. He still did not wince as she pulled up his shirt and began to clean his injury. It was shallow for a stab wound, but it certainly would not heal well if he started thrashing around again. She could humor him if it meant he stayed calm.
The second guard, blond and bearded, started to laugh at Eris’s smitten gaze, but Edana shot him a look that shut him up. The Lady turned her attention to her other son, out cold on the couch.
“Yes,” Aya said to Eris, gently moving away the hand that attempted to cover his wound. His bloody fingers wrapped around hers and held on. It was likely he was so drunk that he was not feeling the full effect of his injury. “It was lovely. Please stay still, Eris.”
“Yes, angel,” Eris breathed.
Aya kept her eyes on her work and did not dare look at the glowering Lady or her giggling guardian. She knew it sounded like a pet name. But she didn’t think she minded much, not with how lovely it sounded falling from his lips.
Eris stayed quiet now, obedient to her every command. He watched her with such reverence in his eyes, as if still surprised she had appeared, worried she may go away again at any moment. If only he knew she was just another healer from the Dawn Court, no benevolent angel of mercy.
She wondered if he’d ever truly know her or if all of their meetings would be this way - inebriated or delusional from blood loss. And she hoped for both their sakes that the next time would be different. And maybe a part of her hoped to meet him in a state where she could really learn something about him. Something to compare to the rumors. All she knew at the moment was that he liked mythology. And that he fought like a hellcat when drunk.
“Beron would not approve of them fighting, would he?” She asked as she worked, her voice soft. Every movement tracked by those diligent amber eyes.
“Not in this manner, no,” Lady Edana answered, returning to Eris's bedside, “Not without his command, at least. He sees more honor in besting each other with strategy.”
Of course he would. Only Beron’s hand could inflict pain. That was how he stayed in control. Everyone else must impress him by playing his games perfectly. Aya had never expected to gain so much knowledge about the Autumn Court’s High Family and everything she learned made her more grateful for her own court and Thesan’s gentle rule. It also illuminated another aspect of Edana's secrecy.
This foolish behavior was a stark contrast to the tales and rumors of the Autumn sons, with their father’s brutality and their mother's brains. It certainly dimmed the intimidation to see that hulking brother passed out, mouth open and drooling on the velvet couch. Whatever Aya saw gave her power. And that golden ring took it away again. Edana did not yet know that she had picked someone with such an ambivalent heart. Capable of indifference and yet undecided.
When Aya finished dressing Eris’s wound and cleaning his filthy hands, she slipped a sleeping pill into his water and gave his shoulder a pat.
“Sleep well Eris,” She said, eager to get away from his relentless stare. Then she turned back and added sharply, “And listen to your mother.”
She shifted, about to make her way to the brother on the couch, but Eris’s voice stopped her.
“May I have a feather?” He asked, his voice remarkably soft compared to his terrible volume control from before.
“What?” Aya asked, hoping their audience did not notice the break in her voice. She knew the myth. That Clementia bestowed a feather upon her favored for luck.
“May I have a feather for luck?” He asked again, the gleam in his eye so hopeful it was almost painful.
For a moment, she considered it. It wouldn’t mean much, it would quiet him down and that would be that. But the weight of the Dawn Court customs would not release her. The tips of her ears grew hot, thinking of plucking a feather and handing it to him. Feathers were for honor, promises, and love. Even in the far friendlier, casual environment of her court, it wouldn't be seen as appropriate.
“You’re lucky enough just to be in her presence, you oaf,” Edana muttered, shaking Aya from her stupor. Eris frowned but he didn’t argue. He looked resigned, like he agreed with his mother's sentiment.
Aya silently thanked Edana and turned her attention toward the couch once more. The brother was not in terrible shape, with just a scattering of bruises and small cuts that would heal by morning. Luckily, he was far too drunk to remember anything by tomorrow. She hoped that Eris would not remember any of this either.
She had not failed to notice Eris’s split knuckles and she wondered what this brother had said to provoke him so. She might have asked, as they had humored all of her questions so far. But it seemed that neither Lady Edana nor her guards wanted to meet her eye as she inspected the younger Vanserra. As if there was something about this fight they were not saying. Or perhaps they were just embarrassed.
Aya told herself she did not care either way. She had decided, throughout the course of this visit, not to ask any more prying questions or sleuth or try to solve anything. She could not help her curiosity, but Thesan had ordered her not to meddle. And every answer to every question sat heavy like a stone in her heart. She did not want to carry all of that with her, anyways. So she finished patching up the anonymous brother, left a tonic one for the now-sleeping Eris, and returned to the comfort of the Dawn Court.
⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
The next morning, Eris’s shame pestered him as incessantly as his headache. Twice now, this poor healer had had to witness him in such a pathetic state. Gods knew what he had said last night. His mother wouldn’t tell him. She told him it was his punishment for being so foolish that he had to wonder what embarrassing things he may have said.
The only hint he got was in the note the healer had left him, beside a tin of fresh balm for his scars and a tonic for the hangover.
Drink lots of water, avoid stretching your wound. I look forward to your next prayer of thanks.
Your angel,
Aya
Eris blushed and cursed himself for it. He hadn’t known her name and had gotten into the habit of referring to her as Clementia in his mind. It must have slipped out.
He remembered little glimpses of what she looked like. Warm brown skin, eyes of lilac-grey, and small, capable hands. His fingers went to the wound in his side. Once again, he had been healed impeccably. This one had left a scar barely an inch long.
He had yet to thank her for all that she’d done and he wished that he could. But he did not know where to reach her or what a proper gift might look like.
Without him even realizing, without even having property met, she had begun to haunt his thoughts. Like a guardian angel, only a shadow of wings at the edge of his vision.
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Come Home Poly Batboys x Female Reader
Note: This is part 2 of Let Her Go
Warnings: Language
Over the last few weeks, the letters from Azriel and Cassian had piled up in a basket by the door. They sat unopened and ignored as you gave yourself the time to process the events of that night. It was no surprise that Azriel had learned where you were living, not that you were trying to hide anyway. The gossip around you and your mates had only worsened since you left. You first tried therapy, but they only seemed to be interested in details about your mates and not what you needed to work through, so you quickly gave up. Instead, you turned to journaling as a way to get your emotions and thoughts out and somewhat organized.
You currently sat in your favorite chair with your journal in your lap as you wrote out your feelings for the day. A series of harsh knocks disrupted you, causing you to leave your journal on the end table. You were surprised to see Rhys standing at your doorstep. You're tempted to slam the door in his face, but think better of it. "What are you doing here?" You ask cautiously. "I want to talk to you." He says, his voice sounding rough. "We have nothing to talk about." You answer. "I think we both know that's not true. Please, y/n." He says with a certain sadness.
"You said everything you needed to say that night. You made it clear where I stand with you." You say as his words come flooding back to your mind. You move to shut the door, but he stops it with his foot. "Please, I'm only asking for a few minutes of your time and for you to listen." He says pleadingly. Your anger rises at his words. "Only asking for a few minutes of my time and for me to listen?! No, you're asking for so much more than that. You're asking for me to relive the worst night of my life. You're asking me to let you in and open wounds that's that haven't had a proper chance to heal because I'm drowning in it. I have no one to talk to while the three of you have each other. So, no, you're not only asking for my time and for me to listen!"
He at least has the decency to look apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't think-" he starts to say, but you interrupt him. "That's the problem, you don't think, especially when it comes to me. You only think about yourself and your court. You're an amazing high lord but a terrible mate." You say as you let the anger take over. "I think it's best if you leave." You tell him. "I'm sorry." He says brokenly as he turns away. Once the door shuts behind you, you crumple to the floor, allowing the pain and anger to consume you as you fall apart. You let all the hurt and anger flood the bond so they might finally realize what they've put you through.
You manage to force yourself out of bed two days later. You make breakfast before grabbing the paper from the doorstep. Your eyes widen at the headline. You throw on some clothes and quickly braid your hair before making your way into Velaris. You don't bother knocking and let yourself in. You practically run to Rhys's office where you find him along with Cassian and Azriel. They stare at you in surprise. "What do you think you're doing?!" You demand as you focus your attention on Rhys. "What needed to be done." He says. "No! You stepping down as high lord is the worst thing you could do for this court!" You respond angrily.
"But the best thing I could do for us! You're tired of coming second to my court. Well, this is the solution." He replies. "It's not the solution! It's you overreacting!" You shout. "You're not stepping down as high lord! If you do, I will disappear without a trace, and you will never see me again!" You shout. "There is just no winning with you. Is there?! No matter what I do, it isn't right!" Rhys shouts. "Why does everything have to be so black and white with you?! All I wanted was for you to respect my feelings and stop treating me as anything less than your mate!" You shout before you feel the warmth of Cassian's arm as he pulls you from the room while Azriel stops Rhys from following.
Cassian carries you to the bedroom and blocks the door before sitting you down. "What the hell, Cass?!" You ask. "You tell me!" He says as he crosses his arms. "What is it going to take for you to forgive us?!" He asks angrily as he runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn't give you a chance to answer, "Those months of silence you're punishing us for are bullshit. You didn't speak up either. You never once addressed it with us or the ones gossiping. We just assumed you were ignoring it like the rest of us. You share just as much blame in this as we do." He says before storming out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
You sit on the oversized bed you all once shared. You run your fingers over the comforter. You curl up in the bed and allow a few tears to escape. You hold the pillow that smells of Azriel as you find comfort in it. You think about what Cassian said as you lay in silence. You zone out until a knock pulls you back to reality. Azriel opens the door, "is it ok if I come in?" He asks. He takes your silence as a yes and sits on the bed beside you. "Did you come to yell at me too?" You ask. "No, I brought you some tea and a muffin from your favorite bakery." He says.
"How did everything get so bad?" You ask, ignoring his offer. "A lot of things went left unsaid from all of us until it spiraled into something toxic." He says honestly. "Think we can ever get back to the way it was?" You ask. "Do you want to?" He questions in response. "I want it to be better." You answer honestly, "but I'm worried we won't be able to move past this." His shadows gently play with your hair, causing you to visibly relax. "All we can do is try." He says softly. "They hate me so much, though." You say as you choke back a sob. He wraps his arms around you, "Nobody hates you, princess. We all just need to calm down and discuss what needs to change moving forward." He says, always being the voice of reason to you.
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Huge thank you to @sjmromanceweek for such a fun event! Happy Valentine's Day :)
Summary: The Lady of Autumn meets with Helion.
The Lady of Autumn threw open the heavy wooden doors of the ballroom, leaving her husband, along with the rest of the court guests, revelling behind her.
Golden skirts held in her clenched fist, she made a point to glare at the one guard that shifted in his place by the grand hall’s entrance. “‘If the High Lord asks for my whereabouts, tell him I’ve gone to check on his son.” She nearly cringed at how harsh, how cold, she sounded.
“My Lady–”
Raising her ring-clad hand, the guard stopped at her silent command. Callista had grown to hate the fact that no one called her by her name, only ever calling her by her title. She wondered how many years it would take for them to forget that she even had a name at all. “Only if the High Lord asks,” she declared, brushing past the soldier she knew was only doing his job to walk elegantly down the winding, firelit halls of the Forest House.
The golden crown resting on the Lady of Autumn’s head was heavy, but her back was straight as she carried the burden of such a title gracefully on her shoulders. The further she walked away from the ballroom, the easier Callista felt she could breathe.
Callista, half a decade into her marriage, had of course been at Beron’s side for countless events. She would even dare say that she had enjoyed most of them, content in her role as both the High Lord’s wife and the Lady of her court.
Pale fingers trailing along the stone walls, torches flaring ever so slightly as she passed, Callista slowed her pace as she neared her private library. She took a moment to glance around her, observant russett eyes looking down the hall she had come from just to make sure no one had followed her and that no one would see her.
