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siriusleee · 4 months

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Happy Christmas @nightcourtseer! Written for @acotargiftexchange. Summary: Elain and Azriel meet most nights, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. Tags: smut, but nothing hardcore, implied angst, implied unhappiness, mdni, 3rd person pov, alternating pov Word Count: 3.2k

She always smelt like the mornings even when she was covered in sweat and dirt. Everything about her reminded him of the daylilies she painstakingly tended to - the way her smile bloomed best in the morning sunrise, the way the folds of her dress seemed to wither just slightly in the evening time.

Azriel had tried once to tell her about the comparison, but the words had died in his mouth before he could get them out. She had thought it was amusing to watch him stand there and flail like a fish out of water, like a schoolboy who just developed his first crush.

He sometimes thought that she knew, that she had to know, that she was smart enough to read the way his shadows stormed and raged when she was around. She had to notice the way they stretched towards her in the long stretches of the night when the both of them couldn’t sleep and found solace beneath the Velaris stars together.

And Velaris never really slept - not really. Not when neither of them could sleep and the lullaby of their feet against the cobblestone street was the only sound that could bring them any sort of peace. On those evenings, Azriel watched Elain press herself against the stone fence that ran alongside the Sidra and he wondered as she looked down into the waters, if she was remembering being hauled from the waters that stormed within the Cauldron.

The sunlight cleaved the two of them apart, back to their prospected corners of the townhouse.

Tonight was one of the nights neither of them could sleep. Azriel finds her in the garden two cups of tea steaming in the darkness.

“You have a knack for that,” Az tells her, lowering himself down into the chair across from her, but Elain doesn’t look up at him. Instead, her eyes stay downcast at the flowers in her lap, fingers expertly intertwining the stems.

“A knack for what?”

“For knowing when someone is going to show up.”

Azriel can see the dark moons beneath her eyes, and halfway she smiles at him as she turns just so in the chair below her. But the smile fades quickly, replaced with a frown that makes the edges of Az’s stomach hurt.

“I always know when you’re going to show up.”

Elain used to pray. She didn’t know who she was praying to during her years in the human world. But she never could shake the feeling of something larger than human life looming over her and her family, looming over them and waiting for the next change of something good to happen so it could snatch it away again.

So Elain would pray each day behind Nesta’s back - silent in the night watching the stars out of the window.

She used to pray that Nesta would find some semblance of happiness in this life; that her father’s knee would hurt him less. That Feyre would return from the snow and frost-coated forest safely, even if it meant coming back empty-handed. She prayed for a man with kind hands who would deliver her from that frozen shack.

The Cauldron twisted each one and spat them back at her.

She wanted Nesta’s anger - her ability to keep the fight inside of her no matter what was placed in front of her. She wanted Feyre’s discipline.

She got this instead.

Az doesn’t tell her about Rhys’ command to stay away from her, instead opting to see her at night.

“I’m busy lately. Sorry.”

Elain sighs, fingers tracing the patterns in the wrought iron table. Sometimes Az wonders if she hears him when he speaks or does she just feels what he says.

“I know,” she says, voice clear and ringing in the nighttime, “Training the next generation?”

Azriel doesn’t sit until she tilts her head towards the chair and now cold cup of tea. It’s easy to sit here with her; a respite from the rest of the world. But keeping his hands on the teacup is hard, clenching it just too tight for the fragile porcelain. At his feet, his shadows swirl, reaching delicately towards the hem of her skirt.

“Do you want to go on a walk tonight?” Elain asks suddenly, her tea abandoned on the table. “I don’t feel like sitting around hearing Feyre and Rhys tonight.”

Az grins into his sip of tea until the sounds of Rhy’s words ring through his skull. He tries to keep the pleasant expression on his face, but he feels it twist and sour.

“I can’t tonight. Rhys needs me on patrol.”

Elain doesn’t look at him; she doesn’t need to for him to see the way her face falls just in an increment beneath that mask she wears so well. He wants to see it fall completely - a sight he’s only seen a handful of times - but there’s nothing to do for that.

Elain stands, hands running down the imaginary wrinkles of her skirt; she keeps her eyes firmly planted on the ground in front of her.

“I have to go to bed. Goodnight Az.”

Az twists in his seat, hand and shadows trailing after her, a silent plea to stay.

It lingers in the air after she’s disappeared.

He finds her a few nights later lingering at the river's edge, coat hood pulled low over her face to hide from the world.

“Busy again today?

He catches the edge in her voice and ignores it, leaning against the railing to look down at her face. There’s a shadow under her eyes that wasn’t there a few days ago. The wind cuts sharply through the city, and without a thought, Az shifts so that his wings catch most of the chill.

“I’ve been on patrol,” Az says, biting back the bitter truth that he’s been trying to stay away from her like Rhys commanded. Elain sighs, hands wrapped around the railing of the ridge, and the intense urge to reach out and touch the sensitive skin of her cheek rips through Azriel.

“You’ve been on patrol a lot these days.”

She knows.

It’s a bell ringing through Az, the realization that Elain knows they aren’t supposed to be together, a shockwave that keeps his feet cemented heavily to the ground. Az fumbles over his words until the slump of Elain’s shoulders stops him in his tracks.

“Please walk with me tonight?”

Az wants to wrestle with himself, wants to keep his promise to Rhys wholly intact, but his arm extends of its own will; his heartbeat jumps on its own when Elain’s small hand wraps around him and she tucks herself into his side.

It’s a foolish endeavor, Elain thinks as the two of them duck into a small place advertising a room for the night. There’s no hiding here from the prying eyes of the city, of the hands that crawl back to Rhysand and Feyre to report on every little thing she does.

But for once, since she tore herself away from the Cauldron, she wants to feel, wants to ignore it all. It’s not fair, she thinks as Az takes her hand, his scarred one gentle as he tangles his fingers with her, not fair that Nesta and Feyre get to fall to their basest ambitions, but she is expected to be the princess in the tower.

The room is small and cold, a fire jumping to life as the two of them step into the room. Elain wonders at the flames as they climb higher, still in amazement at the magic that flows around her each day now. The small snick of the door behind her pulls her attention away from the unnaturally bright flames and back to the present.

Azriel dominates in the closed doorway, wings tucked tight against his body, frame still filling the space even as he tries to fold in on himself. Elain tucks her hands behind her back to hide the tremor in them as she speaks.

“I just -” She doesn’t know how to say what she wants, doesn’t know how to explain how badly she needs him, so she drops the words and picks up new ones. “I’d like to just sleep beside you.”

Az nods, slowly and carefully before bending down to tug at the laces of his boots, shucking them off and placing them neatly beside the door. The motion gives Elain enough bravery to pull her shoes off, to shrug her cloak off and drape it over the footboard of the bed. She turns, wordlessly to present her back to Azriel, and without her having to ask, his hands begin to work at the laces of her dress.

When the fabric sags around her, she lets it fall, pooling on the floor around her feet. Elain kicks it out of the way, turning in just her chemise to Az. His eyes never leave her face as she reaches out to slide her hands beneath his shirt, feeling the way he shivers as her fingers trace the edges of his scars.

Azriel lets her push the shirt off of him; it falls to the floor with her dress. The room seems to press in on the two of them, chilly despite the fire. Elain’s hands rest against his chest, so naturally - as if they were made for him.

He lets her guide him to the bed, falling into the soft down together until they tangle beneath the sheets. Elain’s eyes trace across the hard plane of his stomach, hand reaching out to touch the sensitive skin of his side. Her fingers trail upwards until they catch the edge of his wing.

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek, trying to bite back the moan that threatens to break through him, to keep the feeling of being torn apart at her touch inside.

Her fingers trace the scars of his wings; blood blooms in his mouth. She reaches the apex of his wing, and he has to grasp her wrist.

“Please -” he manages to choke out, eyes clenched against the wave of pleasure that started to build through him, “Please.”

He’s not sure if he’s pleading for more or for her to stop, but he feels the way she tenses in the bed beside him, the way she shifts beneath the sheets and the warmth of her breath.

“Azriel look at me.”

He wants to imprint the moment in his brain: her hair pooled around her like honey, the moonlight creating a halo around her silhouette. The shadows under her eyes are darker, and more distinct than earlier.

Elain studies his face before sighing and letting her sink into the bed beside him. Azriel lays still as she tucks herself beside him, wrapping his arm around her middle. His wing comes over the two of them, shielding them from the outside world.

In the warm darkness, they fall asleep together.

It becomes routine to find each other in the nighttime, to sleep tangled together in the small bed. The inn on the edge of town keeps its secret between the four walls of the little room, refusing to let the secret escape.

They don’t mention the way their hands search for each other in the night once the light of the fire has died down into just a glimmer from the embers. Elain’s fingers trace the hard planes of Azriel’s body; his own hands smooth over the fatty parts of her hips, hitching her leg over his hip, fingers teasing the edge of the chemise she wears to sleep.

It stays teasing, until the weather shifts.

The rainy season cuts through like a knife, forcing the citizens of Velaris underneath the awning of business, crouched together like little bugs. Elain watches them from the little window in the corner of the room. The stars fight to be seen behind the clouds that roll angrily.

Az lets himself fall into the little falsehood the two of them have built here, reclining back against the headboard. His shirt’s been thrown to the side, boots left by the door. His eyes trace over the curves of Elain, and something in his heart twists, a jagged knife - a feeling that this has to come to an end at some point.

“Do you think the river will flood?” Elain’s voice is nearly incomprehensible over the storm outside, but Azriel’s ears pick it up like a holy hymn.

“It never has before,” he frowns, trying to think of a time it’s come close, “I don’t think.”

Elain lets the curtain fall, cutting the water light out of the room. She’s dressed in pink today - the type of dress you hardly see around Velaris. Her fingers twine themselves into the fabric, and she chews on her lip. Azriel can feel that she wants to speak, so he pushes himself up and to the end of the bed.

“Nesta asked where I’ve been staying.”

Azriel’s face falls into a frown; it’s never a good thing when Nesta starts asking questions and sniffing around. Unconsciously he lifts his hands, and like a puzzle slotting itself together, Elain lets him take her hands from the fabric of her skirt and pull her between his knees.

“What did you tell her?

Elain’s lip is raw where she chews on it; Azriel wants to run his tongue along the redded skin.

“I told her to mind her own business.”

A bark of a laugh escaped Azriel at the mental image of Nesta’s face whenever she heard Elain tell her that. The sound makes the corners of Elain’s smile pull up and Azriel realizes that he’s tracing the back of her hands with his thumb.

There’s a thread danging in front of the two of them, and Azriel wants to reach out and pull it to see what would unravel.

But he’s too cowardly, pulling his hands back.

There’s a fire in Elain, stoked by the feeling of Azriel’s fingertips on her skin. The intense urge to feel more - to feel the way his touch would be on her hip, her breast, in between her legs is overwhelming.

The feeling in the room sharpens when she pushes herself further between his legs, forcing Az to shift so that Elain can slot herself closer to him.

“Kiss me Azriel.”

