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born-to-riot · 27 days

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WIP Wednesday

Since there is exactly one week until the day I plan to post my @polyacotarweek fic, I think it's time I share a little snippet of Nesta's adventure with Amren and Varian.... in their bed hehehehe

TW: NSFW

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[So 900 words may be too long for a snippet but just so you have an idea of what you're getting into, this is the message I sent @acourtofladydeath when I came up with this idea: (I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?)

__________

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, did we leave you alone too long,” Amren coos to her lover. Varian sits exposed on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the couple’s bedroom. The Summer Court male’s head is hanging low, his white tendrils of hair acting like a shield in front of his face. Nesta did not pick up on any sort of response from the male that indicates that he acknowledges their presence. She takes a quick peek over at Amren and decides not to worry after finding the other female to seem emphatically unconcerned. Nesta watches on silently as the tiny fae takes a couple soft predatory steps towards the subdued male. Nonetheless, she stills to take in the view of the delicious specimen of man in front of her. Nesta can admit fully that she has never really given much thought to Varian before, not really having much time to assess him in the short three months after the war with Hybern. However, now, she can’t seem to look away from the large male’s thick muscular thighs, his heavy cock, his beautiful dark skin–fuck, Nesta feels her cunt throb in anticipation.

“Baby boy,” Amren releases another coo, causing Varian to finally raise his gaze to meet his Mistresses and causing Nesta to shiver for a different reason entirely. Now, not only does she have a better view of the male himself, a white blindfold and ball gag rendering his sight and ability to speak obsolete; but also she can see his nostrils flaring and his muscles twitching. Nesta is absolutely enraptured in the scene in front of her as she watches Varian suddenly seem to try to lunge in Amren’s direction, the man trying and failing to get closer to her, his muscles bulging in their effort to win a one-sided battle against his restraints.

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, was one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, but here it stands.

Last Nesta had checked, the source material of Prythian’s most common nightmares had decided to use this ‘threat’ as a paperweight. Although, she can’t deny how much the pathway to her center steams at the thought of the Summer Court male being made to wear a sign of ownership stamped with the ultimate symbol of betrayal of his own court, an invocation of a feud on a personal level.

Nesta can’t help but muse over what the thrill of incurring such a depth of loyalty from another must taste like, she wonders too, greedily and needily what it feels like to be such a fearsome predator to surpass the laws of societal expectation. Is this Amren’s subtle yet personal way of invoking her own feud, a remnant of the possessive creature that once roamed inside of her that is furious at the land for claiming ownership of something that she marked as hers. She also wonders heatedly, enviously, what it would be like to be wanted that furiously. Need starts to play at the strings of her core, she can feel it heating and readying itself for something more.

“Don’t be shy now boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

The sweetness of the pair in front of her simultaneously puts Nesta on edge as well as incurs yet another thrum of heat inside of her. Amren is never sweet. Nesta watches on as her mentor finally reaches her lover–no, her pet. Amren looks Varian up and down with a hungry gleam in her eye before grabbing his chin roughly, causing what sounds like a gruff moan to escape the large man’s lips. That’s all it took? Nesta thinks to herself.

“You haven’t even been touched boy and you’re already sweating?” Amren tuts, roughly maneuvering his chin as she gives him a thorough inspection, the male seemingly keening into the contact despite its roughness. Nesta tries not to get whiplash as Amren softly pats the male’s cheek twice with her free hand before letting it drop to rest on her waist.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin.

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal. No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

__________

hehehehe if you liked this then feel free to come back next week to see the full thing (hopefully I will come up with a title before then)

EDIT: im slow so this is going to be posted on the free day!!!!

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thequeenofnightmares · 1 year

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Whoops I completed none of my adulty obligations and instead wrote Chapter 5 🫠 includes some NSFW Nessian

Cassian struggles with his primal instincts to keep Nesta safe while pregnant. Rhys tells Feyre about Tamlin’s newest condition to coming to the meeting in Velaris.

—

Nesta breathed against the soft sheets, already askew and damp with sweat. “Harder.” Her voice was shaking, barely above a whisper.

“Nes,” Cassian rasped, his breath on her neck sending shivers down her spine.

He would not go harder. Gods, every inch of him practically begged him to, but thankfully he wasn’t a complete brute and could still manage to form a rational thought.

Nesta threw her head back so that it was cradled in the nook of space between Cassian’s neck and shoulder. She arched her back a little more, deepening the angle at which he entered her. He lowered his lips to her shoulder in response, kissing her as he thrusted. He drew out of her, nearly to the tip each time, then slid back in, slow and deep.

Nesta moaned. The sound was hardly more than a strangled gasp, but it threatened the final bits of Cassian’s restraint. As if she could sense this, she whispered, “Please.” The one thing she knew he couldn’t resist—Nesta begging her mate.

Technically, she could be asking for anything, at any time, and Cassian would probably serve it up for her on a silver platter. That is precisely how tight this pregnancy had wound him; he’d turned into a half-mad, primal, utter buffoon of a male in the past few days. He hadn’t left Nesta’s side since the news broke amongst the legions—that the general’s mate was expecting a child. And ever since then, he spent every other moment sick to his stomach at the thought of all of the Illyrians, all of his so-called brothers-in-arms, who hated him. Hated him and now knew his single greatest weakness.

So, it was precisely this reason why he was so frustrated now. He knew he was being overbearing and utterly ridiculous. But she didn’t have to tempt him so damn much, either.

—

Read the rest on AO3!

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itsswritten · 3 months

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Part 5 is posted - FINALLY!

Sorry on the slight delay, but I hope you all enjoy. It is quite a lot of backstory in this section, but I feel like it was needed so we can understand reader a little more!

There's still a few ways I can take this narrative, and ngl I'm just seeing where my imagination takes me. There's certain scenes I would love to unravel so it's just figuring out how I can get those things to happen!

Hopefully more angst and fluff to come, and maybe a little smut but I'm enjoying the slow burn for now- I've also never written smut and it doesn't flow as easily lol

Would love to know your thoughts on the series anyway, what are you hoping to see more of? What things do you suspect to happen?

Also I'm half way through ACOWAR and I'm lovingggggg it - Lottie xx

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acowar #naughty little shadows

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 8 months

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15, 56, and 65 for the fic writer asks!

15: How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

Mate. Why do I feel like this is another attempt on your part to convince me to write smut??? 😂 honestly, A* for effort.

56: Whats something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Oooh, okay. I do like to play around with language so I try and make sure that each word flows into the next and that overall it has a nice rhythm. It's not always successful, but I want to try and make it as smooth as possible. Also, with fics like Semper Eadem you know historical accuracy is my biggest flex. I try and use more archaic terms and turns of phrase with that one in particular to make it feel more authentic.

65: Tell us about what you're most looking forward to writing - in your current project, or a future project

I already answered this one, but just for you I'll answer it again! Aside from the Cauldron scene and the angst in B&BT, I am also very excited to get Emerie and Gwyn involved in Nesta's post-Cauldron recovery. I can't wait for their friendship to develop, and it should be interesting because it's in an ACOWAR era rather than ACOSF.

Ask Game

#thank you! 🥰#ask game

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honeybeefae · 2 years

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Teaser for my upcoming Eris drabble

Summary: After Helion exchanged some flirty words, your mate Eris is quick to remind you of who you belong to.

(This is a WIP but I just wanted to put out some of what I have written. I am so excited to share it. The reader is over 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT WARNING BELOW)

The sound of music and laughter was still ringing in your ears as Eris pushed you into the nearest room, the door slamming itself shut. You could’ve sworn your heart was going to burst out of your chest at the look your mate was giving you.

“What the fuck was that? Hm?” He snarled, grabbing your face in between his pointer finger and thumb. It made your cheeks ache but sent a pleasurable jolt straight to your cunt. “Oh Y/N, you look divine tonight. I hope Eris is keeping you satisfied.”

You couldn’t resist the urge to roll your eyes at the mocking tone. “It was Helion! You know he says those things to rile you up.” His fingers released you so that they could run through is long, red hair frustratingly. “I would never do that to you, Eris. You know that.”

The words seemed to calm him a little but you could still feel the heat coming off from him. It made you ache in the best way. You hated when your mate was upset or mad but… this posessiveness was intoxicating.

And you knew the hotter he burned, the harder he fucked.

“Of course I know that.” He snapped, listening to the silence for half a beat before he wrapped his hand around your throat and shoved you into the wall. “I just can’t stand the sweet words they whisper in your ear, the looks they give you.”

You gasped under his hand as he pushed his hips into your own, the hard bulge of his cock pushing into your wet panties. Eris’s pupils were blown wide and his lips were pulled back in a sneer.

“P-please, Eris.” You wheezed, eyelashes fluttering as he thrust his hips up again. “You know I’m yours.”

He let out a dark laugh and let go of your neck, replacing his hand with his tongue. It was hot and wet against the claminess of your skin. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him up harshly until your lips connected with his.

The kiss was sloppy and rushed, your tongues stroking each other while he bit down on your lip until the coppery taste of blood filled both of your mouths. “Fuck.” You cried, a fresh wave of arousal slamming into you from the pain.

Eris wasted no time in picking you up by the waist and walking over to the bed in the middle of the room. It was mostly dark in the room save for the moonlight coming through the balcony windows. However it was enough light for you to catch a glimpse of some of the items scattered about.

“Stop, stop!” You whispered, pulling away from him. “This is Nesta’s room. We should find somewhere else, now.”

The knowledge did not deter him though, if anything it spurred him on. Cassian and Eris were constantly having pissing matches between them and he wasn’t quick to forget when Cassian fucked Nesta in one of the libraries of the Autumn Court.

He was the unfortunate one who caught them. This was just returning the favor.

Two hands snaked around your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed, your legs dangling off the side. Eris was quick to hit his knees and remove your underwear. He pushed your heavy skirts up so that he had a clear view of your dripping pussy.

“Your mouth says one thing but your body tells me another, pet.” He grunts, nipping the inside of your thighs. “I know how excited this makes you.”

Before you could protest he licks a long stripe up your sex, growling at the taste of your juices. You cried out in pleasure but whimpered when he landed a hard slap to your clit. “Ow!”

“I’m gonna need you to keep quiet, mouse. You wouldn’t want someone to walk in and see you being ruined by me, would you?” He taunted before feasting on you once more. You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide the next moan, thighs crushing against the side of Eris’s head.

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colorlesschristmastree · 2 years

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Solitary Lovers

Hi! This is a one-shot Feysand spicy fic that I wrote!

I really tried my best to encapsulate their love and passion for each other through my writing. Hope you like it!

Spice level: Medium?

Contains spoilers for the entire series, including ACOSF!! :)

I’d been at the studio for hours now—working on a painting of a beast I’d seen while training in the Illyrian Steppes with Cassian. It’d been a massive beast, with so many traits from so many creatures that I could do nothing but try to capture its beauty on canvas.

It had large, black paws, each the size of my own head, leading up to scaled legs that reminded me so of the leathers the Illyrians donned for fighting. Its scaled legs held up a wide, stocky, armored body, black armor made out of a bone like material. I’d wondered if under all that tough bone-armor, it was soft.

It had a large head, feline in shape but with long pointed ears that rested flat on its head, massive, colorless eyes that soaked up any and everything in its surroundings.

I’d wanted to follow it, track it to its home and see the life it lived, see where it rested, but this beast had gone so long being undisturbed, it had no scars peppering it’s body and was entirely unaware of my presence.

Blissful.

Calm.

It reminded me of myself long ago, before the creditors came and shattered my fathers knee, before I went into those dangerous woods, before Amarantha and the war that followed her death.

So I left it be, and satisfied all of my imaginings by carving that blissful beauty onto canvas. Forever remaining as the solitary phantom lurking in the forest, forever remaining the alluring beast with eyes that could see into the pit of my soul, eyes that reminded me of that never-ending mirror that I claimed for the bone-carver.

My concentration broke as I heard—scented—his approach.

My Mate.

My ally in this harsh and brutal world, who had loved me, even when he thought, when he knew, that I would never love him back.

I was still in awe of his beauty, those blue-violet eyes twinkling in the bright lights of my studio.

“Hello, Feyre-darling,” he purred, coming up to stand directly behind me, his arms banded around my waist and he pulled me towards him, resting his chin in the crook of my neck, his eyes scanning the painting that’s taken me half the day to work on, “It’s beautiful. When did you see it?”

“Yesterday, in the Steppes. I was taking my break from training with Cass when I spotted it grazing.” I swallowed, looking over the neatly blended arrays of paint that made up the painting. “Do you know what it is?”

He let out a hmm, “No, I’m not actually sure. I’ve studied and catalogued every manner of creature that resides in those forests but I don’t recognize this one. I’ve never seen it, not in any of the books I was forced to read in the rigorous education that my father forced upon me in order to prepare me for being High Lord.” He nuzzled his nose into my neck, breathing in my scent, which was likely laced with the smell of paint and the dust from the new canvas I’d used.

After Nyx’s birth and my second interaction with death, he’s been more clingy. More on edge. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, chased from my dreams by the nightmares I still have, just to see him already awake, watching me with worry and fear etched onto his face.

Feeling his hard, unyielding body behind me, so plagued by worry, lead me to speak “Maybe it isn’t alone, maybe it knows that it’s beautiful and saves itself from those who would hurt it. Maybe after I left it returned to whatever home it resided in to be with its family. It’s easy to think it’s a lonely beast, but perhaps there’s something more. Some facet of its life that we can’t see. And if it is alone, let it be because it’s still looking for someone like it, someone to understand.”

I leaned my head against his chest, listening to the hammering of his heart, the heart that had been willing to stop beating if it meant that myself and the rest of our family would be safe.

He was so still, and so quiet that I turned myself around in his grasp so that I was facing him, and locked my arms around his neck.

We just stood there like that, gazing at each other like this meeting was our first—like we wanted the image of one another to be branded in our minds forever.

His eyes caught on my lips and stayed there, and I knew what his thoughts had lead him to. Scented that shift in him that matched my own.

So I kissed him, gently joining our lips together, feeling the softness of him that would yield to no one, save for me.

Our kissing grew desperate, his lips crashing into mine, his tongue scraping against my teeth.

I needed him. Now.

He must’ve understood my need, felt it through that star-flecked bond between us, because he winnowed us to the front door of the river house. In one smooth motion, he’d scooped me up in his arms, one arm under my knees, the other looped over my side and resting by my ribs.

The door opened for us, unlocked by whatever magic he’d bound to the house to allow it to open on our command.

He carried me up the steps and into our bedroom and laid me on the massive, neatly made bed.

The deep violet comforter like silk against the bare skin of my arms.

I hoisted myself on my elbows, lifting my shirt and undergarments over my head as he stepped back, watching me with hunger in his eyes, his rock solid cock jutting out against the fabric of his pants.

