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captainsophiestark · 3 months

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To The Stars

Rhysand x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Summary: With war on the horizon, Rhys and his mate have been busier than should be possible, with almost no time to even see each other. But sometimes, to stay sane, you have to make time.

Word Count: 1,064

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I squinted at the words on the paper in front of me, trying to get them to stop blurring. My eyes burned, and my head ached, and before I knew it, I was face down on the desk.

Not the first time it had happened to me, and probably not the last. But the Night Court was basically the only court who had our shit together and stood a chance at stopping Hybern, which meant it was on me and the rest of the Inner Circle to organize what we needed to organize to save the world as we knew it. That tended to lead to a lot of exhaustion.

Even worse, it had left me no time to see my mate, Rhysand, as we were both running around like maniacs, often in different directions. His face floated across my subconscious as I fought to stay awake despite my body begging me to rest my eyes and stay down on the desk. I thought I'd finally lost the battle when I heard his voice, calling my name in his smooth, soothing voice that had come to feel like home. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder, and realized this wasn't an exhaustion-induced dream.

I groaned, slowly dragging myself back into a sitting position as I blinked at Rhys through bleary eyes. He hardly looked better than me, with dark bags under his eyes. Still, he pulled a soft smile onto his face when he looked at me.

"You look about as tired as I feel," he said, voice a little more gravelly than usual. I huffed a sigh.

"I'm absolutely exhausted. But we have to do what it takes to have a chance at winning this war."

"We do."

The silence hung between us for a moment, the massive weight we carried together resting heavily on our shoulders. Then Rhys, my wonderful mate, sighed and gave me a tired smile, running his hand along my cheek.

"Come outside with me."

I raised an eyebrow at him, but his face didn't change. I held his stare, but when his calm expression didn't crack with even a hint of what he was up to, I finally gave in with a sigh of my own.

"Fine. But only because I love you so much. If anyone else was asking me to accompany them for mysterious reasons rather than wading through these papers or sleeping, I would tell them to fuck right off."

"I'll make sure to remember how lucky I am to be met with a different response."

I snorted, at myself more than him, and he shot me a small smile as I got to my feet. He held out a hand and led me out of our bedroom and up the stairs to the roof.

"If we had even a single extra second to string together, I would've told you to close your eyes first," Rhys said, a smile in his voice from ahead of me. I raised an eyebrow, more curious than ever as he stepped out onto the roof of the Velaris townhouse and I followed after him.

Rhysand stared at me with a massive grin on his face, holding his arms out slightly on either side in a 'ta-da' gesture. I looked just past him to find a nest of blankets assembled on the roof, with glasses of sparkling wine waiting for us. A small fire roared in a firepit that hadn't been there the last time I'd checked.

"We have to rest at some point, or so I've been told by every other member of our court. And if I have to take a break, I'd much prefer to take it with you."

I smiled, none of the tiredness leaving me but most of the tension draining away. I crossed the short distance between me and my mate, wrapping my arms around him tightly and breathing in his scent. I could hear his heart beating in his chest, the soft thud mixing with the crackling fire, and for just a moment everything was right with the world.

"How did I get so lucky as to find you?" I asked, a soft smile on my face as I at last pulled back to look at Rhys. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he leaned in until his lips were just a breath away from mine.

"I wonder the same thing, how we could be so lucky to find each other, almost every day that I walk this world," he murmured. My heart swelled, and a heartbeat later Rhys closed the distance between us. I lost myself in his embrace and his soft, tender kiss.

We stayed locked together for a few long moments, then finally, reluctantly, I pulled back. Rhys watched me like a hawk, but I just gave him a little smile.

"We'll have time for that after wine and stargazing," I promised. He sighed, playing it up a little, even as he leaned back.

"I suppose it would be a shame to let it all go to waste."

I winked and gave him one last peck on the cheek, then led him over to the pile of blankets. The two of us made ourselves comfortable, snuggling into the warmth together and staring up at the crystal clear night sky. I sighed, the light from the stars shining out through the darkness above.

"This is beautiful," I murmured. Rhys handed me a glass, which I took, my eyes never leaving the night sky above.

"It really is. It helps, to look at this. To look at Velaris. And you. To... remember what we're fighting for."

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

I finally tore my eyes away from the starlight overhead to look at my mate, meeting his sparkling eyes. I would go to the absolute ends of the world for him, and I knew he would do the same for me. The road ahead would be hard, against Hybern and the other courts, but how could anything hope to stand against us? Especially when we had the rest of our friends behind us, too.

"To the stars who listen," he said, lifting his glass to mine with a half-smile. I returned the gesture, the soft clink of the glasses ringing out in the night.

"And the dreams that are answered."

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Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

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elainemg97 · 6 months

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💜Elain and Azriel 💜

“…but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching.

Wrong -- it was so wrong.

He didn't care.”

~ ACOSF Bonus Chapter

#acowar #acotar #sarah j maas #elriel #a court of thorns and roses #elain x azriel #acomaf #azriel #fanart #elain archeron #pro elain #pro elriel #a court of frost and starlight #a court of dreams #elriel art #elriel fanart #Spotify

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highqueenofashandstars · 4 months

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As much as SJM and her books have become one of my biggest personality traits, I’m so frustrated with how many special editions there are of her books that are coming out with every new release. Through no fault of her own as I’m sure it’s a marketing scheme by the publishing house.

They’re not pokemon. They’re books.