Elain watches the way emotions flash across Azriel’s face - she knows he wrestling with the idea. She knows he’s thinking of Rhys and Lucien and all the horrible things that could happen, and she wants to wash those thoughts away.

Her lips find him, and they melt together, an arson fire consuming everything between the two of them. Azriel’s hands jump to Elain’s waist, pulling her closer. A frenetic energy coats the room, and suddenly it’s as if there is nothing outside of this room and each other.

Elain’s skin is on fire when Azriel touches her, burning her through the frills of her dress. His hands travel to the stays, fingers tugging them roughly until the fabric loosens. It’s not a new motion for Azraiel - to slide the dress off a woman’s shoulders - but he shivers when his hands touch Elain’s skin, the feeling suddenly so new to him.

Elain’s hands press against Azriel’s chest, nails digging lightly into the tender flesh of his chest. Azriel falls back onto the bed, wings dipping down to trace the floor on each side. There’s a tightness around Elain’s eyes that he wants to kiss away; Elain lets her dress slip from her shoulders and pool on the floor around her.

Before the creeping shyness can stop her, Elain climbs onto the bed, legs straddling Azriel’s hips. His hands come to her waist, settling her down on the bulge that strains against his pants. Elain shivers at the feeling of the rough fabric against her core, nails digging into Azriel’s forearms with a hiss.

Azriel holds her still, fingers trembling as they dig into her skin; he struggles to speak around the knot in his throat.

“Are you sure?”

The fire backlights Elain, illuminating the honey in her hair, the kiss of her skin as she looks down determined at Azriel, and with slow and deliberate movements, she grinds against him.

It shoots electricity straight through Elain’s core; the nights spent with her fingers teasing herself didn’t prep her for the way just feeling Azriel pressed against her would make her weak.

Elain leans over, capturing Azriel’s mouth with her own, greedy and hot. She needs more of him, and when she whimpers into his mouth, she feels him twitch between her legs. Azriel swallows her whimpers, his hands guiding her hips against him.

They don’t speak to each other - they don’t need to. Azriel can feel everything in the way Elain’s hands grasp at him, the way her kiss suddenly grows sloppier. She comes unwound with a cry, muffled in the crook of his shoulder.

Azriel rolls, hands cradling the back of her head until he settles down on top of her, hands working clumsily at pushing his pants down. He’d never felt this type of hunger inside of him, never felt the need to consume and be consumed so badly.

Azriel slots himself in between Elain’s thighs, feeling the way her muscles tremble as she tries to lock her knees around him. Azriel pushes her knees apart gently with one hand, rubbing circles onto the soft skin. Folding himself over her, he presses hot kisses on her chest, trailing his tongue to her breast, teasing her.

“Please,” she begs, fingers reaching to trace the edges of his wings, feeling the way he shudders violently. “Please Azriel.”

He obliges, lining himself up with her entrance; she’s so wet and warm that it takes every ounce of strength in his body not to slam into her; the feeling of her fingers on the soft leather of his wings is enough to pull at that thread, to pull him apart.

Azriel reaches up to take her hands, afraid that if he doesn’t, this will be over before it starts. Kissing each fingertip gently, he eases himself into her.

It’s nothing like her fingers - Elain has never felt something like this. The stretch, the burn - her back arches, fingers curl into Azriel’s face. He shushes her quietly, still pressing kisses to her fingertips.

And when he’s fully sheathed inside her, the feeling starts to morph. Azriel waits until Elain shifts her hips, rocking herself against him. He moves in rhythm with her, guiding her hand to his shoulder while his dips between her legs.

If Azriel could bottle the sounds Elain makes, he would - keep it close for the worst days when the shadows are strongest. Instead, he swallows them greedily, hips becoming sloppy as Elain writhes beneath him, clenching tight around him.

She comes undone again, fingers tangling in Azriel’s hair, pressing him close enough that their heartbeat seems to be as one. Azriel follows right after, hips still moving long after his release.

Both of them still together, fingers slowing in their patterns. It’s hard to breathe around each other, heartbeats returning to their own pattern. The tension in the air refuses to snap as Azriel pushes himself to hover above Elain.

The sharpness in her eyes is gone, replaced with softness that makes Azriel’s throat tighten.

Tomorrow, he’ll deal with the rubber band that refuses to snap.

#acotar secret santa #azriel #elriel #elain archeron #elain and azriel #my fics #not cod #elain acotar #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #acotar secret santa 2023

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shadowriel · 4 months

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Every Sound Your Heart Makes

I’m so excited to share my secret Santa gift for @headcanonheadcase! This fic started with an idea for what I like to call “reverse Gilmore Girls” — with a grumpy single dad and a chatty, diner owner. So you can expect the Gwynriel we know and love in a cozy, heartfelt small town setting. I hope it’s everything you want for Christmas, and more!

Summary: It’s been six years since Azriel came back to his hometown, with his newborn daughter in tow. Six years since Gwyn moved away from whatever heartbreak she’d left behind in her previous life and opened up a diner in Starlight Grove.

Now, unable to resist the urge to help Gwyn, Azriel volunteers to design sets for their town’s Christmas musical. But what happens when the town grump and the woman he’s fallen for can no longer hold back from the inevitable?

Chapter 1: Coffee, Please

Read here on AO3

Read a snippet below:

Even steps lead him to where he finds himself most mornings for the simple reason that his days aren’t quite right without a cup of coffee… and his daily dose of Gwyn. Once he reaches her diner, he pushes the door open with a gentle shove. His gaze briefly lingers on the cursive that spells out her name against frosted glass—four simple letters he wants to trace, followed by an apostrophe and an ‘S’. Then, just as the scent of peppermint and hot cocoa washes over his senses, his attention shifts.

He sees her immediately—the owner herself flitting from table to table, pouring coffee into half-empty mugs. The sight of Gwyn alone is enough to have him transfixed. To leave him frozen right there, in the doorway.

It’s almost unnerving, how still he is, when the diner is packed with townspeople. There’s a distinct liveliness to the place, one Azriel knows is only found at Gwyn’s. He’s come here every day for years, and he has yet to find another place where the warmth of the air envelops him the same way.

It’s in the details—he knows—at least for most people, this feeling of home. As much as the shop belongs to Gwyn, it belongs to their entire town. From initials carved into tables on first dates to small tears in fabric cushions covered with scraps of tape, to the sticky residue to sweet syrup that never seems to be scrubbed away from the tiles.

For him, it’s not the details that make him love this place. Not the coffee, nor the assortment of desserts.

It’s Gwyn.

That’s precisely the reason why he stands where he is, unable to take in the diner he’s been coming to for years. Why he doesn’t even see the rest of the room.

All he sees is her.

And then, her teal eyes flicker up, and she sees him, too.

“Good morning,” he says—croaks really. His voice is rough, perhaps with the lingering effects of his interrupted sleep. The greeting is all he can find in himself to say, but it is a good morning. Very good.

The sentiment only grows when Gwyn bites back a smile.

“You’re letting out all the warm air,” she huffs, playing at being annoyed. It must be the heat of the room, but Azriel swears he sees the slopes of her cheeks flush a lovely shade of red. In response, he can only take a step forward, allowing the gravitational force between them to draw him towards her and leave the door falling closed with a soft whoosh behind him.

“What? You’re not going to say ‘good morning’ back?” He crosses his arms across the expanse of his chest, fixing Gwyn with a look. He’s always found immense pleasure in teasing her, so he continues. “That’s awfully rude. I thought we were better friends than that, Gwyn.”

Now, it’s her turn to cross her arms. She sets her pot of coffee on a nearby table before doing so, then tilts her head back to glare at him. “We are, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

“You’re worried about your electricity bill?” He almost laughs at the irony.

Purposefully, he drags his gaze from Gwyn, instead turning to study the strings of light she’d put up overnight. At least they’re not the multicoloured variety, but a soft white that makes the interior of the diner glow from where they cover nearly every available surface. Precisely three Christmas trees are decorated in a similar, maximalist fashion, and Azriel can’t help but wonder how the diner hasn’t blown a fuse since she’d put the decorations up.

He arches a brow when he looks at her again, trying to hide his amusement. “Really?”

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @foundress0fnothing @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @trashforazriel @sv0430 @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @thelovelymadone @damedechance

For the @acotargiftexchange

#gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #azriel #au gwynriel #modern gwynriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar #gwynriel fanfic #acotar secret santa 2023 #acotargiftexchange #every sound your heart makes

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danikamariewrites · 4 months

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❈ ❈ Holiday Traditions ❈ ❈

A/n: I'm so happy I got to participate in the @acotargiftexchange this year! I had so much fun coming up with what Nesta and Cassian do to prepare hosting their first christams for @moodymelanist . I also saw it’s her birthday today! So show her some love and check out her fics they are amazing🤗

I hope you like it❤️ happy birthday Merry Christmas love!

warnings: none, just pure Christmas cheer 🥰

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Nesta plopped the last box of ornaments on the coffee table with an accomplished sigh. She had successfully brought down all of the boxes by herself from the attic. Cassian was going to help but she grew impatient waiting for him to come home from shopping. It was the last thing they had to do and Nesta was too excited to wait. So she chugged her morning coffee and braved the attic ladder for the spirit of Christmas.

This was Nyx’s first Christams so everything had to be perfect for her little nephew. Looking around the living room Nesta smiled to herself. The mantle–which currently housed a roaring fire– was beautifully decorated with fir branches, colorful winter candyland baubles, twinkling lights, and two large bows at either end. Their usual soft throw pillows on the couches have been changed out for candy cane pillows and blankets with snowflakes and snowmen.

The only thing left to decorate was the tree. Nesta started opening all the plastic boxes when the front door opened, Cassian’s cheery voice ringing through their warm home. When he appeared in the living room bags of different sizes decorated his arms, a large grin on his face. “Hey baby, I thought I was going to help you with those?” Nesta returned his smile unwrapping the book stack ornament Cassian got her last year. “I could’t wait. Did you get the stuff for our mega gingerbread house?”

Cassian chuckled and held up a bag from their favorite bakery. “Oh yeah. Let me put this stuff away and we’ll decorate.” Nesta smiled at his retreating back. She couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest woman in the world. As a child her and her sisters never had a good holiday experience thanks to their parents. Their mother’s focus was throwing the best parties for Christmas and New Years. Always neglecting to get the girls presents or doing any holiday activities with them.

When Feyre and Rhysand found each other that’s when the new holiday traditions started. The first time they all spent Christmas together Nesta was drawn to Cassian and the love he had for the holiday. He made sure she and Elain felt welcome, the brothers even made sure they had a few gifts to open. Ever since that day Cassian and Nesta were inseperable.

Cassian laid out the gingerbread pieces on the island along with the icing and candy toppings. He swiped two candy canes for him and Nes before sorting gifts that could be wrapped today and ones that he’d wrap tonight when Nesta was fast asleep. Gathering the gifts, wrapping paper, tape, and scissors he headed back to the living room.