He pulled his own shirt over his head as I hastily unbuttoned my pants, I’d started to buck my hips off the bed and pull them off before his impatience got the best of both of us and he ripped them off of me. Practically tearing his own off, he pounced on me. His large hands on either side of my face as he kissed me. Moaning into my mouth and breathing heavily.

He kissed down the sharp edge of my jaw, his teeth grazing the smooth flesh that resided there and on my neck.

Every touch from him only further set me on fire, the wetness in-between my legs ever growing, my whole body aching to be touched by him. Felt by him.

His mouth stopped at the base of my throat, it bobbing as I swallowed. He bit down, right there in the center, sucking lightly. I moaned at the primal pleasure of it, the feeling as his teeth made contact with my skin.

I felt him laugh against me, soft darkness rolling off of him, filling up the room so that it was only us. We were the only people in the world.

He worked his mouth down my body, kissing and sucking my breasts, licking around my naval, nipping at my pelvis.

He went further down, his lips stopping just above that bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. He looked up at me through thick lashes, “May I, my love?”

I took a moment to look at him, this beautiful male who I had fought for and who had fought for me before nodding my head and letting out a breathless, desperate “Yes”.

My permission undid whatever restraint he still had as he began devouring me. The swirling of his tongue on my cunt an incomprehensible pleasure. My back bowed off of the bed and I moaned in ecstasy. He slid in two of his fingers, working with his tongue to leech out pleasure from my sex

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breath, everything was so much. Too much. Everything wasn’t enough.

I wanted him, more, more, more.

I wanted him more than I ever thought I’d want anything.

“Rhys please,” I panted, looking down at him, his tongue moving in and out of my folds, “I need you inside of me. Now.”

Amusement and arrogance danced in those violet eyes, long gone was the sadness from not so long ago.

He stood up at the edge of the bed and idly stroked his cock, his fingers still gleaming with my wetness, glancing between it and me, arched on the bed, my legs spread and sex bared for him. “Is this what you want?” Another taunting stroke.

I nodded urgently and he again got on the bed, prowling over me until we were eye to eye and his breath tickled my face. I lifted up my legs, wrapping them around his strong back, keeping him close to me.

He reached his hand down, grasping that rock hard length and lined it up with my entrance, still gleaming with the moisture he brought out of me. He brought his hips down, easing inside of me, my innermost walls clamping down on him, desperate to bring him in deeper.

He groaned into my ear, and kissed my neck as he began thrusting himself in me. We moaned in tandem then, both of us overtaken by the sensations we wrung out of each other.

My nails raked down his back, scratching him hard enough to leave marks that would likely be there for days to come. Make him think of the taste and smell of me every time he remembered that they were there. He sped up, taking his right hand and wrapping it around my throat, feeling the pumping of my blood there.

He slammed into me, taking long and hard thrusts inside of me as I screamed, he likely felt the rumble of my voice with his hand on my throat.

My climax neared, his seemingly beginning to arrive as well as his thrusts became urgent and mindless

We erupted together, my orgasm ripping its way through my body as he spilled into me, his dark power surging out of him at the same time. Our bodies, minds, and souls all conjoined as we laid there entangled with each other.

He removed his hand from my neck and brought his lips to mine, kissing me softly. His kiss the prologue to the story we’d just told with our bodies, the love we’d just created with every kiss.

“I love you, Feyre. His voice a mere whisper in the dark but I heard it nonetheless.

“I love you too, Rhys.”

#feyre x rhysand #pro feyre #pro feysand #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #feysand smut #acomaf #acowar #contains spoilers for the entire series #feyre archeron #my posts

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

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Cardinal Catastrophe

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Elain reaches out to Azriel after that dreaded Solstice night and they once again meet under the moonlight in the River House - but everything is different now (post ACOSF, Azriel’s the focalizer)

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Word Count: 13,300+

Warnings: This does get a bit smutty and then there’s some violence towards the end.

A/N: This is like super long. It basically has everything it’s fluff, smut and angst so yeah, something for everyone. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, I don’t know where this has come from but it’s taken me way longer to write than any of my other stuff. There’s a lot of catharsis in this and reflection on how I think both Azriel and Elain think of the situation. You’ll also get a bit of Rhys’ pov towards the ned ;)

Preview: With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

MASTERLIST

It was no exaggeration to say that Azriel’s work was of a most gruesome nature. His daily routine involved cutting into people, making them sing to his shadows, working them like a carcass in a machine until they’d spilt their guts to him before painting the walls with those same organs. As the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel knew things that would bring kings to their knees, secrets that were interwoven into the foundations of courts, hidden information that would dissolve alliances in seconds; and yet, here he was, pacing the room like a schoolboy as he tried to swallow the fluttery ‘butterfly-like’ feeling twisting his gut.

He’d noticed the note the minute he’d entered the room. A tiny slip of paper that glowed in the moonlight from where it was perched on his work desk, a stark contrast to Azriel’s messy, tea-stained paperwork. Azriel had smelt her on it before he read it, in fact, the second he opened the door to his River House bedroom he was surrounded by her faded aroma. She must’ve breezed in and out, not wanting to overstep her bounds as she left him a note no one else was to read. Knowing her, she was probably currently riddled with guilt for entering his private space, even though, quite frankly, Azriel wouldn’t mind her invading on every aspect of his life, personal or not. Not wanting to face what her scent in his room did to him, he’d crossed the room in three strides and devoured the note in seconds; the words still rang in his head.

I need to see you.

Everything had been fine. Ever since Rhysand’s outrageous demand of Azriel several months prior, Azriel had fallen into a routine, stricter than the last, for ignoring Elain Archeron. He was working more than he ever had before, not just in quantity but in quality. Unnecessarily detailed reports were showing up on the High Lord’s desk of situations that were entirely irrelevant to the current political climate and yet, Azriel thought it was only fair Rhysand suffered somewhat from this situation too.

I’m sorry for everything.

While he was anywhere but Velaris, Elain was never anywhere else, specifically in the River House, a place he had thus far avoided with painful success. Until his High Lady had demanded he come to dinner to celebrate Nesta’s birthday, Nesta who was happier than he had ever seen her before, practically glowing with the dreaded mating bond. It still baffled him how much prevalence mating bonds had played in his life the past few years after 500 years of silence, strings of fate which seemed to only bring about the greatest happiness or the wickedest pain.

I just want to make things right.

They were so happy, all of them. Rhysand with Feyre and Nyx, Nesta and Cassian - and though he just wanted to be glad for his family, the miasma of their bliss was suffocating. Because Azriel had never felt more alone, had never been so buried in his work, so achingly tired from the unnecessary flights and dreary missions, and his harmful behaviour was turning his body into something foreign. Azriel never used to have the constant tautness across his shoulders, nor the constant black shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights, or the aching muscles that never seemed to heal. But it was necessary – if he wanted to obey Rhysand’s order, if he wanted to maintain civility between courts, and for a plethora of other supposed noble reasons – it was necessary.

I miss you.

He just wanted her. Not in any possessive way, he just wanted to be around her. He’d come to find a specific kind of peace in her company, something about that soothed his worries and aches. So, he missed their walks in the gardens, their shared book recommendations, their inside jokes, their unspoken understanding, their healing. And above all he missed her: her smile, her laughter, the shade of her flushed cheeks, her kindness, her silence.

Azriel hadn’t realised what had been happening to him as they had gotten closer, hadn’t realised how far he’d fallen till Rhysand had pulled him out of the air. Now all that was there, was a lacking. He was busier than ever, but all around him hung the privation of her.

Meet me in the foyer when the sun sets.

So he couldn’t be around his family, couldn’t face their overwhelming joy when he was so, so alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had never met Elain, or at least if he hadn’t allowed himself to fall for her. But in those soft moments he shared with her, the brushes of fingertips to the sun-kissed smiles, he’d been forced to face just how alone he was, how alone he had always been. Through Elain, Azriel had had a taste of honest, unwavering love - and yet he was expected to turn his back on such a discovery, by his own family no less.

Please.

He would meet her in the foyer when the sun set. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to, because maybe he was just so masochistic that he didn’t mind meeting Elain only to be reminded of everything he couldn’t have. Reading the note Azriel couldn’t help but think bitterly of how the flower-grower was far more courageous than he. That she was reaching out to him after he had rejected her so brutally. Azriel jolted, flaring his wings slightly to stop the train of thought. That pained, confused look in Elain’s eye when he had said that word, haunted him. Mistake. He’d called it a mistake. Azriel raked his hands down his face and sighed.

He wished he were strong enough to either commit or drop it entirely. He wished he had it in him to do something. Azriel should’ve bitten back at Rhysand all those months ago, should’ve just dealt with this catastrophe back then rather than let it fester and rot under the proverbial carpet.

As time passed in Azriel’s knotted thoughts, the sun plummeted towards the horizon. It was a perfect summers evening, and Azriel stilled at the window to watch as the sun melted the sky into shades of pink and purple. He saw it and thought of the colour of her dress tonight, or even that dress she had worn when she’d made traditional Illyrian biscuits and demanded he tried one. He’d taken it in his pocket and only took a bite when he was alone in the shadows of a different court, and he had savoured every bite, quietly smothering his growing adoration as he did so.

Elain, Elain, Elain. His shadows whispered to him, as though they knew they would soon be in her presence. No one had ever had such an effect on his shadows, and around her he was more aware of them being a separate entity to himself. Though they were bound, around Elain they seemed to grow more confident, they acted of their own accord and would often disappear in her presence, as though his shadows knew he wished to be entirely alone with her.

Foyer...Elain...flower-grower...beautiful. Azriel was inclined to agree. And before Azriel could lose himself to shyness, the sun finally dipped behind the curve of the land, allowing a thousand glimmering stars to prickle through the endless black sky.

She would already be waiting for him, and though Azriel was nervous, he had to restrain some part of himself that longed to throw open the door and jump down the stairs two at a time. Instead, he used the shadows, stepping through them to the base of the large foyer staircase. It would be more silent this way. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not listening to the corridors as they spoke. For Elain’s sake, he would demand the utmost privacy, even from his High Lord and Lady.

He could see her before she saw him. She was leaning of the Foyer’s centre table, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase - of course she was. All he could see of her was the lower half of her pale gown and her dark golden hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. The moonlight streaming in through the large French windows gave her an angelic glow, whereas the more sensuous light of the flickering candles painted shadows across her thinly veiled curves. Both warm and cold light coming together to worship the woman who seemed to him as light herself. At the sight of her, Azriel involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her scent hit the back of his throat, his entire body seemed to sing from her aroma alone, as though it were his own personal drug. Dangerous, this was dangerous, to be with her and to be so alone. He didn’t care.

“Elain,” she didn’t start as he spoke into the thick silence. If she had the confidence to call him here tonight, then he must source some of his own. He at least owed her that. Delicately, Elain turned and looked over her shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes finding his and melting the whole world away.

“You came,” She breathed, her shoulders sagging slightly out of relief. She turned to him properly then, and Azriel flickered his eyes over her so quickly she might’ve mistaken it for a mere blink. But he saw her, saw what she was wearing, and some core part of his soul longed to weep at the sight of her beauty.

Elain was in a nightgown, off-white cotton and silk, with cream and dusty pink lace. Pale ribbons pulled the nightdress around her breasts and down to her naval, dipping in a slight ‘v’ before the skirts flowed around her natural curves and then dropped to the floor. The neckline was agonisingly flattering, though Azriel was sure he wouldn’t look twice at the nightdress on anyone else. Her creamy skin seemed browner in the warm candlelight of the house, and as the shadows flickered, he was aware of how her collarbones stretched out to the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t have freckles on her chest and arms but rather a specific constellation of moles, even how her hair was impossibly thick and, if memory served him well, soft too. Upper sections were pulled away from her face in an intricate pattern of braids and ties, and yet lock after lock of pale brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Oh, that face. Poets and painters alike would weep at the sight of that face. The small, angled eyebrows that somehow made her doe eyes bigger, the freckles across her cheeks and nose, her plush lips-

“I know that you’re avoiding me,” she began, crashing Azriel back into reality. He shifted slightly, ruffling his wings as though to wake himself up. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but calm and quiet, “I know there’s a reason why you’re never around. For a while I thought you were just cooped up at the House of Wind but Nesta says that she never sees you...no one ever sees you anymore.” Azriel stayed quiet, just holding her gaze. He never needed to speak around Elain, she had quickly understood that when he had something to say, he would say it, but till then, he was comforted by the silence. And so she continued, more nervous now.

“I don’t want to be...narcissistic...but it seems to me that you’ve been distancing yourself with everyone after what happened on Solstice and...” She shifted uncomfortably, her confidence running out as she looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I can’t take it. I can’t take being the person whose pushed you away and I...I think we need to talk about it - or not talk about it - I’m not sure. I just, I don’t want you to avoid me anymore, even if that means we pretend that it never happened, that’s fine. I just...”

He could tell her right now the exact reason why he couldn’t be around her. Elain, he would say, I would do anything to be around you. I would kill a thousand men just to have the privilege of your company. But I can’t, Elain. Because when I’m around you, everything turns inside out, I forget everything I’m supposed to be afraid of. I become this person around you Elain, I become someone who I’ve always wanted to be, and I don’t know how to be him, if I even can. I’m not used to this, to wanting something so viscerally it feels as though I might fall apart every day I don’t see you. Elain, I don’t know how to choose happiness, I don’t know how to be selfish in that way, and above all...I don’t know how to fix this.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me like that, not if it comes at the price of your friendship. I still...need you in my life, Az,” Elain was whispering now, her large eyes slightly glassy in the candlelight.

Azriel couldn’t help but think that Elain was evidentially stronger than him, that she could still want to be around him even if he supposedly didn’t want her. If the roles were reversed, if it had been Elain who had pushed him away, he was pretty certain he would’ve manipulated his work to make him leave the Night Court for at least several years. Of course, she was stronger than him, he was beginning to think she was stronger than them all, because of this exact trait of hers - forgiveness.

“Please...say something,” Elain’s broken voice rose through the silence. She looked at him again, tears threatening to spill. Her looking at him in such a way made something deep in his chest twist, and twist and keep on twisting.

He didn’t know what to do, so he took a step forward, and another and another, until he was a foot’s distance away from her. The whole time her eyes never left his, her hands still twisting together at the front of her beautiful, beautiful dress. He opened his mouth to speak but once again Elain had rendered him speechless. Where could he begin, how could he begin - how could he fix this?

“Elain...” was all he managed in the end, but that seemed to be enough to soothe her as her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply at the sound of her name mingled with his breath.

With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“I’m sorry,” He began, his voice barely audible. And by the way Elain’s brows furrowed slightly and her mouth tightened, he knew that she knew he was talking about the last time they’d been here, in this foyer. “I wish things were different,” He whispered, now trying to memorise the exact constellations of her freckles.

