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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 8 months

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Datura Pt 2

Author's Note: I initially wrote Part I and 2 as one piece but it was too long, so here's the next part :) Not sure how long this fic will be, but buckle up 'cause it'll be a good ol' enemies to lovers, political intrigue fic for however long it takes for me to figure out an ending.

Summary: Something has been hunting you for your powers and it's finally caught up with you. A Rhysand x Reader UTM What If.

Content Warnings: Suggestiveness, a little NSFW near the end, before we get to the ANGST (we're gonna suffer but we're gonna like it); that red headed bitch makes her first appearance; bit of cursing; canon typical violence.

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All attempts at speaking fail, your mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. Your head spins, mind reeling. This can’t be real, can’t be happening. That tonic from the priestesses had to have something weird in it. This was a hallucination.

Yes. Hallucination, that had to be it.

“We can’t stay here,” says the male, his large hands still tight on your shoulders. There’s a coppery scent on him, something damp on the edge of his shirt sleeve, brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Blood. He’d been the thing those other guys were screaming at.

Your stomach twists, heart slamming in yours ears, sounding like drum beats again. No. No that wasn’t your heartbeat at all, that was the drums outside. Great, while the Spring Court was having a giant orgy you were lost in some sort of cave with… what even was this male?

Was he even fae? You still can’t see a thing in the dark.

You recover yourself enough to step out of his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice trembles as you speak, hands shaking at your sides. You’re defenseless out here, even with your own magic, you've never managed to control it enough to use it. “I can’t even see you.”

A mistake. You shouldn’t have admitted to it.

A flicker of light flares, glittering and spinning like…

Stars. There are actual, tiny, glittering stars swirling around his fingertips. The glittering light illuminates the walls, much higher overhead than you’d thought initially. There is much more room to move around in general, but the darkness had been so thick you’d mistaken it for rocks. The light doesn’t pierce all the way through though, only the space between the two of you, the darkness beyond still moving and shifting like a wall. Your eyes track it back to the towering male ahead of you, the darkness drifting off him like a mist. Not the darkness of the cave at all, but one of his own making. It moves on his whim around the two of you, a bit of it still caressing your spine, your bare legs, while the rest hovers like some sort of bubble. A shield perhaps, you know the High Fae can make them, but it is just as likely to be a cage.

You try to summon claws, focusing your thoughts into getting your hands to change, shift, but nothing happens. Nothing but a slight twinge of pain in your skull.

As if he knows it, feels it, the stranger reaches a star flecked hand out to brush a tendril of hair off your forehead, his callused hands warm against your flushed skin. You shiver despite yourself.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says. That voice is rich, low, a lover’s purr.

He is fae, not the monster you had initially suspected. You aren’t sure what people usually wear on Calanmai, but the dark pants, the loose fitting shirt, half unbuttoned to reveal a swirl of dark ink across his bronze chest, and boots seems out of place. As if he’s over-dressed. Half a dozen rings glitter in the starlight spinning between his slender fingers, but you cannot ignore the blood that’s dusted over them.

“What happened to the others that came into the cave?”

A shadow passes over his face, dark brows furrowing. He’s a gorgeous male, by far the most handsome male you’d ever seen in your life, but that look, as the glow in his eyes dims, pupils expanding so there was nothing but endless darkness… it's like looking at the paintings of the Death Gods you’ve seen in your books. The shadow at your back writhes as if agitated, only settling once the look has passed and the violet returns to his eyes.

“They wanted to hurt you,” a low growl.

You shiver. “Why’d you call me out here then, if it’s unsafe?”

He tilts his head, a predator assessing prey, only cold calculations in that gaze. It’s an effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “It’s not safe there either.”

“In my home?” You counter.

“In Spring,” he returns.

“Spring is perfectly safe, it’s practically the only place that-”

He moves faster than you can blink, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Don’t speak things like that in places like this!” He hisses. It’s not anger on his face, though, it is fear. You feel the chill of it seep through the bubble of darkness he’s created. His whole body shakes with it.

What do males with this kind of power fear?

It makes you nervous, wondering, but not as much as having a stranger put their hands on you. You sink your teeth into the flesh of his palm so hard you draw blood, and as he yanks his hand back, you move to run. Only to find the shadows blocking your path, no longer wisps, but solid, like adamant. You practically bounce off it.

“Let me out,” you order.

He stares down at his hand with a smirk, amused. “That was cheap.”

“I don’t like being touched by strangers,” you hiss. “Now let me out or I’ll really fucking bite you.”

He chuckles and the sound of it skitters over your bones, makes a whole other type of shiver run across your skin. Perhaps that’s part of the magic of Calanmai, the ability to remove the usual inhibitions and allow the souls to merge as the magic of the land demands. You quietly curse yourself for being so powerless against it. With enough training you should have been able to shield from it, but there’s no time for it now.

“What if I like being bitten, hm?” He teases.

“Then you’ll love when I rip your fucking throat out with my teeth.”

He takes a step closer and tilts his chin up, baring the full expanse of his throat to you. “I’ll let you, but then, how would your find a way out of the cave?”

“Bastard,” you snarl, but you can’t stop yourself from watching the way his throat works when he swallows, the way he grins at the roof, watching you, calculating what your next move will be. He knows he has you right where he wants you, it’s like watching a cat play with a mouse.

He slowly lowers his chin, still grinning. “It’s this way,” he gestures with a hand and the wall of shadows moves further into the cave.

You stare after it, than at him. “Isn’t the entrance the other way?”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t even know your name, why would I trust you?”

He reaches out and grabs your hand, but before you can pull away from him again, he’s pressing your knuckles to his lips. They’re surprisingly soft against your skin; electricity shooting through you, as he says in a voice made for the bedroom, “Rhys.”

Rhys, Darkness Incarnate, apparently. His name was an answer to a question you’d been asking yourself the last couple of years. Strange as the circumstance are, he fits exactly what you’d imagined the voice that had hounded you would sound like. Putting a face to the voice was strangely comforting, like there was no longer some strange threat hanging around your head every year anymore.

“I’m Y/N.”

You’re sure you’re an idiot for telling him. It’s not like he’s dropping the shield and letting your run out, it’s still there, caging you in as you move through the cave, side by side. Just because he’s leading you somewhere doesn’t mean it’s somewhere good, this very well could be a trap. Your head hurts trying to figure out what’s real, what’s likely. You’re not entirely convinced this still isn’t a hallucination.

He tries your name out on his tongue, nodding to himself, like he’d been looking for the answer to a question too.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight. There is something lonely about him you can’t quite place.

“Has it really been you, calling me these last couple years?” You ask softly; you’re trapped down here with him, might as well pass the time until you get to whatever bitter end awaits you.

He nods as you take a sharp left and descend down further at a slopping angle that has you holding onto the walls for support. It’s colder the deeper you go, despite the budding summer heat the rest of the court is feeling outside. You’re trembling as the path goes from soft sand to smooth, icy stone, the rock seeping all heat from your body on contact.

“Yes,” Rhys confesses. He stops for a moment, head tilted to the side like he’s listening for something, more shadows leaking from him, slipping through the shield to do Mother knows what.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, sad. “It’s not safe.” He repeats. “I was trying to warn you.”

You run your hands over your arms, trying to get some heat back. Without a thought he’s unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over your shoulders. The move if effortless, gentle, so at odds with what’s happening you can’t do anything other than slide your arms into the too big sleeves and pull it tight around you on sheer muscle memory. Its warm; the scent of jasmine and citrus and the sea all over it. You strangely want to bury yourself in it, until that scent is burned into your skin, your lungs, until it’s the only thing you breath. Calanmai at work, you can only assume.

With a hand on your back he prompts you forward again, even as he continues. “I didn’t know what else to do, it was my only chance to reach you.” His palm takes up the expanse of your lower back, you are so small next to him.

“But why me?”

The swirling tattoos cross over his chest and back, leaving a small gap between his shoulders, like there’s something supposed to be there, some small piece of him missing in those gaps between the ink. The urge to run your fingers over them is almost overwhelming, you have to pull your hands into his shirtsleeves to stop yourself.

“You’re-” he pauses and you swear you hear claws scratching somewhere above you.

Instinctively, before you can stop and think about what you’re doing, you press yourself closer to him. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to slide an arm around your shoulders and pull you against his side. He’s all sleek muscle, a warrior’s build, though he carries no visible weapons. Perhaps, with powers like these he doesn’t need any.

The shield shudders around the two of you as he draws it in so close there is no room to move away from him.

You don’t dare speak again, the stillness he radiates tells you enough.

Several long minutes pass before the shield moves outward again and he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze signaling that the two of you should press on.

“What do you know of your parents?” He says finally, loosing a sigh of relief.

“I don’t even remember them,” you say. “What do you know of them?”

“I fought against your father in the War,” he replies .

Your father was a soldier?

“He’s a very powerful male,” he continues but all you can focus on the choice of words, the current tense, as if your father is still alive. “As was your mother.”

Your head spins; he grips you a little tighter like he knows it.

“There are a lot of powerful people who would like to get their hands on your power,” he says.

Its an effort to swallow. “I don’t even know how to use them,” you whisper.

He winces. “You have no training?” It almost sounds like horror in his voice.

You stare down at your hands, like their the source of all your problems. “My uncle said they would just… click.”

“Cauldron boil me,” he curses.

“I take it that’s not what you were hoping to hear?”

The cave split into four directions, one way covered with stalagmites dripping a strange glowing liquid, another bursting with flowers, a third full of rubble, the fourth the only clear path out. You go to that one, cautiously, Rhys keeping his head tilted, listening to what dangers might lay ahead.

“You’re vulnerable, is all,” Rhys says softly. “And there’s not enough time to change that now.”

A sense of foreboding lands in the pit of your stomach. “How much time do we have?”

“I have to be gone by sunrise,” he answers.

Gone, the foreboding turns into outright anxiety, stomach now twisting in knots. You resist the urge to reach out and take his hand. It’s nice having him here, you’re not ready to give this up just yet. “So there’s a reason you only call to me on Calanmai?”

He only nods.

“What happens if you’re still here by sunrise?”

He runs his tongue over his full lower lip, thinking.