Nesta was half done unwrapping the ornaments, humming along to the Christmas playlist lightly playing from the speaker. Cassian never knew why she insisted on throwing Justin Bieber’s Christmas album into the mix of songs but he went with it. He would never tell Nesta that he enjoyed it. Cassian would never hear the end of it from her or his brothers. Dumping the gift supplies on the couch Cassian started picking up ornaments, choosing which ones he wanted to hang on the tree first.

As the hours passed Cassian and Nesta were giggling as they reminisced about the joke ornaments they had bought each other over the years. Cassian found a Santa hat in one of the decoration boxes and decided it was his, even though Nesta fought him for it. Her consolation prize was silver tinsel Cassian wrapped around her like a scarf.

Once the tree was done, Cassian and Nesta stood back wrapped in each other’s arms. Cassian kissed her tinsel covered head and looked down at his girlfriend with deep adoration. She looks so beautiful with the colorful Christmas lights reflecting in her blue-gray eyes. Images of their future together ran through his mind. A few more holidays by themselves and one day, maybe, a set of twin girls with his hair and her features running around. They’re in matching Christmas PJ’s trying to sneak a peak at the gifts they spent hours wrapping after bedtime before being caught by mom and dad.

Breaking him from his thoughts Nesta bumped her hip against his. “Alright you,” she said cooly, “Lets get to wrapping.”

Getting settled on the floor Cassian started rolling out wrapping paper. Nesta turned on the TV immediately changing the channel. When Nesta saw Rudolph was on she let out a happy hum, watching with a childlike wonder Cassian rarely saw from her. They noticed most of the gifts are for Nyx. Yeah he’s only a few months old, but Cassian and Nesta wanted his first Christmas to be special. Since they were hosting, the pair wanted their nephew to be the center of attention.

Moving to the kitchen Cassian put the kettle on for hot cocoa as Nesta took a seat at the island and began unwrapping the toppings, throwing a few gumdrops in her mouth. “Hey,” she said to get Cassian’s attention. He turned to see Nesta cocking her arm back, gumdrop between her fingers, nodding at him with a determined smile. Cassian smirks, opening his mouth wide, leaning his head back a little. Nesta launches it in a short arch landing right on Cassian’s tongue. They both raise their arms in victory letting out a twin ‘woo’.

Mega gingerbread house had to look perfect this year since it would be the center piece of the mantel. So this year they actually tried to not make it a disaster that would collapse just so they could eat it. Once it was a sugary monstrosity Nyx was sure to grab at, the pair carefully transported mega gingerbread house to its pedestal. It was quite impressive. The house looked like it belonged on a mountain top, Nesta guessed it kind of was thanks to where it was placed.

Looking at his watch Cassian grimaced, noting it was much later than he thought.

Getting settled in bed Cass watched his show on his iPad while Nesta read Christmas book seven of the twelve he got her. She hated being behind on her twelve days of Christmas reads. This one was about a long distance couple finally meeting for a magically holiday in the city.

An hour passed before Cassian heard Nes slightly snoring. He smiled to himself as he softly kisses her forehead, silently slipping out from under the covers. Two years ago Cass caught Nesta snooping through her gift pile during the day so he made the decision to wrap in the middle of the night.

Sorting through the gifts in the living room Cassian couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. This year’s haul for Nesta was perfect if he did say so himself. He even got her special wrapping paper with little books on it.

After an hour of wrapping gifts Cassian crept back upstairs. There was one more thing he had to check on before he went to sleep. Tiptoeing as best he could to the closet he slipped inside. Using the flash light on his phone so he wouldn’t wake Nesta he quietly opened his shirt drawer, digging out the smal black velvet box.

Checking on the ring he knew was tucked away in the perfect hiding spot Cassian grined. Everytime Cass looked at the engagement ring his heart pounded with excitement. It took all of his self restraint to not propose to Nesta everyday. No, he would wait and make this the best Christmas, better than the one they first met. He’ll never forget the surprised face Nesta made when he handed her that first gift. Cassian smiled thinking about the surprise that will grace Nesta’s beautiful face in just two days.

Two more days and they’ll have a life time of happy holidays together.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #cassian acotar #nesta acotar #nesta archeron #nesta archeron acotar #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fanfic #nesta x cassian #nessian fluff #nesta x cassian fluff #acotargiftexchange2023 #acotar secret santa 2023 #modern!nessian

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iambutmortal · 4 months

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Watch Me Burn

Chapter 1

Summary: Lucien Vanserra, Godkiller and disgraced prince, is more than content on his own. He doesn't need his family, or his wife, or his former friend. Hasn't needed them in years. But when villages start being attacked by a force he thought he'd destroyed years ago, he's forced back into their company to retrieve the mysterious firebird and save his kingdom from ruin.

Pairing: Elucien

Word Count: 3k

Content Warning: Gore, brief mention of infertility

Authors Note: Happiest of holidays to @labellefleur-sauvage! You mentioned you were a fan of the Witcher video games so I wrote this kind of sort of Witcher AU! It was originally a one shot but has ballooned into a 9 part monstrosity, so I hope that's okay, and also sorry about the delay. You were such a lovely match, thank you for putting up with me. Also the biggest thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for letting me have a meltdown in her dms, and also to @acotargiftexchange for making this happen.

Read on Ao3

The god sitting in the remains of the temple seemed completely unconcerned with the swarm of bees circling his head. He seemed equally unconcerned by the man approaching him, if his closed eyes were any indication.

Lucien carefully picked his way around the hunks of stone, trying not to twist his ankle as he climbed his way up the half crumbled steps. He scanned for any sort of trick, but aside from the bees there was nothing unusual. Even the god even looked human, if not for the antlers growing out of his head, long and curved like a ram’s.

“You have a choice,” Lucien called once he was on the mostly-level temple floor, unsheathing the sword strapped to his back.

The god didn’t bother to look at him, although Lucien half wondered if he could hear over the sound of buzzing. This close, the swarm was loud enough Lucien’s ear’s were starting to ache.

“Hey,” Lucien yelled, louder this time. A stray bee landed on his nose, and Lucien swiped at it.

Still no response.

Lucien sighed, picked up a piece of marble next to his boot, and threw it at the god. It bounced harmlessly off an antler. That got his attention, and the god swung his head to glare at Lucien with golden eyes.

“The god-butchers really have fallen if they’re resorting to rocks.”

Lucien lifted the sword in his hand, the metal flashing in the sun. “I’ve come to offer a choice.”

“Yes, yes, leave or be killed, I know,” the god signed, sounding bored by the options. “You’re not the first of the butchers to come here and you won’t be the last.”

“You think I’m like most Godkillers?” Lucien asked.

The god looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time, taking in the left eye made of metal, almost the same shade as the god’s own, the long red hair carefully braided back. Recognition danced across his face, at last garnering a response. The god slowly rose to his feet.

Lucien ran through his memory of the remaining gods, the long list of names and descriptions he’d been forced to memorize during his years of training at the keep. He’d spent hours on that list, staying up until the early hours of the morning with nothing but a candle pouring over the pages.

“Hello Aristaeus.”

If it was possible for an immortal being to look surprised, Aristaeus did. “I thought your kind destroyed the old records.”

“The keep has a record for our own usage.” The master, Azriel, insisted it was so the Godkillers would know what they were up against, the monstrous gods they faced. Lucien thought it was bullshit. All the gods who’d proved any real danger had long since been driven out, either killed or sent so deep into the wilderness they’d never be found. Which left Lucien fighting those who were too stupid or weak to leave.

No, Lucien thought they kept the records, made novices memorize every single name on them, because there was something profoundly sad about killing a creature who no one remembered. Who would be wiped completely from existence after they died. And even the Godkillers, for all their zeal and devotion, felt enough pity to do that one act of kindness.

Aristaeus spread his arms widely. “Then you know to fear me.”

Lucien choked down his snort. As if anything he was sent to face made him fear. The minor gods were as dangerous as mosquitos, and twice as irritating.

And they were especially irritating to the villages that paid Lucien to dispatch of them, gathering the little spare change they have left over after market day in a communal cup in the tavern until they had enough saved to pay a Godkiller to get rid of the god who took delight in wrecking their harvest or killed one too many of their herd.

Aristaeus apparently had a propensity for sending bees at all hours of the day, attacking festivals, harvests, or children in the little time they were given to play.

Which unfortunately meant he had to die. So Lucien brandished his sword threateningly and advanced a step.

“I’m going to send your pretty head to your brother,” Aristaeus said. “Remind him of how far the prince can fall.”

Lucien arched an eyebrow, the one that wasn’t cut through with the scar that ran down his face from brow to cheek He’d been described as many things in his life, but pretty was not one he’d heard. Not when the metal eye took so much of people’s focus.

“Eris would probably thank you,” Lucien grumbled.

“Family troubles?” Aristaeus asked, advancing on him, the bees around his head forming a clump. Lucien sensed what was coming a second before, and held up his free hand. Fire flicked at his fingers, smoke trailing from them.

The cloud of bees started to swarm, and Lucien willed the flames higher, the smoke growing thicker. It burned at his eyes and nose, but he kept the flames alight. The bees slowed, circling Lucien but not attacking.

“That’s not fair,” Aristaeus pouted. “Your kind isn’t supposed to have magic.”

“Special allowances were made,” Lucien said, hoisting the sword up and advancing. Understatement of the millennium. “Now yield and leave this place.”

“They used to worship me,” Aristaeus whined. “They would crowd at this temple, pray for their crops to bear fruit, for their fertility.” The bees were fleeing now, trying to escape the heavy smoke still filling the air. “And then they all left me alone, all alone here, and they’re unhappy? The bees are the least of their issues, I should be slaughtering them in their beds.”

“Times change.” Lucien swung the sword, the sharp blade meeting Aristaeus’ neck. The edge that Lucien had so carefully honed that morning sliced through flesh and sinew, severing his head cleanly.

The God didn’t even bleed, just collapsed to the ground before breaking apart into dust. As if he’d never existed at all. Lucien huffed, extinguishing the flames still licking at his fingerprints, and bent down to claim his spoils.

The tavern was unusually crowded when Lucien arrived. He was used to a few sad souls, men with nothing better to do than drink the day away, maybe a bar maiden if he was lucky, but today it was teeming. Like the whole town had gathered to see if he’d actually come back.

Lucien lifted the sack he held at his side, dumping its contents on one of the long tables. The head of Aristaeus, the only thing left of the god, tumbled out. The men nearest leapt back, a few retching at the sight.

Lucien snorted. It always surprised him how squeamish farmers could be, seeing what they did to their own animals. Not that presenting heads was his preferred method, but he needed to prove the job was done somehow, and physical evidence was required more often than not.

“I’m owed three talons,” Lucien said, sliding onto the bench in front of the table. “And a cask of ale.”

A mug was placed in front of him, foam nearly flowing over the rim. The deliverer, a man whose hair was more gray than brown slid into the seat across from him. His tunic was slightly finer than those of the rest of the men, his posture straightener. Signs he wore with pride of his town leadership.