“Me too,” She breathed, her eyes still closed. “I wish I was different,” She surprised him by whispering.

“Don’t...” He murmured, silently stunned, “You...you don’t know how you...” But he had to stop himself mid-sentence, had to bite his tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. Because if he started to talk, he wouldn’t stop. He would tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to be so vulnerable, not when he didn’t know how to be vulnerable at all.

“I...” She opened her eyes and seemed to look at him as though for the first time. After a long pause she spoke again, “I wish I had courage.”

“Courage?” Elain paused and shifted slightly from foot to foot, as though she were debating what she would say next.

“I want to be strong, like my sisters...I want to etch out my own path rather than fumble in the dark.” Azriel thought for a moment.

“You are strong, whether you perceive yourself to be or not.” He wanted nothing more than to reach up and stroke his hand along her smooth cheek, instead he dug his nails into his already marred palm and focused on the pain’s bite.

“I will never be a general,” Elain whispered, her eyes still damp, “I will never be a High Lady or a leader, I don’t care for any of that...I wish I did. You can’t imagine how badly I wish I...” Her words ran out and her eyes became slightly glossed over and detached. Again, he felt the urge to touch her, to ground her back in reality, but he just dug his nails in deeper. “I don’t belong on battlefields, though I’d always fight when the world needed me but...I’m not a warrior; and that petrifies me.”

Again, Azriel paused, taking time to absorb every word Elain offered to him under the moonlight. Azriel adored Elain, he could’ve stood there for an hour and listed everything about her that had brought him hope. How her outlook on life had been so foreign to him, so unrealistic when he first met her, that it was extraordinary now just how jealous he was of her ability to look at the morbidity of the world, and still seek out the good.

“In a world of endless bloodshed and bitterness, do not be ashamed of not wanting to be a warrior,” Azriel whispered.

“But I’m useless,” Elain quickly interjected, “I have all this power, I feel it stirring in me and there is no part of me that wishes to manipulate it or-or exploit it.” Elain’s hands came up and danced in the air as she spoke, another quirk of hers he’d both memorised and adored. Azriel thought again, long and hard, before he spoke.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and from what I’ve learnt of people is...that they’re horrible,” Azriel watched as Elain’s eyes widened and drank in his words and something twisted in his chest. People didn’t look at him like that when he talked. His brothers would wink and laugh with him, his enemies cowered and flinched, those whom he bedded would smile slyly or watch his mouth as he murmured dirty things in the dead of night. But no one looked at him like that, as though he were reciting poetry, as though he were beautiful enough to say something worthy of those big eyes and parted lips.

“You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen, or the court secrets I’ve uncovered. The way people, particular those in positions of power, treat each other, treat those around them and those below them - it’s tragic. It’s merciless and cruel.” Elain was still drinking him in, still hanging onto his every word.

“I think over the centuries, I myself became desensitised to the horrors of power and politics. Especially given my start in life. When you were human I understood your naivety, your belief in the good of the world, especially after your riches had returned and your life was content.

“But what I didn’t understand was how you continued to believe good after everything you went through. After facing the most brutal torture from the Cauldron itself...you still chose to believe in the wonderful and I-I didn’t understand that. Because I couldn’t do that. Because I’d never believed in the good of people the way you do...I had never even believed in the good of myself.

“Please don’t think that kindness is something small, or something that can be overlooked. Because when the world is little more than ruin and rubble, kindness is all we have left. We’ve just been alive so long that we forget about it, us Fae, we’ve spent so much of our lives at war that it’s easy to forget why we’d even engage in such bloodshed. It wasn’t till I met you that I was reminded that such things as tenderness and humanity even existed outside my family, and once the wars were about defending those virtues rather than snuffing them out…I just, I can’t help but think that if there were more people like you in the world, maybe Prythian wouldn’t succumb to carnage every few decades, just so that the heartless noblemen of this land can feel something.”

Azriel hadn’t meant to speak for so long, in fact, he didn’t quite understand where the words had even come from. They were true, of course. He did whole-heartedly believe everything he had just said, he just hadn’t realised how much he’d ached to say it aloud. Elain was still staring at him wide-eyed, and then there was the worst thing of all, a single tear spilling over her damp eyes and trickling down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Elain whispered, suddenly reaching out and sliding her palm into his from where it was hanging limp at his side. Electricity shot through his arm, and he forced himself to look at her in the eye as he tensed his legs so that they didn’t crumple underneath him. “No, it’s good I’m, I’m glad you said it I...”

But again, words seemed to evade Elain as she looked up at him. Azriel was now hyperaware of her how close she was, of her smooth palm that fit so nicely in his own. His body often reacted on its own accord around Elain, and he had spent months leashing his desires into chains, beasts that could only come out in the dead of night. But since that dreaded Solstice night last winter, everything had changed.

Life these past few months had consisted of the battle between two extremes. Either he was drowning in the way his body seemed to ache and beg for her, his mind obsessing over their stuttering relationship as though it were a philosophical debate. Especially since he now knew that some part of her wanted him and had wanted to kiss him even with her mate sleeping upstairs. The fact that he now knew what her scent tasted like, how her voice sounded when it was breathy and desperate - it all fuelled the fantasies that haunted him the moment he made it back to his room. He could be on the other side of Prythian and somehow the presence of Elain Archeron would find a way to him.

The other extreme was complete and total deprivation. The reality that he hadn’t seen her for months, that she would soon exist more in memory than experience. Even though his fantasies of her were so visceral, so tangible, the reality that she was not in the room with him always came crashing down by the time his head had cleared - and then he’d feel more alone than ever before.

But when he was here, with her, the argument ceased. The torture and the pain, the writhing mind and aching debates, it all fell into beautiful silence. And so, looking at her now, he was unable to help himself. And without thought, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he murmured under his breath, no more than a whisper, “Elain Archeron...saviour of the cursed and damned...”

As Azriel’s fingers grazed Elain’s cheek, a horribly confused and upset look twisted her face. She seemed to freeze at the contact and Azriel halted at her discomfort, internally berated himself for pushing her too far, for being so arrogant in thinking he could touch her in such a way.

“I...Azriel...I don’t understand,” Elain’s breathless voice seemed to caress him, and once more he found himself tensing his legs so that they wouldn’t give out under him. “You don’t want me...you said it was a mistake...” Azriel stilled, and he caught her eye in a moment of alarmed sobriety.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they spilled from his lips. It didn’t matter how soft, how quiet, his voice was, the words were innately harsh and something deep against his spine lurched at the thought of her hurting her - of hurting her again.

But Elain didn’t flinch. Her eyes, instead of widening in shock, stayed stoically still and calm. And then Azriel watched as those honeyed eyes he loved so much lapsed darker and darker, the floral musk of her arousal drifting to him like a moth to a flame, the same scent he’d been dreaming of for months, the memory of it alone making his body achingly hard and taut, as though his own skin existed only to respond to the call of hers.

The scent surrounded him, sending blood to his cock which was now throbbing viscerally against the seams of his leathers. His arousal had never felt so tight before, so extreme and sudden. He felt it, heavy in his lower abdomen, twisting and knotting his guts in both pain and pleasure. That was familiar, that he’d felt a hundred times before, but for Elain Acheron his whole body seemed to sing. His blood burned under his skin as it pounded through his body, whilst his heart was light and fluttery in his chest, as though it might edge up his throat and fall from his lips. His eyes felt heavy lidded as though he were drunk, and even though he were standing stoically still, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, he found himself short of breath.

He had never wanted something more - never. Not Mor. Not a job. Not a secret, not information. Not salvation, not mercy. God, it seemed as though in this instant, Elain had invented want for him.

He would beg for her. Right now, in the foyer where he’d first tasted this personal drug. Had Elain not been holding him up by her eyes and a single palm he would already be on his knees. He moved to fall down before her, like a worshipper at a temple, when movement at her mouth caught his eye. Azriel watched as her delicate, pink tongue slowly dragged along her lower lip to wet it as she blinked innocently at him. Azriel’s resolve was gone in a puff of smoke.

Fuck Rhysand. Fuck Lucien. Fuck the Mother, the Cauldron, the world. Fuck anyone who stood between him and Elain who he knew, he knew, wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Because of course she did. Because whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, was otherworldly and impossible to ignore.

And good luck to them, was the last though Azriel had before he leaned in. Good luck to anyone who ever dare stand between him and her, because he’d kill them - he’d fucking kill them.

Despite his body beating like a drum for Elain’s melody, he did not kiss her right away. Once he’d accepted that he would kiss her, once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion it felt like a thousand doors of golden light opened before his eyes, and it took everything he had to not sob with joy.

All those fantasies he had revelled in for the past year that had been shrouded in a miasma of fantasy and shame, rolled through his mind clear as day. He could kiss her lips. Those soft pads of blushing rose that he had already committed to memory. Or he could trace down and press his lips to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, a crook of intimacy that he’d already figured out from watching her protect it with her hands when someone stood behind her. He could kiss her temples, her cheeks, her throat - every fucking inch of her.

Now that his resolve had snapped like an elastic band stretched too far, he found that he was finally free. Looking at her he hadn’t realised how long he had taken, how slowly he was leaning in until Elain’s fingers suddenly gripped the leathers across his chest and her brows furrowed as she pulled closer to him, her eyes dark and desperate, her mouth wet and parted as she half-gasped, half-whispered, “Please....Azriel...”

He did moan then. A low, throaty sound that escaped him at the sound of his name intertwined with her breathy gasps. He snapped.

He had intended to savour every second of kissing her, but the moment his lips touched hers, he felt fire. Elain’s hands ran up his chest before intertwining themselves in his hair as she pulled herself against him and he moaned again, the second time in a minute, into her mouth. Because he could feel her, all of her, pressed against his hot throbbing body. The soft pressure of her breasts, the bones of her hips, even one of her legs had tucked between his own, the sides of their knees brushing together. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him.

And then there was her mouth. Softer than petals, and so obviously hers in taste and touch. Every time their lips brushed, every time he felt her perfect breath mingling with his own, shivers erupted across his body. Unable to stop himself he brushed back her hair before firmly grasping the side of her neck, his hand was so large against her velvet skin that he knew he could probably hold her entire throat in one hand. He put it there as an ode to the last time he’d been here. He’d put it there as a fuck you to fate.

His other hand curled around her waist and pressed against her back where - and he moaned again - Elain’s exposed skin greeted him.

He wanted to take her right her. Wanted to lie her down on the carpet and bury his head between her thighs as he had done so many times before in his fantasies. How he ached to taste her, all of her, to pin her writhing thighs back with one hand and wrists with the other. He wanted to look at her perfect angelic face as he made her sing sinful sounds for him. Wanted to make her toes curl and back arch as she came on his tongue. Again, and again, and again.

Elain tugged slightly on Azriel’s hair and he was thrust back into his body, back into the present, and he had to stifle another moan because those thousands of fantasies had nothing, nothing, on this.

In response to Elain’s needy tug, Azriel bent slightly and curled a hand around the back of each of her thighs and hoisted her up against his chest. Elain, much to his delight, snapped her legs around him as he lifted her against his chest, their lips still ferociously dancing. He only had to walk a few paces to set her against the edge of the lobby table, but that particular move was one that had been haunting him more recently of late.

He went to pull away after she was set down on the wooden tabletop. He wanted to see her, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. He wanted to commit that image to memory because there was still some part of him that could not believe this was real.

But as he moved to step back, Elain caught him off guard as her legs tightened from where they were wrapped around his hips, something of a growl arising from the back of her throat as she fisted his leathers and pulled him against her. Azriel obeyed her, like a puppy on a leash, leaning his hands against the table, either side of her hips, in order to stay standing.

She was flushed against him once more. Her breasts pushed against his chest which felt suffocated by the Illyrian leathers, he ached to have her skin brushing against his own, but all in good time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth then and revelled in the juxtaposing thrill and relaxation of exploring her in this way. But there was still an inch of space between their hips. He didn’t know why he left it there, even when Elain dragged him against her, perhaps it was because he knew the minute they were aligned in cardinal perfection, there would be no turning back. He would be hers and vice versa, and she would be his muse and his priority, and he would put her before everything - even his High Lord.

To steady himself, Azriel made the mistake of taking his hand and bracing himself on Elain’s thigh. What he was not expecting was for his palm to find the soft, exposed flesh of her leg from where her dress must’ve mischievously ridden upwards when he had lifted her.

Purely on instinct, Azriel moaned and drove his hips forward into her core, earning a breathy sigh from them both as they finally found an inch of friction in their writhing. There was only fabric now. Measly layers of fabric that came between them.

“Fuck...” Elain gasped into his mouth and some outrageously animalistic part of him growled in satisfaction at having pulled a sinful swear from her angelic mouth. Azriel kept one hand against the wood near her hips to stay steady, to stop himself from grounding his hips into her like an uncontrollable beast, the other stayed on the warm, smooth flesh of her exposed thigh.

Slowly, he began to trace rough circles with his thumb on her inner thigh earning a flutter of breathy sighs to dance from her lips which pleased his soul to no avail. Azriel parted from her lips and began to pepper kisses along her jawline as he torturously inched his thumb up, inch by inch with each circle. When Azriel began to kiss and suck on the spot just below her ear he allowed himself to peek at her as he worked.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her throat bobbing as high hums fluttered from her. If he could paint he would paint the perfect blush of her swollen lips. If he were a poet he would turn her breathy moans into the sweetest of sonnets. And then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan escaped her and he had to look away, if only to stop himself from reaching down and fisting himself at the sight of it.

With his head turned Azriel hissed out of surprise as his thumb rubbed against a sticky sweetness coating her inner thigh. God she was wet. And as he rubbed further, coating his thumb in her essence, he had to bite his cheek as to not come in his pants like a schoolboy. Azriel stopped rubbing circles in favour for taking his first finger and tracing back and forth over the highest point of her thigh, slow and torturous as he familiarised himself with the feel of her. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest when his fingers brushed against a lacy frill at the apex of her thigh. Tilting his head Azriel was able to husk into her ear.

“What do you want Elain?” His voice was low and breathy before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Another shuddering gasp floated from her lips.

“I want you to touch me...and I don’t want you stop,” the sound of her voice so mingled with pleasure and need was almost enough to undo him. “Ever,” She went on, “Not until I don’t know my own name.”

She was going to kill him. Growling in satisfaction he rewarded her answer with one quick brush over her lace underthing's, the touch was like electricity for them both. Elain physically tremored as Azriel finally brushed where she needed him most, and Azriel shuddered at the contact with the girl of his dreams.

“Please, Azriel,” Azriel stilled for a moment, wondering how she would react to his instinctual next move. His particular flavour of making love.