“Are you like a vampire or something? Do you go poof?” You make an exploding gesture with your hands and he laughs, the echo bouncing off the shield. You’re not sure why it’s the laugh that makes you decide to trust him fully. Maybe some naïve part of you thinks if he meant you harm he wouldn’t be laughing at your stupid jokes.

“No,” he says, hand on his stomach as he fights to catch his breath. “Nothing like that.”

You watch the way his muscles shift as he catches his breath, the way his chest rises and falls. You’d like nothing more than to run your tongue along the sharp planes of him. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if you’d be able to taste the jasmine and citrus on his skin if you did.

“You’re sure? Let me see your teeth?”

He flashes you a grin that makes your stomach do flips. “See? No fangs.”

You turn towards him, pressing in closer, teasingly assessing, like you’re unsure. Calanmai has made you bold, you have to admit. Even with the new time limit closing down on you, you can’t help but stop for just a minute to enjoy this side of the male before you.

“So what are you then? If you have to work under the moon?”

“I’ve been many things,” he says, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

“And right now, what are you?” You press.

“Right now…” he places a hand on your hip and pulls you flush against him. “Right now I’m all yours, Darling.”

You must be somewhere close to where the party is happening above, because you can hear the drums again, as if the music is beating from within the rocks of the cave walls, the reverberations vibrating under your skin. It’s too much, too loud, pushing you closer to him, the silence that fills your head when he touches you the only way to make the noise stop.

Perhaps this was the plan the whole time: Get you away from the crowds, somewhere secluded, get you to trust him, to embrace him, but you can’t stop yourself from stretching up on your toes to kiss him. Did it matter in the end? He groans as he deepens the kiss, one star flecked hand sliding into the strands of your hair, angling your head for him to easily swipe his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is demanding, but soft somehow, like he’s desperate for it, you, but not holding so tight that you can’t pull away from him if you want.

The shadows return, dancing over your skin, skittering higher and higher up your thighs, across your waist, your chest. You let your own hands explore the broad expanse of his chest, skin silky and warm beneath your fingertips.

If this was the plan all along, you don’t care. This is good.

He tastes like starlight, like the night chilled wind across a calming sea. It conjures one in your mind, gentle waves lapping at a moonlight shore; there’s music floating across the water, the sounds faint and distant but much more soothing than the demand of the drums above you.

All too soon he’s pulling away from you, gentle kisses placed against the corners of your lips, your chin, the underside of your jaw. “Wish we had more time,” he whispers into your skin. “Want to take my time with you.”

You’re absolutely molten, very aware of how soaked your panties are, just barely covered by your thin shift. Any other night you might have had more presence of mind to be mortified that you were so wet just from kissing someone, but not tonight. Tonight it makes sense, is the only thing that makes sense.

He brushes his nose along the column of your throat, scenting you. “We really should keep moving,” but his hand trails down your front, tracing the valley between your breasts, sliding lower.

You tilt and kiss him again, hand tangling in his onyx hair. Nothing has ever felt as good as kissing him, you doubt anything else could ever compare. Unfair that you only have one night, one moment, you’re sure he’d ruin anyone else for you given the right amount of time.

He indulges you, just as hungry as before, hand still sliding lower, until he finds the hem of your panties through your shift.

You ache between your legs, have half a mind to beg and plead for him to touch you. Your feelings about Calanmai be damned, you want him to keep going, to kiss you, touch you, ruin you until the time he has left is spent.

Deft fingers find the hem of your shift, pulling it slowly upwards until he can bunch it up in his hand.

“Rhys,” you whimper into his lips.

His pupils are lust blown, lips kiss swollen and pink. “I know, I feel it too.”

You are used to the feeling of your power prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal begging to be released, this is not entirely different, but instead that power is replaced with him. You want, need, him everywhere. Need him to keep kissing, touching.

He slides his hand under your waistband, movements slow, precise, letting you indulge in the scrape of his callused hands over your soft skin. The movement alone is almost too much, your breath rasping out of you, trying not to squirm. He’s so close to where you need him…

“Rhysand!”

A female voice shakes the cave, the shield. Rhys jerks away from you like the voice hit him, eyes wide.

You grab onto the edges of his shirt and snap it closed around you like it will hide what you’ve been doing.

Footsteps echo, the cave shaking.

Rhys glances at you, eyes wide. “Stay quiet.” He says it in your mind, as easily as he has done for all these years. You don’t have time to ask how he can do it, or why, as he runs a hand through his hair, fixing it, before sliding out of the shield. It swallows you, tightening so you can’t run, can’t see what’s happening.

You barely dare to breath, as the footsteps stop not far from where you are. “Busy are we?” The shield can’t keep out the voice.

“Hunting as you asked, My Queen,” he says smoothly, casually.

Queen?

Whoever she is, she gives a mirthless laugh. “You call what you’re doing hunting now?”

“You said to use the caves-”

“I didn’t say fuck some whore in them,” she snarls. “I can smell her on you.”

You’re mortified enough to wonder if your powers could let you somehow dissolve into goo and melt into the floor.

“All part of the plan,” Rhys answers and your heart sinks as his words hit home.

“So you know where she is?”

“Of course,” Rhys says and the shield suddenly vanishes, the cold absence of it hitting you in a rush.

You give a little squeak of surprise, tightening his shirt around your exposed body as your eyes adjust to the soft gray light of the cave. You spent two much time here, the sun now rising outside.

The woman before you was tall, slender, eyes dark, mouth a cruel, pinched line. The blood red hair only serves to make her all the more pale and as she takes you in, her teeth flashing in a grin, you get the feeling that this what a wolf looks like when it sees a lamb.

“This little thing?” She stalks towards you and you take a step back, some instinctive, primal part of you recognizing that the more space between the two of you the better. You can still turn heal and run if she’s far enough away.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she coos at you, reaching out a claw tipped hand. Her blood red nails are sharpened to spikes, bit it’s the ring, with a swiveling, life like eye in the center that makes every muscle in your body tense up. “I’m here to help you.”

“Fuck off!” You hiss. There’s only one exit, the way she came, slopping upward, the floor clearly damp with morning dew. You’d need a good head start to make it up there first.

Rhys is watching you with the same intensity he’d kissed you with and you wish you had something to hurl at his head. You should have known better than to trust him.

“Quite the mouth on you,” she purrs. “I hope Rhysand put it to good use.”

Something in you chest cracks, a lump forming in your throat. You need to get out of his shirt, get the taste of him out of your mouth; he played you like a fiddle and if whoever this lady is hadn’t shown up, would have used you for his own amusement. And you would have let him.

“What do you want?” You bite out, inching closer to the exit.

“As I said,” she says slowly, like you’re too dumb to understand. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need help,” you throw a withering glance at the male. “From either of you.”

“Oh but that’s just not true, is it, little one?” She doesn’t move, but something feels wrong. You don’t know why, but your whole body suddenly freezes, heart slamming in your chest.

No not frozen, you’d move if you could, but you can’t. It’s as if something grabbed hold of you, held you in place.

“There are a lot of people looking for your, Princess.”

Princess? This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

“Oh she doesn’t know, does she?” She smirks at Rhys, who shakes his head in conformation.

“Imagine that, the daughter of the King of Hybern, raised a simple little farm hand,” she grins like she knows she’s won, even as your head spins.

Hybern. You knew the name from your history books, the King a ruthless tyrant who nearly destroyed Prythian to get back his human slaves. Your mouth is dry, your hands might have shook, could you move your body.

She curls her fingers in a come here motion and as if someone has you on strings like a puppet, you take two steps towards her. You try to dig your heels in, fight it, but the hold over you won’t budge. You walk until your close enough for her to graze the tips of her claws under your chin.

“There are a lot of bad people trying to find you, little one.”

The only thing you have full control over is your mouth, so you snarl and flash your teeth, wishing you had the ability to grow fangs, “I’m pretty sure you are the bad people, bitch!”

She smirks but the grip she takes on your chin is anything but kind, your jaw groaning under the crushing weight of her grip. Her nails draw blood, crimson trickling down your jaw. “Poor, delusional little thing. Don’t you worry, we’re going to take good care of you, aren’t we, Rhysand.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course!”

“Your father will be very pleased to hear you’re alive,” she says to you.

To Rhys she says, “Bind her, I don’t want her trying to run again.”

You still can’t move, can’t flee. Some small piece of you wants to beg, plead for him to let you go, to prove you wrong about him, but you’re pride won’t let you. Not as more wisps of shadow curl around his wrists and hands like snakes, no more stars to be seen.

“I should have ripped out your throat,” you snarl.

The shadows jump from him, twining around your wrists and ankles, not the gentle caresses from earlier, tightening until you can barely move your fingers and toes.

Rhys grins at you, shrugs, but it’s in your mind that you hear the same quip from earlier, “I would have let you.” It’s not teasing this time though, it’s sad, haunted.

Doesn’t matter, he’s still checking your hands, tossing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You tell yourself you won’t cry here, won’t give either of these bastards the satisfaction, there will be a time for that later.

It’s not much farther before sunlight blinds you, only a few steps of Rhys’ long legs before you’re out of the cave. You’d been so close. It had been right there this whole time! Had you not been so distracted, had those stupid drums not been so loud you might have made it. Might have gotten to go home.

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #utm!rhys x reader #rhysand fic #acotar fic #acotar smut #acotar series #my fanfic #my writing

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cherhys · 2 years

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Anything, Always

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhysand has been running himself ragged, and it hasn’t escaped your notice. In an effort to quell old nightmares, Rhysand has an interesting suggestion…

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Mild angst (pining + UTM reminder whoops), Feelings™️

Notes: The longest fic to date! I was working on some Azriel WIPs when this piece just happened. I wanted Rhys to get some well-deserved, utterly devoted, loving. Thank you for all the support so far; it means more than you know! ♡

You noticed that as the week has passed, you’ve seen less and less of Rhys around the townhouse. First, it was less frequented dinners, followed by mornings spent alone. Being High Lord is no easy task, but it’s all the more reason for you to lend a helping hand where possible. Instead, all of your offers have been promptly shut down with a wry smile leaving little room for argument since it's nothing more than I usually deal with, darling.