Lucien searched his memory trying to find his name. “Grogov,” he said after a second. “I take it you have my coins.”

Grogov’s dark eyes darted around the room, marking a few of the men out. The largest ones. “A few of us were discussing,” he said, “and three talents is a steep price to pay for a day of work.”

“Yet three talons were what you offered, and agreed to.”

Grogov forced out a laugh, the sound strained. “An offer made under duress. Our children were being attacked.”

“They were stung by bees,” Lucien corrected.

“Mothers were hysterical. We felt like we had no other option but to offer something we couldn’t afford to pay.”

“Yet you had the money to print posters,” Lucien said, leaning back in his seat. His hand, the one not wrapped around the handle of the beer mug he had yet to drink from, drifted down to his waist band, and the knife tucked there. “And enough coins to show me when I arrived.”

“Circumstances change,” Grogov said. The men he’d given such significant glances to seemed to advance, forming a loose ring around them. “And I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”

Lucien’s fingers wrapped around the knife hilt. “An arrangement where you pay me three talents?”

Another strangled laugh from Grogov. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“One where I’m paid what I’m owed?”

Grogov leaned closer. “There’s always room for debate.” Behind him, one of the men, no doubt the largest in the village, pulled out a sword. The blade was dull, rusted in parts, and Lucien had to keep from snorting at the lack of threat it posed.

“Threatening a Godkiller then?”

“Merely opening the conversation. After all, you’re alone. No companions, no family.”

Lucien hummed, understanding the threat in the words. No one would notice if you were missing, not for a long while anyway. He made a show of debating the idea, furrowing his brow, before leaping out of his seat with speed no human man could hope to match. He threw Grogov against the wall of the tavern, sliding the small knife out of his pocket and holding it against the man’s throat.

“Talk away.”

Grogov swallowed, the movement of his throat pressing the blade into his skin. Blood welled, and his eyes slid to the head still on the table. The village lads, picked for their size, not their bravery, seemed frozen in place.

“I—”

He was saved from talking himself into further danger by the tavern door flying open. Trumpets sounded, the ridiculous jaunt of the Lord of Kouemos. A song far too chipper for a ruler who was, by all accounts, a terror.

Lucien didn’t drop the blade, but did turn his head towards the sound. The messenger lowered the trumpet, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The colors of his costume, the bright red and yellow stripes, were comically amidst the dirt and grime of the tavern. As were the shoulder pads that ballooned around his upper arms, and the tight, short breeches.

Musicians, Lucien thought to himself.

“I have a message for Lucien Vanserra.”

“Present,” Lucien growled, not moving. He watched the tavern still as they stared at him, tried to square the rough Godkiller threatening the town’s reeve with the stories they’d no doubt heard. Of the gentle noble, his mother’s favorite for his kind heart, so different than that of his brothers.

“I hail from Kousemos,” he said, with a flourishing bow. Lucien tried not to roll his eyes. As if anyone would be able to miss that, based on his, well, everything. A bunch of ostentatious self righteous pricks they were. “You’ve been summoned by our fearless, magnanimous, kind—”

“Get one with it,” Lucien interrupted.

The messenger cleared his throat. “Our leader requests your presence.”

“Will he pay?”

“Most assuredly, anything you may ask for. Our leader is well known for being generous, the most generous—”

“Yes fine,” Lucien sighed. He pressed Grogov closer to the wall. “Just as soon as this one pays up.”

Grogov reached a trembling hand into his pocket, pulling out the three gold coins Lucien was after. Apparently matters were much less up for debate now. Lucien snatched the coins, before lowering the knife. He cast a mournful glance at his ale, still untouched and gestured for the messenger to lead the way out of the tavern.

Shockingly, his horse was still where he’d left it, tied to the post in front of the stable. “Sorry for the delay, Tam,” Lucien said, stroking his roan mane once before pulling himself up into the saddle.

“My lord,” the messenger said, running after him. The shoulder pads flapped dramatically up and down, and Lucien bit down on his tongue to hold in his laughter. “I insist upon accompanying you.”

“It’s Lucien.” He hadn’t been called Lord in a long, long time. “And you’ll just slow me down.”

“I insist,” the messenger said. “My orders demand it.”

Lucien nodded. “And what’s your name?”

“Hart, sir.” He gave another little bow of flourish.

“Hart, who gave you this order?”

“The reeve of Kousemos,” he said proudly.

Lucien smiled, one of the slow, sarcastic ones he’d all but mastered. “Then I, Lord Lucien, outrank him, yes.”

Hart blinked. “Well, I—”

“So I order that I ride alone.” And with that, Lucien nudged Tamlin on, the horse starting off at a brisk trot, leaving Hart standing in front of the stable, a bright spot against the dusty ground.

Kouemos had changed since he’d last come. Sure, the buildings were the same, small shacks lining the one street leading up to the large manor house. But it was like the air was different, hung thick with the raw, almost bitter, taste of power. The town seemed to hum, getting fuzzy around the edges. The colors were too bright, the green of the plants a brilliant emerald that he’d only seen on the tapestries his mother liked to sew with her ladies.

Lucien shifted uneasily in the saddle. Even Tamlin seemed uncomfortable, his ears held back, muscles tensed.

“It’s fine,” Lucien said, not sure if he was talking to himself or the horse. His voice seemed to echo, the world far too quiet. Tam’s hooves drummed against the cobblestones in the silence, alerting anyone who was waiting for them. Here we are. Lucien peered at the small houses, expecting to see dirty faces pressed against the windows, but there were none.

In fact, there were no people anywhere, not in the streets, not manning the few carts that dotted the side of the road. They looked haphazard in their placement, as if the owner had just dumped them wherever he stood and walked away.

The magic in the air only seemed to grow stronger as he got closer to the manor house, the colors around him brighter. Flowers bloomed from window boxes, overflowing their containers and spilling onto the ground. The hue almost burned at his eye, too bright for any human to take in.

The gates to the house were left wide open and unguarded, inviting anyone who wanted to to enter. Lucien swung himself off Tamlin’s back. A trap, certainly, but one he was too curious not to enter. “Stay here,” he told the horse. Tamlin shuffled his hooves uncomfortably.

Lucien pulled out one of the twin blades he’d strapped on his back, brandishing it high as he walked through the entrance.

If Lucien thought the town had been bright, it was nothing compared to inside the gates. Vines crawled over the ground, blossoms peeking through anywhere they could get sunlight, crowding against one another. Fruit hung from branches, apples in the same bunches as oranges, pressed next to plums.

Lucien plucked one, biting into it. Juice gushed down his chin, too much to be contained in any normal fruit. He spat it out quickly, throwing the plum away from him. Where it hit the ground, it instantly started sprouting, green pushing through the pit and reaching up towards the sky.

He shoved through the vines, trying to wade towards the house’s entrance. He slashed at the growth, but it seemed to grow back faster than he could beat it back.

By the time he made it to the entrance he was dripping in sweat, thick rivulets streaming down his forehead. His tunic stuck to his skin, the white linen practically see through it was so damp.

Lucien pounded on the door with his fist, and it flew open.

“Greetings, Lord Lucien,” the man said brightly, utterly unfazed by Lucien’s dishevelment. Or the sharp blades in his hands. He wore the same garish costume as the messenger, the colors making his features look washed out, plain. “The town reeve is waiting for you.”

“I heard.”

“Good, good,” the man said, stepping back. His eyes were unfocused, looking through Lucien. “I’ll take you right there.” He turned mechanically, leading Lucien through the halls. His motions were jerky, slow, like he wasn’t in control of his own body.

The rest of the house seemed to be in a similar daze. Lucien cocked his head as a maid carrying a bucket full of flowers almost slammed into him. Like she didn’t even notice he was there. Her dress was far too nice for her station, a tick velvet brocade that would be more fitting among a lady’s ball gowns. And far nicer than anything anyone in Kouemos had ever owned.

Lucien followed the man through the lower floor and up a side staircase, although he had a sinking suspicion he knew exactly where they were going. Sure enough, they came to a stop in the middle of a long hallway, facing the middle of three doors in it.

“The reeve will be so excited to see you.”

Lucien smiled wryly. “Of that I’m sure.”

The door flew open without either of them touching it, opening up to a darkly lit chamber. Lucien strode in, a rough smile still on his face.

The room was utterly barren except for a single bed in the middle of the room, and the woman lounging on it.

She was stunning, gold hair floating around her shoulders in soft curls. Same soft pink dresses she always seemed to wear, same heart shaped face peering up at him. Lucien wracked his brain trying to remember the last time he’d seen her. Two years ago? Three? Big brown eyes met his, and Lucien saw the amusement flickering in their depths, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Godkiller,” she said, the single word somehow managing to sound melodic on her tongue.

“Hello wife.”

#acotar secret santa 2023 #elucien #acotar #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #now to go catch up on everyone elses fic

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sunshinebingo · 4 months

Text

The Things Autumn Did To Me

Merry Christmas @thelov3lybookworm!!! 🎁 It has been so nice to meet you through @acotargiftexchange and I had a great time secretly interacting with you. I had a lot of fun experimenting with your gift too (you and I have a lot in common btw 😌). I really hope that you will enjoy the slight mess that is this fic 🤭

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Synopsis: Two months into their convenient marriage and Gwyneth and Azriel still have very strong feelings for each other. Is it really the hate that they claim it to be, or something else? Not even they can tell.

However, another chance at tackling the failed mission that has led them to where they are will make the two spies face something that they have both been afraid of. After all, the line separating hate from desire can be very thin.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: None for this chapter

Find the Masterlist here

Read Chapter 1 on Ao3 or below the cut

“Wife,” he sneered.

“Husband,” she sneered back.

Azriel walked to end of the table and sat down, carefully adjusting his wings behind him.

“Glad to see that you are still alive,” he said, pulling the plate that his wife had already filled for him closer.

“Glad to know that I am still the funny one,” Gwyn replied without looking up from her own plate.

Morning greeting, checked. Daily verification that his partner was still breathing, checked. What was left to do before breakfast? Ah right... Check the food for poison. His shadows made a sweep around the table, ensuring that nothing would lead to him dropping sick or dead.

When he finally raised his cup of tea to his lips after their quick inspection, his eyes landed on a pair of teal ones across the table. Azriel internally shuddered at Gwyn’s piercing gaze and at how her lips turned into a feline smirk.

“It will happen when you least expect it,” she said, then dug a knife into her pancakes.

Azriel snorted. As if she could sneak past his trusty shadows. They might have an odd affection for her – unlike their master – but they were still loyal to him. Many believed that, being a Shadowsinger, Azriel had full control over his shadows. He refrained from letting others know that they also tended to have a mind of their own. Like the little wisp which was currently ignoring him and was slowly making its way between the bowl of fruit and the teapot to reach her.

Gwyn’s eyes followed the movement of the shadow until it reached her hand and started swirling around her fingers, especially the one adorned with a silver band – a perfect match to the one on his own ring finger – that glinted against her pale, freckled skin. Her smile softened for the shadow in a way it never did for him.