“Say that again,” He said slowly, his voice barely more than a brutal, low husk. As he spoke Azriel allowed some of his power to ebb into the words, the siphons a top his hands guttering as they came to life. It felt slightly wrong to use such a voice on her, the one he so often used with enemies, but Azriel watched as Elain’s lips parted, her pupils expanding as her breath grew heavy in response to his dominant voice. Oh, Azriel couldn’t help but think in agonising awe. Maybe his deep assumptions, the ones that only haunted him in that void he entered before he fell asleep, were true. That Elain, the purest of sisters, was also the filthiest.

“Please, Az,” Her voice was breathy and pleading, but there was something alight in her eyes as she begged him.

“Good girl,” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from husking as he peeled back the top of the lace. They both stared unwaveringly into each other’s eyes as Azriel dipped his hands along her, not touching just hovering. He held his hand there, an inch away from where she needed him most, waiting until she almost whimpered before he slid a single finger slowly through her folds.

Her reaction was blissful to see. The way she bit her lip, her back arched, and her eyes fluttered shut. Azriel moved with her, his own mouth parted, and brows furrowed as he stroked her again.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He murmured in his voice of steel, “Look at me.” Elain’s eyes snapped open, and it was his turn to be caught off guard. Gone was the hazelnut colour, even the sensuous black he had somehow lulled them into, what met him was the colour of bright honey and her eyes, they were glowing. They stood out like gemstones being pierced by golden light. It was then that Azriel began to take note of their surroundings and realise that the thrumming was not just happening inside him but all around him. Ripple after ripple of raw, ancient power was bleeding from Elain, fizzing into the air and turning the entire foyer into something alive and electric. A shiver ran along Azriel’s entire body as his own powers itched to sing in harmony with hers; cobalt energy rising to meet her golden light.

Her folds were dripping, and he was having an internal debate on whether or not to rip off her underwear. On one hand he would have better access, he would be able to pleasure her better, and he could even push her back against the table and lower his head and taste her. On the other, he couldn’t stand being disconnected from her for a second.

Whilst he debated, he slowly raked his finger up her again before finding that small bundle of nerves. When he caught it with his fingertip and began to drag slow, luxurious circles over it, a throaty, guttural moan escaped her lips. He bit his cheek again. He wondered if anyone had fucked her like this and again, that pride bloomed when he realised that he might be the first. Not her first, but the first person to show her the true ecstasy of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Elain gasped as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Azriel allowed the eye contact to break, too absorbed by the feeling of having Elain writhing under his fingers to care.

He’d always thought that he could die a happy man if ever he was blessed enough to experience such a joy as Elain Archeron, but now he realised what a stupid notion that was. Because Elain wasn’t cause for death but cause for life. He’d live for Elain, Azriel realised. Elain who was writhing and mewling into his shoulder as he slowly brought her to the ecstasy she deserved. She was close and following this he would winnow them away to either his unused apartment in central Velaris, or deep in the gardens on this summer night, where they would be entirely alone, and everything would be perfect. And once they’d had their fill on the pure bliss of one another they could talk about everything, and they’d find a solution and they’d work it out, and everything would be okay - and then Rhysand walked in, and everything came crashing down.

Some part of Azriel’s hazy mind had been aware of the movement deep in the house but it had been so, so inconsequential compared to what was in front of him. And his shadows, well his shadows were nowhere to be seen, not with golden light quite literally thrumming from Elain. There had been no warning, and as Rhys met Azriel’s eye when he still had his fingers flush against Elain some primal part of Azriel reared its head.

In an instant Azriel’s siphons were spluttering to life as power surged through Azriel, his wings instinctively flaring as wide as they would stretch, so that the cresting talon of each wing scraped into the polished walls. Rhys, who was standing at the edge of the foyer, an unrecognisable expression scorched into his face, was a threat at that moment, and the whole world seemed to still as Azriel slowly came down from the high of his arousal.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from Elain’s underwear and smoothed down her skirts to cover her legs, all the while never moving his eyes from Rhys. He didn’t care if he was in for the doghouse, didn’t give a shit about what consequences his happiness had just induced - Elain came first.

And right now, even though it was a ludicrous thought, Azriel was preparing himself to protect Elain from Rhysand. Elain’s whose nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, whose eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, exposed and vulnerable just as she’d been on the worst night of her life.

“Azriel,” Rhysand finally spoke and Azriel shifted slightly to pull Elain closer to his chest. “My office...now.” It seemed as though all sense of formality had dropped as Rhysand’s High Lord voice billowed into the room. Azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move either, just shifted his eyes to Elain whose face was blanch and confused.

“Can’t this wait?” Azriel asked, his voice low and full of strength. Instantly he realised that he should’ve worded his question better. He didn’t want time in order to finish off what he and Elain had begun, but rather to give Elain a moment to breathe, for her to fix her dress and smooth her hair, for her to do whatever she needed to do before she was forced to face her family. Rhysand’s eyes darkened, and he entered the room in a low stride, both hands digging deep into his pockets. Azriel moved instantly, stepping around Elain to put himself in front of her as Rhysand approached.

Without a word Rhysand came closer and closer, and Azriel continued to stretch his wings to cover Elain from whatever vitriol was about to be thrown his way. But Rhysand didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move suddenly, just reached out a single hand until it was barely touching Azriel’s arm as darkness surrounded them both.

Before Azriel even had a chance to realise that Rhysand was winnowing them away – away from Elain – they were standing in his office, and Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head at the slight Deja-vu of the whole situation. Except this time, he wouldn’t be bounding himself in shackles, he’d be setting himself free, whether Rhys wanted him to or not.

Azriel was standing in front of the large mahogany desk of Rhysand’s office whilst it’s owner moved behind it, one hand still in his pocket. Already the air in the room was taut with energy, as though the very air were cowering in the face of the upcoming argument. And still Azriel’s mind was still thinking of the girl in the foyer, her name like a mantra beating through his body,

“Put your cock away Azriel,” Rhys immediately spat in response to the ripples of cobalt energy rippling from Azriel’s form. Azriel didn’t deem the childish comment with a retort, though his arousal was already gone, and quickly replaced by the tautness of anger and frustration. His shadows had returned to him now that he was away from Elain, and they were writhing uncontrollably around his legs and back.

Azriel stayed standing, folding his arms over his chest just for something to do. It was then that Rhys sighed heavily, leaning against his desk and hanging his head. He wasn’t as tired nor as desperate as when they’d last spoken like this - of this. No, now Rhys had everything. Everything he had ever, and could ever want, and now his fight lay in protecting the paradise he had found in Feyre and Nyx. Whilst Azriel was still in the dark, still alone, still secretly in agony - they were not the same.

“I gave you the simplest of orders,” Rhys sighed like a disappointed father and something brutally aggressive awoke in Azriel. How dare he, how dare Rhys speak to him like that?

“I know,” Azriel said, his voice indiscernible and calm. Rhys swung his head up to glare at Azriel, something emotional lingering in his violet eyes.

“You know? Then, Azriel, why did you take it upon yourself to disobey me?” Azriel’s grip on his biceps tightened.

“Elain is...” Azriel began before he had to lower his eyes. What was Elain? How could he explain to Rhys the inexplicable way he felt about the angelic gardener? The effect she had on him, it was both irrational and yet made perfect sense. And right now, he could barely focus with knowing that somewhere in this house she was looking around confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. “She’s important to me. More than you realise.”

“She has a mate.”

“That is irrelevant-”

“Irrelevant?” Rhysand looked as though he might laugh and Azriel once more gripped his arms tight enough to bruise. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you Azriel that the bond between Elain and Lucien-” Azriel growled at his name, Rhys ignored him, “-is paramount to the civility between us and not just the Autumn Court, not just the Spring Court or the Day Court, but also the Band of Exiles and the Human realms.”

“And have you ever wondered if maybe Elain deserves better?”

“Better than Lucien-” Rhys practically squawked.

“No,” Azriel growled, allowing his anger to show, “Better than us. Better than a family who reduce her to little more than a political pawn-”

“She is my sister,” Rhysand spat, standing up straight with a newfound intensity. “Don’t you dare question my treatment of her, don’t you dare suggest I don’t care for her.”

“Are you truly so out of touch that you do not see the shackles you’ve tied around her wrists?” Azriel uncurled his arms, “You’ve stripped her of any choice-”

“This is not about choice!”

“This has everything to do with choice!”

“Elain is a valued member of my family but also of my court. As her High Lord, I have made a difficult decision but one that will undoubtedly strengthen this us in the now impending war. It was a tough decision and if you want me to be the bad guy, fine, I’ll be the bad guy, but you will obey my orders as this is the best choice for Elain.”

“Then why don’t you ask her,” Azriel growled, grappling with the internal leash on his powers, “Why don’t you actually include her in the decisions you’ve made about her life.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Rhys flicked invisible lint from his suit, “But Elain is a valued member of these discussions.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Azriel husked quietly, full of venom. Rhysand apparently didn’t have anything to say to that, so Azriel went on. “You claim to value choice Rhysand, and yet you’ve stripped Elain of not just her own volition, but the simple knowledge of the choices made about her life.”

There was something bitter clanging through Azriel as he spat the words, he knew what it was, it was a word - hypocrite. Because whilst Azriel was fighting for Elain, really he should be allowing for Elain to fight for herself. He should’ve left the office the minute Rhysand winnowed them and searched for Elain. He should’ve told her, all those months ago, about why he could no longer be around her. And that’s why Elain deserved better, better than Rhys and better than him, because even now they talked of her rather than with her.

“You are to stay away from her,” Rhysand said at last, glaring out the study’s window almost as though he was ignoring Azriel.

“I can’t do that. Not anymore,” Azriel husked, and Rhys paused, catching Azriel’s eye before he hastily looked to the side and raked a hand through his hair.

“I told you, Azriel. I told you to stay away from Ly-” Both Azriel and Rhys’ eyes widened at the name that nearly fell from Rhysand’s lips. A revelation occurring to them both as the name Rhys’ long deceased sister was brought into the room. “Elain,” Rhys corrected himself, acting unbothered by his slip. “I told you stay away.”

Azriel didn’t know how to respond. He’d spend hours in training rings, on long haul flights or espionage ventures thinking of this specific argument. The way he’d tell Rhys all the things he should’ve said on that Solstice night, about the disservice they were both doing to Elain, about how it was outrageous of Rhys to demand Azriel put politics before his happiness after, well, everything.

After Azriel had spent 500 years alone with only a doomed infatuation with a woman who would never love him back. After Azriel had always favoured to be alone, to suffer in silence, to take the blame, and now he finally had an out. After Azriel had to put up with both his brothers finding their perfect happiness, Rhys himself almost starting a war by perusing and protecting Feyre.

Why was it so different for him? Why was it the moment Azriel had happiness within an arm’s reach there were a thousand excuses for him not to have it? What was so poisonous about his desires? About him?

“She’s not Lydia,” Azriel said at last. It was a low blow. Especially since Rhys had so clearly tried to cover up his slip a moment ago. “For one, you would never treat Lydia with such little respect. Elain is her own person and I’m not going to fight with you, or Lucien, or anyone for that matter like she’s some kind of prize.”

This argument was too real. Of course, they’d had arguments before, all three of them had. Azriel could remember a particularly nasty one between Cassian and Rhys where they hadn’t spoken for a year, Azriel bouncing between them like an owl. But this wasn’t a brotherly squabble, not when the stakes were so high.

Rhys sighed, still not meeting Azriel’s eye as a muscle in his jaw ticked. It seemed as though the High Lord also understood the irregularity of the dispute, or maybe he was just furious at facing his own errors, at his spymaster criticising him on failing someone so important on a matter which Rhysand prided himself on - the volition of the women in his life. After what happened with his mother and his sister, to find out he was now failing his new family must be driving him mad.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants can you Azriel?”

It may have been less shocking if Rhys had just leaned over and stabbed Azriel in the gut. His words clanged into the air with a sour metallic taste, and for a moment Azriel lost his breath, his jaw slackening as his shock registered before he could swiftly cover the expression with the mask of steel he’d perfected. The silence following the comment was perhaps worse than the blow itself. Now it was Azriel who couldn’t stand looking at his brother. He didn’t care if Rhys looked apologetic, didn’t care for him at all.

“Do you really think so low of me?” Azriel’s voice was deathly quiet, before he finally shifted his eyes up to see the raw regret plastered on his brothers face.

“No, I-” A vicious knock came at the door then, interrupting whatever apology Rhys was going to throw his way.

“Open the door,” Came Elain’s voice, more brutal than he’d ever heard it before. Something electric shot through Azriel at the sound of it, of her. If anything, her voice was a reminder that this was real, that his hair was tousled, and lips swollen because of Elain-fucking-Archeron.

Rhys didn’t move for the door, so Azriel did. Turning around, he walked the length of Rhys’ office to the large double oak doors and pulled one back without hesitation. He knew she deserved to be here, that she should’ve been here from the start.

Azriel was so set on opening the door for the sake of justice and fairness that he momentarily forget that it was Elain on the other side, and the sight of her made his breath stop in his throat. Her hair was still ruffled from where he had raked his hands through it, and her lips still blushed from where he had tugged on them with his teeth. There was also a faint flush of her cheeks, either from their previous activities or from running through the River House searching for him and his brother.

Something electric and charged ran the entire length of his body at the sight of her - not arousal, something deeper. And by the way her glowing eyes drank him in, he knew she felt it too. Azriel stepped aside and let her pass into the office and walk up to Rhysand’s desk. As he followed her, something bitter twisted in his gut - whatever was blooming between himself and the gardener was a thing to celebrate. Such love, light and warmth in his life which had thus far consisted of cold loneliness was a joyous and wonderful thing. And yet he was made to feel ashamed of his happiness, by his brother. His own damn brother.

“What’s going on?” Elain spoke in her traditionally soft voice, but even Rhys must’ve picked up and the unwavering steel that seeped from her tone, so similar to Nesta’s pitch.

“Nothing, Elain. Just a dispute between myself and Azriel. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Rhysand’s easy smile warmed through his cheeks and Azriel was sure he was going to punch him before the night was out.

“Don’t lie to me Rhysand, it’s not a good look for a High Lord,” Elain spoke smoothly, folding her arms over her chest as Azriel had done moments ago. Rhys’ expression only flickered in response. “Now, what’s going on?” Elain asked again.

“Well,” Rhysand began, “Me and Azriel have been discussing you actually, you see, your bond with Lucien is unfortunately paramount to a lot of peace and unity between our court and others.” Rhysand looked blankly at Evie as he spoke, completely dethatched from the emotional anger he’d unleashed on Azriel moments ago.