His words echo in your head as you approach his office, the ease with which he said them in juxtaposition with the dark circles beneath his eyes. You doubt he’s been sleeping very well; it was no secret that the High Lord preferred staying up in the evenings, but he always reclaimed that sleep the following morning. Recently you’ve observed his absence from the townhouse in favour of training even before Cassian, the earliest morning bird you know. This simply could not go on—he had to take care of himself. A male like him deserved better than that.

The door to his study was closed and after a brief knock, you slowly cracked it open to peer inside. His head didn’t so much as lift from where he was scanning his papers, a crease between his ink-dark eyebrows. The evening light filtered through the windows behind him, casting him in an iridescent glow befitting his title. He had changed into a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal solid tan forearms corded with prominent veins. He scrubbed a calloused hand along his uncharacteristically scruffy jaw. The usual sparkle in his jewel-tone eyes was lost to his evident lack of sleep.

Despite this, he was still the most beautiful male you’ve ever beheld. Even feeling ragged, Rhysand was nothing short of magnificent. No amount of stress could take away from his plush lips, the delicate column of his neck, and the elegant sweep of his collarbones leading to the strong planes of his chest. The age-old flutter in your chest surfaced, a delicate thing you had neglected for so long.

“You can come in, darling.” Finally, those tired eyes lifted to yours where you stood in the doorway. When you don’t move he sweeps a hand towards the cushioned chairs before his rich mahogany desk. You quash any semblance of that flutter until a deep void is all that remains in your chest; a talent you had mastered after all these years.

“I’d say I’m surprised to find my dearest High Lord secluded in his office on a Friday evening, but I made an oath not to lie.” You idle your way in, running your finger along the books on his shelf. You frown at the faint layer of dust over his more loved collections.

“Well, Friday evening or not, doesn’t my dearest advisor have work to do instead of chatting me up like some girl at Rita’s?” Like a delicate brush stroke, his ebony brow arched. Rhysand’s eyes tracked your approach as you walked around the spacious office, feet padding against the soft carpet. The snack you had brought him earlier remained untouched on his desk, and you clenched your clasped hands behind your back.

“Girls at bars aren't worth my time, though it wouldn’t hurt for you to try. All you do is hide away here; you’ll have the year-end papers done at this rate.”

He shrugged, nonchalant, “Better to be more prepared than found lacking, no?”

You stopped before his desk and stared, “It’s only springtime Rhysand.” At your unflinching gaze, he sighed.

“I was unimpressed with some of the projections submitted by the Court of Nightmares. Sloppy work.” His jaw worked in time to the pulse in his neck. You nodded, acquiescing as much. As Rhysand’s advisor, you were expressly aware of the substandard documents that Kier had submitted. Despite his abysmal summation of the Court of Nightmare’s projections, Kier could receive a verbal (or literal) lashing later.

“Rhys, this isn’t an express concern at the moment.” He dropped his head back to his papers, dipping the fountain pen in the inkwell. The sound of your breathing and scratching on parchment permeated the silence. The dismissal was clear, though surprisingly cruel from your usual playful High Lord.

“Rhys, look at me.” Despite your pleading tone, he remained fixed on his writing. In a few swift steps, you rounded the desk. You placed a gentle hand beneath his chin, lifting his face to your searching eyes. Where his silence was defiant, now there is only weariness.

“Rhysand… what’s wrong honey?” The endearment slips out, but your chest constricts at the sight of the defeated male before you. You miss your charming friend. Your thumb lightly caresses his cheek and his lashes flutter at the sensation. He gives you a wry smile and grips your fingers in his warm hand, “Nothing is wrong. I’m only a little tired.”

You breathed deeply, willing yourself to remain calm. Rhysand was known to undertake everything by himself, an expression of his love towards his family. While you appreciate the care he tries to show, his selflessness couldn’t happen at the expense of his well-being. This was something different.

Your silence unnerved the usually unshakeable male, and he seemed to deflate under your scrutiny. So you waited—let him process his thoughts, choose what he wanted to say.

When his grip tightened on your hand but his silence persisted, you offered an olive branch.

“I have never been able to share my feelings with ease; to feel so much… it is an overwhelming burden. And yet–” You took a steadying breath, hesitant to reveal so much but unable to help him understand otherwise. His expectant gaze was patient, if not encouraging.

“And yet, unravelling my feelings and sharing them with you is effortless. With you, I know I am safe. That I am understood. Rhysand, I want to be that person for you. You are welcome to share, and I will always be there to listen.”

When you finished, you shifted to perch on the desk space poised between his legs. Rhysand unconsciously moved his chair closer, his head pressing into your jointly entwined hands. He slowly inhaled, the scent of you a balm to his fraying senses.

“They’re back. She’s back,” Rhys didn’t need to elaborate on who and what for you to catch his meaning. You had known that nightmares plagued him often in the time since his return from Under the Mountain. Years had passed since then but the horrors he endured were not easily forgotten, “I don’t know what to do.”

The defeat in his tone nearly brought tears to your eyes, but you reigned them in—this was his opportunity to be vulnerable and you must remain strong.

“I think about all of the lives I–... I think about all of it, often. It is never not on my mind, but I can usually move past it. You all help,” At this, he squeezed your palm again, an earnest look in his violet eyes, “But sometimes the guilt–” He loosed a sigh, shaking his head, “It is unbearable.’

Rhysand pulled his hand away from yours, leaving it cold. He stared down at his hands between you both as if all of his sins were still visible. To him, you’re sure they were.

His voice was lowered to a whisper now, “When I sleep, she taunts me. She stokes that guilt from an ember to a flame and eats away at me. All I can think to do is run myself ragged, in some form of masochistic repenting.”

Rhys glances up at you, his heart dropping when he sees your eyes are closed. Even you couldn’t bear to look at him after what he had done. Clenching his jaw, he begins to pull away and prepares for your imminent disgust.

He doesn’t expect you to grip his cheeks, and pull him back to you. Rhysand’s eyes are comically large this close, your noses a hair's breadth away from touching. He has never seen your mouth set in such a serious line, your eyes blazing with such fire.

“Listen to me very closely. Everything you did? It was necessary for survival. For yours. For the Night Court’s. For our family’s. It is only normal to feel guilt—that’s what makes you the wonderful, kind male I know.” Your hands pressed almost painfully, as if you could physically push the words into his head, “But you should never regret what you did. Because it brought you back to us.” To me, but you left that part unspoken.

When he seems to hesitate you reinforce, “Any of us would’ve done it for you. If I could've traded places with you I would have done so in a heartbeat, Rhysand. And it kills me to see you blame yourself. You can repay those you mourn by living your life to the fullest in their honour.”

He regards you for a moment, plush lip pulled tightly between his teeth. Rhysand nods slowly at your searching stare, the sorrow clearing from his eyes like clouds in a bright night sky. Those stars you so love wink back at you from his midnight gaze.

Unable to help yourself, you swoop him up into your tight embrace. Rhys’s strong arms wrap around you in no time, his head at your breast. He can hear the rapid but sure beating of your heart and it brings him a peace that he hasn’t felt since the nightmares returned.

“Thank you.” His soft words lift your heart and you place a swift kiss on the top of his head.

“Always.”

You stroke his raven hair in soothing motions, running your nails lightly along his scalp. Rhys visibly relaxes in your hold, his shoulders slumping with a weight unloaded. You dare to enjoy the moment, knowing that the likes of these are few and far between; you seldom let yourself get this close, the ache in your heart too much.

Finally, you pull away, a determined look on your face, “How can I help you, Rhys?”

His face softened, and he let out a light chuckle, “I doubt you can, darling. This is just one of those things.”

“It most certainly will not be one of those things. There has to be something; maybe if we help you relax? A sleeping draught?”

He winced at that, “No sleeping draughts, preferably. I’m not fond of drugging myself.”

You scratched your chin, “No, that doesn’t seem sustainable long term.”

While you brainstormed ideas to help the male before you, Rhys glanced at you through thick lashes. He had begun to fiddle with the fountain pen, twisting the top, “I think I may have a suggestion.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, “Already? What is it?” A beaming smile stretched across your face—anything. You would do anything to help him.

He locked his eyes on yours, voice level, “Sleep with me.”

You blinked, unmoving. You stared at him a few seconds longer, the words failing to process. You’re sure you must have stopped breathing, the thumping of your heart overwhelming your senses.

Sleep with me.

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you, “I’m sorry? ‘Sleep with you’?”

A million thoughts were spinning in your head, each faster than the last. Slick skin on skin; hands fisted in sheets, in hair, scratching down a tan, tatted back; clothes haphazardly strewn around the room; pleasurable pants filling the air. You shook your head. Surely you had misheard? Misunderstood?

A cocky smile spread across Rhysand’s face, although the dusting of pink crawling up his neck isn't lost on you.

What dirty thoughts are you thinking, darling? That midnight voice lightly caressed your mental shields.

Your cheeks were flaming if the heat under your skin was anything to go by. You persevered and pursed your lips in mock irritation. You would not be undone by his aimless teasing after all these years.

Nothing that would involve the likes of you, the thought pushed right back at his adamantine mental shield.

Rhysands thick lashes lowered, his bottom lip jutting slightly. You wondered what those plush lips would taste like. Although you knew he was playing at seducing you, it didn’t stop the primal need in you from rearing its ugly head.

Would it truly be so bad with me, darling? You know I’d treat you well.

Your lashes fluttered; this had to stop before your heart wilted any further in your chest.

“What is your real suggestion Rhys?” The serious cock of your brows sobered him up near immediately. The twinge in his chest only further cooled him; the way you brushed his teasing off irritated him for reasons beyond what he dared admit.

“It is my real suggestion. I struggle with my sleep—therefore having you there will help.” The cool way he spoke, as if this was only a logical solution, helped to put you at ease. But you couldn’t help but wonder—

“Why me? How would I help?”

He shrugged, “You seem peaceful.”

Your mind whirred at his laconic response. ‘Peaceful’? You couldn’t decide what to make of the situation, but one thing had always been clear.

“I said I’d help you, however I could. If you believe me… sleeping beside you will be beneficial, then I’ll do it.”

He nodded, the same calm look plastered on his face. Rhysand’s nonchalant manner bothered you: did this genuinely mean so little to him? If so, then you would treat it with the same aloof, professional fashion.

“Alright then, we can try tonight if you’re willing?”