While she watched the shadow, Azriel watched her. The rich copper hair that was put up in a very messy bun atop her head with random strands that escaped and which fell around her face, her pointed ears where she wore several simple studs, her nose and cheeks across which lay a scattering of freckles, as if someone had tossed them with a careless hand, her plump lips, her eyes. Those bright eyes that had unsettled him from the very first time he had looked into them. A depthless teal ocean that often seemed like they could see straight through him. Gwyn was a creature of cruel beauty and Azriel hated her more for it.

When she looked up from the shadow playing with her hand, Azriel lowered his eyes to his food before she could see the thoughts that he always tried his hardest to hide in her presence.

“Is there something on my face?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, stirring his tea despite having added nothing to it.

“Well,” she went on, unable to stay quiet for long, as always. “What is it?”

“You look...” the shadows whispered an assortment of words though none that he was willing to use. Instead, he responded with, “...like you slept in a tree.”

Gwyn let out a snicker. “That would certainly be better than trying to sleep while listening to your pacing all night.”

It took him a few seconds to understand and none more to feel stupid about it. The endless pacing had nothing to do with the work he did at this hour and everything to do with him trying to focus while also attempting to block out the sound of her thumping heart and that of her mumblings while she slept. His office was right above her bedroom on the third level and he had selfishly never stopped to think that she might hear him walking around on the wooden floor when he could hear her too. He had tried to work in other rooms instead but the pestering of his shadows and their insistence to be close to her was even more annoying. At least in his office they shut up and contended themselves with spreading on the floor while listening to her.

It was the first time in the whole two months since they had been living together that she was mentioning it. Surprising of her since she often found something to complain about him. He did the same but, unlike hers, his complaints about her were at least justified.

“Some Spymaster you are,” she mumbled around a mouthful, “Not even able to walk without raising the dead.”

Azriel looked up at her and smirked. “I do it on purpose to piss you off.”

Gwyn swallowed her food. Her face remained impassive when she spoke again. “You do that well enough by just existing.”

He did not respond. He only held her gaze, risking getting lost in her ocean eyes, until footsteps were heard entering the dining room and someone cleared their throat.

“A letter arrived from the Prince of Autumn,” Roslin, their maid and one of the very few persons aware of the truth behind their union, announced and handed an envelope to Gwyn. Roslin had been Gwyn’s trusted maid when she lived in the Forest House. She was also a spy and had helped Gwyn with maintaining her second identity in the Autumn Court by covering up her secret activities. She offered Roslin her thanks with a usual friendly smile before the maid left the dining room.

“What is it?” Azriel asked, eyes narrowed on the folded paper that Gwyn took out of the envelope.

“Hopefully something that will get me as far away from you as possible.”

Her comment suddenly made him want to spend his entire day being as close to her as he could. Not because he liked her company whatsoever. Their shared mission already ensured that they spent a ridiculous amount of time together. Including sharing a house and attempting to look like an oh so happy couple in public.

“I’m afraid, dear wife, that no one can get rid of me so easily. Least of all you.”

Azriel had learned a great deal since they sealed their marriage two months ago. He obviously learned a lot about Gwyn. And, surprisingly, a lot about himself too, especially his patience and tolerance of her.

Gwyn placed the empty envelope on the table, picked up a little spoon and brandished it at Azriel as though it was a dagger. “I could kill you with this,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m trembling,” he deadpanned. The shadows snickered around him.

He had always taken pride in his infinite patience. That was one of the qualities that made him the best at his job. But somehow, the female sitting across from him, reading her letter as if she wasn’t the bane of his existence, had found ways to challenge almost all of his skills, including his ability to remain calm under any circumstance, and also his ability to charm any female and male alike. That last skill would not be of much use anymore anyway since, to the rest of the world, all of it was now supposed to be reserved for Gwyn only. His wife. The one who made him lose his godsdamned mind in every possible way.

It was not as though he had ever seduced anyone in hope of anything more but a few hours of pleasure. His family thought that he refused to commit to a serious relationship, much less marriage, because his job was too dangerous to rope a potential partner in such things. Being the Spymaster and non-official torturer of his court made Azriel do things that most would cower to do and put him in dangers few were willing to face.

The reality was that Azriel did not want anyone to feel shackled to him. Although he had witnessed many successful relationships in his life, including the couples in his found family, his childhood had left more scars on him than those on his burned hands. He had witnessed what a monster his sire had been to his mother. For so long Azriel had feared that his resemblance to the cruel male might be more than physical. He feared that the beast he became when he tortured for the protection of his court might scare away a partner, or even worse, hurt them. So, instead of taking the risk, he preferred to block out the possibility of finding out altogether.

His several centuries as a spy might have made him an expert in the art of seduction, but he was empty handed when it came to true romantic feelings. Azriel doubted anyone with a bit of common sense would willingly stay with him if they knew how little he knew about love. Save for his family, the one with which he was related in every way except for blood, he had never let anyone close enough to his heart to feel such things. That was why he had been more than a little nervous when Rhysand and Eris had suggested this marriage, despite being aware that it was one of convenience. Imposed was a better word than suggested. Though even if Rhysand was his High Lord, Azriel could have still been opposed to his brother’s orders. But he did see the necessity of the situation, especially for Gwyn.

Since she was herself a spy, he knew that Gwyn had also seen her fair share of danger and blood. He knew what she also had to do to protect her court. Being from the Autumn Court and secretly acting with Eris against her High Lord for the greater good of Prythian, Azriel knew that her position had been more precarious than his. For Gwyn, this marriage was not just to keep plotting against Beron to put Eris on the throne. It was also to save her life. If the High Lord of Autumn found out that the lady who had lived in his home her whole life was a spy trying to bring him down, death would prove to be a small mercy for her.

For most, it might seem like their paths had crossed at one of the High Lord and Ladies’ meeting in Autumn, which also involved important members of all the seven courts and had fallen so deeply in love that they had been married in the same week.

The truth was that they had met several times before that to exchange information about what Beron was up to behind closed doors. Gwyn was the one who Eris trusted to pass on information about his father’s secret plans. She had been like a beam in the night on their first meeting in a wood bordering her court. She had looked like she had been crafted by the capable hands of the Mother herself.

Gwyn had also looked like she was not happy at all with the new secret alliance between the Night Court and the Autumn Prince. Azriel had not been either. Even now, he was still suspicious of Eris’ true intentions when it came to this alliance. Azriel despised the arrogant Prince. He despised Autumn Court and anything that had to do with it. He had never wanted to work alongside one of them, but fate had apparently decided otherwise.

“I bet you would read that thing faster if it was smut,” he complained when she remained silent while her eyes kept going back and forth on the letter.

Gwyn looked up at him with another scowl. “Shut up and quit distracting me.”

With a flicker of her hand, she summoned a small golden flame that she then ran across the ivory page. She read the hidden message that Eris had left there for her before burning the entire letter along with the envelope.

“It’s an invitation from Eris,” she finally explained. “Autumn Solstice is being held at the Forest House in a week.”

Azriel cursed. As a former member, it was natural for the redhead to be invited to celebrate with the rest of her home court. But looking at Gwyn, he saw what she was not saying. This event would be their second, possibly last chance to get a hand on Beron’s plans and avoid a possible war, or at least prepare for an eventual one. Something else also shone in his wife’s eyes. A determination that this time, they would not fail. They should not. This marriage had been a last resort to hide Gwyn’s secret identity. It had been the only plan that Eris could come up with to get his cousin out of reach of his father before this one could start questioning her presence so close to his private quarters and start to suspect her.

“Well, my broody bat.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. Gwyn picked a bunch of grapes from the bowl and observed one carefully before popping it into her mouth. “I hope you’re ready to have some fun.”

“We’re going there on a mission Berdara. Not to party.”

Gwyn shrugged. “Who says one has to exclude the other.”

The two of them had different approaches to spying. Azriel preferred to keep to the dark. His shadows allowed him to remain unseen and unheard even in plain sight. He had always been the quiet kind of person, picking up clues by silently observing while his shadows searched for what was out of his reach. Gwyn, on the other, was the complete opposite. While she could also hide in plain sight, her talent was that of deception. She could have been a shape shifter with how easily she could adapt to and blend into any situation.

“How do you propose we do that?” he asked.

She pushed her empty plate aside and propped her elbows on the table.

“Well your shadows could signal us when the time is right.” She lifted the hand where a shadow was once again twirling in between her fingers and down her wrist.

“We’ll then pretend to sneak away to do what we were doing last time.”

Azriel’s fork stopped midway to his mouth. His shadows circled him excitedly, chanting their glee at Gwyn’s plan.

On the evening that had led to their current situation, Gwyn and Azriel were on a common mission to infiltrate Beron’s quarters to try and retrieve some incriminating documents about the High Lord of Autumn. These would have been the perfect proof to put Beron on trial for his actions against peace in Prythian. Unfortunately, a few wrong moves had led to them being caught where no one should have been. The only thing that had saved them then had been to act as if they had been a second away from having sex.

Azriel still remembered every single detail of it, from the very first second that Gwyn had grabbed his shirt and had pulled him down against her. He remembered how it had felt to have her in his arms, how her lips had moved fervently against his as if her life depended on it, which it did. If he closed his eyes, he could recall how her hands had felt as she had glided them across his chest, his arms, on his neck and the way she had tugged at the roots of his hair. How urgent those same hands had been when she had pull him closer by hooking a finger at the seam of his pants. The sounds she had made when his tongue had tangled with hers had been louder than the approaching footsteps of the guards. Perhaps it was in that exact moment, where his mission had shifted from those documents to her, that his shadows had started to become obsessed with her. More so than they had been since they started meeting for a few brief minutes to exchange information.

Everyone knew that Autumn Court faeries had fire in their veins. But only then had Azriel learned what the rumours were truly about. If a kiss that was devoid of feelings and which was only meant to fool the guards was like that, then Azriel did not even want to think about what a real kiss from her would be like. He refused to imagine it. The fake one had burned a big enough hole in him. Glancing at the Autumn female across the table, Azriel cursed her for having ruined every kiss he ever had before and certainly all others that he could have had if he was not bound to her.

“Or,” he proposed to prevent himself from spiralling deeper into their backstory and what it was doing to him. “We can just pretend to leave.”

Gwyn looked at him like he had said the stupidest thing ever. The last time he followed her lead had resulted in them getting married. What would happen this time? Would Eris find a random child that they would be forced to raise together to keep up their disguise? Azriel’s thoughts quieted when a shadow rushed from where it was hovering beside his left wing to remind him of what had prompted her to kiss him and he reluctantly agreed to the reasoning behind it.

He went on explaining the paths that they could take around the Forest House to avoid running into anyone if they followed his plan and how his shadows would help in the process.

“Well?”

He waited for her opinion when he finished.

“Huh? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Azriel closed his eyes and sighed. Fucking Autumn courts and their fucking hard heads. Fucking wife and her fucking stubbornness.

“You come up with something then, smart-ass.”

She started to open her mouth but Azriel cut her off. “Something that does not involve fucking in Beron’s quarters.”