I will have to choose my starter, and not actually collect them all. Kudos to the trainers out there who do plan to collect them all. I carefully chose my one but since I’m moving, I am dealing with having to cancel my entire preorder I’ve had for months, wait for my money to be refunded, and then have to place my preorder again with my new mailing address. Here’s to hoping I still get it on time.

It stresses me out. 😮‍💨

#sjm fandom #sjm books #sjmaas #sjm #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #a court of mist and fury #feyre archeron #a court of dreams #throne of glass #sarah j maas #aelin ashryver #crescent city #house of earth and bone #house of sky and breath #house of flame and shadow #bryce quinlan

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incorrectacotarwords · 11 months

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“You begged her to kiss you, she begged me to f*ck her. We are not the same.”

- Rhysand to Tamlin

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buckyysdoll · 7 months

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

— 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 —

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

MAIN MASTERLIST

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

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

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

Surely all of them knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bargain tattoo on your lower arm burned.

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

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

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

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

To your sweet light. Your Nesta.

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

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

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

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

Neither one of you'd say it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nesta. Your Nesta.

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

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

But of course she knew.

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

Tension thickened the air with that truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the thought hit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if. As if.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The intention in her softness made you ache.

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

And oh Mother, how you loved her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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protagonistkiller · 7 months

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I think I’m hilarious Pt. 3

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

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arizona2004 · 2 years

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Early Mornings

Azriel x reader

Parenting prompt

Y/S/N- your sons name, Y/D/N- your daughters name

After your son is born, Azriel becomes his favorite person. Azriel’s always there to get up with him during the night, claiming you did enough taking care of the babe already, so now it’s his turn. Sometimes you wake up to find the baby asleep on your mate’s naked chest; other time’s Azriel is singing to him, or feeding him a bottle.

Night quickly becomes bonding time for your boys, so you try to stay out of it, but it’s so hard not to peek in when your son’s giggling at Azriel’s shadows. Your son even becomes distraught when he naturally starts sleeping through the night. Azriel’s no better, obviously cranky the morning’s after your baby boy sleeps soundly.

“I know I’m supposed to be happy he sleeps all night, but I miss him making me up every other hour,” Az says, frowning as he watches the baby play on the floor a few feet away.

“The two of you just need to find a different time of day to spend together,” I say, “maybe in the afternoons or early in the mornings. He’s already starting to wake up early as if he needs to train too.”

Your mate smiles at that, loving the idea of training his son. Cassian even paid a seamstress to make tiny baby illyrian leathers for him. They won’t fit him for at least another year, though.

“I suppose. I could get him ready in the mornings and feed him breakfast before training.”

“Mhmm.”

Az smiles wider, already adjusting to this new plan. “Alright, it’s settled then. But if he wakes up at night, I’ve got dibs.”

You laugh, loving to see your husband like this, and loving even more the bonding happening between father and son.

When your son was first born, Azriel was terrified of holding him. He was afraid he’d hurt the baby or that the faeling would be afraid of his scars. Oh, how wrong he was. Az is always perfectly careful with his son and the baby has come to love Azriel’s hands more than anyone else's. He finds a sort of comfort in the scars that identify his dad, always wanting to hold one of Azriel’s fingers.

His first word was even Papa, to no one’s surprise. So now, when he wakes up in the early hours of the morning, he calls out “Papa,” until Azriel, already half dressed, comes into his room and pulls him from the crib.

They develop an easy routine in the mornings that you only know about from Azriel telling you later. Azriel starts getting ready before your son wakes up, but once he does, he drops everything and goes to get Y/S/N. They play quietly for a little while: with Azriel’s shadows, reading books, or just by themselves.

Then Azriel changes his diaper and wiggle the baby into new clothes before feeding them both breakfast. Then, as quietly as a baby can manage, Y/S/N sits on your bed and babbles to your mate while he finishes getting ready. Once he learned how to crawl, though, he didn’t stay on the bed, preferring to follow Az around the room and act just like him.

When he learned to walk, it only got worse. He tried wearing his Illyrian leathers almost every day, even going as far as to paint a few rocks blue and glue them to the outfit. His mornings no longer end when Az goes to train because, with only one pouty face, he convinced your husband to take him with.

Now your son sits to the side while Azriel and his brothers train. It didn’t take long for them to give him training daggers or to try and teach him defensive moves. Azriel has never smiled as wide as he does when his son is having a good time.

So it’s no surprise to you that when you tell him you're pregnant again, he’s overjoyed to have another little one running around. You are a little surprised, though, that his joy doesn’t falter even a little bit when the baby is born a girl.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy to have a daughter?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Az. I just thought you wanted another son.”

He shrugs. “We already have Y/S/N; I want at least one of each.”

Your daughter becomes Azriel’s new nighttime occupation, but he still manages to get up extra early in the mornings with Y/S/N. Your son becomes super protective of the baby too, never wanting to leave her side. He holds her whenever someone’s around to supervise him and plays with her constantly.

When she’s old enough to move around, your son becomes her role model. The three of them look like a train. Az in front while Y/S/N marches behind, following his lead, and Y/D/N brings up the rear, usually with her blanky in hand.

Mornings become her time with her Papa too, and you can’t help but smile, your eyes still closed, when you wake up almost every morning to soft little giggles and the sound of your mate’s hushed whispers.

#Azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #batdaddy #Dadriel #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of dreams #acotar #batbaby #BATBABIES #illyrians

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