His ink-dark eyebrows shot up, “You wish to begin right away?”

“The sooner the better, no?” You couldn’t allow any more sleepless nights; the faster you determined whether this would work, the more time you had to find different options before Rhys ran on empty.

Rhysand’s head tilted, a panther sizing up its prey. Finally, he nodded in agreeance.

Quickly, you stood from his desk, realizing you were still perched between his legs. You dusted off your skirts and swiftly moved to the door. With a hand on the frame, you turned, “Tonight in yours?”

He swallowed, your eyes tracking the bobbing of his Adam's apple along his smooth neck, “Yes, that’ll work just fine darling.”

You stepped away from his office, the final, sure look in Rhysand’s eyes burning through you even hours later.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

You nervously tugged on your silken sleep shorts, psyching yourself up to knock on Rhysand’s bedroom door.

After leaving his office earlier, your heart had been in your throat all day. Even at dinner in the House of Wind, you’d had to be snapped out of thought multiple times by members of your family. While circumventing the reason why you had been so inattentive, your friends spared no insult and pestered you to high hell. Your face had flushed, sure that Rhysand could pick up on your nervousness. Instead, there were no teasing comments; he only returned to his meal.

Now before his room, you took a steadying breath and lightly knocked, in the unlikely event he had fallen asleep. At his faint call you entered, softly shutting the door behind you. The room was aptly decorated for a High Lord. Rich jewel tones complimented Night Court black in various opulent fabrics. Pointedly ignoring the massive bed, you took in the polished mahogany furniture, surely crafted by a masterful hand. From the intricately designed rugs, to the velvet cushions, and the elaborate drapery; it was all magnificent. However, it all paled in comparison to the male inhabiting the room.

Rhys was lounging on a plush divan, drink and papers in hand, looking fresh from the finest of paintings. The loose shirt from earlier was gone, baring his muscled chest. Your eyes tracked along the elegant dark swirls that decorated his tan skin. A pair of black sleep pants adorned his lower body, looking dangerously low on his waist. As you gently padded over, you tried not to focus on the light smattering of dark hair leading below the band. He glanced up at you, violet eyes sparkling like the stars visible through the windows beyond him.

His eyes slowly roved over your figure, noting your bare legs; how you clutched your cream robe, book in hand, a delicate lacy strap peeking out. He took a restrained sip of his amber drink. You settled on a comfortable settee across from him, the book already splayed across your lap.

“Good evening, darling. Care for a drink?” He waved his glass lightly, the ice clinking softly.

You chuckled, shaking your head, “I’m alright, thank you. Is it not a little late to indulge?”

He inspected his drink as if he might find the solution to all his problems within the crystal glass, “I find it soothes the nerves.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Are you nervous?”

Rhys lifted the drink to his mouth, only to gaze at you over the rim with heavy-lidded eyes, “With you? Always, darling. I mean—you simply strike such an imposing figure.”

You dramatically placed the back of your hand to your head, draping yourself over the settee with all the theatrics you could muster, “Oh, how I plague man with my beauty!”

A deep and joyous laugh broke the silence of the night. You glanced over at Rhysand in slight surprise to see his head thrown back, a hand to his chest. Your heart warmed at the clear mirth on his face. This was the Rhysand you had missed. You soon joined him, your laugh bubbling up with the vigour of a freshly opened champagne bottle.

Gradually, you both settled into silence, and with a wink from Rhys, you both returned to your previous occupations. The cool breeze from the open window carried with it Rhysand’s citrus and sea smell, the faint note of jasmine like a goodnight’s kiss. You basked in the peaceful mood, snuggling closer to the settee with your book. You couldn’t help but look up at Rhys every few pages, taking in his striking profile as the ambient lighting cast shadows across his elegant features. Eventually, you noticed his eyelids beginning to droop and knew he was only stalling the inevitable.

You yawned loudly, covering your mouth for effect, “I think it’s time we retire for the night.”

He smiled, gently placing his empty glass and papers aside, “I agree, darling. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Rhysand stood and stretched his arms over his head, and you quickly made your way over to his bed, refusing to stare any longer at his chest than necessary. You shed your robe and tossed it over a nearby chair while you both silently readied yourselves for bed. No longer was the silence comforting—instead, your heart threatened to burst from your chest.

You didn't realize how stiff you were until Rhys settled under the covers beside you, the shroud of night concealing your reddened cheeks. You remained rigid, arms at your side like a soldier at attention.

It’s only me, darling. The smooth voice slipped through the cracks of your mind. Rhysand’s low timber reminded you to take a deep breath—you turned towards him and lightly reached your hand out in the space between your pillows. Even in the stygian dark, his eyes shone brighter than ever. That midnight gaze fixed on your open palm. Slowly, he crept his large hand up and brought it to yours, strong fingers caressing your palm. You held your breath as he steadily entwined his fingers with yours, hand sliding across your own. You squeezed lightly in assurance, your eyes falling shut.

Before the throes of sleep could claim you, a gentle caress to your conscience pulled you back.

Can I hold you?

The whispered request was nearly lost in the haze between waking and dreams, but you would always come back for that voice. Beyond words, you pushed your consent to Rhysand’s mind.

Strong arms gently slid around you, pulling your back to a hard chest. Your synced breathing within that warm embrace finally lulled you to a peaceful sleep.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

Light filtering through the window assaults your eyes, bringing with it the realities of the morning. You stretch like a cat in the sun, silken sheets sliding across your bare legs. You hadn’t slept like that in years, Cauldron, centuries even. The sweet haze lingering from your sleep washed away once you noticed the empty—albeit still warm—bedside. You quickly sat up only to be interrupted by Rhysand waltzing in through the doors, breakfast in hand.

“Good morning, darling. I hope you’re hungry—I’m loving the bedhead by the way.” He swooped over to the bed, deftly handling the large tray in hand as he settled back beside you. You swiftly patted your hair down, “Yes, good morning Rhysand.”

Your dry tone didn’t damper Rhys’s wide smirk one bit. He was glowing this morning with an air of contentment; the full night's sleep had done him well.

He gestured to the amalgamation of various foods before you, “I wasn’t sure what you would be craving, so I grabbed a little bit of everything.” The delicious smell wafted before you, your stomach grumbling without consent.

“If this is how I’m treated, I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” You popped a berry into your mouth, relishing its succulent flavour.

“Consider it a thank you,” You paused, buttered toast halfway to your mouth, at Rhysand’s words, “For giving me, perhaps, the best sleep I have had in my five centuries.”

The earnest look in his eyes prompted you to butter your toast more vigorously, hoping he would miss the rosy flush seeping across your features.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never slept better either,” You smiled gently, hoping to not sound too heartfelt in your admission, “And there is no reason to thank me, Rhys. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You held your breath at the candid confession, praying he did not understand the real meaning behind your words.

Instead, his chest swelled with emotion. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a swift kiss to your hair.

“All the more reason for me to thank you, darling.”

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The next few weeks continued much like that night; you would both lounge around in the evening and then retire to bed. Only, your inclination towards one another had become irresistible. The moment you got beneath the covers, you found yourself instinctually reaching for Rhysand’s embrace. Often, he held you close, your head poised at his soft neck. Occasionally, on the more difficult nights, you would swaddle Rhys tightly to your chest, caressing his hair as he was lulled to sleep by your steady heartbeat.

However much you enjoyed your time in bed with Rhysand, you couldn’t deny the increasing difficulty with which to hide your escalating feelings. What were once mere fleeting glances, were now lingering stares; no dark circles were to be found on his handsome face, his beaming grin a drug that would surely consume you. Rather than have the moments together soothe your ache like a balm, you only craved his attention more so.

As you both fell into your usual routine for the night and settled under the covers, you finally ripped the bandage from the festering wound.

“I think I may sleep in my bed beginning tomorrow night.”

Rhysand’s body froze beneath your touch, his arms still only half around you. Quickly, you continued, “Your nightmares seem to have passed—which I am eternally grateful for—therefore I don’t see any reason why I should continue to sleep here.” With you, the words didn’t need to be spoken; they loomed in the air around you.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke, “Why not?”

You gasped as he seized you closer to his chest. His breath was heaving while he squeezed you tighter in his arms. You quashed the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, reluctant to hurt your feelings further.

You sighed, eyes closing, “Again, there is no reason–”

“I want you here. With me. That is the reason why you should stay.”

You audibly swallowed, taking his words with a grain of salt. Your voice took on a placating tone as you lightly placed your palms on his chest, “I understand that you’re worried about the nightmares–”

“Darling, you understand nothing,” You stared, dumbfounded at his earnest tone.

“The agony of lost sleep pales in comparison to the loss of your presence. There is nothing more that I desire than having you here next to me as I fall asleep and as I wake. Seeing your radiant face every morning—I feel like the luckiest male in the world. And I am greedy; for your touch, your time…” He shook his head, putting his forehead to yours, “I know I am asking much of you since—”

You surged forward and placed a passionate kiss on his lips. His lashes fluttered before he was pushing back with just as much fervour. You pressed your body tighter against his, feeling the contours of his body moulding perfectly to your own. You wanted him closer—had you been one body right now, it would not have been enough. He thought he was greedy? He had no concept of the depth of your selfish desires, only scraping the surface with this ardent kiss.

You pulled back, breathless and entirely at his mercy, “You could ask for all the stars in the night sky and I would scorch my hands to deliver them to you,” He brushed his nose against your own, your swollen lips lightly caressing, “There is no limit to what I can give you Rhysand, if only you’ll let me.”

His violet eyes shone with disbelieving wonder as if he was undeserving of your affections. Rhys kissed you gently; this kiss held a promise that the others lacked. It was a promise of love, of reverence, of total, utter devotion. Your heart soared in your chest and for once, you let it; a caged bird finally tasting freedom.

That same gentle presence filled your mind once again.

I would be honoured, darling.

The message was bundled in the gossamer enormity of his feelings for you. With your heart content, you whispered under the cover of silky night,

“The honour will always be mine.”

Final Notes: Anything for my bbg Rhys <3 (Can you tell I recently rewatched Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time?) Hope you all liked it!

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x you #rhys x you #rhysand/reader #rhys/reader #rhysand #rhys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acomaf #acowar #acosf #cherhys

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itsphoenix0724 · 1 year

Text

Tickle My Strings (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel becomes a regular guest at your performances, and when you take a trip back to your house, you find the two of you have a lot more in common than you thought.