Gwyn huffed. Her cheeks started to turn pink, probably from the fire coursing through her and which seemed to run hotter at every outburst. “I wasn’t about to say that, you dimwit.”

Azriel gave her another roll of his eyes before returning to his food. Gwyn said nothing more. Yet by looking at her face, the emotions that he was still learning to read there, Azriel could see the gears of her mind working. She remained like this for the whole time that he finished his breakfast.

When he was done, he rose from his chair and walked to her. He grabbed her chin between his thumb and index and lifted her head until she looked at him.

“We have a week to come up with a solid plan. There’s no need to fry up your head over this right away.”

He suspected that she was worried about going back while there were still talks about her. Leaving the Forest House was not so simply done without a proper reason after all, especially for someone who had been raised there. Several rumours had already rose about the lady who had so hastily left her home to settle in the Night Court with the infamous Shadowsinger. His reputation in Rhys’ inner circle alone had fuelled the suspicions of more than one person, including Beron.

Azriel dragged his thumb along the seam of her lips, right where a trace of the syrup from her pancakes was still glistening.

“You’ll need that brain of yours to come up with more creative insults for me. The ones you currently have are terrible,” he added.

Gwyn brought a hand to the one that held her face. She slowly wrapped her long fingers around his wrist without looking away from his face. More pink spread across her cheeks and made her freckles stood out. Azriel badly wanted to know what she was truly hiding behind those eyes in this moment.

“Can you please do something for me, my dear husband?” her voice came out like a soft breeze singing in the night. Azriel had the reflex to stop his wings from twitching.

“What is it?”

He convinced himself that his breathlessness had nothing to do with that voice which was sweeter than the sticky syrup on his finger. Her hand tightened around his wrist.

“Throw yourself off a cliff,” she gritted out and forcefully yanked his hand away. Gone was the sweet, melodic voice. Her chair made a loud screeching sound as she pushed it back and stood.

Azriel held in a chuckle when she raised her chin and stomped off of the living room. “See you later, my annoying husband.”

He followed her as he made his way to his room. “Sure, my petulant wife.”

They went up the stairs and reached the door to her room first. Gwyn paused with a hand on the handle. “Don’t miss me too much, my haughty husband.” She opened the door and walked inside.

Azriel stood at the threshold of her bedroom with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips. “You wish, my Autumn witch.”

Gwyn’s returning smile was as wicked as a witch’s. “I know you will.” And she slammed the door in his face.

To Be Continued...

#acotar gift exchange #acotar secret santa 2023 #gwynriel #marriage of convenience #haters to ... stay tuned to find out #some spying #some banter #some angst #some smut and fluff #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel fic

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shadowsxgwynriel · 4 months

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Knife To The Heart (1/2)

Summary: The last thing that Gwyn wants is to work with Azriel, but she’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

And things aren’t going so bad—at least not until she learns the truth about their mission.

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Mature

Here’s my @acotargiftexchange gift for @aldbooks! I’m so excited and nervous for you to read this, but I hope that you like it! 😊

Also, thanks to @sunshinebingo for the advice and feedback ❤️

Happy Holidays ❄️

Read on AO3

Snippet:

She probably would have missed the man sitting in the corner of the room, had it not been for his slight movement.

Gwyn pretended not to see him and tossed her keys onto the kitchen table. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a nearby knife and she hurled it in the man’s direction.

He let out a low laugh as the knife entered the wall with a resounding thud. “Are you trying to kill me, Berdara?”

#gwynriel #acotar gift exchange #acotar gift exchange 2023 #acotar secret santa 2023 #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn x az #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #pro gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction

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starfall-spirit · 3 months

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AtMotS Playlist

Read on AO3

Ancient Myths Retold Masterlist

Summary: An irksome trip to the Summer Court on matters of business and assistance against a threat at sea takes an interesting turn when Rhys discovers the solution to Nostrus' problem no longer lies with his army, but a female sacrifice, bound at high tide in hope of appeasing the beast terrorizing Nostrus' shores. He certainly never predicted the rescue mission would result in an accepted mating bond.

AN: This strep throat and eye infection is kicking my ass, so I thought I’d give us all something special today.

At least I get a snow day from work, so, that’s an upside.

Chapter III: What I Claim

Feyre

Feyre truly tried to resist the pull. But then that wasn't so easy when she woke up wrapped in the safety of her mate's arms, his long fingers running through her hair from her roots all the way down to her tangled ends. She groaned as his nails softly scraped over her scalp, instinctively nuzzling against him. "Good morning, darling. Sleep well?"

"Like a rock," she murmured. She didn't think she'd ever felt a softer mattress. "You have a very sexy morning voice." She froze as he chuckled. What the hell had just come out of her mouth? "I don't have much of a filter before breakfast," she stuttered, blushing brightly and keeping her face buried in his neck.

"Interesting," he purred. "I wonder how much trouble that's going to get you into." She sucked in a breath, itching to explore the promise beneath his jesting.

Hesitation? Hesitation was not the feeling fluttering around inside of her now. Rhys shifted enough that the silk sheets over them yielded to gravity's drag, exposing the entirety of his upper body as he took her in in equal measure. Tattooed, golden-brown skin fit over trained muscle. It was entirely unfair that her mate looked like some divine being every hour of the day and she was just—

"What did I ever do to deserve a female like you? What did I do to deserved someone so fucking perfect?"

"Perfect?" She scoffed. Elain was perfect. Nesta was too in her own strange way. Feyre was the youngest daughter and the greatest nuisance. The wild one, if you listened to the whispers. Not quite groomed correctly when there were two perfect daughters before her. Useful, yes. But no one had thought her perfect. "Your biased regardless. I'm not the girl people want to—"

"I told you, Feyre, here you are not a showpiece. Not a showpiece or a puppet or a pawn. You are mine."

His. She could get used to hearing that.

"Do you know what it means to belong to the Heir of Night?" he crooned into her mind.

She didn't know, but she wanted to. Desperately. "What does it mean?"

He grinned fiendishly, tracing his nose against her fluttering pulse. What would it feel like to have his mouth there instead? To have the heavy weight of him above her, his hand threaded in her hair while the other slipped past her waistband. "It means, darling, that you set the standard of perfection. And if your subjects choose not to meet it then I will enjoy ending their miserable existence early."

She gnawed at her lip, letting that vow settle in her mind before she spoke again. The vulgarity of the oath should disturb her and yet she was feeling something on the opposite spectrum at the moment. "You certainly have a high opinion of your authority here," she remarked cautiously.

"Some say the only limit to one's power is their moral compass. I say the heart of the matter more often lies in their fear. You will get nowhere in life if you can not first claim what you know belongs to you." She swallowed the startled sound that tried to break free when Rhys lifted her by the hips, flipping their position so he leaned back against the headboard, hands anchored to her waistline. One shift forward and she'd be able to feel what was waiting for her after they accepted the mating bond. "You don't want to be a puppet, but you haven't chosen the freedom you're due. Tell me something, Feyre. Tell me what belongs to you."

Dozens of things belonged to Feyre. Hundreds, even, if she counted every book and knickknack and trinket she had at her parents' residence. And yet, if you asked anyone what the law said, those things were her father's belongings, not that Feyre could pretend that's what her mate was asking her now. "What do you claim for yourself?"

"What do I claim?" He raised a brow, waiting for her to make her choice. Are you bold enough, that little twitch asked. She swallowed, holding his eyes. His hands hadn't moved an inch up or down, but as she'd softened to him he’d begun to trace his fingers in slow, soothing circles at the small of her back. “I claim…” Feyre leaned forward, resting her forearms on his shoulders. “I claim my life. I claim my power.” Another centimeter and their noses would brush. “I claim what was born to me, what was given, what I deserve to take. I claim my future.”

Those final unspoken words lingered on her tongue, taunting them both. The next time her lips parted those words ebbed away, interrupted by a harsh knock against the door. “Hey, lovebirds, save it for the cabin. We’re still having a girls’ breakfast.”

Ducking her head, Feyre smiled. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right out,” she called.

“You’d better.”

Once Avy’s footsteps faded, Feyre turned back to her mate, cocking her head slightly. “Cabin?”

He grimaced, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. “It’s better for newly-mated couples to remain isolated if they can. At least until the frenzy fades. How I reacted with Nostrus, well, that wasn’t the worst of the protective nature that will start showing soon when it comes to you. If you aren’t ready for that—the frenzy—I understand.”

It would be difficult, but he’d wait for her. She smiled, leaning in one last time to kiss him. Her decision was made and they both knew it.

She tried not to lose herself in it. But it would be so easy to become entirely unmorred in the ecstasy of it. The touch of his lips, his hand coming up to her face as the other tightened around her hip. The low groan that left him sent a shiver down her spine. One kiss and she could undo the male beneath her. It was positively heady. She never wanted to pull away. Never wanted to feel anything beyond the heat of his body under hers. The slant of his lips, soft, yet sure. It was a claiming in its own way. One minute longer and she’d never make it downstairs.

“Rhys,” she breathed.

“Hm?”

“Breakfast. Downstairs.”

“Hm.”

He kissed her again.

“Your mother is waiting. I really don’t think we’re on close enough terms for me to comfortably explain my tardiness yet. And your sister would take far too much pleasure in teasing me, I’m sure.”

He pulled back with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Two hours, then you're mine.”

Giving him one last peck, she smiled. “Deal.”

~~~~~

“Sorry I’m late. I was…” Feyre cleared her throat, sitting. “Sorry.”

“You must be Feyre!” Looking away from Victorie, Feyre met the bright eyes and wide grin of a blonde female whose plate was already piled high with fruit and pastries. “I’m Mor,” she offered, already appearing just as bubbly and bright as Avyanna.

“She’s our cousin,” the younger girl offered. “The relation is distant, but we’re all very close.”

“I tend to pop in and out. Even if I’m not a resident of Hewn City anymore, I have to spend a lot of time there.”

“Hewn City. That’s the capital, isn’t it?”

“The capital and the inspiration of every horror story you grew up hearing about the big bad Night Court,” Avy confirmed, twirling her fork between her fingers. “You’re the only person from outside of Velaris to learn about it since… Well, since Mother did, I suppose.”

“This is hidden? I thought I had just forgotten some of my geography. How do you keep a place this big away from prying eyes?”

“Wards tied to the magic of the High Lords. My father’s and those before him. One day it will be Rhys’ duty as well. There is cruelty within our borders. That’s why protecting Velaris is so important. If we can keep one utopia…”

“I can understand that,” Feyre murmured. Because Velaris, she had a feeling, was everything she’d wished for as a girl. A place where she could do as Rhys suggested, reclaiming her own values beyond social expectations. Velaris was a fantasy. A sliver of paradise that suddenly made being a future High Lord’s mate seem like less of a burden. “I want to see it all. To learn. But first, I need to cut some ties.”

“No one can find you here, Feyre.”

She forced herself to smile at Victorie’s attempt to comfort her. But she had seen her parents' faces when they told her about the betrothal. Whatever was in play that tied her to Spring wasn’t going to be brushed under the rug. “Even if no one knows about Velaris, Nostrus already knows about the bond and it won’t be long before the news starts crossing borders. I won’t be seen as someone who hides from my problems. I have an opportunity to officially cut ties and I’m going to do so.”

“Before or after your mating ceremony?” Victorie asked. “You can still give yourself a safety net. There’s no shame in that.”

“I know. I didn’t realize there would be an actual ceremony. I thought it was just…”

“Just the bond acceptance? Some couples prefer things that way. We’re a bit more traditional. And honestly, the order of things doesn’t really matter in this day and age.” She gave Feyre a smirk that all but screamed I want grandchildren soon. “But this is something to celebrate, Feyre. Unless you have some aversion to a ceremony?” She shook her head slowly. “Excellent. Now, like I said last night. I want to hear everything about you.”

“Well…”

~~~~~

Rhysand

That evening Rhys was just settling in to relax when Feyre returned to their room. Though he had teased her with a two-hour limit, he saw the confusion in her eyes at his mother’s warm tone the night before. The hope there. She had needed that time to open herself to them and no matter how desperate he was to sweep her away and keep her to himself, he’d never forgive himself for holding her away from the simple things that could heal her.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

She shut the door behind her, a wide smile on her face. “Hi.”