The Lady of the Autumn Court quickly opened the already unlocked door, hastily shutting it behind her, wincing at how loud the sound was in the silence.
Large hands took hold of Callista’s waist, lifting her effortlessly to winnow her further into the dark room, behind one of the library’s many bookshelves. She had known Helion would be waiting for her, had been hoping she could get away from the prying eyes of the courts’ aristocrats, if only to meet with Helion alone for a stolen moment.
She could barely see, but she did not have to in order to throw her arms around Helion’s neck, pulling him towards her in a desperate embrace.
Helion placed a feather-light kiss to her jaw, a stark contrast to the way she dug the pointed nails of her one hand into the skin of his shoulder. He whispered Callista’s name against the pulse at her throat, placing another soft kiss there before he pulled away just slightly to look down at her, golden eyes taking her in.
So unlike the men in Autumn, so honest and kind, Callista could read every thought on his open face. She flashed him a genuine smile, “Hi.”
Helion breathed a laugh that sent shivers up her spine, “Hello, Lissa,” he murmured, taking the one hand from her waist to gently hold the back of her head, thumb now tracing the shape of Callista’s sharp cheekbone. “I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind,” he confessed.
Back pressed up against the shelf behind her, Callista shook her head. “Just took me longer than I was expecting to leave.” She chose to exclude the part where she had been leaving her watchful husband’s side, had claimed to be going to get herself something to drink. Callista hoped Beron would not question where she had gone, sometimes things were good between them, sometimes he trusted her.
On occasion, Callista felt a small sense of unease over her infidelity, but as Helion closed the space between them, all thoughts of her husband vanished from her mind. In Helion’s arms, she felt like herself again, no longer the Lady of Autumn, simply Callista.
Before she had married Beron, she had spent months attempting to convince her father to let her be with Helion, had begged and cried and tried to get her mother to put her foot down as well. Her relationship with her parents was strained, and if Beron was in one of his moods, or had been taking his anger out on their only child, Callista always silently cursed her father, fully blaming him for the situation she found herself in.
“I’ve missed you,” Helion said, allowing Callista to stop the rush of negative thoughts.
She did not respond, hoping her kiss would be answer enough. Her eyes fluttering shut, hands in Helion’s long, thick hair, she tugged him closer. The Day Court heir kissed her deeply, moving from her lips, to her throat, to her lips again.
Callista moaned softly against Helion’s mouth as his hand moved lower, pulling at the mess of her skirts around them. She briefly thought about how it would always be like this between them, stolen kisses and hidden embraces, her heart shattering.
“I love you,” Helion said between kisses, a slight glow to his dark skin. He took the crown from Callista’s head, tossing it carelessly behind him where it hit the carpet with a thud.
I am yours, she thought, holding Helion more tightly against her. They would be together, a silent vow Callista made to herself in that moment. In that moment, she truly believed they could build a life together, get married, have a family.
The Lady of Autumn’s heart belonged to Helion.
“I love you,” she whispered, the words only for him.
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Creator Highlight - Week 3
Welcome to our weekly Creator Highlight!
Every week, we’ll use this space to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use so much of their free time and creative energy to share their work with us and bring our imaginations to life via writing, art, visuals, and many other creative mediums.
This week we want to highlight @shi-daisy, a nominated submission on our page who has been writing lovely and unique takes on rarepairs within the fandom!
The submission notes “they are a wonderful person who has contributed amazing works to a part of the fandom that desperately needs more love. I adore all their writing and am always on the edge of my seat for more.”
Thank you for sharing your works with us and for bringing us works into the rarepair corner of ACOTAR!
Below are our favorite creations.
A Court of Blaze & Sorrow | Tamcien and Neris
A Court of Threads & Daisies | Tamcien
A Court of Emerald & Sapphire | Tamcien and Neris
You can find more of @shi-daisy’s works on Ao3!
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A Court of Sins and Nightmares
Chapter four
Eris Vanserra x OC!Alessia Mors
Warnings: death, blood, injuries, swearing, gore, angst
Alessia clutched her book against her chest, praying the Mother that she had managed to send that book page successfully to Eris, to the only person she considered trustworthy enough. Was he though? She couldn't tell for sure. She barely knew him. Actually, everything she had read and heard about him was negative but… The man she had seen in that cave that night, as her powers pinned her down beneath her, making him vulnerable, she felt like that man, underneath that cold mask, was loyal, true, a dreamer… Not a monster.
Cauldron… What if she was wrong? She had no other options. Her powers… where were they?! She tried to concentrate, to summon them, but she failed miserably. Her back tensed against the back of the armchair where she was hiding as she heard footsteps walking into the library. She puts her bleeding finger in her mouth, the one she had bitten so that she could highlight the letters on the coded book page to Eris. She couldn't risk them, whoever they were, smell her blood. Find her here. She knew by the smell and noises that a lot of people had been killed in the last minutes. That woman, guessing by the sound of her heels thumping against the carpeted floors of the library, smelled like blood. She had been discreet, no one had screamed, or barely. Only muffled whimpers had alerted Alessia to hide.
“Tired of following me like a dog Azriel?” Morrigan's familiar bitching tone rang through the library walls. Azriel… the Shadow Singer. That's why those kills had been discreet. He probably helped Morrigan achieve that gruesome murder. Great. Alessia knew it, knew the day would come that Morrigan would get her revenge on Keir. That she would kill him like he had killed her childhood by forcing her to marry Eris, just like Thanatos had done for his own daughter. “Mor,” He warned, growling. “We had agreed, Rhysand included, that Keir would be the only victim in this affair.” Alessia felt like throwing up. Her turn was coming. Morrigan was looking for her. She had no weapons, nothing, her powers… where were they when she needed them?! She clutched the stupid book as if it would shield her from anything.
“Rhysand also said he wouldn't say a word about how I'd get there.” The blond quickly shut up when she heard the armchair in the furthest corner grind against the floor. Alessia was shaking like a leaf, biting her tongue as she heard footsteps walk in her direction. “Morrigan.” Azriel warned her, but she only quickened her pace. Then there was silence. Alessia risked to peer over the armchair, but she quickly regretted it when she saw Morrigan lunging towards her, and everything happened really fast. Morrigan lunged, Azriel held her back, and Alessia was pulled back into a forming cocoon of wind, mist and murk. She threw up, the emotions trapped in her stomach cascading out of her mouth as her powers kept spinning, and spinning around her, and she could barely hear Morrigan trying to break through.
Help… For the first time in her life, she wanted to be helped.
-----
Eris's eyes were burning as he leaded his horse in an infernal canter. Sweat was clinging onto his horse's coat from the efforts of his run. Help or I die… Help or I die… Alessia's coded message was replaying non-stop in his head. He was panicked, terrified even. Why? He didn't even know. He just needed her. They were to be married, he was responsible for her, whether he liked it or not. The streets of Hewn City were empty, and when Eris flew down his horse, not even thinking of tying him up somewhere, he was welcomed with the silence of the castle halls. He walked a few steps, silently, keeping his breath controlled. His hands were tightly grasping the hilt of his sword as he passed the living room, the dining room, the kitchen… Shredded bodies were laying in every corner, but Cauldron… the kitchen was the worst. Keir's blood had been splattered everywhere, before the man had passed out, his body resting right in front of a cabinet. But Eris hadn't found Alessia's body yet, good, he thought.
Eris climbed the central stairs cautiously, his nose and ears working hard to catch any sound or smell. And then, he could smell it, the smell of magic. Alessia, it smelled like Alessia. Fresh rain, jasmine, and moonflowers, just like the day she had a dagger held at his throat. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, trying to concentrate on other smells, and his nose scrunched. The Morrigan, and that stupid bat. They were hurting his future wife.
Azriel was already pulling the hissing and growling blond female away from the sphere of pure and raw power as Eris slammed open the library doors. Couches were turned over, books scattered everywhere in a mess and precious parchments ripped from the force of the spinning cocoon of fog in a corner of the library. “What the fuck is this,” Eris roared, Morrigan squirming in the Shadow Singer tight grip, her pupils as dilated as Eris’. His fists were curled in a mass of flames, Azriel’s shadows were sharp and ready to strike, and Morrigan… Morrigan could do absolutely nothing except wiggling and complaining in the black haired man's hold. “You expect me to convince my father to support the war against Hybern, when this court doesn’t have a unified front?” “Fuck you.” Morrigan hissed, spitting at Eris feets. Azriel’s grip tightened around the blond, Eris snickered, an evil glint shining in his amber eyes. “Got tired of eating pussies, Morrigan?”
Azriel’s face seemed to be drained from its tanned shade, but his features remained neutral. His shadows danced around his eyes and Eris walked past him, his long braid swinging in the wind caused by Alesssia’s spinning dome of power. The fire on his skin extinguished as he got closer to the thick wall of murk, his face was covered in pearls of mist. “Alessia.” He called for her, his voice firm and strict, the voice he used to order his soldier around. Alessia’s powers only spun faster and nicked at the skin of his cheek.
"Eris," The shadow singer started, Eris did not even care about what the fuck this bastard had to say, “She’s probably going to be eaten whole by her powers. She doesn't have any control on them.” Azriel's tone was low, careful. The Autumn heir slowly turns his head to peer over his shoulder and Azriel's shoulders tensed slightly, securing his embrace around Morrigan. He tried to keep his composure calm and stoic, but Eris' eyes scrutinized him, a flame seemed to flicker in his amber eyes. The Shadow Singer slightly tilted his chin up, hoping that Eris wouldn't notice how his silent threat sent a shiver of nervousness through his body.
“Get. Out.” Eris snarled, his lips curled at the Spy Master. His head snapped back at the swirls of dark and heavy fog as they shifted slightly. Eris didn’t even bother to confirm that Azriel winnowed away as he called her back, “Alessia…” His voice was barely a hint softer now, and Alessia_s power seemed to calm down, the spinning slowed, and the fog shifted into a sheer mist. Eris sighed, and took a tentative step through it, he did it. She was letting him in… Well, her, or her powers. He wasn't sure.
_____
“Alessia.”
She could hear the voice calling for her through the storm of wind, mist and fog swirling frantically around her. She tried to stand on her feet, to get out of here, to fight, but a magical force kept dragging her down on her knees. “I do not need protection. I had it all under control!” She gasped as a blow of wind ran into her cheek, as if her own power had just tried to slap the nonsense out of her. She growled, trying to stand up again when the voice resonated again.
“…She doesn't have any control on them.”
“Get.Out.”
Her neck tilted back, power crawling up her skin, covering her whole. She couldn't hear anything except the loud whistle of the wind blowing at full force around her anymore, her disheveled hair flying in every direction. Her eyes burned, her nails dug painfully into her knees as she remained stuck in a kneeling position. It felt as if she was dipped in poison, her skin burning as she screamed. She must've dissociated, because now she couldn't see anything of that dome of power anymore. Memories she had buried deep surged through her mind.
Don't fight. Please, don't fight... I'm scared.
“The smell of her magic is clinging to you.” The harsh tone that his father used on her mother made little Alessia startle out of her dreams. She silently moved out of her bed, and tiptoed to the creak of her bedroom door. She tried to brush off the strings of murk that tried to cover her tiny ears, to protect them from hearing the harsh reality of her parents arguing in the kitchen. Their fights had been more frequent since Alessia’s powers had manifested. Alessia felt horribly guilty about the situation despite her mother’s comforting words and embrace every time she got overwhelmed by her own powers.
“I’ll shield it, I won't let Amarantha smell it, smell her… Smell us. I can shield the smell of my own magic, I'll manage to shield hers too. I promise-” Her mother startled as Thanatos fists banged onto the table. The vase that centered the table wobbled a little, fell to the side, and rolled off the table, crashing on the floor as petals, water, and glass splattered everywhere. Alessia cheeks were now stained with tears as she tried to keep listening. There was only silence for a while, and the loud thumping of her heart echoed in her ears.