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex, creepy interaction with a drunk man

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Hey everyone!! I hope you've all been well! We hit 100 followers which is really exciting! I can't believe 100 of you like my work enough to follow and I really appreciate it because sometimes I'm still convinced everything I write is awful lol. I wanted to take my time and write something I was really proud of for you guys. This work is heavily inspired by Annapatsu's cover of "Why Don't You Do Right" which I linked so give it a listen for the vibes! This is set about 50 years before Feyre and all the UTM stuff. I hope you enjoy and as always constructive criticism is welcome!

After all these centuries, Azriel still doesn’t know why he allows himself to be dragged to Rita’s every weekend.

He never particularly enjoyed clubbing.

Rhys and Cassian always found some female to entertain them for the night. They teased Az relentlessly because he hardly ever went home with anyone.

He figured most of them were too scared to approach his brooding form in whatever corner he hunkered down in.

However, they always convinced him to attend. And though he hated to admit it, spending time with his family was always pleasant.

The excuse Mor had used to get him to attend this time was the promise of a new live performer. Recently, Rita’s started offering a cabaret night every Friday, and she insisted on dragging the whole Inner Circle every week.

So that was how Azriel found himself crammed into their regular booth, surrounded by the dim lighting and a drink in his hand.

Twinkling notes played on the piano as a bright light shined on you overhead. You had to have had some kind of magic because once you stood up the piano kept playing.

You took a breath in and your voice flooded the space around the bar. It traveled to Azriel’s ears like smoke weaving through the trees. He figured you had to be part siren as you wandered through the crowd, still singing the enchanting song. His eyes tracked you as you plucked a rose from one of the table's centerpieces, singing into it as you stalked through the booths.

You finally stopped at the Inner Circle’s section and your eyes locked with Azriel’s from across the table. He saw the mischief light in your eyes as you hopped up on the table in front of him, and used the rose you were holding to tickle his nose before your voice dropped into a more sensual part of the song.

He could see Cassian and Rhys out of the corner of his eye each sporting shit-eating grins as you sang to him.

Azriel was trying very hard not to stare at your chest, which happened to be directly eye-level with him, before you lifted his chin with one hand and tucked the rose behind his ear.

Hopping down from the table, you swayed your hips with ease, stalked back to the stage like a jungle cat, and sent the Shadowsinger one last wink over your shoulder. Azriel’s whole face was on fire, cheeks as red as one of Cassian’s siphons, as he stared open-mouthed at your form on the stage. Mor finally snapped him out of it, reaching over to snap his jaw shut as his brothers burst into laughter from his other side. Your song ended, and the whole bar shook with applause. He can see you send him a dazzling smile before you disappear behind the curtain.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was your fourth performance and every time you got off the stage you still felt the rush of adrenaline.

You began to notice regulars coming to see you, you can’t deny it did stroke your ego that the High Lord’s table had returned for you every Friday.

Slumping in the small dressing room chair, you finally let your perfect posture drop after holding it for so long on stage.

You sigh in relief as you pull the pins holding your hair in the updo, and wipe away the leftover makeup you applied for the stage. Changing out of the skin-tight dress and into a loose sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder with a pair of fleece-lined leggings you packed your bag to go home.

Ducking out of the Staff door at Rita’s you started making your way towards your small apartment.

You didn’t live on the best side of the City. It wasn’t a slum, but being a singer was hard and you didn’t make the most money from the gigs you’ve managed to pick up.

Rita’s was by far the best-paying job you got yet even if it was on the other side of town. You had plans to eventually move into the Rainbow, Velaris’s infamous artist district, but that was still a long way away and your little apartment would do for now.

Plus you liked all the strays that hung around your building because you wouldn’t get so lonely.

You had successfully made it most of the way back to your apartment before you heard a whistle call behind you. You tried to ignore it, pushing on through the final stretch to your apartment.

“Hey, Beautiful! Where you going huh?” The drunk voice called closer behind you and you felt the chill deep in your bones. Your steps hurried across the cobblestones, but you heard heavier footsteps chasing you. You were about to round the corner when you felt an arm catch the corner of your elbow. “Hey, slow down don’t run away.” The smell of stale liquor wafts your senses as you struggle to stop from gagging.

“Leave me alone,” you snarl, and attempt to yank your arm out of his grip. He holds strong and tries to pull you back into his chest. You struggle for a moment before you feel something snake around your leg and another figure materializes out of the shadows.

“I believe she asked you to leave her alone,” The other voice ran through your ears like black silk. Like death itself.

You can see the imposing figure over the shoulder of the drunk male. Two massive wings tower over the already massive figure. Your savior steps out of the shadows, and that’s when you recognize him.

The High Lord’s friend. The male you teased during your first performance. The Spymaster of the Night Court.

“Hey man,” the drunk male stumbled through a 180, turning around to face the Spymaster. You saw his body tense and he dropped the death grip on your elbow immediately. You saw Azriel smile at the fear on the other man’s face, nodding his head in the other direction. The male scrambled back down the alleyway he came from and you saw Azriel smile at his retreating form before calmly and slowly approaching you.

“Are you alright,” his voice now is nothing like the way he spoke to other male earlier. It was softer now, almost gentle. He used the same tone you used to try to coax the scared stray cats that live behind your apartment. Azriel’s hands were tucked into his pockets, and it looked like he was trying to hide behind the fringe of his hair to make himself look as small as possible.

“I am now, thanks to you.” You offered him a small smile, and he took that as an encouragement to move a little closer to you. “I saw you at the show tonight. Were you following me?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and you can see the light pink tint rise to his golden cheeks.

“I wanted to talk to you after your performance, so I waited for you to leave. I couldn’t work up the courage, but I noticed you heading towards a more dangerous area of the city and I wanted to make sure you got home safe,” the red on his cheeks turned an even brighter fire red, and you could see his hands shifting around in his pockets. “I’m realizing now that that sounds extremely creepy, I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you to your night.” He nods at you and whips around to walk the other way down the street. You see him stretch his glorious wings to take off into the sky.

“Wait!” you call out just in time. Azriel turns his head back around and you hurry to close the distance between the two of you. You stop in front of him and Az shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. Standing this close he’s so tall you have to crane your neck to look up at him. “While I don’t appreciate being followed, you did save my ass back there. Would you mind walking me the rest of the way home? I can make you a cup of tea as a thank you, and I don’t trust there won’t be more creeps out at this time of night.” Azriel considers for a moment before dipping his head at you, motioning with his pocketed hand for you to keep walking. The two of you walk in comfortable silence the rest of the way back to your apartment building. When you reach the front door, you unlock it and gesture for him to make his way inside.

Your apartment was a bit small. It only had two main sections, a combined living room and kitchen, and your bedroom and bathroom. You noticed Azriel tuck his wings close to his body, and you suppose it wouldn’t be the most comfortable fit for him.

You did really have a lot of stuff crammed into quite a small space.

The kitchen was overfilling with herbs and pots and pans, and the living room was overrun by plants and your piano. You could barely squeeze in the small sofa and overflowing bookshelf due to the amount of space it took up.

Even if the amount of space was questionable you still liked to think you made the space feel like home.

“So, I realized I’ve not properly introduced myself.” Azriel’s voice called again as you ducked and weaved through your kitchen. “I’m Azriel by the way, but you can call me Az if you like” You almost snorted as you dug your kettle out from the drawer underneath the sink and filled it up with water.

“I know who you are.” was your reply, and you saw Azriel’s cheeks flush again. For the fearsome shadow singer of Velaris, he sure is easy to fluster. He looks a little uncomfortable so you do your best to offer him a comforting smile before you tell him your name. He repeats your name back to you in a tone that makes your heart skip a beat. “Anyway,” you clear your throat. “I’ll fish out the rest of the stuff for tea, feel free to make yourself at home.” Az sends you a small smile before moving to wander around in your living room.

“Um,” Az stutters for a second, grabbing your attention from where you were digging for sugar. “I believe someone wants in.” His voice sounds slightly amused, and you walk over to see what he’s looking at. Sure enough, you spot the straggly black cat perched on your fire escape looking as grumpy as he always does.

“Oh, that would be Winston,” You reach around Azriel to yank the old window open and Winston the cat struts inside the apartment like he pays the rent here. He rubs through your leg once before sitting infront of the hearth, glaring up at the two of you.

“Is he yours?” He eyes the cat with a bit of unease, and you shake your head before laughing slightly. Wrestling the window shut you turn around coming chest to chest with the Spymaster. You can feel the slight flush rise to your cheeks as Azriels stumbles to get out of your way, his wings almost knocking over one of your plants in the process. You walk to the kitchen, the stray following hot on your heels as you fill a bowl of milk. The old cat purrs in approval as he jumps up on the counter to enjoy the treat.

“He’s not mine, not really.” You scratch behind the cat’s ears affectionately. “This building has a lot of strays, and I leave food out for them most of the time. Winston’s a bit of a grumpy asshole, but he’s very sweet once he warms up to you.” You shoot Azriel a bashful smile before you resume plundering your kitchen, now in search of some tea leaves. You hear Azriel let out a laugh, and it sounds like music to your ears. Finishing the two mugs of tea, and collecting a small tray of sugar and honey you and Az make your way over to the couch. With a wave of your hand, you light the fireplace. The two of you get comfortable on the couch and you dump a spoonful of sugar in your tea before mixing it in. You watch in horror as Azriel dumps what can only be considered an absurd amount of sugar into his tea. “Dear god, how can you even drink that?” a laugh bubbles out of your chest, and he laughs too stirring the contents of his cup.

“I have a preference for sweet things,” He leans back on the couch truly finally making himself comfortable. You both fall into an easy rhythm, and before you know it you’ve been chatting curled on your couch for hours. You’re on the last mug of tea the pot could hold, and the clock tucked on your side table reads well past one in the morning. “I do have a question for you though,” he raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip. You take a moment to admire him in the candlelight of your apartment. You think he might be the most beautiful male you’ve ever seen, features reminding you of the marble statues you’ve seen carved at the rainbow. You nod your head at him in encouragement to ask his question, resting your mug on your lap to give him your full attention. “What kind of magic is this,” He gestures to the fireplace, and you understand where he’s coming from.