“Did you enjoy yourself today?”

“Even more than I expected to,” she confirmed, grabbing her clothes and slipping into the bathroom to change. “We talked for hours. Even after your mother left, your sister and cousin took me out into the city.” She was still smiling when she walked out of the bathroom. “The Rainbow… It was amazing.” He couldn’t help but frown a bit. “What? Was I supposed to stay inside? Or come back after breakfast?”

“No.” He took her hands, stopping her from wringing her fingers. “I was teasing about the two hour limit. I’m thrilled you enjoyed spending time with my family. I just… I was hoping to show you the Rainbow, is all,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world and I sincerely doubt you saw everything anyways, so I’ll still have a few special hideouts to show you.”

She hesitated a moment, but didn’t try to apologize as she curled up in his lap. “How was your day?”

“A bit stressful,” he admitted. “My father’s in a mood since he can’t lecture me about my actions in Summer. He was in a similar boat with my mother.”

“He saved her?”

Rhys sighed. “Illyrians have some very backward customs regarding gender. Males are trained as warriors, females, to build and manage a home. They enforce that standard through wing-clipping. My father was visiting the camps when my mother was due to face hers. He misted the males holding her the moment the bond snapped. It’s the only reason she can fly these years later. When I take over, customs like that…”

He grimaced. His father was just on the other side of the house and he was speaking like he had the power to fix the bastard’s mistakes. “There’s nothing wrong with planning your method of leadership, Rhys. Just because your father won’t hear you now doesn’t mean your beliefs will never hold power.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She preened, snuggling closer, to his amusement. “How amazing?”

“Extraordinary,” he whispered in her ear. “You are extraordinary.”

And all his.

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fic #atmots #at the mercy of the stars #perseus and andromeda #mythology #retelling #a court of thorns and roses #acotar secret santa 2023

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howlingcaptaincommando · 4 months

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My ACOTAR Secret Santa fic is officially posted! To @wilde-knight, I hope you enjoy it; it's been a pleasure getting to know you over the past couple of months, and this is a labour of love for you.

Hope you all enjoy!! And thanks @separatist-apologist for this challenge; it's been a joy!

#my fic #my writing #mine #secret santa #acotar secret santa 2023 #acotar gift exchange #@wilde-knight #@separatist-apologist

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kale-theteaqueen · 7 months

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Ho! Ho! Ho! It’s your Secret Santa here! Here to tell you to get ready for some Holiday fun! 🎄🎁

#acotar #acotarexchange

So excited to participate!!

#acotarsecretsanta2023 #acotar secret santa 2023 #acotar gift exchange #acotargiftexchange2023

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damedechance · 7 months

Note

❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

Hello!

Is there anything you absolutely love or don’t like to read in a fic? Tropes, plot, theme, vibe, etc?

I am so excited to get started on this fic!! 😆

Hello my lovely Santa 😌 tropes I LOVE to read in a fic (just gonna name a few in case you want some prompts to get the creative juices flowing but tbh I'll read anything if the vibes are right):

One Bed: this is just SUCH a classic, you know? And I think it really hits that sweet spot of like reluctant, tentative affection and yearning that makes me gasp for breath

Forced proximity: similar to one bed but if it's for an extended time?!? God I'm going crazy. Also bonus points if there's imminent peril, or the threat of a secret relationship being found out

Hurt/comfort: oh no your named enemy is suddenly the only one who can save you? Drat 😏 or, alternatively, "you fucking idiot you brought yourself to the brink of death yet again? Ugh come here I guess" LOVE THAT

And in terms of vibes, I really love evocative settings, character banter, and physical tension (not necessarily smut, but just like the suggestion of yearning, y'know?)

If I had to name things I dislike reading, I would say my only hard "no" is I don't like to read about pregnancy, unless it's in specific circumstances. And I don't really actively seek out fluff, but if it's part of a happy ending I absolutely do sob into my eggs, tyvm.

This was a very long and convoluted answer but I hope it was somewhat helpful! And also please don't let anything I say deter you from your creative vision LOL my absolute favorite fic to read is one the author is passionate about 🥰 can't wait to talk to you soon, santa! 💚❤️

#acotar secret santa 2023 #acotargiftexchange2023

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acourtofidiots · 7 months

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Hi there, it’s me! Your secret Santa!

Can’t wait to be creating a special gift just for you, be prepared to receive a lot of messages ahahahahah

See you soon ❤️

HI!!!! I'm so sorry I haven't responded yet!! But I'M SO EXCITED!!!! CAN'T WAIT TO TALK TO YOU MOREEEEE

#ask julia #acotar secret santa 2023 #anon #anonymous #secret santa anon

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shadowriel · 4 months

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Every Sound Your Heart Makes

Here’s chapter 2 of my secret Santa gift for @headcanonheadcase! It’s been so fun creating this for you, and I hope you enjoy this next part.

Chapter 2: Follow Where You Lead

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Read a snippet below:

It’s just him. Until he feels someone step out behind him.

There’s a note of surprise, evident in the tensing of Azriel’s shoulders. Even without turning around, he knows who it is: Gwyn, who surely should still be inside, engaged in conversation with the other townspeople. That’s what she does most Thursday nights—he knows this because he often finds himself blinking at the ‘Be Back Soon’ sign settled atop the door of her diner. It seems that even with her limited time in Starlight Grove, she’d already engrained herself enough into the community that people didn't seem to remember a time without her.

Azriel does—remember, that is. Before Gwyn, there had been few things he’d looked forward to in their small town. Yet, ever since he’d met her six years ago, her very presence had reshaped the way he saw this place. The Archeron’s bakery was no longer known for the best pies, but it was where Gwyn giggled in delight as she took bite after bite of what was supposed to be Azriel’s slice. Where she had whipped cream on the tip of her nose, that he gladly wiped off with the pad of his thumb. The town’s bookstore was no longer a place to get books, but where Gwyn had dragged him between shelves, stacking romance novels into his outstretched arms. Where she blushed when he’d settled them on a nearby table, picked one, and read a scene aloud.

And, somehow, Starlight Grove was not only where he’d grown up, but where he’d grown into this new version of himself—one marked with heartbreak and pain and, despite it all, love. He feels it, stirring in his chest, when he holds his daughter, and when he laughs with his mother as the two of them cook dinner. He feels it when he teases Nesta and Emerie, and when he has his annual snowball fight with his chosen brothers. He feels it now, when he recognizes Gwyn from the sound of her footsteps and the feel of her fingers as she wraps a hand around his wrist.

“Come on,” she says simply, using her hold to pull him along. She moves easily across the sidewalk, and even as Azriel presses his heels into the ground, there’s not much force behind it.

He lets her guide him. Of course, he does.

Turning towards Gwyn, he sees that she’s wearing her blue hat again. The material covers the tips of her ears, and, from this close, he can see every stitch in the knitted pattern. Her gloves, however, are absent now, so he can feel the cold press of her fingertips against his skin.

It draws a shiver up his spine, for more reasons than one.

“Where are we going?” he asks, the words strung together in a single breath.

Her response is short—curt. “To the theatre.”

To talk more about their plans for the musical, he’s sure. That’s what Gwyn had told him the week before, but there’s an urgency to her movements that prompts him to shift more of his weight onto his heels. To push back.

“What’s the hurry?”

Gwyn huffs, using her other hand to tighten her grip on him. She puts all her strength into trying to move him, and when he doesn’t budge—not even an inch—she turns narrowed eyes at him.

“I don’t want anyone to see us leaving together,” she admits, her tone more accusatory than anything.

Azriel blinks at her. He wonders if she can see the surprise in his expression as his gaze darts over her features, searching for more of an explanation to make sense of her words. When he doesn’t find it, he can only ask “Why?”

“They’ll talk.”

He laughs. And maybe it’s the lingering effect of the wine, maybe it’s the sight of colour rushing to Gwyn’s cheeks, but the sound is deep—uncontrolled in a way that leaves him nearly breathless.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @foundressofnothing @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @trashforazriel @sv0430 @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @thelovelymadone @damedechance @talons-and-teeth

For the @acotargiftexchange

#gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel supremacy #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #azriel #au gwynriel #modern gwynriel #acotar secret santa 2023 #acotargiftexchange #every sound your heart makes

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danikamariewrites · 6 months

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Secret Santa here!!

We're getting closer!! I've definitely got cute ideas in the running!

Questions!

What is your favorite thing about Nessian? What do you wish we had more/less of in ACOSF?

Do you have any head cannons that you've become attached to/think fit perfectly??

Let me know 😉🎅

Hi Santa!!! I hope you’re doing well ❤️

I wish we had more of them being soft with each other and saying I love you. Just some cute moments between them like Rhys and Feyre tbh

#acotar secret santa 2023

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iftheshoef1tz · 4 months

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I Come With Knives

Azris, 13k words, rated E.

A party on the continent, hosted by one of Koschei’s lackeys, goes awry. Nearly magicless, Azriel and Eris must survive on the continent together or die trying. Inspired by The Nutcracker, with a helping of Polish folk tales.

I’m so pleased to finally post this for my sweet friend, @krem-does-stuff!! I was so excited to get you for this year’s @acotargiftexchange, and I hope you enjoy it! Your theories about what my TikToks could mean had me rolling with laughter, because you were rather wrong, haha. I have so many more rat/Nutcracker-related TikToks to send you, and hopefully they’ll make (slightly) more sense once you’ve read this. I tried to incorporate all the desserts you gave me (raspberries are very important in this), and I tried to write Eris in a way that was new to me but still believable and delightfully mean.

Special thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher, @queercontrarian, and @yanny-77 for their beta skills; to Cee and Emma again for saying “send the TikTok” and holding my hand through the usual self-doubt; @pippsmcgee for shaking this fic until nearly all the present continuous fell out of it; @velidewrites for helping me translate a few things into Polish; @damedechance for helping me find something dirty to say; and, ofc, Dylan O’Brien. You know why.