Then, she heard her mother's skirts rustle, as she bent down to start picking up the pieces of glass so Alessia wouldn't hurt her little feets on them when she would wake up the next morning. The little girl then heard her father exhale loudly, he was probably rubbing the bridge of his nose. He always did that when he was “stressed”, he had once explained to her. “Nem… listen to me I… I'm sorry.” Alessia's eyes widened at hearing his father's words. She covered her mouth with her hands to muffle her sobs. She had never heard those words come out of her father's mouth. Especially not to her mother.
Then her mother was crying, and her own young innocent heart was breaking on the other side of her door. She barely heard her father's soft voice through her sobs. “You need to teach our daughter how to control her powers, dear. I can smell them on you. If Amarantha finds out-” “She didn't find out about my powers yet. She's still a child, she shouldn't have to worry about hiding who she is, what she is.” Her mother argued back, but Thanatos stayed silent. Moments later, Alessia heard footsteps walking out of the kitchen, and she quickly headed back to her bed, just in case someone would come to check on her.
But deep down, she knew no one would.
“God's you're trouble, hey, look at me little storm.” A pair of hands holding her cheeks pulled her from her memory, and she blinked. Once. Twice. Then the walls of fog and swirling winds melted down. Eris kept stroking her wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Hey,” He greeted her quietly, and she swore she could see the hint of a smirk on his lips. But his face hardened quickly once the fog in her eyes vanished completely. “Stop crying now.” His tone was harsh, a command. She wiped her snotty nose with the sleeve of her dress, “I'm not crying. It's condensation.”. Her voice was hoarse, and her head was spinning. Eris' braid was slightly disheveled. He was utterly sexy looking like this.
“Good,” Eris answered, graciously standing up from his squatted position in front of her. He flattened his wrinkled shirt with the palms of his hands before addressing her again, “Because I wouldn't have comforted you anyway.” The softness Alessia heard previously in his voice had now completely vanished. Maybe she had imagined it. Why would a Vanserra be nice to anyone? She snorted, and Eris' gaze darkened, his fingers twitched, then he looked away from her as she shakily stood up.
Her head was spinning when she stood up, questions and worries quickly rushing through her head. “Keir..?” “Bloodied in the kitchens.” Eris answers coldly, he shrugged his shoulders unbothered, but he still kept a careful eye fixed on her. Alessia nodded and ran her fingers through her knotted hair slowly. She bit her lip and took a deep breath before asking carefully, “Thanatos..?” “Your father?” “Thanatos.” She insisted, her teeths clenched tight, Eris grinned slightly, but it quickly faded. “He probably hid or ran away.” Her father would never run away and leave his brother unprotected… He might be an asshole, but he was not a quitter. Eris frowned too at her concerned expression. “What's wrong?” He asked, instinctively walking closer to her frail body. “Thanatos would've never ran away.”
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Eris was quickly following behind Alessia. Her head was still feeling fuzzy, and her muscles felt weak, as if her powers sucked all of her energy. The kitchens… Eris said he found Keir's… remains in the kitchens. She almost threw up at the macabre scene laying in front of her. Eris, on the other hand, stood beside her with his hands tucked in his pockets. He smelled the air, and his nose only scrunched in disgust. “Ew. He peed himself.” Alessia rolled her eyes and looked away from the body, Morrigan's nails still planted into Keir's eyes. Honestly, if Alessia had been the one to suffer from a death like that, she would've probably peed herself a little too. But Thanatos… Thanatos probably wasn't far from here. For the first time of her life, she kind of hoped Thanatos was still alive. Right now, she realized she still had unfinished business and discussions going on with her… Father.
Eris sighed, his boredom clearly expressed, and walked towards the pantry. “Cauldron, I'm starving. Aren't you?” He opened the pantry doors, and his eyes widened as Thanatos body fell to the ground, crushing Eris beneath him. Alessia quickly ran to his side, helping Eris to roll Thanatos off of him. “Dad?” She called for him, checking his pulse point. It was low, very low. And his wounds… He wouldn't be able to recover from these gruesome lacerations. “Nemesis…” Her father's eyes fluttered, and he raised his hand to his daughter's cheek. His father calling out her mother's name made Alessia freeze, and she fought her tears back. That monster didn't deserve her tears. Even on his deathbed.
“Gods Nemesis… you're beautiful…” Her father smiled foundly, lovingly, like she had never seen him smile before. That was if she had ever seen him smile. She could feel Eris tense behind her, but she ignored him. She raised her skirts to untie a little leather purse from her thigh, and pulled out a vial from it. She silently murmurs a prayer to the Mother, wishing that her father would be judged fairly in the afterlife, then brings the content of the vial to her father's lips. A hand moved atop of hers, halting her movement. She rose her head to find Eris staring down at her in concern, “You're not going to let him suffer?” “I wouldn't even let an animal die like this.” She hissed at him, moving his hand off to force her father to swallow the poison. He died seconds after, and she fought hard to not shed a tear. She stood up. What now?
As if Eris had read her thoughts, he spoke up, “Well, technically, I came here only to bring you back in Autumn. There have been modifications to our initial agreement,” Alessia scoffed. Incredible. That man just saw the worst gory scene she had seen in her entire life, and all he thought about was to marry her? She stayed silent, for the first time in her life she didn't know what to say, what to think, what to feel. Eris, noticing her silence, placed a hand on the small of her back and led them out of the kitchen.
Servants and guards' bloody corpses were dispatched everywhere in the halls, some atop of the others. A smell of rust and decaying corpses flooded the corridors. The silence here was heavy, their footsteps were the only thing echoing through the castle. What the fuck just happened… What am I doing? Alessia's eyes were wide, her hands shaky, and she couldn't register anything that was happening around her. Only the sound of her rapid heartbeat filled her ears, and she felt as if her body was moving by itself.
She was numb. It felt as if she had been walking in thick fog. She didn't even recall their walk towards Eris' horse until his footsteps halted, and he had lifted her chin to try snapping her back into reality. She saw his lips move, but the sound came to her as if her head was dunked underwater. “We're going home.” Eris had said, but she didn't register anything, the shock of the recent event making her utterly vulnerable and defenseless. She didn't fight him when he swooped her up into his arms, carrying her up bridal style. Bride… She was to be that arrogant stranger's bride… Gods… her head was spinning, and she was so drained that she swept into a dreamless sleep once Eris settled them down on his horse. The hoofs tapping on the ground peacefully were lulling her on their way to her new home, to Autumn.
Taglist: @sarawritestories @milswrites @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria
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Spring Meadow
I have not been able to get soft Lucien out of my head all morning so heres a super fluffy fic about our boy being absolutely in love with you.
Lucien X Spring court!reader
Lucien deserves the absolute world, boy has been through enough.
Warnings: None
WC: 1.6k
Lucien never regretted his decision to come to the spring court. The cruelty of the Autumn court gave way to something sweeter. Autumn always reminded him of death. He saw it in the trees that constantly shed their leaves, in the terror of everyone in the court. Worst of all, he saw it in his brothers. Fear seemed to permeate the air wherever you went and his family wore it the most. Cloaked in gripping fear of their own father. When he arrived in spring, it was like he could breathe for the first time in his life. Flowers bloomed and birds sang cheerful songs. The lords and ladies of the court would smile at each other as they passed. Spring reminded him that he wanted to be alive.
Of course, he also had you. He had never intended to fall in love. Heart still in tatters over Jesminda, love was the last thing on his mind. But there you were. One of the ladies of Tamlins court. He found you in the meadow he frequently hid away in. Weaving flowers into a makeshift crown, basking in the first few hours of sunlight as it crested the horizon. The willow wisps seemed to sing a special song just for you.
He can still feel the shock run through him, blinking hard as if he might wake up from a dream. Lucien decided that if it was a dream, he would happily never wake up. You startled as he cleared his throat. Hands pausing your work as he introduced himself. He swore he felt his heart stop dead when you smiled at him, giving him your name.
That’s when it all started. It wasn’t an all consuming fire but a slow ember that he nursed into something roaring. You were patient with him as he figured out how to let his guard down. A comforting shoulder when days got too heavy for him to get out of bed. Those were days you would curl up next to him, hands deftly braiding his hair or reading him one of your favorite books. Those were the days that Lucien knew he was falling in love with you.
Today was one of those days. You managed to pull him out of bed and the two of you stood in the kitchen. Flour streaked across your face as you kneaded the dough ball in front of you. Giving it a small smack, you put it in the bowl next to you and draped a wet towel over it.
“There, I have an hour before I can bake it.” You washed off your hands and walked over to where Lucien sat on a stool at the counter. You patted his thighs and he parted them enough for you to squeeze yourself between them. With care, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a peck on the cheek. “What would you like to do today, Lu?” He wanted nothing more than to just crawl back into bed. Hold you in his arms until his thoughts could do anything but swirl around angrily in his head. But you had told him you wanted to get out of the house today so he instead said.
“What about a picnic in the meadow?” He suggested. He wished he could bottle that look in your eyes, pure wonder and excitement.
“Absolutely. Once the bread is done I’ll make us sandwiches. Oh and I’ll cut up some of that fruit from last night.” You chirped. He gave you another tight squeeze as you started gathering all the things you needed to bring. Lucien sat and stared at you. His heart squeezing in the best way possible. He pushed himself off the stool and went to your side, helping you pull out the fruit sent from the summer court. You instructed him on how to peel and chop the chosen fruit. His rough chunks were almost laughable in comparison to the shapes you cut into the fruit. He never understood how you made the various patterns you were able to cut them into, deftly cutting hearts and flowers. He helped you string them onto wooden skewers and squeezed the lemon juice on them so they wouldn’t brown, a trick you had taught him the last time you went on a picnic. You wrapped them up in a small towel and he went to grab your wicker basket from your room.
Even your room made him smile. Organized chaos as you called it. Flowers covered as many surfaces as they could. You had used your powers to make honeysuckle creep up the walls, covering the wall by the window and swirling up to the ceiling. The white blooms fill the room with their sweet scent. He used to complain about the pollen dropping over everything but he learned to appreciate it over time. He even went as far as cleaning it up on days you were too busy to do it yourself. You always thanked him by peppering his face with small kisses when he did.
He quickly located the basket he had been sent to find. He also grabbed one of your favorite blankets and the book you had been slowly reading to him. Both of you could have easily finished it on your own by now but he loved listening to your voice as you read it out loud, your voice wrapping around the words brought the story to life.
When he walked back into the kitchen, you were bent towards the oven, pushing in the bread pan. Standing back up, you adjusted the top to your flowy sundress and untied the now dirty apron from your waist. You smiled at him as he held up the basket like it was a trophy. He was rewarded by the peel of your laughter. He wanted to wrap himself in the sound so he did just that, practically sprinting across the kitchen to embrace you. Hugging you so tightly he lifted you off the ground. He was rewarded with another string of giggles and when he sat you back on your feet your cheeks had a glowing blush to them. You stretched up onto your tiptoes and kissed him passionately.
He let out a surprised noise as your teeth found his lower lip. You smiled into the kiss as he swept you off your feet, placing you on the kitchen counter so he wouldn’t have to bend down. Your hands found their way to his hair and the two of you got lost in each other. Eventually, you both need to pull away for air. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath and he tried to ignore the way your tongue swept over your lips before he was tempted to forgo the picnic and drag you to bed for other reasons.