“Well my great great grandmother was a witch.” you see his eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he leans forward to listen more intently. “I don’t have any world-shaking power or anything, but I can do small things like object manipulation. Light the fire, turn out the candles before bed, stir a mug of tea.” You twirl your finger for emphasis and the spoon resting in Azriel’s mug starts to spin before you drop your hand and it rests back against the rim. The wonderstruck look on his face encourages you to explain further. “The piano took me a while longer to learn. I have to keep the back of my mind constantly focused on the notes, so it can be a bit hard to concentrate on singing sometimes. But, it’s worth it because I love interacting with people during my shows. It just makes the performance that much more special for me and the crowd I’m performing for.” You realize you may have been rambling and you send him an embarrassed smile.

“I think that’s wonderful.” Azriel offers you in a whisper and you feel like a flock of wild birds is threatening to break free of their cage in your stomach. His eyes are so intense, the gold almost entirely drowns out the other colors under the candlelight. You almost wish you had been blessed with the ability to paint instead of sing. You could spend hours trying to get the color right and you still don’t think you’d ever be able to capture it accurately. You find yourselves drifting closer to each other and you swear he can hear your heart thudding against your ribs like a metronome. He’s so close you can smell him, night-chilled mist and cedar, you see his eyes dart down to your lips and you tilt your chin up in permission. Your eyes just slip shut when you feel a sudden pressure on your lap. You and Azriel both jump in surprise as you find Winston sitting there with his owlish eyes fixed on you. Dumbfounded, you snap out of your previous trance as he yowls for attention. You rub your tired eyes with the back of one hand before scratching behind his ears with the other. The cat lets out a contented purr and Azriel playfully shakes his head in disbelief.

“I should probably get this cleaned up.” You rise from the couch and you almost swear Az’s hand reaches for you as you get up. Winston, thoroughly disgruntled, moves to the seat next to Azriel.

“I can help you if you like,” He stands up, almost bumping into you as you gather the empty mugs. He attempts to take the tray before you bat his hands away and scoop it up. He is your guest after all.

“I got it don’t worry.” You shoot him a sweet smile, and he nods at you before he takes to wandering around your living room again. You rinse both of the mugs carefully and scrub out the teapot. Looking into your living room you see the cat sprawled in the middle of your couch and Az peering at the titles on your bookshelf. You hum to yourself as you continue to scrub the dishes, you want to do it now before it leaves residue stuck to the bottom of the dishes. You see Azriel move over to your piano and almost absentmindedly play a few notes along to the tune you were humming. You abandon the dishes and silently step through the living room in a way that could rival the Spymaster, as he continues to mess around with the piano. “It seems you’ve been holding out on me.” Azriel jumps away from the piano with an almost guilty look on his face.

“My mother taught me how to play,” He sends you a sad smile as you move to stand next to him. “I wasn’t allowed to see her often, but she would teach me a few things when she could.” His eyes drift down to his scarred hand on the keys, and he flexes and opens his hand with a conflicted expression on his face. You reach down to cover his hand with your own and squeeze, the keys make an ugly sound with the pressure but you’re only distantly aware of it. Azriel stares at your hands for a moment before his eyes drift back to your face, darting to your lips again. Once more, you dip your chin in agreement. Azriel’s other hand gently cups your cheek for a moment as he admires you. The rough texture is a contrast against the smooth skin of your face, and you can feel the drag as he moves his hand down to cup your chin.

He waits for one moment, two, before your eyes flutter shut and he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Your hands shoot to the silky black hair and wind through the strands curling at the back of his neck before tugging lightly. This seems to urge Azriel on and he wraps his free arm around your hip like a vice before dragging you closer. You can taste the tea on his lips, and something else you can only assume is uniquely Az. He’s kissing you like he would rather have you than oxygen, and you find yourself echoing that sentiment.

You don’t think you could stop kissing him even if the moon came crashing down from the night sky.

You nip at his bottom lip, and you’re rewarded with a loan groan from deep in his throat. He urges you back against the piano, and you lean your hands down to brace yourself against the keys. The noise it makes grates against your ears, but you’re too enthralled with Azriel to care as he hoists you on top of the instrument. The crash must’ve scared the cat because you can distantly hear four paws hit the floor before padding into the dark sanctuary of your bedroom. You find your way to Az’s hair again and this time you pull a little harder, one of his hands finds the curve of your ass and squeezes. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and it feels like he’s trying to swallow the whine you couldn't bite back. His mouth moves to brush kisses over your jawline, and when his teeth graze over your pulse point your hips cant up in answer.

It almost feels like a song, your two bodies moving perfectly together, pushing and pulling in perfect harmony. Kicking your piano bench back, Azriel advances again pushing you to lean fully on the piano as he kisses down your body and kneels before you on the floor. He wastes no time, yanking down your pants and underwear in one go. He licks one strong stripe up your center before letting out a moan that echoes through your apartment and dives in again. You start to get dizzy as you writhe against the piano, pulling his hair, drunk with pleasure.

It’s then that you notice a pattern of what he’s doing.

A line up, a line down, a stripe across. A zigzagged line. A line up, a curve, a diagonal line. Another straight line before his tongue swirls around your clit. A straight line across and a curve around. Another straight line, and then the pattern repeats itself.

It takes your hazy mind a second to realize what he’s doing, but when you do you flush from the tips of your ears down to your toes. You rise onto your elbows, eyes shooting open to find Azriel staring right at you with a smug look in his eyes.

That cocky bastard was spelling his fucking name.

That fact alone almost makes you finish on his tongue as you collapse back against the instrument. The smooth surface is a welcome chill against your steadily climbing body temperature. You feel one finger rise to circle your entrance. He’s playing with you like a toy, teasing but not giving you what you want.

“Look at me,” he growls into the air, one finger plunging in and curling to find the sweet spot inside of you. You try, but your eyes fall open and closed as he abuses that position, he even looks amused at your weak attempts to concentrate. “I’m not going to let you finish unless you can look at me while you do it,” His rough voice feels like velvet dragging over your skin. “Come on beautiful I know you can,” your eyelids feel like they weigh one thousand pounds, but you need to come right now or you might explode. It takes all your effort to pry your eyes open and look him straight in the eye. He pays you with another finger inside of you and drops his head back down to your core. Somehow, you keep your eyes on him the whole time, and he lifts his head briefly to mutter a “Good fucking girl” against your thigh.

That’s what sends you over the edge, burning hot ecstasy shoots through your whole body as you hurtle into oblivion. Your legs are shaking when he rises, and his hand rubs a soothing circle into the meat of your hip. He leans down to press gentle kisses into your neck as you recover.

“Can you go another round?” He whispers into your ear, perfectly content to give you pleasure and get nothing in return. He could deal with the painful hard-on in his pants later. You nod your head with enthusiasm and Azriel almost sags in relief. Your hands find the laces on his pants and rip as you leave a trail of lovebites down his neck. You hold him in your hand as you pump it up and down. His head lulls back as you run your thumb over his tip. You guide him into you slowly, and he lets you adjust as he sinks in inch by glorious inch. He waits for a moment when he’s fully seated inside of you, and he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky before he starts to move. He picks up the pace, pulling almost all the way out before slamming the full length of him back in.

You can feel yourself start to build to a second high, and Azriel can feel the way you're clamping around him. He reaches a hand around to rub tight circles against your clit and one of your legs rises to the keys, making another loud crash of notes so that Az can get a better angle. You drag Azriel closer to you and he hits the sweet spot inside of you again that makes you scream causing your nails to run down his back, leaving angry red marks in your wake. You finish for the second time like a blazing symphony, the rushing in your ears so loud your surroundings are almost entirely gone. Azriel follows you soon after that, his whole body tenses, and the moan he releases may very well be imprinted on your brain forever. The two of you sit there- hot, sweaty, and panting- as you stare at each other. Azriel gently helps you down from the piano and you thank him before offering to let him stay the night. He enthusiastically obliges and you fall asleep with his arm thrown around your waist.

You wake the next morning to an empty bed and the smell of bacon coming from your kitchen. Padding out of your bedroom you are greeted with the glorious sight of a shirtless Azriel over your stove, and a pleased-looking Winston perched on the counter next to him.

“What are you making?” You circle your arms around Azriel’s waist and he tenses before relaxing into your touch.

“Just some eggs and bacon. I was going to surprise you in bed, I hope you don’t mind I raided your kitchen” You smile into his back, pressing a kiss to the strong cord of muscle that runs along his shoulder. Before scratching the cat behind his ears.

“Not at all, I see you’ve made friends this morning.” You raise your eyebrow at Az and he shoots you and the cat an amused expression.

“I had to bribe him with a piece of bacon,” this sends you both tumbling into a fit of laughter. After that, you two eat breakfast mostly in comfortable silence, and Azriel gets dressed before leaving with a promise to take you out properly next Saturday.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As Azriel arrived at the training ring the first thing he heard was Cassian’s bark “You’re late!” before he threw himself into training. He had sparred with Cassian and with Rhys, and the Verlaris sun was making him sweat buckets. Excusing himself for a water break he peeled off the soaked shirt, tossing it to the chaise usually occupied by Mor. He distantly heard Cas and Rhys stop fighting but he paid it no mind until he heard Rhysand’s voice call behind him.

“So that’s why you were late to training this morning,” Rhys sounded amused and he turned around to find both of his brothers staring at him with cocky smiles on their faces. It was then that Azriel remembered you had scratched down his back the night before. He had been so lost in pleasure that he hadn’t even felt it, but apparently, it had left a mark.

“Was it the singer? I bet it was the singer.” came Cassian’s unneeded input. Evidently, the way Azriel ducked his head to hide the flush smile and the aversion of their gazes was answer enough for them.