Read on ao3.

Azriel stares out at the crowd, at the finery draped over every inch of this infernal castle, and he can almost pretend nothing is wrong. His leathers – he had refused to wear something more formal – creak as he shifts his weight, though it’s eaten up by the merry shouting of the crowd.

This invitation had come, bristling with glitter and tied with a ribbon, from one of the lesser noble houses of a small duchy close to the border with Rask. The duke and duchess were newly appointed and quite young, only in their eighties. Let bygones between continent and island be bygones, the invitation had crowed.

It stunk of a trap, and Azriel had come because there was no one else who could.

Rhys had Feyre, Nyx, and a death bargain no one could undo. They couldn’t spare Cassian, never mind that Nesta wasn’t ever letting Cassian out of her sight again. Mor and Lucien never figured into the equation, Lucien because he wasn’t stupid, and Mor because she wasn’t authorized by the Queen of Vallahan to go anywhere else on the continent.

It’s Amarantha all over again. None of the original players are here, of course; none of them would be so stupid. But apparently not smart enough to stay out entirely.

#secret santa 2023 #azris #eris vanserra #acotar #azriel #fanfiction #azris intensifies

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sunshinebingo · 4 months

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FINAL CHAPTER !! Thank you so much @thelov3lybookworm for giving me the opportunity to play around with a version of Gwynriel I never tried before. I really hope that you like the gift. And thank you @acotargiftexchange for organising one of the best events in the fandom. Merry Christmas everyone!! ♥

***

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: NSFW!

Find the Masterlist here

Read on Ao3 here or proceed below the cut

There was a lot of ways that the books Gwyn read described the feel of a kiss. Sometimes it was soft, sometimes sweet, oftentimes deep. This one... This one was... searing. Passionate. Consuming. It was everything all at once. It was death and rebirth. Every stroke of Azriel’s tongue against hers made Gwyn’s entire being burn hotter than her fire ever had. It fuelled every sneer and every threat exchanged since the moment they had met while their bodies set everything aflame.

There was no time to think about the why nor the how it came to this. All she wanted right now – what they both seemed to crave – was to keep doing this. Whatever this was.

Azriel pressed his body against her, pinning her to the wall, as his callous hands found the slit in her dress and he ran them up her thighs. Gwyn’s legs parted on instinct and she pulled him even closer by the waist until his middle was flushed against hers.

A lewd sound escaped her mouth when she felt his hardness against her centre. She threw her head back against the wall. Azriel’s mouth left hers and made its way down the column of her throat and neck.

He had no rights being this good at this. He had no rights to know exactly how to control her this way. Her blood boiled at the thought that his experience with others before her had led to him being this knowledgeable with a female’s body. How many before her had been in her position, at the mercy of the handsome and infamous Shadowsinger of the Night Court? But Gwyn was no random lady who was about to share his bed for a few hours. She was his wife. And she intended to claim that title in the only way she had not yet.

Her hand glided across his shoulders. She grabbed his shirt and forcefully dragged it down his arms. Her hand went lower when Azriel removed the shirt all the way and threw it across the room. With the same urgency that she had used with his shirt, she opened his pants, not caring if she was ripping it in the process.

Azriel’s lips moved to her shoulders where he pulled the fabric of her dress away. When it could not go any lower, Gwyn took his hand from where they were grabbing her ass and brought them the v of her cleavage.

“Take it off,” she breathed out.

Azriel gave no warning before he ripped the dress open at the front. The satin glided off her skin as it fell at her feet and exposed Gwyn’s body to her husband. The only things on her were the shiny necklace that fell between her bare breasts and the blue lace that matched the colour of her dress and which covered the most intimate part of her. Azriel took a step back, making Gwyn already miss their proximity. His eyes travelled across the expanse of her body.

“You will be the death of me,” he whispered more to himself.

Gwyn did not know if she could blush harder than she already was but the intensity of his gaze made the pink on her face expand to her entire body. Yet she refused to look away. She stared into his eyes with the same challenge that she always did as she slowly slid her underwear down her long legs. His eyes tracked the movement, as did his shadows as a few followed her hands and brushed her skin.

As soon as it hit the floor, Azriel was on his knees before her. The lust in his eyes when he looked up at her combined with the few candles around the room removed any traces of green in his hazel eyes. All that was left was a golden gaze that matched her flames to perfection.

Gwyn brushed away the few strands of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. She needed to see all of him to know that this was real. Even when he grabbed her backside and licked her centre, Gwyn fought to keep her eyes open. She watched as his mouth closed around her and sucked on her most sensitive area.

The sight was as sinful as the feeling it brought her. Her moans filled the room as he sucked and licked her. She lifted one of her legs and placed them on his shoulder. Azriel bit the inside of her thigh, drawing a whine out of her lips, before he went back to where she needed him most and plunged his tongue inside her.

She gripped his hair with both hands and he groaned every time she tugged at his roots. The sound only drove her to do it more and drove him to suck her harder. He brought one of his hands to her breasts and squeezed while the other held her ass just as hard. Her pleasure increased with every touch and flick of his tongue against her.

He was torturing her in the worst way he ever had yet she knew that this would be the kind that she would always crave. How would she ever go back to how they were after feeling this? How had she ever imagined that thinking about him this way was wrong?

The possibility of ever going back flew out of her mind when her release suddenly hit her harder than it ever had when she had touched herself while unknowingly thinking of him. Her mouth opened on a sharp gasp. The intensity of her orgasm forced her eyes shut and Gwyn lost herself in that feeling. For a moment, she felt herself floating in a sea of nothing where her only anchor was him.

Azriel stood up and pressed his lips on hers. With her eyes still closed, Gwyn held him and let his kiss bring her back to the present. This one was unhurried but just as burning as everything he had done to her.

Gwyn would have cursed him for having had this power over her. But that would not be enough. What she wanted more was to give him a taste of what he had given her. She deepened the kiss as her hand lowered on him. She felt all the hard muscles that she had loathed before for distracting her so much.

Her hand froze when they reached the bandage that she had carefully applied on his lower abdomen. Feeling her hesitation, Azriel pulled away and looked at her in the eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing his thumb over her swollen lip.

She started to protest but he silenced her with another kiss.

“It can’t be more painful than not having you when I so desperately want you.”

The truth that she discerned in the tone of his voice stirred something inside Gwyn. It was as strong as fear, as consuming as anger. Something that only he ever did to her. Something that she could place no word on. The same thing that had made her kiss him earlier and that made her want to do it more.

So she did. She wrapped her arms around his neck so quickly that he had to take a few steps back. Gwyn kissed him. And kissed him. Until his fingers rubbed at her centre and she felt her wetness start to run down her legs.

Gwyn grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. Before he could say anything more than her name, she lowered herself on her knees and looked at him like he did when he was the one in that position.

With his dark wings spread behind him and the flames around the room bouncing against his golden skin, he looked every bit the angel of death that people feared and lusted after.

Their gazes locked again as she slid his pants down and bared him to her. A smug grin started to tug at the corner of his lips when she failed to hide her shock at the sight – the size – of him. Gwyn scowled at him and wiped that grin off of his face by wrapping her lips around his cock.

Azriel’s hand settled on the back of her head, guiding her into a rhythm that had him groaning in pleasure. She brought one of her hands at the base of his cock while her tongue played with the rest of him. She revelled in every sound and every curse that fell out of his mouth, each of them feeding her own arousal. She moaned around him as she took him deep inside her mouth, again and again as he pulled on her hair like she did with him. Gwyn thought that she could come again just by pleasuring him.

But then he pulled out and sat down before her. His lips found hers again and Gwyn’s body melted into his again. She let him gently push her backwards until she was lying down on the soft carpet before the fireplace and Azriel was hovering above her.

She let his mouth explore her for a while until it became too much but not enough. Gwyn pulled on his hair to guide his head away from her breasts and to her face again. Azriel saw the silent plea in her eyes and lined his cock at her entrance. A pained groan left him as soon as he started sliding inside her.

Gwyn looked down at his wound. She stopped him with a hand on his chest and forced him to pull back. “Let me,” she told him as she sat up to straddle him.

Again, she kept her eyes on him. Even as she stroked him a few times before lifting herself up and lowering herself on his cock. For the few seconds that it took for her body to adjust to the this new feeling, Gwyn cursed him inside for making her feel things that nobody else did. She cursed him and herself for not having done this sooner.

No words were needed between them then. Gwyn let her body do what it wanted as she moved atop him. Azriel gripped her backside and moved with her as the shadows circled them frantically and some danced with their ragged breaths. Her skin glowed from pleasure at every stroke of his cock against her inner walls. Soon, their moans filled the entire room, louder and louder the closer they both came to unravelling.

The sound of her name coming out of his mouth made her lean closer to him. Unable to resist his lips, Gwyn crashed her mouth on his. The feel of his tongue against hers and the memory of what it did to her earlier made her move faster and harder. Again. And again. Until she came again, screaming his name in the crook of his neck. Azriel held her close with his hand around her and kept moving. Gwyn was still coming down from the height that her second orgasm had brought her when she felt him tense beneath her. He groaned against her skin as his own orgasm hit him, and he spilled himself inside her.

Gwyn held him tight through it. Only when she felt him relax did she loosened her arms where they were wrapped around his neck. She only moved away when her breathing finally calmed and her senses returned to her. But she still did not let go entirely. She half lied on top of him, mindful of his wings and of the bandage on his abdomen. She placed an arm around his middle and buried her face in his neck.

All of this felt unreal and she did not want to miss any part of it. Although she still feared the things that he made her feel, Gwyn was not ready to go back to a reality where his touch would not sooth those fears. Whatever happened next, at least she had this.

“I still hate you,” she mumbled against his neck.

She felt the reverberations of Azriel’s laugh through every inch of her. His hands wrapped around her and held her closer.

“I know, love.” Gwyn smiled when he kissed the top of her head. “I still hate you too. So damn much.”

“I hate you more.”

She heard a familiar humming as the shadows circled them and nuzzled her still flushed cheeks. Gwyn did not question it this time. She just closed her eyes, and softly hummed along with it.

*****

The night had been short, but it had been the best Azriel had had in months. There was no pacing, no pulling his hair out because the thoughts of his wife had been plaguing his mind, and no wondering if she would ever stop.

When he came down for breakfast this morning, instead of wondering how long it would take for Gwyn to ruin his day, he found himself looking forward to finding out how much better she could make it.

Azriel filled his plate and then Gwyn’s with anything that she liked in the morning. Instead of putting their plates on opposite sides of the table, he placed them right next to each other. It would be easier that way for him to hear whatever stupid names she would find to call him.

Azriel heard footsteps entering the room as soon as he settled into his seat. The shadows wasted no time before they rushed to her. The chair next to his lightly scraped and her voice filled his ears a second later.

“Husband,” she smiled at him.

“Wife,” he smiled back.

The end!

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