He joined you, pulling himself up onto the counter. So close to you his thighs were pressed against yours. You picked up his hand and started drawing random patterns and swirls. The conversation flowed easily out of the two of you while you were waiting for the bread to finish baking. Its smell filled the room and made his stomach grumble. Luckily, before he could even think of making a joke about his stomach eating itself, the timer you had set dinged loudly. You grabbed a dish towel and pulled the perfect loaf from the oven. After letting it cool for a few minutes, you started assembling the sandwiches, cutting them into perfect triangles. Wrapping them in their own towel and adding them to the basket. You looked up at him, “All ready to go!”
You all but pulled him to the meadow, a childlike sort of excitement as you babbled on about the newest gossip in the court. He didn’t really follow your words too much, too many names he didn’t recognize, but he held to every word you uttered. Savoring the sound of your voice.
When you finally decided on a spot, he laid out the blanket on the dew covered grass. You sat crossed legged in the middle and started unpacking the basket.
After the food was eaten, you laid down, arms holding your top half off the ground. Lucien placed his head on your thighs using you as his personal pillow and handed you the book before you could even reach for it. That action earned him a kiss to his forehead, your hair draping around him as you leaned down. You flipped to the page you had left off on the night before.
Sitting out in this field, your free hand playing absentmindedly with his hair. Lucien knew that this was true happiness. Happiness that he had never felt before meeting you. Happiness he was terrified of losing but allowed himself to feel anyways. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect you and he knows you would do the same for him. His emotions suddenly welled up inside of his chest and he lifted his head off your lap. Your reading stopped as you went to ask him what was wrong, reading the tears in his eyes as something other than pure joy. He spoke before you could.
“Can we stay like this forever.” He said, leaning closer into you. You kissed him, soft and gentle.
“Of course my love.” You cuddled tighter to his side and pulled him into a deep kiss. He rolled you on top of him, and you pulled away to say, “We can stay like this for as long as you want.”
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Cassian: As your best friend ---
Feyre: Rhysand is my best friend.
Cassian, holding a knife: As your best friend ---
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Happy Birthday Cassian x Female Reader (Rewritten)
Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Language
You were in the kitchen helping Feyre put the finishing touches on the cake. You spent most of the afternoon baking the decadent chocolate cake with red frosting. Azriel and Rhys had been keeping Cassian busy while you, Feyre and Mor got everything ready. You finished placing the candles on the cake as you heard the front door open. Azriel and Rhys walked in followed by Cassian. You quickly lit the candles before everyone gathered in the kitchen.
As soon as Cassian walked in everyone started singing happy birthday to him as he stood there grinning at you. Once the song ended you told him to make a wish and blow out the candles. Azriel had bought joke candles that were almost impossible to blow out. “It’s not really your birthday if there aren’t some shenanigans.” Azriel says, Cassian gives him a playful shove. You and Feyre set about dishing up the cake and ice cream. Cassian comes over and grabs a plate before scooping some frosting from the edge and trying to smudge it on your face. Your reflexes are quick enough to grab his hand to stop him, but he doesn’t give up without a fight.
Feyre threatens the two of you that if you stain her kitchen with the frosting, you’re going to regret it. “Can’t you behave for 5 minutes?” You ask Cass as he keeps trying to smear the frosting on you. “Not at all.” He teases. “Hey, asshole, you heard my wife. Knock it off.” Rhys says from the other side of Feyre, giving you the distraction, you need. You grab Cassian’s hand and bring his fingers to your lips, licking the frosting from his fingertips. You let out a teasing moan, “delicious.” You see the heat pooling in his eyes as he watches you. He gives you a devilish smile before leaning in and running his tongue along your lip, getting the frosting you missed. “Very.” He says teasingly. You hear his brothers making gagging noises and flip them off just making them laugh. You lean in close to Cassian, “To be continued.” You tease before stepping away.
You all end up around the table eating dessert and laughing as they recount all the trouble they got into over the years. Cassian denying the more embarrassing parts, but you know him well enough to know they’re true. “Remember you two have birthdays coming up and I have a very good memory.” He teasingly threatens. “Obviously not if you’re denying what we both remember.” Azriel retorts. You squeeze Cassian’s arm, “It’s okay babe, I know you’re a perfect angel.” You say. “How could you keep a straight face when you said that?” Rhys asks as he laughs. Cassian just pulls you close and flips Rhys off. “Keep it up and you’ll find yourself leaving early.” Rhys teases. “But I haven’t opened presents.” Cassian says. “Guess we better hurry up and do that before you get us tossed out.” You tell him. Suddenly there are presents in the center of the table and Cassian excitedly starts unwrapping them.
He gets a sweater from Mor that he’ll never wear, a new blade from Azriel and some books from Rhys. “Where’s your gift?” Feyre asks when she notices he didn’t open one from you. “If he unwraps his gift here, you’ll definitely kick us out.” You answer giving Cass a teasing smile. In an instant you’re over his shoulder and headed out the door. Laughing as you say bye to your friends. Within minutes you’re home and Cassian is carrying you into the bedroom. “Can’t wait to unwrap my present.” He says sitting you on the bed before lifting your legs to take your heels off. He trails kisses along your legs as he lifts your dress up slowly revealing you to him. You stand to help him pull it off. His eyes flare with desire as he takes you in.
You knew the second you saw the red matching lingerie set with black trim he would love it. You slowly turn so he can see the barely there back of it. You can feel his breath hitch as you turn back around and pull him in for a kiss with his belt. With that simple move his control snaps and he deepens the kiss like he needs to claim you. Your fingers try to unbutton his shirt, but you decide to rip it instead, sending the buttons across the floor. A growl escapes his lips as he rips the straps of your lingerie pulling it down, exposing your breasts. His hands squeeze them as he trails kisses along your neck. You can’t help but moan under his touch. He tears the rest of the lingerie off you as you fumble with his belt before undoing his pants.
He pushes you to your knees in front of him, “take my cock out and show me how badly you need it.” You do as your told, pulling his cock out and teasing it a bit with your tongue before wrapping your lips around it. His fingers tangle in your hair as he takes control. You brace yourself against his thighs as he pushes deeper in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. He lets out a guttural moan as he tells you how good it feels. He starts thrusting in your mouth using you for his pleasure as you take him deeper with each thrust. “Such a good girl, sucking my cock.” He praises you before pulling you up and bending you over the bed.
His fingers wrap in your hair as he pulls your head back gently nipping the back of your neck. You feel his hard cock brush along your dripping pussy, making you grind against him in need. “so impatient.” He says before spanking your ass. He grips his cock and teases you, “Is this what you need, baby? Need my hard cock deep in your little pussy?” he says while continuing to tease you. “Yes, please Cass.” You moan as his grip on your hair tightens pulling your head back further. “Beg me for it.” He whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Please, Cass, please. I need you so badly. Please can I have your cock.” You beg before feeling him thrust deep inside you. The last of your pleas turn into a loud moan as you take ever inch of his cock.”
His hips driving his cock inside you at a brutal pace. “Gods, Cass. Yes.” You moan as he takes you with reckless abandoned. “That’s it, babe. You’re so hot when you’re needy.” He groans. He releases the grip on your hair as he pushes your shoulders down into the mattress. “Gods, you take my cock so good. I can never get enough of you.” He practically growls as you lose yourself in pleasure. “Oh Gods, I’m gonna cum. Cass, please. I’m close.” He reaches between your thighs, “Cum with me, babe.” He demands as his fingers find your clit and send you crashing over the edge as you feel his release inside of you.
He collapses across your back as he catches his breath. After a few moments his weight leaves your back as you hear him go into the bathroom. You take the moment to get more comfortable in bed. He comes back with a warm cloth and gently cleans you up before disposing of it in the hamper. He climbs in bed and pulls you on top of him, wrapping you in his warmth. “You okay, babe? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks concerned. “That was amazing.” You assure him that you’re alright. “Best birthday present ever.” He says with a grin before kissing you. “Happy birthday, love.” You tell him as you snuggle into him. “Thanks, babe. Get some rest.” He says as he turns off the light.
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A Taste of the Divine (ao3)
@nestaarcheronweek day 4. Returning from a mission, the Night Court’s spymaster arrives back in Velaris in need of a stiff drink above all else, but after seeking out Velaris’ seediest tavern, Azriel gets more than what he bargained for when he finds Nesta inside. Post-ACOWAR, pre-ACOSF. Title taken from The Summoning by Sleep Token.
Even after a week away, the cobbles beneath his feet did not yet beckon Azriel home when he returned to Velaris.
With the dust of the Continent still clinging to his boots, the Shadowsinger looked up at the horizon, finding the distant lights of the House of Wind against the darkening sky— slices of golden light piercing the rock of the mountain, and though Azriel ought to have glimpsed the light shining from those windows and rushed forward, he remained exactly where he was; standing a thousand feet below, finding no desire at all to go home just yet. At Rhys’ behest, he’d spent the past week observing the human queens on the Continent, his mind fixed towards schemes and plots with nothing but his shadows for company. And now…
It took a while, after a mission, to remember what it was to live outside of the dark.
So he didn’t want home. Didn’t want the welcome he knew would be waiting as soon as he stepped over that threshold. He was too accustomed to the dark, to the hidden corners and the silence, and what he wanted more than anything right now was a fucking drink.
He needed to feel the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat, blurring the edges of his mind. But he didn’t want the shiny, polished bars he frequented with Rhys. He didn’t want Rita’s. Azriel wanted grit and dust, wanted the back alleys and the dim bars lit by candlelight.
A place where his shadows could melt into the darkness, one and the same.
And so he found himself ten minutes later standing at a worn and chipped wooden bar top, a coin laid on the counter to pay for the liquor the barkeep poured into a short glass. There were no faelights here to bathe the place in a pleasant glow. Only candles, flickering flames few and far between that illuminated the gaming tables and left the corners swathed in shadow. It was run down and sub-par, and yet, Azriel thought dryly as he nodded his thanks to the bar tender, wasn’t that exactly how he felt? Wasn’t this exactly what he needed?
The whiskey burned his throat as he drank— cheap and sharp, scraping its way down through his chest, setting a fire behind his ribs. He grimaced as he took a large sip, baring his teeth with a soft hiss as he set down his glass.
Before the burn had subsided, his shadows tittered. Whispered.
Even above the din of the bar, Azriel heard the footsteps approaching. Heard the heels slamming against the wooden floorboards as his shadows skated along his arms, coiling around his wrists. He didn’t turn; didn’t bother to see who had dared draw near.
“Did my sister send you?”
The voice was cold and flat and resolutely furious— and above all else, familiar. Azriel turned his head to find Nesta standing beside him at the bar, with her arms folded over her chest and her eyes alight with anger. Silver swirled in those eyes, churned like a riptide, and her jaw was clenched so tight it made him wonder if she was physically biting her tongue to keep it behind her teeth. Her hair was swept up in her usual braid, leaving the long column of her neck exposed, and as the candlelight danced across her bare skin, it dragged golden fingers across her collarbone, illuminated the planes of her that would have most men begging for the chance to touch her.
Azriel wasn’t most men— but still, it was an effort to pull his eyes away.
He let his gaze skim her face, raising one eyebrow as he barked a dry, sardonic laugh. Downing his whiskey, he ordered another with a flick of his wrist, a twist of his fingers.
“No,” he answered, sliding another coin across the bar in exchange for another double measure. “Nobody sent me.”
“Then what are you doing here,” she gritted out; not a question but a demand.
Azriel merely lifted his glass, watching the candlelight set fire to the whiskey. “Same as you.”
The silver in her eyes burned as she lifted her chin, met his eye with every ounce of irascible hauteur she could muster. “And are you planning on being my nursemaid all night?”
A sigh slipped between his lips, quiet and resigned. The spymaster shook his head, too tired to argue, and blinked flatly as he answered her with a simple, “No.”