He didn’t care about his brothers’ teasing. He would take being teased for 100 more years if it meant he got to see you again this weekend.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar imagine #acosf fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel smut

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ladydeath-vanserra · 9 months

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in all seriousness, Beron in the HL Meeting was so interesting to read. One of the things I've always enjoyed about fae in literature is how they use words as weapons, when they know what to say, how to say it to get the reaction they want

as instigative and callous as Beron was in the HL Meeting, he raised legitimate questions. even if he was a dickhead while he did it.

judging by his first response to Feyre, he does not believe them. Beron is very old. He's *seen* Rhys in action. He *knows* Rhys' father. He *knows* Keir. Beron reads like a very old school fae

Look at how Lucien speaks. He speaks in an almost poetic "Gentry Fae" way. Eris speaks in a very similar way. It'd stand to reason they got this particular trait from their upbringing with Beron as a father

Beron, who is very old, who has seen Rhys in all his evil mask-ery with his apartheid state court, who he was UtM with, who knew Rhys' father and was political allies with Keir, why *would* he believe that Rhys is actually this progressive and just and good fae male. why *would* he believe that Rhys was her victim all along. it fits a rather convenient time frame

I am not reading Beron "making fun of Rhys being raped". I am reading a cruel and capricious *faerie* toying with someone who has a long history of being a *liar*

He has a point in that ofc Feyre, who gave the name of an innocent girl, who is now in a relationship with the man who sexually assaulted her, isn't exactly a reliable source of information. *Why* would he believe her

I am not reading Beron making fun of Rhys being raped with the "who knew a cock could be so persuasive". I am reading a cruel faerie looking at a set of circumstances that conveniently leaves Rhys' hands clean of the deaths of a dozen kids

all they have to go on is Rhys' word. He doesn't even provide a name of the Daemati who Amarantha set after them. Beron is very old. I don't exactly see him as someone who is gonna just *trust* what Rhys has to say when he also has alliances with Keir in the CoN, who aren't allowed out from underneath that mountain or into Velaris

Why *would* he believe him when Rhys has a five hundred year old track record of being evil incarnate in the Night Court

Yes. I find it hilarious, in a very entertained way, of reading a cruel and capricious old faerie high lord poke and prod at someone he does not believe because he has no reason To believe him. It reads like a cat playing with a mouse, to me. Like dragging the actual truth out of Rhys (granted we know it's the truth. doesn't mean Beron does). Is it okay? OBVIOUSLY NOT

that doesn't mean I didn't find it interesting and enjoyable to read

@kateprincessofbluewhales

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #>:/#beron vanserra #anti rhysand

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

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The Thing About Mor

I'm gonna say this and then I'm gonna shut up about it.

I don't think it's necessarily the fandom's fault for the way they read Mor, just as a disclaimer. Nor am I saying you are required to like her. Please reread those sentences before we continue.

The thing about Mor is that she's originally set up to be both a foil to the traditionalism of the Spring Court and a counterpart to Feyre's friendship with Lucien. Feyre is immediately struck by Rhys naming not Cassian or Azriel- who seem terrifying to her- as his second in command, but Mor.

Mor is also placed directly between Cassian and Azriel in what I think was originally supposed to be some kind of love triangle for the three, with the ultimate pairing as Mor and Azriel. I think the narrative of ACOMAF sets Mor and Azriel up as potential mates just waiting on a snapping bond, with Cassian as maybe her first choice given how she slept with him as a teenager.

Throughout ACOMAF, we see Mor as someone who can hold her own against the men in her lives. When they go to Hybern, Mor is the only warrior left standing and is the one who ultimately rescues them. She's also the person Rhys trusts to get Feyre in the Spring Court (ignoring the strange "politics" of why Rhys' second-in-command can break into Tamlins manor but the High Lord can't).

She is ALSO the person who goes to Feyre once Feyre realizes Rhys wasn't honest about the bond, and she's the one who asks "would it really be so bad to join our family?"

I don't know what changed for SJM. I think the nessian of it all ended whatever potential love triangle might have happened with Cassian-Mor-Azriel, and I've heard rumors she was getting a lot of pressure to make her stories more diverse (who was asking SJM, of all people, to tell a compelling queer story?). Regardless, somewhere between ACOMAF and ACOWAR, Mor's trajectory changes.

This is seen so clearly with the rise of Eris who, up until ACOWAR, is an undisputed villain in the story. Not just Lucien's story, but the story as a whole. We're told he holds Jesminda down while Beron beheads her, and he participates in tracking Lucien down with the intent to kill him. He gleefully watched Lucien tortured in the second trial UTM, and is willing to give up Feyre's name to Amarantha IF he knew it.

And in the beginning of ACOWAR, Eris is still the villain. He chases Lucien and Feyre across multiple courts at the behest of his father, presumably to hold Feyre ransom back to Tamlin in exchange for who knows what, and see Lucien executed. Eris's cruelty on the ice sets up a truly cinematic moment for Cassian and Azriel to come swooping in and save the day, and once again highlights our good guys (Lucien especially) and our bad guys.

And I do feel like somewhere in this passage, SJM falls in love with Eris and begins to give him the Rhys treatment at the EXPENSE of Mor. Rhys, who we're told, respects Mor over nearly everyone, unilaterally decides that they're going to trust Eris. There is no discussion to be had here. I think this creates a specific moment for readers to be like, okay well if Rhys did this without talking to Mor, then maybe he doesn't trust her. I don't even think its an explicit thought- but implicitly, whatever Eris shared with Rhys is enough to convince him of Eris's goodness over Mor's hatred. And I think that lends itself to a lot of the "maybe she's lying" theories that come about, ESPECIALLY after ACOSF and Eris telling Cassian that there was more that happened than Mor has shared with them.

Additionally, Mor is supposed to oversee Hewn City which means this deal SHOULD have included her because Kier's Darkbringers are part of her jurisdiction, but unless I misremember, this deal is brokered by Rhys, Eris, and Kier. So Mor's position in Hewn City feels ceremonial-I think this is partly because SJM ascribes to a very narrow definition of masculinity and power, and even though Rhys claims to share it, what she shows us does not match with the telling. Rhys decides what happens in Hewn City and he can make decisions without Mor's input so what's she even doing down there besides acting like decoration?

This is also where, I think, a lot of people get frustrated and confused because the "court of dreamers" are sold to us as a family. And in the confession between Mor and Feyre, we suddenly learn Mor is afraid to come out to the people she claims are her closest family. In our current understanding of the world and what it often means to be queer, your found family are supposed to be your safe people, the people you can be unapologetically yourself with ESPECIALLY when your blood relatives reject you. And here Mor is, telling us she is too afraid to come out to the point she sleeps with men specifically to keep Azriel off her back (unclear how that's helping) AND to not arouse suspicion.

So like- it's not a leap to understand why the fandom writes Mor off as a liar or someone that can't be trusted because SJM has inconsistently applied her personality in order to suit her narrative versus telling a consistent story with consistent characterizations. The fandom is left to string it all together and creative a cohesive story and I do think the problem with that is we don't agree.

Interpretations of the text vary, so on one end you have "I think Mor is lying because the narrative, whether it means to or not, is implying Mor shouldn't be trusted. Rhys no longer trusts her and is keeping secrets for her, and its through Rhys we're told Eris CAN be trusted." and on the other its "Mor isn't responsible for the men around her and is held to a different standard than the other characters who are better fleshed out (in part because they're associated with a man)."

Again, a lot of this is speculation. I don't know what SJM's true original plans were, nor can I speak with 100% authority why she changed them. I can say that SJM is notorious, across all her works, for changing motivations and characterizations to fit her narrative and that ACOTAR feels the most egregious. I don't think she ever had a solid plan for ACOTAR beyond the feysand romance, and everything else has been slapped together based on how she feels in the moment, which leads to a lot of the arguments and frustrations we currently experience around most of the characters, honestly.

#it has been a long time since i wrote anything like this in the fandom- i had to turn the reblogs off the cassian one #I know we all joke that SJM will do whatever she wants regardless of her own set up story but like #i do think it becomes frustrating because it creates all these disjointed pieces #and it causes these arguments that get vented toward other fans vs the real villain (the author)#sjm critical

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starsreminisce · 3 months

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Tell me when you knew,” (Lucien) demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

I chose not to answer.

“Was it going on before you even left?”

I whipped my head to him, even if I could barely make out his features in the dark. “I never touched Rhysand like that until months later.”

“You kissed Under the Mountain.”

“I had as little choice in that as I did in the dancing.”

“And yet this is the male you now love.” HE IS SO REAL FOR ALL OF THIS

Lucien is literally going through the same thing as Feyre did, and it's easy to forget that Feyre had only just accepted the mating bond a few days before she went back to the Spring Court.

Lucien just received confirmation that his mate wasn't the one his father murdered—the one he was so convinced was his mate that he left his court over it. She never was. Feyre spent a significant portion of ACOMAF waiting for her mating bond to snap with Tamlin and didn't believe that her mate was Rhys because she didn't see herself as his equal.

But the hurt and guilt I expected weren’t there. Lucien slowly released his grip. “I need to find her.” “You don’t even know Elain. The mating bond is just a physical reaction overriding your good sense.” “Is that what it did to you and Rhys?”

This exchange too stood out because of what made Feyre finally figured out that she was mated to Rhys:

Because he’d been injured, and I’d gone out of my mind—absolutely insane—when he’d been taken from me, shot out of the sky like a bird. I’d acted on instinct, on a drive to protect him that had come from so deep in me … So deep in me—

Feyre used both skills she developed when she was human (forever iconic using her scent on Rhys's fingers to track him) and shapeshifting from Tamlin despite her reservations to track him down. This mirrors Lucien using his hidden powers to get to Elain.

Sometimes I do wonder if Lucien started getting doubts that Jesminda was his mate and that's why he became ridden with guilt. Perhaps he started having visions or dreams of Elain after UTM, similar to how Rhys did with Feyre before she came over the wall. He also started to pull away from his usual dallying to put a hard stop on Ianthe. The combination of seeing Feyre die and come back to life because of the mating bond might have forced him to face the truth that Jesminda wasn't his mate. Feyre was resurrected due to the bond, while Jesminda was not.

Lucien was well within his rights to question this. Why was he able to react in such a way for someone he never met before but not for the female he loved? The only person who could have helped him process it would have been Feyre, but I don't think Feyre could explain it in a way that Lucien would understand, especially when it's still new to her. We see this when she asked Rhys why Azriel wasn't Elain's mate, seeing Elain and Azriel sitting quietly together, and knowing Lucien isn't someone like that. It's telling that the more she started to understand being someone's mate and being mated to someone, she never brought up Azriel and Elain again, even in her own POV.