“Is this about me breaking the bond?” Elain said, her voice smooth like honey, healing the sparking energy in the room as Azriel and Rhysand had geared up for a fight. Something about the question twisted Azriel’s guts. It was her terminology; it was all wrong. There was no such thing as breaking a bond, one could reject it and render the attachment limp and lifeless, but breaking a bond was only achieved in death, and even then some believe the bond to continue in the next life. It was just a reminder that Elain knew nothing about this world, Lucien had placed the acceptance or rejection of the bond in her hands, but she did not even know what either option would truly entail. Her education, it was another thing they’d all failed her on.

“If you wish to reject your bond with Lucien I, nor anyone in this court, will prevent you from doing so,” Rhysand said smoothly, “However, given the current political climate, I must say it would be best to leave this till after the war.” Elain did not look away as she thought.

“I don’t want the bond,”

“That’s perfectly okay-”

“No,” Elain interrupted, “I don’t want the bond at all. I don’t want to have to accept or reject anything - I just don’t want it...you....you don’t know what it’s like, to be pulled apart limb by limb, and be remade against your will, to find yourself destroyed and then re-crafted by something as unapologetic as the Cauldron itself. I was violated to the most extravagant degree and when I finally came around, when I finally managed to find something recognisable in myself, months after that night, I came around to find that I had been reduced to some ancient claim a stranger possessed over me. You are all kind, and you all mean well, but I know you all see myself as his.

“It was on the worst night of my life, the night when I had been pulled apart till I was only vessels and blood, he called me his. He is not a bad person I can see that,” her voice wobbled slightly then, “He is kind and witty, he’s working harder than any of you for the forgiveness of my sister. He doesn’t deserve…” She choked up slightly, but cleared her throat to cover it up, “He’s not bad…but this bond is terrible, it’s worst then terrible, it’s suffocating. And when I think of that bond, tied around my ribs like some kind of violating shackle, I just think of how it felt to suffocate on black water...that’s what this bond means to me, it’s a violation on top of a violation. So, to hear that to you, this bond gives you a political advantage, that you get a gain out of it and that you wish me to continue living in torment I...

“I wish I could be sorry about feeling this way, but I don’t. I have stayed quiet, and I have played the role you needed me to play. I keep out of your way; I busy myself with the gardens and dinner and I do everything I can to not bare my teeth every time he visits. But I...” Her wide, damp eyes turned to look at Azriel, “I have found something living in the never ending grave of my life. After I found myself again, all those months after the Cauldron, it felt as though it was only then I emerged from the black water. After I found...” She trailed off, stilling holding Azriel’s eye, “...I was not just out the black water, but back on the ground.”

A small silence settled over the room as Azriel and Elain found themselves quickly lost in one another again, Rhys was merely glancing between the two, his mind whirring as he tried to click together the puzzle in front of him.

“I tried Rhys…I really did,” Azriel finally whispered into the heavy silence, still not looking away from his beloved. “I’ve done everything short of chaining myself in the dungeons to stay away, but I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words had left Azriel’s mouth that he realised his error. And it wasn’t until Elain’s brows furrowed and her eyes moved to Rhysand, that he felt his heart drop.

“What?” Elain whispered. One of the thousand questions she no doubt harvested. Azriel couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t meet his brothers eye. He had this awful feeling now twisting his guts, the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

“I ordered Azriel to stay away from you,” Rhys said evenly. Always the honest man.

“I...what?” Elain spluttered softly, her eyes narrowing on Rhysand. “What?”

“He called me away on solstice night when I was about to kiss you, that’s why I stopped.” That’s why I called it a mistake. Elain’s eyes burned even brighter and Azriel wondered if he should’ve held his tongue. If he should’ve just waited to have this conversation tomorrow where whatever ancient power that was stirring in Elain had calmed down. Now Elain’s glowing eyes seemed to fill the room with golden light, even the black night shrouding Rhysand’s figure ebbed back and inch.

“What?” Elain’s voice rung out, the magic in the room quickly turning volatile.

“I am sorry Elain; I didn’t mean to meddle with your private affairs, but with Lucien under the same roof it would’ve been too risky for those in the house. He could’ve invoked something called a ‘blood duel’.” Of course, Elain didn’t know that, of course none of her friends or family had taken the time to explain that to her.

“You…you sanctimonious dick,” Elain spat. Had it been any other day, Azriel would’ve had to fight an astonished grin at hearing the words on her lips, but not tonight, not when everything was turning so morbid in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry Elain, I truly am. But I’m not just your brother-in-law but your High Lord and I cannot risk my entire court for the mild infatuation of a-”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” The words were writhing in venom as Azriel spat them out. He would go down with her.

“No, Azriel, you don’t speak to me like that,” And with that Rhys’ last straw was gone. In an instant his power was billowing into the room in clouds of black smoke. Rhys acting in such a way in front of Elain, who was already vulnerable, her dress already ruffled and her eyes wide in alarm, made Azriel furious.

“I am your high lord, Azriel, and I gave you a direct command and you have disobeyed me-” Without thinking Azriel’s own icy power rose to the surface, his siphons lighting on fire at the surge. If Elain was frightened by their display of bottomless power she did not show it, perhaps as her own fire was still burning vividly behind her eyes, perhaps since she knew she had more power than them both.

“Have you ever thought perhaps you stepped out of line by asking such a thing of me?” Azriel had never heard his voice so loud and angry before. He didn’t do this. His arguments were stoic and brutal, but mostly silent. He never fought politics - he carved into people who were in chains, and when there was an argument he stayed in the shadows and listened.

“You are my spymaster-”

“I am your brother!” Azriel’s choked sob echoed into the room. “Do I not deserve to be happy?” Rhysand at least had the decency to flinch, to reel back and allow his jaw to slacken in shock.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy brother,” Rhysand’s voice was low and strangled, “But this isn’t just romance – it’s never just romance – this will be a battle-”

“And I’m willing to fight!” Azriel roared, his hands slamming into Rhysand’s desk, his power causing the entire house to shudder, right down to the foundations.

“Azriel,” Rhys’ voice was deathly quiet, “I need you to calm down.” For a moment Azriel didn’t understand, his mind was so focused on Elain, on his own shuddering heart and writhing powers that he simply could not comprehend the words that came out his brothers mouth. Finally, the message registered in his mind and he became aware of his shadows, flourishing and filling the entire room, crawling over the windows and blocking out all the light. The only way he was seeing Rhysand was via the golden glow that came from Elain’s eyes. Disgust racked through his body at the sight of the manifestation of his swirling pain, but before he could do anything, the leash on his powers snapped.

“Azriel-” The next series of events was a blur. Power billowed into the room in a quick explosion, God knows whose it was. Perhaps it was initially Azriel who had finally lost control on that leash on his Illyrian gifts, perhaps Rhysand moved to repress Azriel’s powers with his own, premature or not. Maybe the quiet Elain had had enough of the noise. In an instant, a cocktail of three brands of magic billowed towards each other before exploding outwards, sending a wave of pure, unhinged chaos through the room, the house, and the whole of Velaris.

They all were thrown back from each other, Rhys flying up and landing on his feet, bracing himself against the ornamental globe as his wings appeared and flared. But even he, the most powerful High Lord in history had his knees bent and his arms raised as he braced himself against the fizzling aftershock of the ancient power that tore through the air. Azriel’s centuries of training kicked in as he was catapulted the length of the room, his own wings flared to slow his flight before he caught himself on the doorframe, the weighty wooden doors having flung open, it took an immense amount of physical upper body strength to keep himself upright as the wave of power subsided, his teeth grinding together as his muscles screamed.

But he wasn’t aware of the pain of his screaming muscles, wasn’t thinking about how his wings were in danger of being shredded by the power that ripped through the room. There was only one person, that his entire being seemed to lurch for as his mind screamed her name over and over. Elain.

Elain.

He had seen as her pale form was flung away from him towards the cabinets, had heard the shattering of glass over the howling in his ears. Of course, he and Rhysand were okay, they had centuries of power and training under their belts but Elain…Elain didn’t have training, and she had flown through the air the fastest, taking the brunt of the powers rebound, her small form crashing into the case of Rhysand’s prized artefacts.

The minute Azriel had control of his own body and wasn’t being thrust back into the hallway, he winnowed to her, stepped into the shadows with a haste and urgency he’d never felt before. Wrong. He’d felt this fear before, he recognised it’s taste from the poisonous memories of that night Elain had been ripped away from them, leaving behind nothing but a vacant cot and warm sheets. Memories of that night often haunted his dreams; how ridiculously lucky they had gotten that they had reached Elain minutes before the King of Hybern got his hands on her. In his dreams he was too late. In his nightmares he fails her, and by the time he and Feyre find the tent she’s already gone. Sometimes there’s a body, and sometimes his unconscious mind is kind enough to just leave behind her lingering scent. That night he learned what it was like to truly fear, to have the blood leave your body, to feel the world still.

And that’s what the world did as he stepped onto the other side of the shadows. Elain was crumpled on the floor underneath the large bay windows, moonlight streaming into the mutilated room and illuminating her still form. It was as though the starlight was searching for her, reaching out to her with hands made of silver shadows.

Glass crunched under Azriel’s boots as he took a step forward, and another, and another. Because he could scent it before he saw it – the blood. The sour metallic taste that clogged up the air, interwoven with her own delicate scent. Wrong, it was so wrong, to have Elain’s scent fused with that of blood. She was facing away from him, crumpled on her side in a foetal position, and he could see her arms, her beautiful nimble arms so like the legs of a doe, limp on the floor and marred with what seemed to be a thousand cuts.

Her blood was black in the moonlight, and was colouring her beautiful, beautiful night dress. The roaring in Azriel’s ears was nothing short of explosive. And before him he saw a black wave, taller than the Ramiel, heading straight for him. One that was made of self-loathing, anger, frustration and agony, and as he dropped to his knees in front of Elain he felt it wash over him, burying him deeper in himself than he’d ever been before, and he knew he would not resurface.

Slowly, as not to hurt her further, Azriel rolled Elain over onto her back and into his lap. With shaky fingers he pushed back her hair, just as he had done less than an hour earlier. Her eyes were shut again, but this time he didn’t look at her face for beauty, but for a sign of life.

“Elain…” He whispered; his voice was softer than petals. She did not stir.

“Elain…” He murmured again as he bowed his head and pressed it against her chest, sticky blood rubbing against his cheek as he did so. For a moment it was all silent, and Azriel felt the world drop away, felt himself falling through bottomless black water only to never resurface.

And then there it was. The familiar ‘thu-thump’ beating slow and steady in her chest, the sweetest melody Azriel had ever heard. But before he could revel in the relief of Elain being alive, movement at the side of his eye made him snap his head, turn up his top lip and let loose a nothing but feral growl. It was his brother, and a small wave of shame rolled through him at having behaved in such a way to someone whom he owed so much.

“Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice was soothing, calm, “She’s having a vision…look, Azriel look. She’s okay, she’s just having a vision.”

And so, he looked again and yes, she was having a vision. Behind her eyelids Azriel could see her pupils flurrying side to side as though she were engaged in some riveting dream.

She’s having a vision; she’s having a vision. His shadows chanted to him, running up his back and whispering in his ear. It didn’t soothe him, but rather caused the cloud of anger around him to disappear, so that he was numb again. Some movement deep in the house pulled at his attention, but it was like a ribbon trying to move an ocean, there was nothing for it to hold onto.

And soon both men were turning to the worst thing of all: Feyre and Nesta, standing at the doorway looking at their sister unresponsive in a pool of blood, both primed and ready to kill.

“Get away from her.” Nesta’s voice clanged through the room like steel as she strode forward, seeming to fill the broken room with her strength alone. As she moved she revealed a slightly dazed Cassian behind her, still dressed in his night clothes and yet armed to the teeth, clearly having been awoken in a haste. Rhys took a step back, there was too much power, too much energy, in the room already, provoking Nesta would surely lead them all to their sudden deaths.

Then there was Feyre, walking into the room behind her sister, quiet but observant, the perfect High Lady. She seemed to assess everything around her. The tautness of her husband’s stature, the silent flood of emotions that seemed to be rippling from her spymaster, Elain’s shallow breaths and bloodied night gown. After a moment of quiet assessment, she moved forth to the stoic and emotionless figure of her shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Rhys recognised Feyre’s tone as she approached his brother, it was the tone she used with Nyx, motherly and soft. Azriel pulled his eyes from Elain to look at Feyre vacantly. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay…but I need you to let me take her.” Azriel’s mouth contorted in pain as he pulled Elain slighter closer to his chest.

“I know,” Feyre whispered, dropping to her knees next to him, not caring that her own silken nightgown was turning splotchy and red. “I know it’s hard but everything’s going to be okay. She’s my sister, and I as your High Lady will not let anything harm her.” There’s no need, Azriel thought bitterly as he looked down at Elain’s deathly pale skin, her abuser is here, right in front of you. The only harm you need protect her from, is me.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud, he wasn’t even sure his voice would work for him in that moment. Azriel didn’t quite hand Elain over to Feyre, rather he just let his arms go limp around her, and Feyre was able to scoop her sister out of his arms as though they were passing Nyx from one another. Every instinct Azriel had was screaming at him to take Elain back, to at least look at her unconscious form in Feyre’s arms as they moved away from him, but he kept his eyes on the floor, now kneeling to only the pools of Elain’s blood.

Voices began to erupt around him in hushes whispers, he could distantly hear Rhysand guiding his subjects through the plan, explaining to them what had happened whilst withholding the reason why. It was all numb to him as he continued to float under that black wave, sinking deeper and deeper, their voices were above the surface and so they just sounded warbled and strange.

But one movement did catch Azriel’s eye. It cut through the room’s silent chaos like a knife, a figure appearing at the ruined doorway that caught Azriel’s attention the same way an earthquake would. It was him.

Lucien.

“What happened?” Lucien growled out and something roared in Azriel. He knew that tone of voice, could smell the mate-tarnished anger that was rolling out of him. That animalistic claim on the woman Azriel had nearly lost himself in only moments ago. That’s why he was here, because he would’ve felt the energy down the bond, because even though he was at the other end of Prythian with his own family, he had that claim.

“She’s okay,” Feyre breathed softly as she lifted her sister up into her arms, “Her cuts are already healing, it looks worse than it is. She’s just had a vision so it might take a while for her to come around.” Feyre’s voice was so like her husband’s, even and balanced, reassuring everyone in the room that everything was okay, even if that were not necessarily true.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Azriel didn’t want to hate Lucien, even now he could see that the Autumn son was grappling with the bond that was no doubt screaming at him to rip his mate from Feyre’s arms and winnow them both to the other side of the continent. Azriel knew, because he felt it too. Like Elain he didn’t really hate Lucien, he hated the bond, hated what it told him about himself, clear as day, that he wasn’t worthy of Elain. And though some part of him already assumed just as much, no one was so self-deprecating to not at least hold of a sliver of hope in the face of such agony.