The furrow in her brow smoothed, her dark lashes fluttering as she blinked once, twice. She didn’t argue either, and as she leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar’s surface, Azriel caught the scent of her— something sweet beneath the sharp, something cool beneath the heat of the bar. He swallowed, tilting the glass in his hand, and forced himself to watch the whiskey clinging to the clouded glass instead of studying the way the heat gently curled the strands of hair that had escaped the braid at the nape of her neck. She said nothing, but silently Nesta lifted herself onto the seat beside him, a damn near perplexed expression on her face as she watched him drown his sorrows. Slowly, Azriel lifted his gaze to hers. Ignored the way his shadows shivered. Almost lazily, Azriel quirked a brow and slid the glass towards her, nodding wordlessly; a silent go on, then.
Nesta curled her fingers around the glass in silent understanding, didn’t hesitate in bringing it to her lips and knocking the whiskey back. She drained half before returning him the glass, and when it passed from her grip and into his their fingers brushed. He stilled, the air frozen in his lungs. It was the barest of touches, so slight, and yet one that felt far too much like a spark against touch-paper, almost begging to burst into flame.
Azriel didn’t think about the way that simple touch had his skin feeling suddenly tight.
Didn’t think about the way her lipstick lingered around the edge of his glass.
Nesta looked at him in the dim light, lifting her face until the candlelight glanced across her jaw and—
Gods, she was beautiful.
Azriel didn’t know why he’d never let himself truly notice before, why he’d never let himself fall down the well that was those mercury-blue eyes. Why he’d never given more than a passing thought to her beauty, to the lines of her face that could reduce a man to nothing with the right tilt of her head.
Cassian, a voice inside his head whispered, one he tried too hard to ignore. Cassian is why you never let yourself notice before.
But Cassian wasn’t here, and from what the Spymaster had gathered from his brother’s ranting, he hadn’t been at Nesta’s side for a while now. Had left her seeking companionship in the dark and shadowed corners of Velaris, where the starlight didn’t reach. Anyone with eyes could see that Nesta was hurting and yet— it had been Azriel to find her, entirely by accident, alone in a dive bar.
He didn’t believe in fate. It had fucked him over too many times, and yet—
There was something serendipitous in it, something providential about this chance meeting that made him feel… bold.
“What are you doing here, Nesta?” he asked a moment later.
The question was soft— tentative and half-hidden in the shadows that glided as one along the worn edge of the bar, slinking towards her like they might seek to hide the pitfalls of such an inquiry. Nesta shook her head, strands of hair slipping free from her meticulous braid, and maybe the alcohol made her bold too, because she met his eyes with purpose and didn’t look away as she said,
“I want to feel something.”
She shifted her shoulders back, the silver in her eyes catching in the light of the bar. Azriel’s shadows seemed to shiver, and he couldn’t hide the low laugh that scraped along his throat as his eyes dipped to the hollow of her neck.
“Don’t we all,” he said dryly.
His fingers dragged around the edge of his glass, and Nesta’s eyes tracked the movement, following each circle he made with his fingertips. She pressed her lips together, her sharp eyes dark, and fucking hell— this was new. A kind of uncharted territory he knew he shouldn’t want to map, shouldn’t want to explore with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. And yet he heard her heart pounding behind her ribs, its steady beat kicking when he caught her eye and pulled his gaze down to her mouth, lingering at her lips, and he couldn’t help himself.
Didn’t want to help himself.
I want to feel something.
It echoed in his mind, settling into him like a stone dropped down a well.
Nesta leaned against the old wooden bar; a thing of beauty in place so tragically dim. She tilted her head, and the movement stirred something in him that he knew he ought to ignore.
“You never answered my question,” she said bluntly. “If you’re not here to spy on me, then what are you doing here?”
Azriel sighed, sipping his whiskey and leaving a finger-worth behind. He nudged the remainder towards her, let her finish it.
“Had a shit day,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to go home just yet.”
Wordless, Nesta lifted the glass to her mouth in an echo of the way she had before— like they were two old friends, sharing a drink together. Yet she finished his whiskey and something beneath his skin tightened as he watched her lips part, glimpsed the liquor glistening on her mouth. He wanted to taste it— wanted to taste it on her tongue, and he swore softly, cursing everything that had brought him to this threshold, so close to tipping over. There was a line he shouldn’t cross, a boundary that he knew shouldn’t be broken.
And yet.
Nesta set the glass back down on the bar. “Care to talk about it, Shadowsinger?”
“Would you care to listen, Lady Death?”
Her eyes shuttered, her face tightening in a way that had Azriel clawing at the past few moments, like a thread unspooling in his hands. “Don’t call me that.”
With a dip of his chin, Azriel nodded. “My apologies.”
Nesta shrugged it off, the stiff set to her shoulders melting as she leaned a half-inch closer, blinking slowly as her heart thumped once in her chest. “Buy me a drink and perhaps I’ll forgive you.”
He pretended not to notice how her voice had dropped, how there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. Pretended, too, not to see her eyes darken, shining with intent. He wasn’t fool enough to pretend that his hadn’t done the same, that he wasn’t still thinking of her mouth. His shadows slipped down his arms, begging to go to her, desperate to touch, and it took effort to keep them restrained, to keep them in check. Still, he motioned for another drink. Another two.
And when the barkeep presented him with two short glasses, Azriel slid the first towards her, but kept his hand closed over the rim, the candlelight throwing his scars into relief as he kept his palm flat above her glass.
“Shall we sit properly, then?” he asked, nodding to the booths that lined the back wall. “And stop pretending we’re strangers in a bar?”
Nesta only blinked, amusement threading through those silver eyes like vines through an iron gate. Idly, she hummed. “I’ve never seen you like this, Spymaster, free of your High Lord’s influence. You may as well be a stranger to me right now.”
Azriel rolled his eyes, but lifted his hand from her glass nonetheless. A smirk lingered on her lips even as a kind of surprise swept swiftly across her face— some kind of pleasant shock that he didn’t berate her for daring to mention Rhys at all. Cassian, he knew, was far too sensitive when Nesta criticised Rhys; his brother had frowned and scowled about it too many times for Azriel to be unaware. But it didn’t rankle him the way it did Cassian. After all, what difference did it make to him, if Rhys and Nesta never found a way to get along?
Silently, he gestured to the back of the bar again, ignoring her comment and nodding once more to the tables shrouded in shadow, so far from the soft glow of the candles.
In answer Nesta slipped from the bar stool and led the way, leaving Azriel to follow, a shadow at her heels. He kept his eyes up, refusing to notice the movement of her hips, or the way her dress dipped low at her back, exposing her spine. His shadows thrummed, jerking as if they would reach out to caress the length of that spine, and he cleared his throat around the desire to pepper it with kisses, to trace a line of fire down her back with his tongue. He swallowed around the surge of pure want rising in his blood, making his every nerve feel charged. Unaware, Nesta slid into the booth, her dress whispering across the worn leather that covered the seats, and when she reclined, crossing one leg over the other, Azriel was reminded starkly of a queen in her own realm.
She was, he supposed.
The dive bars of Velaris had never really been all that popular with Rhys or the rest of the Inner Circle. They were wholly in Nesta’s domain, now.
For a moment there was quiet.
And then Nesta dragged a finger idle along the rim of her glass, an echo of Azriel’s earlier move, making it sing beneath her touch. He wondered what else might sing beneath her hands, what else she could do.
“So,” she began airily, “what is it that has the brooding spymaster brooding so much more than usual?”
Azriel laughed into his whiskey. “Brooding?”
“Brooding.” She raised a brow, stained lips pursed as she nodded. “Stop avoiding the question.”
He raised a hand in surrender. “I had a mission on the continent. Surveillance on—“ He hesitated a moment. Not because he didn’t want to share or because she couldn’t know, but because he didn’t want to shatter this moment, to bring the darkness back to her eyes. “—the human queens,” he finished quietly.
Nesta said nothing, but knocked her drink back.
In the back of his mind, Azriel knew what Rhys would say. That he was being irresponsible, feeding Nesta’s vices.
But when he looked at her, he didn’t see a woman lost to the alcohol. He saw a soul struggling to cope, leaning on the only thing that could bring her a little bit of warmth. He’d spent enough time after the first war drinking his own way through Velaris to know, and besides… When Nesta glanced at him and dragged her eyes over his chest, he thought that this was one vice he was more than willing to feed tonight.
“I see,” she said at last. “No wonder you needed a drink.”
Azriel hummed in agreement. Emboldened, he leaned his head closer to hers, dropping his voice to a murmur as he cast his eyes across the bar.
“Tell me. Which one were you taking home with you tonight?”
Nesta stilled, a frown creeping into her brow as silver eyes narrowed.
Azriel shrugged, shaking his head with an idle smile tilting his lips. “Not that I’m judging. I’m just curious.”
She pulled back, curiosity a wildfire in her eyes.
“The one by the gaming table,” she said flatly, without turning to look at the mark she’d had an eye on. “He has pretty eyes.”
Azriel cut a look across the bar to find the fae in question. The male was tall, dark haired, but willowy and thin, and there was a look in his eyes that Azriel didn’t like as Nesta’s intended watched the two of them together in that booth— it was something petulant and spoiled, like he was a child and Azriel had just stolen his new favourite toy. Even his shadows shuddered, whispering their disapproval in a language only he could understand. In answer the spymaster raised a brow and looked at Nesta wryly.
“He looks like one who doesn’t like the word no,” Azriel said, directing a dark look in the direction of the fae by the gaming table. If he made his eyes darken, if he made his face more threatening than usual… well.
“You don’t approve?” Nesta asked, her voice like syrup.
He barked a laugh. “Not really, no.”
“And here I thought you weren’t judging,” she said smoothly, her head shifting to the side as she blinked, saccharine. She shifted infinitesimally closer, just a half inch that had Azriel clinging so tightly to his restraint that it was a wonder it didn’t break entirely. “Perhaps you should tell me who I should take home instead.”
Me, he thought, shifting in his seat. The answer had risen to his tongue without missing a beat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It had taken even Azriel by surprise, how easy it was to let even his boldest thoughts bloom around her. His shadows slid along the edge of the table, trailing towards her like they were pulled by some kind of gravity, and when Nesta glanced down at them, a smile curved her lips. When she looked back up and met his eyes, there was something searing in her gaze that had Azriel’s mouth turning dry. He cleared his throat, shrugged, and yet couldn’t bring himself to say it— to give her the answer that ricocheted inside his mind.
But mother above, Cassian was a fucking fool.
Nesta was sitting there, alone, seeking connection with any that would let her find it, and all Azriel could think was—
Me.
Me, me, me.
He couldn’t do it.
“You won’t like the answer,” he said at last.
The amusement winked out of her eyes.
“Let me guess, you think I should be here with your General instead.”
His shadows slinked closer, like even they could see the sting behind her words. And in another world, maybe Cassian would have been there with her. Maybe he would have been the one in her bed. But Cassian was nowhere to be found, and didn’t seem to have any intention of cutting in and finding out what, exactly, had Nesta seeking solace in a place like this. So Azriel blinked slowly, eyes like flint when they caught hers, hazel colliding with silver-blue and igniting in the dim light. His shadows shivered.
“No, actually,” he said flatly. “I wasn’t thinking of him at all.”
Liar— liar. He’d hardly done anything but think of Cassian ever since Nesta had sidled up to him at the bar— hardly been spared a second where some part of him wasn’t thinking of how much of a fool his brother was. After all, if Nesta was Azriel’s—
He didn’t let himself think it.
Nesta’s breath caught audibly. He’d taken her by surprise, and it had a small smile taking root at the corner of his lips. She noted it, tracked the curve of his mouth. She tilted her head, the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid brushing her shoulder. He wondered what it would be like to plunge his hands into her hair, to pull those braids loose strand by strand. There was a flame in her eyes when she met his gaze again.
“Then why won’t I like your answer, Shadowsinger?”