“She’s fine,” Nesta snarled at Lucien, one hand on Feyre’s shoulder, the other on Elain’s pale and bloodied forehead as she guided her sisters towards to mutilated door frame. They were right to take their sister away from the scene, God knew that no one there could help Elain now.

And so Elain disappeared around the corner, and Azriel slowly brought himself off the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his marred hands, covered in her blood.

What...even...Cassian’s voice swam into Rhys mind, dripping in confusion and concern. Did you and Az have a fight?

Rhys put off audibly groaning. Whenever he and Az fought it was normally not difficult to keep Cassian oblivious, he didn’t always pick up and stuff like that and sometimes it was just easier to deal with debates behind closed doors. Not to treat Cassian as his and Az’s overgrown child, it was just that Cassian was never meant to be a mediator.

It’s complicated, Rhys reported back keeping his voice level and calm - his High Lord voice.

I’ll let you off for tonight but, Rhys, you have to let me help you. Especially when it comes to Az. He was right of course, just like Azriel had been.

Deal, Rhys shot back, for tonight I need eyes on Az, I don’t care if he pushes you away I need someone with him at all times, at least until Elain comes around. We’ll re-group then. Cassian didn’t respond besides the smallest of nods. He stayed where he was, more awake now with his eyes trained on their other brother, and Rhys knew Cassian wouldn’t take his eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand couldn’t help but sigh, it’s not as though Azriel or Lucien were aware of him to notice. This was a mess. Worse than a mess, it was a catastrophe. Everything Azriel had said was right but, he had broken his order, he had defied rank in a way he’d never done before and that squeezed something deep in Rhysand’s gut. Above all he needed to be able to trust his friends, so that when push came to shove he’d be able to make the tough decisions and his friends would let him go into the belly of the beast. But tonight, that had changed. Everything had changed.

And Elain, Elain who he had nearly called by his sisters name, she’d stood up for herself tonight. And then there was the situation of her powers, savage and rippling out of her like a beast. He had tasted those powers when they’d tore out of her, and they were ancient. The same power that was interwoven in the very fields of the earth, concentrated in the form of the sweetest girl of all. Rhys knew at least a thousand fae who would pay a hefty price to possess Elain, a hundred who might be willing to go to war - and then there were the Fae who would claw for her hand, the noblemen who would see her for her potential offspring. Rhysand physically shuddered as he sent his wings away.

Yes, tonight had been a catastrophe all right.

Rhysand looked away from Cassian’s half-hidden grimace and turned to the two males standing off, the blood of the woman they were unspokenly fighting over still pooling across the hardwood floors. Lucien glaring with restrained anger at Azriel, his masculine mating bond clogging up the air, whilst Azriel wore an impenetrable mask, hiding the bottomless torment and agony that was no doubt running rife in the shadowsinger, as he stared at the weeping puddle of Elain’s blood.

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shipwrexked · 7 years

Text

Gentle Grower of Things Part 1

Ok everyone here it is the poly amorous story of Elaine, Azriel, and Lucien, because REASONS!!

Part 1 of a three part story:

The Illyrian Steppes

Azriel set down gently in a clearing holding Elaine close and firmly. The young girl was still not used to flying and Az remembered well the fear of it. He took that into consideration as he placed her on her feet and then moved back to give her space and to inspect the clearing they had all landed in. Cassian was flying Lucien and he didn’t doubt his brother would be less than considerate of the young lordling. Az didn’t have any particular feelings toward Lucien and didn’t necessarily dislike him but he didn’t fully trust him either. Elaine was the sister of his High Lady and therefore her safety and comfort took precedence over anything else on this trip.If Az was being honest with himself, and he always sought to be brutally honest with himself, he would admit that he didn’t like the idea of Elaine and Lucien being mates. He couldn’t say why this bothered him so much except that he felt a kinship toward Elaine a protectiveness and tenderness that he didn’t feel toward Feyre, Amren or even Mor. Like she was indeed the trembling fawn the Book had named her. Skittish and wary, gentle and kind. Perhaps that is why he felt this way toward her. He hoped to figure it out while the three of them were out here in the woods.

“Oh” sighed Elaine looking up into the treetops her mouth open and her eyes shining bright. “Would you look at that?! It’s amazing Azriel an entire house built right into the trees! Is that where we’ll be staying?”

“It is lady. As beautiful as the Illyrian Steppes are it’s not safe to be out at night on the ground hence why the house is built into the treetops.” Azriel answered her. He did not however inform her that he had built this particular house himself one summer while Rhys was trapped under the mountain. Az liked to build things, to feel the tools in his hands and smell the fresh cut lumber. It quieted his mind and soothed something ragged in his soul. It was a way for him to concentrate and work out problems and puzzles. He had begun this particular tree house a month after learning of Rhy’s demise and he had begun it as a way to think away from the others, to formulate plans and to rage at the injustice of Rhys’s imprisonment. He had decided to bring Elaine to this house because it had brought solace and healing to him at time when he needed it and he hoped it would do the same for Elaine.

“I do wish you’d simply call me Elaine, Azriel as I’m not sure I even am a lady anymore.” Elaine hadn’t given much thought to her changed circumstances since the King of Hyburn had turned her High Fae. It was disconcerting to realize that she was “other” now and who she was before was simply gone. She had such hopes and dreams then of marrying Lord Graysen and being a good wife and mother to him and their future children. Then the Cauldron had happened and for weeks and weeks she’d been trapped inside her own mind. Unable to tell the difference between reality and whatever that grey misty place was where she saw such awful and terrible things. The only way she was able to stay sane was to constantly remind herself that she was to be married, that she wanted to go home, these simple truths repeated over and over again to help anchor her in the now. It was Azriel that had figured out where she was, trapped in her own mind and in that gray hazy place. The winged shadowsinger who was not afraid of shadows and that despite his signs of brutality and abuse was as gentle and kind as one of her flowers. A friend, her first among her new kind and she did not want to be called ‘Lady’ she wanted him to call her Elaine.

There was a loud thump behind Az and Elaine and Elaine could hear Lucien’s heart pounding. She tamped down the smile at her mate’s fear of flying but one look at Az and she knew the laughter was in her eyes.

Lucien hated flying, no hate was not strong enough a word, he loathed flying. He was fairly certain that Azriel and Cassian both used flying as a way to torture him for all the many times he’d bad mouth the Illyrians and their High Lord. Feyre swore she would take him flying as soon as she mastered her wings, just to show him that flying was wonderful but he wasn’t sure he was willing to wait that long to be proven wrong. Dusting his leathers off he turned just in time to see the laughter dancing in his mates eyes, and just like, the discomfort, the fear was worth it. He’d let Cassian drop him from the tallest tree if meant seeing that light in Elaine’s eyes again. For too long they had been empty, sad, vacant. Lucien had hope that this plan of his and Azriel’s would put those shadows and that sadness away. Maybe not all the way away but at least enough for her natural optimism and joy to shine again.

“Are you ready for two weeks in the forest Elaine?” Lucien asked with that crooked smile.

“I’m ready to explore this new world I’ve heard Feyre talk about so much” Elaine smiled slightly at Lucien.

“Almost time to leave the forest floor you two”. Azriel said as he continued to watch the landscape all around.

Thick woods punctuated by narrow streams. Yes the Illyrian Steppes were beautiful but Az knew that that beauty masked danger at night. Dusk fell quickly and by the time that Az had marked the long shadows and impenetrable murk growing between the trees, dark orange and purple streaked the sky. Tonight Cassian would stay with the three of them up in the tree house but he would be gone by dawn back to Velaris and Nesta.

Az flew Elaine up to the tree house and left Lucien to climb up the long way. He wasn’t being intentionally cruel but he knew he’d need to get the fire going so they would have a hot dinner. Az also wanted to be sure that Elaine was given the best room in the house that he’d built. Az had built this room thinking of Mor. The windows faced east to catch the morning sun and he’d had the finest glassmakers in Velaris make the stained glass windows for this room. Windows that depicted flowers in riotous abandon. He knew when the sun began to rise tomorrow morning those windows would turn this room into a jewel box. It would be like waking inside of a beautiful glass garden. He wondered now if perhaps he’d always known on some level that he’d be bringing Elaine to this place and perhaps it was a room he’d subconsciously built for her and not Mor. Embarrassed by his wayward thoughts Az turned to Elaine and said a bit gruffly “Breakfast is early here, perhaps around six thirty, if that suits you la-Elaine”.

Elaine walked into the room that would be hers and gasped in wonder and delight. Of all the fine houses she’d seen and all the fine places in Prythian she’d been to this room, with it’s beautiful stained glass windows, and warm almost glowing wood walls and floors, the beautiful bed that almost appeared as if it grew from the tree itself with its leafy canopy and green comforter was by far and away the most beautiful. She knew right away this room had been lovingly built and furnished for a woman who was loved. Elaine shed her cloak and bonnet and walked around the room stroking the wooden walls, admiring the glas windows, running her fingers over the cool satin of the comforter before turning to Azriel and finding him staring at her.

“What is it Az?” Elaine asked a bit concerned.

“Do you like the room?” Azriel asked her

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I feel like a fairy queen in this room” Elaine laughed at the irony of it all and she peeked at Az who was smiling back at her.

“I’m glad you like it, this will be your room while we are here. If you want to be alone or undisturbed simply close the door. The bathing pool is through that door to the left and the armoire to hang your things is over there”.

It was a good thing Azriel had stayed to point those things out to her as turning where he pointed it wasn’t exactly obvious where these things were so cleverly had the builder built them into the makeup of the home.

At dinner later that evening Lucien asked Elaine the one question she hardly wanted to think about let alone talk about.

“Elaine have you given any thought to your future here in Prythian?” Lucien asked her.

“I don’t know what I can do, or what I’m good at, I don’t know if I can do anything here in Prythian.” Elaine said “I’m not afraid of working, but I am afraid of being trapped.”

“Trapped?” Lucien and Az echoed each other at the same time.

Elaine had not meant to give voice to her fears of the mating bond but now that it was out she felt she would be cruel to not to elaborate. Lucien did not seem like a bad male and maybe if she spoke of her fears of this mating bond of how she was afraid of it trapping her, giving her no choice but to accept him, maybe he would understand and be patient with her.

“Yes I’m afraid of being trapped, trapped by the...trapped by the mating bond. I don’t mean to make myself sound ungrateful for the gift that the cauldron has given me in you as a mate Lucien. It’s only that I was used to being one thing and now I find that I’m something completely else. Having my life at the whim of another’s would be almost unbearable to me”. Elaine glanced up from her dinner in time to see the pain and hurt in Lucien’s eyes. He thought she didn’t want him but that wasn’t it at all. She simply did not know what she wanted. She didn’t know who she was anymore. She hoped to find out while they were here.

“Is not marriage like this? Strictures and bindings that can become pleasurable?” Azriel asked.

“Are you comparing love to imprisonment Azriel?” Cassian piped in. Indeed it was as if Lucien, Az and Elaine had forgotten he was there at all.

Something stirred in Azriel’s eyes “For some perhaps” he reached across the low table between him and Elaine and grasped her wrist. His fingertips were surprisingly smooth for a warrior but the feeling of them against the thin skin of her wrist left her agitated somehow, as if he’d trailed warm coals across her wrist instead of fingers.

“Here,” Az said hoarsely “I have your wrist captured in my hand. You cannot move it unless I let you, you cannot touch it unless I let you. Complete confinement. But….” Az made light circles on Elaine’s wrist, swirls and eddies around her soft flesh, skipping lightly over the pale blue veins and the delicate tendons, drifting slowly from the palm of her hand to the edge of her sleeve. Az slowly unbuttoned the buttons on her dress sleeve and sliding it up past her elbow watching as goosebumps rose on her arms, on her neck, even on her breasts under the thin wool of her dress. It felt so close to being undressed, to being exposed that Elaine’s breath backed up in her lungs.

Az’s fingers continued their work all while he stared intently at Elaine. “And how does this constraint feel now, Elaine? If I allowed you to withdraw your wrist now, would you?”

“No,” Elaine said, her breathing coming faster. “I would not.”

Azriel bent low, as if to study her wrist, except his mouth was so close to her skin, and then Elaine was aware of her pulse pounding, of her lips parting, and of the flush that was spreading on her face. Lucien cleared his throat snapping Elaine back to the present. She tugged at her wrist but Az didn’t let it go at first. She tugged again and Az merely lifted an eyebrow and at the third tug of her wrist he finally let it drop. Relief and disappointment thrummed through Elaine in equal measure.

“Aren’t you hungry Elaine?” Az asked her.

Strangely she wasn’t, she felt too agitated to eat.

“I am not.”

“You should go to bed then, six thirty comes early in the forest” Az said with a wink at her.

Elaine unconsciously touched her wrist “Goodnight gentleman” she said.

#azriel x elain x lucien #you know me I gotta work the story up to the really smutty stuff #the first part is always more sweet than sin #part two will be smuttier #I'm having way too much fun writing the relationship dynamics between these three #little lucien #Azriel the dom?#post acowar smut

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propagandaprincess · 2 years

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Good morning besties... remember that hot Az masturbation scene I promised? Well its here.

Here you go you feral beasts.

Tagging these lovelies again. If you want to be added to the list just let me know.

@meher-sumedha @vikingmagic33 @trashforazriel @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @buttoncup @sydney-fae25

also tagging these eager beavers who liked and commented on my last post just to let you know I did follow through with that last post. I won’t tag you again if you don’t want me to.

@katiebellf @vinmalide @dreamybone @imsointobooks @destinym1220 @em---r @lilithwishes-blog @ladygwynriel @itsdiya5 @starstrucksportsfanwolf @shisingh @agusthereader @sirenswimmer @kayeneff @booksmorebooks2301 @catydid9815 @arual-anna @gywnethberdarasupremacy

Heres your sneak preview before you click ;)

Chapter 28:

The scalding water took his mind off of it all for a brief moment as he sunk into the too small tub. He had to practically sit in a fetal position to submerge his body. He flinched as his wings rested on the cold tile behind him.

Perhaps a warm bath was a bad idea. As he closed his eyes to try and relax, his mind wandered to the similar heat he felt last night with Gwyn resting on his lap.

It was as if in that moment he saw her in a brand new light. Not that he hadn't found her attractive before. She was right that day when she accused him of staring at her ass but he hadn't been starting at just that.

No during their practice he had often let his eyes wander to the way her leathers molded to her chest, the definition of muscles in her thighs and the glistening of her plump lips after she would stop for a drink of water.

#azriel x gwyn #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel #call me home #smut #but plot too #elucien #Lucien #gwyneth berdara #azriel #tamlin #acotar fic #post acosf #acosf #acofas #acowar #acomaf #sjmass

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drjackandmissjo · 3 years

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it’s nice to have a friend

previous chapter --- chapter 9

feysand masterlist

“Feels like home, Stay in bed the whole weekend.”