Gods— was he imagining the husk in her voice? The way it had dropped so impossibly low, edged with some kind of promise, something so damned seductive it had him thinking of all the things she could do with that mouth— all the things he could do with his.
Azriel downed what remained of his whiskey.
“Tell me what you’re looking for Nesta, and maybe I’ll answer.”
She rolled her eyes, and there was a moment where she looked him in the eyes, unflinching. She shook her head, and sat back, changing the subject.
“Has anybody here caught your eye, shadowsinger?”
Azriel scoffed, a low noise in his throat that seemed to make her eyes impossibly darker. It made his skin feel too tight, made his pulse thrum with anticipation so thick he could taste it on his tongue.
Around them, he noted, the atmosphere had shifted. The night had grown deeper, the hour later, and all those who had come to find someone to warm their bed had either left with their quarry already, or was closing in. Azriel glanced around the bar, saw the fae Nesta had thought of taking home sitting at a table with another fae woman draped over his lap, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. Beneath the din and the smell of liquor, hands began to wander and eyes began to roam, and in the corner where the candlelight couldn’t quite reach, Azriel felt the darkness masking them and leaned into it— leaned into every piece of the thrill that was building in his chest.
“What if they did?” he asked, looking at her from beneath his eyelashes.
Nesta leaned forward, daring to drag her finger around the rim of his glass. His shadows practically vibrated, the scent of her intoxicating.
“Maybe I’m looking for someone who isn’t afraid of your big bad general,” she shrugged, lifting her finger to her lips, tasting the drop of whiskey she’d collected from the rim of his glass. Azriel felt a slashing smile bloom across his lips, one that was knife-sharp and deadly.
“And that’s your only criteria?”
Nesta huffed a laugh. “You’d be surprised how many run a mile when they realise who, exactly, I am.”
Fools, he thought— all of them, fools who didn’t deserve the chance to kneel before her, to take up space in her bed.
He tilted his head back, resting against the back of the booth and looking down at her. “And that’s it, is it? You want someone who can go toe to toe with Cass and make it out unscathed?”
Nesta hummed, her eyes dipping to his chest, his hands, his shadows. He didn’t think he imagined the way she looked… interested. Maybe it was the whiskey, or the intoxicating look in her eyes, but he smirked, letting arrogance take over.
“Seems to me like there’s only really two people in this entire city that fit that bill, love.” The endearment came out smoothly, without thought. Nesta’s eyes heated. “One is Rhys.”
She smirked. “And the other?”
Azriel laughed, the sound low in his throat. “Do you need me to say it?”
Nesta bit her lip to mask a smile. “I didn’t know you could be cocky, Spymaster.”
He barked another laugh. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nesta.”
She blinked, leaned closer. “How about I find out, then?”
She was so close now, her thigh almost brushing his. It would take nothing, no effort at all, for him to reach out and brush a hand along her leg, beneath the table where none could see. Her eyes were molten, and Azriel couldn’t resist the urge to touch her— to feel her skin beneath his palms. Slowly, he moved his hand, letting it drift until it landed on her knee. His shadows tittered, and when she made no move to escape his touch, slowly Azriel traced a path upwards.
“And what happens when we’re next at the river house together?” he made himself ask, even as his fingers travelled north. They skated over the fabric of her dress, finding the split in the fabric and slipping beneath, his hands finding bare skin as a groan gathered in his throat. “When we have to sit at the same dining table and pretend none of this ever happened.”
Nesta shifted, taking his hand even higher. “I don’t see how it’s any of their business.”
Her own hand darted out, began to trace circles over his knee. His blood pulsed, raced through his veins as his entire body seemed to tremble with need, and fuck— he wanted her. Her breathing grew shallow, the beating of her heart the drum he was marching to, and when his fingers skated over the very top of her thigh, Nesta tilted her head back. A woman almost begging to be kissed.
Azriel cursed his lack of self-restraint; thanked the Mother for it, too.
She blinked up at him. “I answered your question. Now answer mine.” Her fingers gripped his knee tight above his leathers. “Who do you think I should go home with, Azriel?”
Fucking Mother above, this woman.
The sound of his name on her lips was heady, and he couldn’t help it as he leaned in, found his lips bushing her hair. Lower, dragging a slow kiss down to the shell of her ear.
“Are you sure you want to know?” he murmured. Her hand flattened, her palm dragging up his thigh even as his own fingers lingered on hers. Silent, she nodded. His lips were still at her ear, and he longed to graze his teeth over the skin there. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Me,” he breathed.
Nesta bit her lip again, even as a smirk travelled over her mouth.
“I thought you’d never admit it,” she whispered.
His hand moved from her thigh, up and up, palming over her arm until he reached her neck, rounded it, brought her closer. She twisted in his embrace, and in one easy movement Azriel took her leg and draped it over his own, until she was all but sitting in his lap. The bar was dark already, but he bid his shadows to embrace them a little more, to hide this little corner from prying eyes, and in the darkness Nesta leaned into his touch, dragging the heel of her foot down his calf as she pressed herself into him.
His hands wandered to her waist, gripping her so tightly he wondered if she’d bruise. If he’d leave a mark behind.
Nesta arched into him, her lips close to his neck as she breathed his name.
“We shouldn’t,” he breathed, even though every nerve he possessed cursed the words.
“No,” she shrugged. “We shouldn’t.” She looked at him boldly, her fingers trailing along his arms, across his shoulders. “But is that going to stop you, Shadowsinger?”
He laughed, acerbic. “It should.”
“Not an answer.”
He couldn’t fight the grin that spread his lips, predatory and vicious, and when an echoing smile spread across Nesta’s own face, the laugh that left his chest was dry and heated, heavy with want. He dipped his head, his lips lingering a breath from her neck, from the point where, beneath her skin, her pulse was racing.
“Do you want it to stop me, Nesta?”
She shivered, her eyes closing as he said her name.
She likes that, he thought, feeling his head begin to empty, his thoughts narrowed on her and only her— on the pleasure he wanted to give to her, what he knew she wanted to take. She likes it when you say her name.
He breathed her in, daring to drag a hand down the side of her ribs, feeling her shudder again. He leaned in, his nose against her neck. His body was a continuation of hers; no end and no beginning, like they were two strands so irrevocably tangled there was no telling them apart. Her hands were at his shoulders, her fingers drifting to his neck, and his wandered from her waist to her thighs, feeling the heat of her and relishing in it. He could have drowned in her.
Wanted to drown in her.
“Nesta,” he whispered, teeth scraping against her jaw.
“Azriel,” she breathed, her chest rising beneath his straying hands. He dragged his touch up from her middle, his palm resting at the bottom of her throat.
“Stop avoiding the question,” he said, lips against the shell of her ear as he parroted back her earlier words. In his embrace, she shivered. “Do you want it to stop me?”
She shook her head as his shadows skimmed her ankle, winding around her calf like ivy. “No.”
His heart thudded in his chest, and suddenly he felt like he was falling— like the ground had opened up beneath him. He wanted this, wanted her, and it didn’t matter that she could never be his, didn’t matter that if Cassian ever found out—
Her nails, sharp on his collarbone, dragged him back to her. Cut the thought off before it could bloom.
Fuck everything else— fuck it all to hell and back.
Nesta was in his arms, his hand on her thigh beneath her dress and fucking hell, he could barely find two words to string together in a sentence, so he did the only other thing he could think of— the only thing that made sense.
In the darkest corner of the dingiest bar Velaris had to offer, Azriel lowered his lips and kissed Nesta Archeron senseless.
It wasn’t soft or gentle; they came together like a wave crashing against the shore, all lips and teeth and shared breath that tasted like whiskey. Her hands were around his neck, fingertips brushing his wings, and as his hand splayed flat against her spine, Azriel brought her closer and kissed her with a hunger that spoke to centuries of control finally, finally, beginning to slip. For so long he had kept himself in check— never allowing himself to take what he wanted.
He wanted now— he wanted her.
And Nesta wanted him. He felt it in the way she gasped his name, in the way she tipped her head back to grant him access to her neck. He groaned against her as his tongue tasted the skin beneath her jaw, because—
Divine.
She was divine, something so decadent and heady that his mind was beginning to spin.
They moved in tandem, like this was a dance they both knew the steps to. When her heart skipped a beat, Azriel’s surrendered too; when the tips of his wings shivered with anticipation, a shudder racked through her that began in her chest and ended in her fingers. They were one and the same, the kiss bringing them together, setting them alight, letting them burn like a bonfire.
Azriel never wanted it to end.
Nesta turned in his arms, lifted herself up so that it wasn’t just her legs slung over his knees now. She straddled his hips and claimed his mouth, like she had forgotten where they were, forgotten who they were— they weren’t the High Lord’s brother and the High Lady’s sister anymore, just two souls who had collided in a darkened bar and found their mirror in one another.
Azriel’s hands smoothed down Nesta’s sides as his palms came to rest on her hips. She sat back, putting distance between them as she took a breath. Her lips were swollen, the skin at her neck marked by his kisses. He squeezed her hip once, heard her heart skip in response.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nesta breathed.
She came back for one more kiss, slow this time— lingering. Azriel obliged her. He kissed her sweetly, like they had all the time in the world, his hands rising to cup her face in his palms. When Nesta’s teeth sunk into his lip, he didn’t mask the curse that slipped from him, all at once low and desperate and edged with ecstasy.
“Yeah,” he said, feeling the sting in his lips left behind by her bite. It was the most decadent thing he’d ever tasted, and as he pulled away from her mouth and pressed another kiss to her jaw, he felt the heat in his veins stirring, his blood thrumming and his need for her more potent than anything. One hand dropped to hers, and Azriel linked their fingers together as he rose, pulling Nesta to her feet. He leaned close, breathed her in, let his free hand wind around her waist and pull her into him as he nipped lightly at the edge of her jaw.
“Let’s get out of here,” he echoed.
New taglist: (if you want to be added or removed, let me know!) @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist
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Blending two amazing creators and minds together??
Awake, Arise, or Be Forever Fall'n: A Demon Azris Playlist
Have you all read @iftheshoef1tz Azris fic what hath night to do with sleep??? Set in Berlin in 1968? I love it so much, I made it a playlist.
I researched popular music in Berlin at the time, which was mostly lots of jazz, and I decided to add some psychedelic rock that was gaining traction. Enjoy, and please go read the fic!
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Eris- Panic Attack
Eris x mate reader
Pre-established relationship, I’m going to say for the context of his, Eris has panic attacks from time to time.
Summary: Beron has recently died and Eris insisted on cleaning out the throne room himself. He didn’t think the memories of his father would still haunt the room.
Warnings: Panic attack explained pretty in-depth, mentions of cannon typical parental abuse, Beron mention
WC: ~1.5k
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The heavy mahogany doors swung open as Eris pushed on them. He stepped into the familiar space and steadied his breathing. Beron had been dead for a little over a month now. Eris fully stepping into the role of High Lord. Eventually, he would have to start holding court, but not before he wiped any trace of his father from the room. Not that there was much of him in this room. Despite being high lord of Autumn for centuries, the room held a certain degree of emptiness that had nothing to do with his father’s passing. It was as devoid of emotion as his own father.
After looking around Eris found something that made even his hot blood run cold.
He could feel the whip as it bit into his back. Scorching angry red lines into his back. He couldn’t even place the action that had angered his father this time. But one thing led to another and Beron had said something about disloyalty and disappointment. Eris wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. So he bit his tongue so hard it bled, repressing the screams he desperately needed to release.
Lucien was kneeling in front of the throne, white shirt torn open. Bright red blood seeped into the fabric. Clinging to his brother's skin and staining the stark fabric, a gut turning maron. Eris couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. Couldn’t form the pleas for his father to stop. He was just a boy, barley 16 years old. Even his other brothers had the decency to look horrified by their fathers actions. Lucien did cry out. The action had earned him more lashings that the servants had to hold him down for. He was going to pass out. His head slumping slightly as his father landed another blow. Just as Eris thought he found the right words, his father paused. He surveyed Lucien like he was nothing more than a piece of meat. A callous tone as he simply said “take him to his room” was all the acknowledgment Lucien was granted by the High Lord. The rest of the siblings stood in a line, silence filling the crowded room. Beron ran his hand along the whip, shaking Lucien’s blood off of his hand. He had the nerve to act disgusted by it. As if the blood would taint his hands simply by touching it. Eris had never felt fury like this before. At Beron. At himself. At his complaint mother who just stood by Berons side and didn’t so much as try to convince him to stop his cruel punishment. Eris declared right then and there that when the time came, he would make sure that Berons death would be at his hands.
Eris willed his eyes to pull into focus. He blinked against the dark that bit at the edge of his vision. His hands would not stop shaking as he held the whip. He couldn't let go of it for some reason, like the leather hilt had burned his flesh to it.
He had regretted his decision to enter the room at that very moment but some prideful part of him demanded he should be the one to do it. What he hadn’t considered was the memories this room held. Memories that couldn’t go away at just the mere passing of his father. One small object in the room and that’s all it took to reduce the recently crowned high lord to nothing more than a scared babe.
His breathing. He needed to control his breathing but it felt like sandpaper as he clutched for some semblance of rationality. He couldn’t suck in air fast enough and he knew that he was hyperventilating but couldn’t stop it. He felt his knees starting to buckle under him. A firm hand slamming against the nearest wall was all he could do to stop from falling to his knees right there. The whip finally falling from his hands as he felt a cold sweat break over his entire body.
The blood roaring in his ears drowned out the sound of the door swinging open again. He all but jumped out of his skin at the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. You rubbed gentle circles into the back of his neck and that was all it took for Eris to fall to his knees. Your soft touch was such a stark contrast to the phantom pain he felt rip across his body only moments before.
When he finally had the strength to open his eyes, he found you sitting on your knees in front of him. Your own eyes filled with sympathy and it was enough to break him. Years ago that look would have him storming off, terrified of how that one look seemed to stare into his very soul and rip him apart. But now, he used your eyes to ground him in the present. The fact that you were here in this room was enough to send his mind into overdrive the need to protect you from some long gone force took over his mind.
He must have sent that feeling down the body because he felt a calming wave of love in response. You didn’t move for a second, seeming to fully take in the situation that was unfolding in front of you.
As you had done so many times before, you slowly lifted Eris’ hands and gently put it on your own chest. You took deep breaths and Eris found himself struggling to time his with yours. It took a few tries but he felt his lungs open up. The scratch still there but manageable as he all but panted in time with your steady breathing.
Once he got his breathing to a more steady rhythm, you went to remove his hand from your chest and Eris simply laid his free hand on top of yous. Unwilling to let the comfort of your heartbeat disappear. You didn’t shake him off, instead you shuffled closer to him until your knees were pressed against his own. He watched you move in slow motion as you tenderly placed your forehead against his. He closed his eyes as he gulped down breaths of your smell. Caramel and cinnamon. His lips ghosted over yours, not truly kissing but enough that your breathing finally in sync and he could taste your sweet smell as you exhaled
The two of you sat like this until the trembling in his body stopped. The tension still clung into his shoulders and was already starting to give him a headache. You could pick up on that too. You were always so attentive and aware of his moods. It used to terrify him but the longer the bond held , the more he let you see his part of him. The part that wasn’t a high lord who killed his own father for a role he had been training his whole life for.
Pulling his hands free from your chest, Eris fumbled frantically to wrap his arms around you. His head going to the crook of your neck at the same time you carded your fingers into his precious red hair. He all but purred when you used your nails to scratch his scalp.
You didn’t ask what was wrong. It wasn’t necessary. All it took was that pure fear that traveled down the bond and you were sprinting through the large estate, one you were still unfamiliar with due to spending all of your time at the forest house. So all you did was offer him a small “I love you”. It didn't matter that his throat was too raw to say it back. None of that mattered. You would spend the rest of your life telling you t to him without a response if it meant he would believe those three words.
Much to your surprise, you felt the words mumble into your neck and you just held him tighter. You held him until he gave you three tight squeezes, the signal he gave you when he was back down to earth. You held his face in your hands and gave him a chaste kiss. Pulling him up to his feet, I led him out of the throne room. Letting him know that this wasn’t something he had to do today, at all or alone.
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You Are Safe Here - Azriel x Spring Court!reader
A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first acotar story... I'm so excited! This might turn into a series or maybe a collection of oneshots, I'm not totally sure yet. This work is not beta read, so please forgive me for any mistakes! Feel free to let me know what you think!
Synopsis: Rhysand returns from the Spring Court with a new title and a new friend - Tamlin's sister.
Word Count: 2.1K
TW: Mentions of death, brief descriptions of torture, allusion/very brief mention of SA, soft!Azriel
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Azriel is unsure of what to think about the female laying in front of him. His brothers don't seem to know what to think of her either, although Azriel is certain that Rhys knows more about her than he is letting on. The shadow singer doesn't hold it against his friend, though - he had been more withdrawn after his mother and sister had been slaughtered, and now his father is dead too, and he is high lord. The news had been a shock to both Azriel and Cassian, who were waiting for the return of their high lord and their friend at the House of Wind.
They didn't expect Rhys to show up alone, shrouded in power so potent that Azriel felt like he was suffocating, with a blonde, winged female bundled in his arms. He had barely uttered a word to them before he had rushed her to the closest bedroom, ordering Cassian to find Madja. It had dawned on Azriel then that the female doesn't just have wings - she has Illyrian wings.
The next day, the three of them are standing outside the door of that bedroom. Rhys had just told them about how Tamlin showed the female to him and told him to take her with him. The only reasoning he had given was that she would be better off far away from Spring.
"You have no idea who she is?" Cassian asks, his arms crossed over his chest. Rhys shakes his head. "He didn't say what happened to her?"
"No." Anyone else would describe Rhys as calm, but Cassian and Azriel know him better than anyone else does. Anger is well-hidden in those violet eyes of his.
"She's Illyrian." Cassian's eyes are locked on the dark, leathery wings of the female. "But she looks like a high faerie from the Spring Court in every other way."
It's true. The female's blonde hair and golden skin, dimmed from what he assumes is malnutrition, and her scent, a mix of something floral and earthy, is indicative of her birthplace.
Rhys just sighs. "I don't know, Cassian. We'll have to ask her when she wakes up."
She doesn't sleep for much longer. The three of them are sitting down the hall when Azriel's ears pick up a whimper. He looks to Rhysand and Cassian, the look on their faces confirmed that they heard it too. His shadows brush against his skin as they whisper in his ears.
The female is moving one whispers. Her eyes are closed, but she is crying. She is scared.
Azriel tells the others what the shadows said as he stands. They follow him as he moves to the bedroom, the whimpers getting louder. The door is shut, and they all hesitate when they see the faint glow from under the door. Azriel grips the doorknob and turns it, inching the door open. He can feel the sympathy that his brothers feel as they see her. Her poor form is trembling, her wings trying to move underneath her weight. The movements are frantic, even more so since her wings cannot extend all of the way. Her whimpers are louder now and the smell of her fear fills the room. Her skin is the source of that glow, subtle and delicate as it brightens the room. His shadows attempt to get closer to her, but they scatter when they get too close.
Azriel takes a few steps forward, closer to her. He continues to walk towards her until he is right next to the bed. He glances at Rhys and Cassian, who are watching cautiously. He places his hand on her shoulder and, taking note of the warmth coming from her, shakes her as gently as he can, trying to rouse her from her sleep. He barely moves her when her eyes fly open. She sits up so quickly that Azriel has to take a step back to avoid knocking heads with her. She presses her back against the headboard, her wings tucked in tight now. Her eyes - a deep green - are wide open, staring at him. He raises his hands, holding them in front of him, and takes another step back.
"We aren't here to hurt you," he says softly, trying not to startle her any more. Her eyes move to Cassian and Rhys, both of whom are trying to look as harmless as possible. Her eyes move back to him.
"Where am I?" she asks, her voice quiet and raspy.
"You are in the Night Court," he tells her. A glimmer of fear flashes through her eyes but is gone in an instant.
"You are safe here," Rhys says, drawing her attention away from Azriel. In his hand is a glass of water, and he holds it out to her as he moves closer to the bed. She takes it from him, thanking him softly.
"You are the one who brought me here." She takes a sip of her water. Rhys nods. "Tamlin told you to take me." Rhys nods again.
"My name is Rhysand." He then introduces the Illyrians. "You are truly safe here."
She looks at him thoughtfully. "You were covered in blood - my family's blood."
Azriel stills.
"Your family's?" Cassian asks. She nods. "What is your name?"
"[Y/n]," she says. A tickle of recognition echoes in Azriel's head. He had heard her name before. "My father - the High Lord of the Spring Court...," she trails off. "My brothers. My mother. their blood was - was on you," she says, looking at Rhys. There is no anger in her gaze - only sadness and confusion. "Why?"
Rhysand is silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. Then he explains everything - what Tamlin's family had done to his mother and sister, his and his father's plans for revenge, his father's death by Tamlin's hand. The three of them watch her as she digests the information. Still, she shows no signs of anger.
"I am sorry about your mother and sister." Her voice is quiet with remorse and sympathy. "I didn't know. I can't say I would have been able to, but had I known what they were going to do, I would have tried to stop them."
Rhys only nods. [Y/n] looks behind Cassian at his wings, then at Azriel's.
"You two also have wings. The same as mine."
"We do," Cassian says with a nod, flaring his wings slightly. "We are called Illyrians."
"Illyrians?" she asks. "There are more like us?"
The three of them look at each other. Had they not told her where her wings come from?
"I will take that as a yes," she says, slumping against the headboard.
"No one told you where your wings are from?" Rhys asks. [Y/n] shakes her head.
"My brothers always told me they made me a monster." Azriel can see in her eyes that she is getting lost in her mind.
"You aren't one," he says softly. She doesn't look at him. Rhys says her name, causing her ears - pointed, high fae ears - to shift.
"Is that why you were in the dungeons?" he asks, his voice tentative. Cassian and Azriel share a glance - Rhys had not told them that part. [Y/n] is silent and doesn't turn to look at any of them at first, but after a few minutes she looks up.
"I was not always in a cell." she says. "I am still a lady of the court. Much of my time was spent gardening and visiting our people with my wings glamoured so that no one could see them. At night and on the days that I stayed at the manor, I was locked away. Father -," she inhales shakily. "He would - he would...,"
Azriel doesn't need his shadows whispering in his ears to know she was beginning to panic. He stifles his anger as he steps forward, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. He ignores the curious looks from his brothers, instead focusing on the green eyes that are now locked on his hazel ones.
"Your father is dead - as are your brothers. They cannot hurt you anymore." His voice is barely audible with how softly he is speaking. "You are safe here."
She stares at him for a moment before speaking.
"He would do horrible things," she says. "He and my two oldest brothers. They would starve me, drown me, choke me," she lists, "whip me, burn me. Tear me apart with their claws." Her eyes leave Azriel now, constantly scanning Cassian and Rhys. The two males are stiff, deep frowns marring their faces. "When he had male guests over, he would send them to me to... entertain themselves." She sheds no tears, not yet. "I could not - could not say no."
For a second reason, Azriel is glad that Rhys and his father killed those shapeshifters. A few of his shadows inch out from behind him. They brush against [Y/n]'s hands and she lifts one of them, studying the shadows as they intertwine around her fingers. At first, he mistakes her curiosity for discomfort and starts to chide them, but the corner of her lips tilt up. One of the shadows moves up her arm, and Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian watch with interest as it caresses her face, brushing back loose strands of hair. Never had his shadows gotten that close to someone - especially not a stranger. Azriel silently bids them back to him, but they remain around [Y/n].