NSFW!

The first thing Feyre realized before even opening her eyes was the lack of a warm body next to her. It wasn't unusual for Rhys to get up before she did, either to fix something for his day's lectures or to train, but Feyre was never particularly fond of his absence as she woke up begrudgingly. Cassian teased her non-stop about how little of an early bird she was compared to his brother, but the main reason she ever woke up before noon, without counting work, was to at least kiss her husband goodbye before he left for his own job.

The second thing she noticed was the crispness and general sense of 'new' that came from the sheets and the softness of the mattress she laid on. It felt as if she was being slowly swallowed by a cloud and the sensation was a stark contrast to what she was used to. All their family constantly teased them for their favour of silk beddings and pillowcases, but Rhys always commented that they were just jealous of their bacteria-free bed. Eventually everyone got converted from the cheap cotton they used in college to silk, as all of their bank accounts could spare the expense and splurge now that they weren't broke college students anymore. Not that any of the Nox brothers nor the Golden Queen, as Mor had been playfully dubbed by Amren, was even remotely broke to begin with.

"It's all for the aesthetic" had once told her Cassian on their old apartment roof, pissed out drunk and desperatedly trying to get her to help him decorating a cake for his Post-Spring vacation assignment . "Just think about it! Your talent and my sugar paste!". She had outrighted refused when he began claiming how he would not share the finished product, a three layers with different percentages of cacao each, with her. "It will be a masterpiece. We can't eat masterpieces!"

"Well then don't make it a masterpiece, I wanna eat it already!" said an equally wasted Azriel, comically clutching an empty packet of chips with a saddened expression. Feyre sent Amren a long suffering look and was met back with an understanding one from the only other sober person on that roof, while the tiny woman mouthed her " The Joy of Babysitting" as she stood in between a bottle of Vodka and a very handsy Mor. Rhys hadn't arrived yet and she tried not to feel disappointed. It had been over a month since her breakup and she was nowhere near ready for another relationship, yet she wanted him with them, with her , even if she wasn't ready to admit it to herself.

Feyre stretched her arms above her head, taking away the last morsels of sleep from her eyes before opening them. She was immediately brought back to reality: she and Rhys had organized a weekend away to celebrate their anniversary in peace. Mor had demanded a fancy party like the one two years before, but both of them had preferred to spend the time quietly with each other, on a beautiful resort in the Illyrian mountains that one of her clients had suggested.

His side of the bed was still warm, also thanks to her own body heat as she had scooted over him in her sleep, but she could hear the sounds of the luxurious shower running. She debated for a couple of minutes whether to join him, knowing that they wouldn't emerge from the bathroom for a while if she did and therefore miss breakfast time, when she heard the water coming to a stop.

And there was her husband, one towel wrapped low around his hips as he dried his hair with another. "You're a sight for sore eyes" he told her after having taken her in, bed hair sticking in every direction and clad only in a sheer nightgown. They had arrived the night before, too tired after the long four hours drive to do anything other than hold each other throughout the night. Despite it being the middle of August, the weather up in the mountains was still rather cold and they had enjoyed each other's warmth immensely.

"You're not so bad yourself" she said right back, letting her eyes trace over the plains of his abdomen, defined by years of training.

He chuckled at her blatant staring as he inched closer to where she rested against the headboard, the bed dipping under his weight as he moved closer, capturing her lips in his. She opened up for him, deepening the kiss as her arms twisted around his neck, bringing him fully down with her. She would never get enough of this, she thought with a smile, never get enough of the kisses and the hugs and just him . Her hands moved once more, tracing a path down his bare back as he positioned himself between her legs on top of the covers. Her laugh filled the room as he began to remove the straps of her nightgown with his teeth, a playful gleam in his eyes as he then moved his attention to her shoulders nibbling at the bare skin, turning her laugh into soft whispers of encouragement. Her hands had now reached the towel, untying it swiftly and leaving him bare before her. His own began to trace the fabric down her body, exposing every inch of her skin to his prying eyes. His lips returned to hers as he twisted them around, his back now against the soft mattress as she straddled his hips, hands never leaving the exploration of each other's bodies.

"We will be late for breakfast" she said breathlessly as his mouth worked her neck, hands caressing her back. She couldn't really care less about anything that wasn't him at the moment, but the sensible and hungry part of her grounded her to the reality of her empty stomach.

"There's room service" he called from the space in between her breasts as she reclined back, grinding against his hips in desperate need for friction, "We can order in and not move an inch". She was lost in sensation, unable to speak anything other that his name and a few choices of curses as he teased her endlessly, his hands on her hips, keeping her still as he worked on her upper body.

"Darling?" he called at her before his mouth closed around one of her nipples, teeth grazing the delicate skin and elicing a moan from her throat.

Feyre's hands moved on his feverish skin, dragging her nails over his shoulders and arms, moving downwards before one of them stopped its trek and was placed around him cock, pumping it into her palm a couple of times before bringing it into her mouth. Rhys made a strangled noise from the back of his throat, his hands fisting into her hair as her own kept on moving up and down on his length.

He was a bubbling mess, incapable of speaking. A sound of disapproval rose from the back of his throat as she removed her mouth from him, the tight grasp on her hair moving to her backside as she aligned herself over him. She slowly sank down into him, stilling to adjust herself around him while a soft moan escaped her lips. He immediately brought her downward, moving his mouth against hers as the subtle change of position elicited a series of sounds from both of them.

Instantaneously she began to move, aided by his strong hands on her ass.

"Yeah let's do that" she replied arstly, hands bracing over his chest as she slowly rose into a kneeled position between his legs to sink further into him.

They chose to move in a slow rhythm, both knowing each other's body like their own. Her fingers followed the path of his tattoos, replacing them eventually with her mouth.

It was heartbreaking slow and brutal at the same time, the pace they set, yet neither complained. Rhys only moved to capture her lips once more as she drawed near her peak, one of his hands leaving their comfortable home on her rean to move to her center, flickering her clit viciously as he heaved himself into her with more vigor from under her.

Feyre's vision shattered a few thrusts later, her back arching as the room filled with her shouts. He followed shortly, pumping into her throughout her climax and drawing it out as much as he could.

"Let's stay in bed the whole weekend" she then said, momentarily sated as she tried to regain her breath that was coming out in frantic pants, not bothering to move nor to remove him from inside of her, "Let's not move from this bed until it's time to leave."

"Why, my Darling Feyre, that is probably the best idea you ever had!" said an equally spent Rhys, toying loosely with her curls.

"I thought my best moment was agreeing to marry you!"

His dark and rich laugh filled the room, "I don't think so. The best moment was talking Greek myth in your room as we were just friends."

"Yeah. It's nice, having you as my friend" she whispered, holding him closer to her naked body as she planted a kiss over his heart. "Well then I hope you don't do those kinds of activities with all your friends."

"I don't know what you're talking about" she claimed, her face a mask of pure undiluted innocence.

A wicked smile appeared on his lips. "Allow me to re-freshen your memories then."

They didn't leave the bed for the entirety of the weekend indeed.

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snacmc · 5 years

Text

New content coming...

Got a OS coming your way soon. And Tara’s only description of it?

HEAVY.

Look, we’re called “A Court of Angst and Smut” for a reason!

Keep an eye out for that in the next day or two.

#tara writes #shelby posts #acotar #fanfiction #acomaf #fanfic #acowar #nesta #nesta archeron #angst #aaaaaaaaangst #a court of angst and smut #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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rhysanoodle · 6 years

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Nessian - Sexy Buns

NSFW

Inspired by this post

And tagging anyone who is in the thread so far: @verifiefangirl @urbisie @rhysieorbuzzard @rebelsrunmayheminconstellations

AO3

It was another stifling summer day in Velaris. Nesta and Cassian had made the trek back from Windhaven to assist a very pregnant Feyre with setting up the nursery. Her over-protective mate had insisted that she be on bedrest during her final month as it had been a strenuous term for her to say the least, which meant that a begrudging Nesta had accompanied Cassian back to the estate when Rhys declared that he needed to spend some time in the Court of Nightmares to settle some unrest.

She plopped herself on the sofa next to her sister, as Cassian made the rounds, inspecting the spacious nursery they were to help decorate when the furniture arrived this afternoon.

“So you’re just stuck here, not allowed to do anything, go anywhere?” she callously asked Feyre. She didn’t really see the appeal in having children, and had to admit that lately this seemed like more of a hindrance to her sister than a blessing.

“Oh it’s really not so bad. I’ve been running around non-stop for months, so a little break isn’t the worst thing in the world. And honestly, I’m just as worried as Rhys is about this little one.” She gently patted her stomach, and smiled at Nesta. “I’m not exactly sure what’s typical for a Fae pregnancy, so I don’t blame the overbearing mother hen for insisting on a little rest until this is over.”

Cassian returned to the room, the 3 of them engaging in polite conversation for a few minutes before a knock sounded on the door. “That’ll be the nursery furniture!” Feyre exclaimed. Cassian had to put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from jumping up herself in excitement.

“I’ve got it. Just leave this to me.” He made his way to the door and began helping to guide the delivery crew down the hall to the nursery.

Half an hour later, when the crew had gone, and he was still in the room rearranging it to Feyre’s liking, Nesta heard him shout down the hall, “A little help, Nes? I seem to be a bit stuck right now.”

She took her sweet time meandering down the hallway, taking in the paintings on the wall, just to make him sweat a bit, and bit out a laugh when she entered the room. It seemed that in trying to adjust the height of the crib, he’d slipped underneath with some tools, and now his bulky body was crammed into the too-small space, one of his wings bent awkwardly.

Nesta grabbed one side of the crib for leverage, and helped him ease it off himself. She had to admit, the work he’d done in here today was impressive. The space was quaintly decorated already in pastel paints and a mural on one wall, but now it looked more complete with the crib, a rocking chair, an armoire, a toy chest, and a handful of shelves she was sure would soon hold the many children’s books her sister would buy.

A very sweaty Cassian rubbed at his brow. She had to admit it was rather warm in here, even with a slight breeze flowing in through the window overlooking the garden. “Thanks.” He gave her a small peck on the cheek. “Now you can help me rearrange these shelves. I feel like they’d probably look better if we arranged them over near the window. He gestured to the far wall, and took out a strip of leather as he began to tie his hair up, trying to escape the heat and get it out of his eyes before he did more heavy lifting.

A sudden heat pooled in Nesta’s core, and she found herself desperately needing to take a seat on the rocking chair in the corner, her legs spreading subconsciously, her breath hitching. What was wrong with her? Perhaps it was just the summer heat getting to her, but it was incredibly awkward for her to be turned on right now in her sister’s house, in her future nephew’s room nonetheless.

Cassian must’ve sensed the shift in her focus as his eyes darted towards hers and then down to her skirts, shorter and more casual to deal with the stifling heat, the spread in her legs somewhat revealing her to him. His predatory focus lingered, and… Oh gods.

Lately, he’d been tying his hair back every time he ate her out. He’d picked up the habit when she’d relentlessly teased him a few weeks ago about the way it tickled her thighs, distracting her from the pure pleasure she wanted to experience. How mortifying that now just the sight of him pulling back his hair could have this effect on her. He’d devoured her only last night, when he returned home from a few days of checking in at other camps, so she shouldn’t be this desperate for his touch.

Before she could further process this revelation, Cassian had swiftly shut the door, and he was on her, moving the hem of her skirt up her thighs, to provide himself better access, as he went down on her right there. It took everything in her to keep quiet, not to moan his name, as she remembered that Feyre was only a few rooms over. She bit her lip and clenched her hands in his hair, loosening some strands from the bun as he sent her over the edge, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her.

Cassian looked up at her with a feral grin, and whispered cockily, “If I knew that you found me so ravishing with my hair up, I would’ve started doing this a long time ago, sweetheart.”

She shot him a glare before quickly returning his grin. It was hard to maintain an aloof composure when he unraveled her so thoroughly, and her cheeks were still flush with embarrassment. She ground out, “Let’s get out of here,” unable to tear her eyes away from the now-messy bun on his head.

They made quick work of finishing rearranging the rest of the room, and swept past a slightly disgruntled Feyre, who had clearly been hoping for more company today. Cassian shot them into the sky, and the trip back to their Windhaven home was agony as she craved more of this incredible male.

Masterlist

#nessian #man bun #smut #post acofas #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #fanfic #my fic

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amaranthq · 5 years

Text

When I realize all the FeysandSmutweek works are about to get nuked

#feysandsmutweek was my greatest work #please #archive those posts if you can #also the other smut weeks #moriel #and wlw #pleAse #acotar #feysand #acowar #tog

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swishandflickwit · 6 years

Text

living in color 1/4

Summary: A year following the events of ACOWAR, Feyre tries to build a better world but struggles to cope. How is she supposed to heal the world if she can't even heal herself? Luckily, words are not the only form of expression.

Post-war AU in which the Court of Dreams use art as a form of healing.

WARNING: ACOWAR SPOILERS AHEAD!

Rating: Mature for language and mentions of sexy times.

Read: part i | part ii

Also on: ff.net | AO3

AN: This is my first ACOTAR fan fic. I hope you enjoy it! Next part coming up soon.

If you want to cry about all things ACOTAR (which I pretty much do everyday) with me my chat’s always open :)

part i. green & yellow

“The world is my canvas and I create my reality.” -Unknown

She doesn’t start painting till a year after the war’s end.

The High Lords rarely see eye to eye but despite their differences, peace negotiations finally start to become productive, and Velaris slowly but surely stitches itself back together. She hasn’t been home in weeks, opting to split her time between the private residence in the Night Court and Vassa’s court in the continent instead of winnowing to the town house at the end of every day. Her obligations as High Lady dictate that she be present for nearly every (if not all) meetings amongst the seasonal and solar courts. Her vow to help severe the spell that bounds the rebel human queen to transform into a fiery winged creature during the day means that her pursuit as Cursebreaker is never far behind.

The titles have never felt more prominent as they do now, not even during the war – weighing over her shoulders like an anvil along with all the responsibility they bear. And while she wouldn’t trade her life, her experiences, all of it, for anything… still, Feyre is hard-pressed to find room in her daily routine to catch a break that even nights with Rhys are spent laying side by side and just breathing.

So it’s no surprise that the sight of a paintbrush laying innocently on the sidewalk of the shops that line the Sidra startles her so badly that it stops her in her tracks. She stares at it like it’s a foreign object cause it might as well be, given how long it’s been since she last held such a thing.

Mor doesn’t notice that Feyre is no longer beside her till she’s more than a couple steps away. A small panicked shriek escapes her before she whirls towards the direction they came and she spots her friend hovering in front of an opening of an alley.

“Feyre,” she huffs as she jogs back to her side, “you could at least warn a girl before you drop off like that.”