"Are you talking to them?" she asks, breaking his concentration. Her smile is soft and brightens the room.
"Yes," Azriel says. He looks to Rhys, silently asking how much he can tell her. Rhys only shrugs. "They are my informants most of the time. They talk, though most of the information is random and useless." Azriel grins when the shadows in the room shift in agitation.
"You are called a shadowsinger," she states. He nods.
"You've heard of shadowsingers?" Cassian asks.
"I was kept in the dark most of the time," she says. "So dark that there were no shadows. I couldn't see, but I could hear. I overheard my fathe ronce, talking about tattling shadows." She looks over at Azriel again. "Always insisted that the shadows couldn't know about what he was doing to me. I never understood, not until I asked about it."
"Your father didn't want Azriel to hear of you," Rhys surmises, tilting his head. "Who did you ask about it?"
"I asked Tamlin." Rhys raises an eyebrow. "Tamlin certainly isn't the best faerie ever, but... but he tried to help me. He was as afraid of father as I was."
None of them are sure what to say.
"What will you do with me?" she asks suddenly, staring expectantly at Rhys. He holds her gaze for a moment.
"How would you feel about staying here in Velaris?"
"Velaris?" she echoes, her brows furrowed.
Rhys gestures to the window beside the bed. The curtains had been drawn together but upon Rhys' request, Azriel pulls them open. [Y/n] perks up immediately, adjusting herself until she sits on the edge of the bed. Slowly, she stands, her legs shaking slightly. The tips of her wings brush the floor as she crosses the short distance to the window. Azriel hears the way her breath catches and sees silver tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"You - you would let me stay here?"
Her voice is so delicate, so disbelieving, so vulnerable that Azriel has to force down the lump in his throat.
"Of course," Rhys says gently. "I became high lord yesterday, and am in the process of building my inner circle. Azriel and Cassian here are already a part of it - I would like you to join us."
[Y/n]'s head swivels to look in his direction, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Rhys holds his hands up. "I'm being genuine here. I think you would be a nice addition."
"My family murdered yours," she reminds him. Rhys swallows and nods.
"They were killing you, too."
[Y/n] stares at him for what feels like a long time before her focus breaks, and she looks away from him.
"Okay," she says quietly. "I would be grateful and - and honored."
Rhys actually smiles, and opens his mouth to say something but Cassian interrupts him.
"I'm cool with you joining, but under one condition," he says with a grin, taking a few steps toward her. To [Y/n]'s credit, she doesn't cower or flinch at the volume of his voice, but just raises a brow. "Train with me every morning. We'll start off simple and work on flexibility and balance, then move on to the fun stuff."
[Y/n] nods. "Sounds fun."
Cassian's grin widens.
"Oh, we're going to have a lot of fun."
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READ ON AO3 | Rating: Explicit | Pairing: Tamlin x Eris
Summary: Eris ensures that Tamlin doesn't ignore the rite this year. Another Calanmai fic, hehe.
A/N: YES I know I'm coming in HOT with this one, but y'all gotta trust me. This is a fun/quick little two parter that I'm working on. Here's the first chapter that I was supposed to post on Wednesday for tamlinweek but then my inner critic squashed that dream.
A special thank you to @chunkypossum, @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee and @queercontrarian who dragged me kicking and screaming over the finish line for this one.
cc: @nocasdatsgay b/c you are fantastic and asked me to be tagged on this <3 AND @climbthemountain2020 because I promise I'd post this asap <3
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Creator Highlight - Week 2
Welcome to our weekly Creator Highlight!
Every week, we’ll use this space to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use so much of their free time and creative energy to share their work with us and bring our imaginations to life via writing, art, visuals, and many other creative mediums.
This week we want to highlight @witch-and-her-witcher, the funniest, sweetest, most supportive person with an absolutely limitless knack for writing multiship and rarepair fics. While she is a staple within the fandom for many different and incredibly well-written pairings (check out her Elucien, Nessian, and Feysand works too!), she really lets her talent shine through in her more unique pairings!
In addition to her impeccable writing and amazing ideas, she’s always the first to offer support to others in their creativity. She’s always quick to reblog, comment sweetly, or offer a beta read to friends!
Thank you for sharing your works with us and for always being such a kind, creative, and supportive mutual!
Below are some of our favorite creations.
The Fawn of Prythian | Elain/Lucien/Azriel
this is me trying | Nesta/Azriel/Cassian
Embers and Mist | Nesta/Eris
Silver Lining and Decode This Case and tell them i’m the worst | Azris
The Wind Whispers | Mor/Merrill
Lay Me On the Cold Dark Earth | Tamlin/Rhysand
You can find more of @witch-and-her-witcher 's works on Ao3 and Masterlist!
If you have someone you'd like to add to the Creator Highlight submission list, drop it in our ask box!
#creator highlight#acotar#fic recs#azris#elain x lucien x gwyn#neris#tamsand#mor x merrill#acotar rarepair#eluzriel#elain x azriel x lucien#nesta x cassian x azriel
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Every year, the Fairy King demands a sacrifice from the humans in exchange for peace and prosperity: a human bride.
For Tamlin Week, Day 6: Fairy Tale AU. Not any specific fairy tale, just a generic "fae king who makes deals with humans" kind of vibe. Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!
@tamlinweek
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The forest was a dark and gaping maw. Feyre shivered as a cold breeze tickled her skin. Her only protection against the cold was the thin slip she had been given to change into. She clasped her hands together, determined not to shake again. The entire village was standing behind her, including her sisters. She didn’t want them to see her fear.
Movement in the trees. The branches themselves were lifting and curving, forming a magnificent green arch. Out from the arch emerged an imposing figure: tall and pale, clad in sumptuous velvet and a spiked crown made of obsidian. The crowd gasped. Though they saw the Fairy King once a year, his cruel beauty stole the breath from their lungs every time.
He approached the altar where Feyre waited for him. She had to tilt her head back to see his face; he was easily over eight feet tall. Blonde hair cascaded down his shoulders. She couldn’t see his eyes.
The head bishop of the village stepped forward. “Great Fairy King, we offer you a sacrifice: a human bride. Do you accept her, in exchange for your bounty and mercy in the coming year?”
It was an ancient tradition that had spanned multiple Fairy Kings. The first fairies had been fierce warriors and pillagers, who ravished the human villages and kidnapped their women. They had come to a compromise. Every year, the village would give the Fairy King a beautiful young maiden to be his wife, to do with as he pleased. In return, the attacks would cease. In the past, the prospect of being the bride was a terrifying one. The women who entered the forest never came back. More recently, with the newest Fairy King, the family of the bride would come into great riches. There was now extensive political scheming in the village, families putting forward their pretty daughters to be picked as the annual sacrifice in the hope that they would flourish in the coming year. Feyre’s father had never participated in the scheming, but she knew that they needed the money. She had volunteered to be the bride before her sisters could. Whatever happened to her, her family would be safe.
The Fairy King looked down at her. His eyes were startlingly warm, green with flecks of gold. “I do,” he answered the bishop’s question. He leaned down, way down, to press his lips against Feyre’s. The kiss was dry and quick, but it was enough to seal their marriage. He led her by the hand into the forest, under the archway he had created. Feyre risked a look over her shoulder at the life she was leaving forever. Nesta and Elain were holding each other, crying. Her father was watching, grief lined in his weathered face. He raised one hand in farewell. It was the last thing she saw before the trees moved to block her view.
Resolute, Feyre kept her gaze forward. Rumors about what happened to the previous brides swirled through her head. Stories of rape, torture, dismemberment, and magical manipulation that went back as long as she could remember. There was no proof behind any of these claims. But everybody knew how wicked the fae were, and the Fairy King was the most wicked of all. Still, Feyre would not weep or beg. She would do what needed to be done.
One moment, they were in the forest that was as familiar to Feyre as the back of her hand. The next, her stomach lurched unpleasantly and her vision blurred, and they were somewhere completely different. The air was warm and fragrant, the grass lush and thick. The plant life around her was so vibrant green it hurt her eyes. Ahead of them was an enormous stone castle draped in ivy.
Her companion had changed too. He had shrunk, so he was now just barely taller than her. The imposing black crown had been replaced by a delicate pair of antlers. The elaborate cloak was gone, in its place was a worn tunic and pants, overlaid with a baldric. If Feyre didn’t look too closely, he could almost pass for human.
“Don’t be afraid,” he spoke to her for the first time. “I won’t hurt you. I’m Tamlin. What’s your name?”
Still wary, Feyre regarded him closely before answering, expecting a trap. “Feyre. Feyre Archeron.”
“Welcome to the Spring Court, Feyre Archeron.” He made as if to place his hand on her elbow, and she instinctively flinched. Cursing herself for her show of weakness, she waited for the punishment that would fall on her for defying him. Instead, he pulled his hand back. “Apologies. Please, follow me.” He strode towards the front gate of the castle, not looking back to see if she had obeyed. She did a full turn, her mind racing, searching for any avenue of escape. There was none. With no other options, she followed the Fairy King.
The castle was full of every size and shape of fae. Some scuttled about near the floor, too fast for her eye to catch. Some were tall and thin, stretching up towards the ceiling, moving in long, fluid strides. They greeted Tamlin cordially, and he replied in kind. She sensed dozens of eyes appraising her, watching her every movement. There was no malice in their gaze, but she found herself drawing closer to Tamlin anyway.
“I’m sure you’ve heard many terrible things about the fae,” Tamlin said as he guided her deeper into the castle. “And about the fates of the previous brides. Sadly, most of those stories are true.”
Well, that was precisely what Feyre didn’t want to hear. “They are?” Maybe she should run for it. Maybe being killed in an escape attempt was better than the fate that awaited her as his wife.
“My great grandfather was the Fairy King who initially negotiated the terms of the sacrifice. He was a cruel male, who saw humans as mindless cattle, undeserving of kindness. My grandfather and father before me were of a similar mind. They kept the sacrifice going for centuries. I won’t tell you what they did to those poor girls.” His mouth tightened and he looked away, as if ashamed of his predecessors. Feyre still didn’t exactly feel safe, but she continued padding along behind Tamlin, captivated by the tale he told.
“And now I am the Fairy King,” Tamlin continued. “I won’t bore you with the details, but rest assured I had never intended to rule anybody. I’ve tried to undo the damage that my family has done, with…mixed results. When I was first crowned, I approached your bishop. I told him I wanted to stop the yearly sacrifice. He thought it was a trick, and refused. Humans are afraid of change and deeply superstitious. Nothing I did could convince them that I didn’t want a human bride. So now I go along with it, play the part. It’s easier this way.”
Tamlin stopped so suddenly that Feyre ran into him. They were in front of an ornate double door that was currently closed. Tamlin raised a fist and tapped his knuckles on the painted wood. A muffled voice from within ordered them to enter, and the door opened by itself. Inside was a cozy sitting room, filled with chairs and couches and cushions. Tables scattered around the room were filled with plates of fresh fruit and bread. Against one wall was a row of windows. The curtains were open, flooding the room with sunshine and treating them to a view of the garden outside.
The room was full of women. Dozens of human women, lounging on the furniture, eating, and chatting. Some were as young as Feyre herself was. Many were older, the eldest being a group of silver-haired women sitting in a circle, their wrinkled hands occupied with knitting needles and yarn. Every single woman looked up when Tamlin and Feyre entered the room.
“Ladies,” Tamlin said, bobbing his head in respect. “This is Feyre. Feyre,” he gestured with one arm, sweeping across the unbelievable sight. “These are my wives.”
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