“Where did this come from?”

The humor falls from Mor’s face at the seriousness in her tone. She frowns.

“It’s a paintbrush.”

Feyre rolls her eyes and gives the blonde a flick on the forehead. “Thanks, genius, I got that.” Mor sticks out her tongue in response. “But what’s it doing here?”

Mor examines the paintbrush, then quickly glances at the alley yawning ahead before the dawn of recognition lights her features.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “They must be moving onto the next phase.”

“The next phase?” Feyre just stares at her in confusion. “The next phase of what?”

“Well, with all the damage inflicted during the Hybern attack, Velaris has been hard at work restoring the parts of the city that were affected the most. The process has been slow, unused as they are to such things but,” a small but proud smile graces her lips, “it appears they’re at the tail end of their plans, if they’ve already moved on to putting on fresh coats of paint.”

Feyre shakes her head, in admiration of her people but mostly in shame. She had no idea this was still going on, the attack having been a little over a year ago. Had she really been that far from home? For so long?

“Show me.”

Mor, who had been ready to resume their walk, whips her head towards her.

“What?”

“Take me to where the reparations are heaviest.”

“Now?”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

Mor looks at her with incredulous eyes. “But Feyre, we’re due to meet with the Palace governors–”

“Please.” She places her hand in Mor’s arm and squeezes. “Please.”

Mor studies her – eyes the tremble in her hand as she withdraws her touch to the haunted gleam in her gaze – and reads the truth etched into the lines of her gaze.

She nods.

“A minute,” she concedes, though they both see it for the lie that it is.

Still, they exchange smiles as they link arms and step into the alley, where Mor leads her through a couple of turns to one of the busy squares of Velaris.

A burst of sunlight hits her face and she has to shield her eyes against the blinding brightness. But when her vision clears, the sight that greets her takes her breath away.

Fae of all kinds, high and low, old and young, different shapes and sizes and color – are scattered about the square, holding various tools necessary for construction and, even this early in the morning, covered in sweat, paint and grime.

But still bright-eyed. Still standing tall.

The ring of laughter, strong and loud amidst what was once a site of destruction, is as much a symphony to her ears as it is a balm to her frayed nerves. The fume of paint is heavy in the air and almost dizzying in its intensity yet it is nothing compared to the proud smiles that are etched upon the expressions of the citizens of Velaris. She eyes the groups that are mixing buckets of paint and rolling fresh coats of their desired colors onto their walls. When was the last time she had even an inkling of a desire to paint something, anything? Surely, longer than Starfall – the itch to hold onto a paintbrush even longer than that.

(She doesn’t count her time playing spy in the Spring Court, every movement, word and image wrapped in a deception then – even her desire to paint.)

The once absent urge to paint, truly paint and not just a wisp of an image, now flares hot and irresistible in her veins. Like a beacon, her gaze is drawn to the lone roller brush nestled innocently amongst the unopened cans of paint and paint trays laid haphazardly in the middle of the square. Perhaps she should have hesitated and reconsidered her presence in the square. She definitely should have never made the venture from the start – her duties call to her, after all.

Yet all it takes is a single heartbeat for the brush to be in her fingers, two to approach a fae and ask if there might be “room for one more set of hands” and just another to dip that brush into a tray of paint – lub – and make an experimental sweep up the length of a wall – dub.

Her heart beats a thunderous rhythm in her chest but in lieu of the wariness she expects to fill her as she holds the brush aloft, she finds anticipation coiling in her bones. Excitement.

“Are you alright, High Lady?”

In this instance, the title makes her blush and automatically she replies, “It’s just Feyre.”

The fae, with yellow-skin and upturned eyes that remind her of Amren save for the soft smile that covers her lips, merely continues with, “I could show you, if you’d like?”

Feyre, heavy with an emotion she cannot place, nods. “Please.”

She’s painted on canvas for sure and on the furniture of their old cottage, but never has she painted walls or storefronts. So she listens and observes with apt attention as the fae, Tyla, instructs her on the basics of wall painting and demonstrates the direction with which she should drag her roller brush, up and down, till her lines form the letter ‘W’ in wide, sweeping strokes.

When she finally does it herself, well… she must look a fool, for all she can do at the moment is stare at the lines of paint she’s swabbed upon the wall, at the brush she holds aloft her, and find wonder in how so simple an action can turn another into something different, something so purely made… anew.

And she did that.

So she stays. She stays in the square, with Mor as she runs amok with the village children (causing more mischief than assistance, much to the adults’ amusement and fond exasperation) and with Tyla, Feyre tailing after her and following in her tasks – till every roughened surface is sanded to silky smoothness and every chip and gap is made whole again with the right plaster. Then she paints. She paints one coat to patch up the uneven coloring of the current store’s building materials, two for evenness and three for protection and reinforcement. She paints till she can no longer see the cracks that once lined the walls, as if every stroke of her roller brush brings with it the ability to heal and mend (she ignores the voice within that asks her if she’s still talking about the wall, or is she referring to herself). She paints till her mind quiets and the brush is nothing but an extension of herself and she paints and she paints and she paints.

Lub.

Paint.

Dub.

Brush.

Lub.

Stroke.

Dub.

Breathe.

It’s probably why she doesn’t notice him till he’s directly behind her. She jumps at his smooth voice whispering silkily at her ear.

“That looks wonderful.”

She lets out an undignified shriek, the hand holding the brush flailing as she reaches up to cup her throat and she squeaks out his name. He laughs.

“Hello, mate.”

He winds an arm around her waist and kisses her brow. She sighs into his embrace. “Hi,” she breathes into the skin of his neck, and they stay just as they are – the noise of the square fading into a dull thrum as they remain wrapped up in each other and they share their day in an exchange privy to just the two of them.

What are you doing here? She asks.

I missed you. The words are a soft whisper in her mind and she hums in response. His voice is laced in amusement though, when he continues with, as did the governors, when you didn’t show up at their meeting.

She abruptly pulls away at the words, her eyes wide as saucers when she lets out a curse. Rhys only laughs harder, pulling her close and nuzzling into her neck even as she groans miserably into his shoulder.

“Oh Cauldron, I must have lost track of time! And the governors…” She shakes her head. “Are they angry?”

“More worried for you than anything.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s the High Lords of Prythian I’m more concerned about.”

“The High Lords?”

“I thought that the meeting could wait another day, and I told them as much. Beron, of course, threw a fit.” Rhys rolls his eyes again, an action she happily mirrors. She makes a mental note to discuss with her mate their bargain with Eris and his plans to depose his father, later. “Regardless, I told them they were free to carry on without the Night Court present.” She raises her eyebrows expectantly, as if knowing that isn’t the end of it. Her thoughts are confirmed when the look she gives him urges him to divulge, “All right, so maybe I gave them a…” he smirks, “gentle, reminder of who they were dealing with.” An image of the most powerful High Lord in centuries in his true form echoes through her mind, and she shakes her head in exasperation. What she’s come to realize about her mate is that some days, the mask is harder to shake off than other days. He huffs at her look. “What? Like they know what to do with themselves without us!”

He shakes his head then turns to her, a sudden seriousness overcoming his features. “When I heard of my High Lady’s absence, naturally, I was concerned.” Sorry, she whispers sheepishly. He just holds her to him even closer and places a chaste kiss to her neck. Nothing to forgive. You come first. Our family and our court come first. Always, is what he says with a warm smile before continuing. “Even if I’d already arrived at the Dawn Court, I was ready to winnow back here, but I figured I should check with Mor first. She told me where you were, what you were doing.”

She frowns. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Your shields were up.” Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Nothing I couldn’t get through, if I really needed to.” Even as he says it she can feel him there, a gentle hand caressing the walls of her mind that she’s barricaded – quite loosely, now that she’s aware.

“But there was something calm about their presence, peaceful. Like the solitude was a comfort, a way for you to center yourself.” He shrugs, as if the action of leaving her alone when he was probably worrying himself sick isn’t a big deal. “It didn’t feel right to intrude.”

He shifts so that her back is to his front and his arms encircle her. “I’m glad I didn’t.” He rests his chin on her shoulder. “Look at everything you’ve accomplished here, on your own.”

“It’s just paint,” she mumbles, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks at the praise, “and I was hardly alone…” But even as she says the words, pride seeps into her veins at the work she’s done, small as it may be, here in the city and with the people that she loves so much.

“I mean it you know, this place looks even better than it did before.” It’s true, the fresh paint of the square glistens beautifully under the afternoon sun. But Feyre thinks it’s not so much the look of the buildings but rather, it’s the expressions in everyone’s faces as they, too, admire the square and beam at the storefronts – pride and healing outweighing the exhaustion of a hard day’s work.

“Rita better watch out,” he jokes and they share a laugh, content to let the hustle and bustle of the city pass by them. He entwines their fingers. “You’re painting,” he whispers, his breath hot against the back of her hand as he brushes his lips on a smear of dried paint there. She swallows heavily.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It felt…” she struggles to convey just how much this moment means to her, how burdened she’s felt the past year – trying to fix so much of this broken world when she hasn’t even gotten a moment to catch a breath and process. Yet every stroke of the brush felt like a brush on her soul, patching up the parts of her that have been battered and hurt by the events of the war. The closest she could compare it to was –

“Like flying,” she utters, recalling their first ever flight together post-war and the feeling of freedom and hope it had given her – that her promise to the Suriel of building a world that would be better than she left it now, would be fulfilled. Yes, the events in the square that day were ones she’d akin to, “healing.”

“It’s been a hard year,” Rhys says in quiet understanding, the prior assumption (or should they have known it was mere fantasy?) that things would be easier after Hybern left unspoken but weighing heavy in the air between them. She agrees.

“It has, but…” She catches Tyla’s eye and the fae gives her a happy wave before bounding over to Mor, who remains engaged with the children but this time accompanied by the remaining paint, drawing figures and colors on the young ones’ faces. Feyre smiles. “I guess I just forgot…”

A burst of laughter erupts somewhere in the square and Rhys turns at the catch of her breath. His concern fades when he catches the expression on her face. Feyre laughs quietly when a group of fae shriek. The children have apparently tired of the art aspect of the day and begun a paint fight amongst themselves, their dreaded next target the older faes. At the head of their assembly stands who else but Mor, the biggest child amongst them – leading her little paint warriors into the fray of adults.

Despite his confusion, his lips melt into a crooked smile. “Forgot what?”

Another ray of yellow sunlight bursts through the clouds and the brick of the square floor glimmers.

“I’ve been so focused on trying to purge all the bad from the world,” But Feyre’s gaze is brighter – like all that is light in this life was born right there, right in her eyes. “I forgot about the part of it that was already good.”

She nods to herself. “I’m going to paint again.”

He grins excitedly. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh. In fact, I’m going to start…” a calculating look overcomes her face and it doesn’t occur to him to sift through the bond till it’s too late and she’s shouting, “now!”

A bucket of paint appears in Feyre’s hands just as Mor winnows behind him and all at once – The most powerful High Lord in Prythian, Night given form and Death Incarnate, finds himself soaked all the way through.

With paint.

And nothing so flattering on his color like the violet of his eyes or the jet-black hue of his hair or even the golden brown of his skin. Rather, the two demons have doused him in the most mortifying shade of green paint ever created in all of existence.

Rhys can only stand in shock, the latex already stiffening onto his skin, his hair (thank the Cauldron he didn’t have his wings out), as Mor cackles behind him. Then she saunters, saunters, to his wife’s side.

His wife. His mate, his queen and his equal in every way… who is now doubled over laughing her ass off. At him.

The High Lady and his cousin are bent at the waist, Mor’s hand on Feyre’s shoulder like she needs the support lest she falls to the ground. She wipes a tear from her eye.

“Oh Feyre, I admit I’ve yet to see any of your paintings but,” she takes one look at Rhys before erupting in giggles again. “But this,” she hiccups once she catches her breath and makes a sweeping gesture towards Rhys, “has got to be your greatest masterpiece yet!”

Feyre bites her lip. “You’re not wrong.”

His jaw drops. “Brazen, wicked thing.” She waits till he rubs the paint off his eyes to shoot him a feral grin.

Strangely, he purrs down the bond. I am both angry and aroused. Her grin widens. He shakes his head, as if it will dislodge the lustful thoughts circling his brain. He makes a show of command by glaring. Mostly angry, make no mistake.

“You two, are in big trouble.”

Feyre smirks, outwardly unruffled despite the sizzle of heat that tingles down her spine. “Is the big, bad Illyrian coming out to get us?”

“Oh I’m so scared!” Mor adds, feigning a faint as she leans against Feyre. The two break out in laughter again and Rhys, in annoyance, shakes his head at the pair, causing paint to fly everywhere. The girls hardly flinch, flicking off splatters from their skin as they snicker between themselves and comment about how the green clashes horribly with the wounded look in his eyes, which flash as their teasing only serves to raise his hackles.

He summons his magic, intending to splash them with the paint from his body, when this time his cousin yells, “Attack!” and the kids launch a handful of paint at him.

And, High Lord he may be but Rhys is not ashamed to admit that the girlish shriek heard across the square comes entirely from him as he runs from the pint-sized cavalry, and for his life.

(Dramatic as always, my lord, Feyre teases down the bond.)

Just as Rhys manages to free himself from the clutches of the little ones, he launches himself on Feyre who, caught off guard, slips on a small puddle of paint, and though Rhys manages to wrap his arms around her and take the brunt of the fall, the trip down remains as unpleasant as ever.

You’re going to pay for this, he says. This time, it’s Feyre who says with a purr, I look forward to it.

At this point, the older faes have joined the brawl – using their magic to build forts and find creative ways to launch paint bombs at each other, much to the children’s (and, admittedly, the adult’s) entertainment.

The square becomes a battlefield – albeit a joyful one – to replace the more horrifying one that took place before because today, they paint a new memory here, onto the walls, the loam and the very foundation of this square.

Rhys, ever the general, commandeers his own battalion of young and older faes and Feyre takes a moment to just stop and appreciate the scene before her as she sees everyone having such a grand time – her family members included, because it seems to hit her over again that there was a time when she could have lost this, lost it all.

And the square is a mess, true.

Still, she finds.

It could not have looked any better.

(That night, Rhys makes good on his promise that she “pay” by using his entire sexual arsenal on her – tongue, fingers, cock, everything – only to pull back just as she reaches the very brink.

The blessing – or in this case, the damn curse – with being immortal is that they have the leisure of time, and each fucking time she gets close to completion …

The payoff, however, is amazing – when the light of dawn breaks and they chase the shadows from Rhys’ face. It reminds her.

There is no light without darkness.

And her dark, fallen prince is all aglow when he enters her just as she least expects it and brings her to the edge of that golden peak once more. With that one, swift move she shatters around him in an orgasm so powerful.

This time, it is her keening that makes the mountains tremble.)

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