As for Lucien, he finally understood when Elain turned to him and he took in her face. Lucien and Elain will always have this pull towards each other, will always have a tug, will always know the other better than anyone else can compare because they have a literal soul-bridge to each other. But it still takes two people to make it work.

The revelation of the mating was always the confirmation of being endgame. It doesnt matter when it was revealed.

Love this quote, thank you for reminding me!

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #antie/riel #antielriel

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gtm-tracking · 7 months

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Tracking thời gian tương tác trên mỗi trang như thế nào? Bạn có đang gặp khó khăn trong việc thu hút và giữ chân khách hàng trên website của mình? Bạn đã bao giờ tự hỏi điều gì khiến họ rời đi nhanh chóng sau khi truy cập?

Hiểu được hành vi của khách hàng là chìa khóa để tối ưu hóa website và gia tăng tỷ lệ chuyển đổi. Một trong những thông tin quan trọng nhất chính là thời gian tương tác trên mỗi trang. Bài viết này sẽ hướng dẫn bạn cách tracking thời gian tương tác trên mỗi trang, từ đó giúp bạn cải thiện hiệu quả website và thu hút khách hàng tiềm năng.

Xem thêm: https://digitaltrackingonline.blogspot.com/2024/02/tracking-thoi-gian-tuong-tac-tren-moi-trang.html

#google tag manager #tracking #google analytics #utm #utm tracking

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vihaan-digitals · 1 year

Link

#utm tracking

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bunnyshideawayy · 6 months

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i have a theory that feyre could’ve shapeshifted to save herself and the baby during child birth. i don’t think Majada really told Rhys she shouldn’t “even change the color of her hair”.. nothing about how rhysand and the IC acted during the pregnancy plot sits well with me and i fully believe SJM made their shadiness obvious on purpose. yes, i know it’s through nesta’s pov mainly and she doesn’t have a great relationship with any of the IC but y’all forget cassian also had povs and in his povs the IC doesn’t look great either- he even points out how weird it is they have to keep it from feyre but he would never go against rhysand like nesta would. feyre says that much herself.

i think it has a lot to do with Amren’s plan to make Rhysand High King. yes, Amren’s plan. Upon my reread it seems Amren has been plotting something since ACOFAS, which is also why i believe she is so angry at Nesta.

Nesta was traumatized and depressed and yet Amren goes out of her way to tell Nesta what a “waste of life” she has become…ummm you mean a waste of potential? Nesta was often compared to a “death god” and was shown to be powerful, Amren herself said that each sister alone match rhysand in power. but nesta is shown to be very powerful, and potentially more powerful than feyre and rhys with the right training.

Amren heavily pushed Rhysand to consider becoming High King, always conveniently only when Feyre or any of her sisters aren’t around, including mentioning the trove, which yes any of the three sisters can access it but no one can wield those weapons like nesta.

i think Amren’s plan included feyre dying- they’d save the baby but not her- so that Rhys would have an heir and be devastated enough to easily manipulate. what threw the plan off track was learning about the death pact Rhys and Feyre made and Nesta sacrificing most of her power, who i fully believe she intended to use as a weapon. both rhysand and nesta are incredibly powerful in their own rights and had they both been vulnerable and heartbroken after Feyre’s death then i think Amren would’ve used that opportunity to push Rhys into becoming High King, and use Nesta’s power to do so, Nesta would do it too to make it up to Feyre and if Cassian talked her into it- which he would bc Cas and Az both seem to also enjoy the idea of Rhys being High King.

but why? i think it has a lot to do with the plotline going on in CC. we know amren is not of the world of Prythian, she came there thousands of years ago and during the last battle when she takes her true form she is described as a flying bird of light (i can’t rember the exact terminology used) and there are plenty of theories on what amren could really be, why she was sent to prythian, etc. i think she also missed the power. amren has been apart of Rhysand’s court for at least the past 500 years, that entire time she has always been second in command, and she has always had her powers. after the war with hyburn she is no longer a powerful other worldly entity, she is high fae, and i’d argue that Feyre has replaced her in all but name as “second in command” bc let’s face it, they might say feyre has the same respect as HL that Rhys does as HL but we saw how far that respect went when presented with a choice to tell feyre something about her own body+life or keep the secret like Rhys said. also, who was running the court while Rhys was UTM? Amren and the IC..

i haven’t worked out all the kinks of this theory but this should cover the basics ��🏻‍♀️

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shadowqueenjude · 5 months

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For Day 3 of @tamlinweek , I am posting part of my Tamlin fic (Tamlin's Life Story: A Tragedy)! We are told that the mating bond is beautiful and everything everyone should wish for, but I don't believe Tamlin has a very good experience with the mating bond; his own parents were mated and terrible for each other.

So, this is a little dark, but what if Tamlin's mate was Amarantha? It would explain her obsession with him. Tamlin, by rejecting Amarantha in that little gathering (right before she took the High Lords' powers), rejected the mating bond and incited rage in Amarantha. What was it like for Tamlin when he first met Amarantha, when he was forced to be with her UTM, and after he killed her? Full fic can be found here: TW: mild descriptions of child SA, violence, angst

He still dreamt of it. When he was just a child, and he'd seen the Hybern general for the first time. Red hair with streaks of black, like her hair had been soaked with so much blood that it had mostly changed color, the streaks the only remnant of her that hadn't been corrupted. When he'd longed for acceptance from his father, receiving nothing but the barbed whip across his back for being a failure of a courtier, for playing his fiddle for the handsome Night Court lord he couldn't help but love, Amarantha had spoken to him.

She'd embraced him and told him he was worth every last bit of Prythian, and their mating bond had clicked in. So what if she caressed his chest far too possessively to be casual? So what if she grabbed him through his pants, sometimes squeezing hard enough to cause pain? She had told him he was valuable. That was more than his father ever did. The scars on his back were so numerous that nobody would be able to count them. But while Amarantha left bruises, none of them stayed.

It was only when she'd tried to strip him that he'd begged her to stop. He told her he was too young, that he was scared, that he had no idea what he was doing, that he wasn't comfortable with a sexual relationship at this point in time. In her rage, she'd ripped his antlers out with her bare hands and carved out his abdomen with them. It was only by a miracle that he'd escaped that place. He'd barely made it to his father, who'd saved his life.

Only to give him the worst beating of his life. By the time it was done, Tamlin was crying tears of blood. Yet, that wasn't the worst pain in the world. No, it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in his chest. The golden thread, his last hope for joy in this world, snapped in one moment. The mating bond. He was in such torment that he was sure it would kill him. Unfortunately, he lived. And lived. And lived.

*********************************************************************** He lost track of the days. He couldn't remember his own name. He remembered nothing. At least in his earlier days of pain and abuse and sexual assault and torture, he'd felt something. There was meaning to his life, a hope for better. But now...it was an endless sea of agony. There were no coherent thoughts in his brain, only a dull, throbbing ache that sought to take him under and finish it. He wished it would. He prayed that the yawning blackness would simply embrace him. Unfortunately, it didn't. It was almost worse this way, that he'd gotten the taste of what it was like to have the semblance of a happy life, only to have it ripped away from him at the last moment.

He tried to remember something, anything, to make him keep going. Feyre, a phantom voice sometimes whispered. Lucien. But the burning pain quickly whisked those words away. He did not understand their significance, anyway. They sounded like made up words. Soon, he stopped trying to remember. He'd forgotten what he was fighting for. Amarantha demanded answers out of him that he couldn't give- she didn't understand that he was broken. Nothing she did to him could break him when he was already in pieces.

Until she came. Until suddenly breath returned to his lungs and he had a reason to breathe again. And reason to be absolutely terrified. He begged her to go, but she didn't. She stood there, bold as brass, and claimed him as her own. And Tamlin had never loved anyone more. He watched her get tortured, and he felt again. Rage and sorrow beyond a human's dizziest daydreams, but it was feeling. When the court had adjourned, Lucien had snuck over to him. His face was pale and ragged, but Tamlin also glimpsed something there he hadn't seen in a while: hope. Just the slightest glimpse of it.

"I swear to you, Tamlin," Lucien whispered, hands on his face, staring into his eyes, clouding Tamlin's senses, "I will do whatever it takes to keep her alive. Everything within my power, I will do it." Oh, Lucien. His bold, brave, selfless Lucien. Tamlin choked out the words, "Thank you." Lucien's face hardened with resolve. "Thank me by never giving in. No matter what happens, don't you dare give up." Tamlin stared into his beautiful mismatched eyes. "I swear it." **********************************************************************

However Tamlin had felt under the mountain, it was gone now.

Now that everything had settled back in, he could feel it. The mating bond threatening to split him in two. He'd rejected his own mate and then he'd killed her. And now it drove him mad at times.

Lucien was no longer enough to help him. He hired Ianthe to help with the wedding preparations, and he tried to forget his pain. He succeeded for the most part, his trauma only coming back to haunt him at night. Amarantha touching him, Lucien's broken back before him, Feyre's neck snapping-

It was the mating bond that bothered him most of the time. It was like a migraine that just wouldn't go away. His temper, which wasn't the best, he could admit, got much worse owing to the constant migraine. But how could he tell anyone his secret shame- that he'd been mated to Amarantha? That there was once a time he'd sought comfort in her?

He couldn't let her train. Ianthe was right. What if they came after her? What if her power drew Rhysand back? He couldn't allow that. He'd heard her neck snap, heard it in his dreams again and again and again and-

"Please, let her train," Lucien pleaded. Tamlin tried to concentrate on him over the roaring in his head. "Let her master this, so that she can protect herself when enemies come."

At the word enemies, Tamlin's entire body seized up. Magic exploded out of him, falling on Lucien and blasting him backward. Lucien glared at him, loathing simmering in his eyes. But he said nothing after that; only walking away before Tamlin could get on his knees and beg for his forgiveness.

#lucien vanserra #tamlin #tamlin week 2024 #feyre archeron #feylin #tamcien #pro tamlin #angst #amarantha

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azrielsshadows42 · 1 month

Text

A Court of Scales and Fire III

Eris Vanserra x Female oc

A/n: so, chapter 3, uhhh, not much to say except there is not alot of Eris in this one, but more of the friendship between Cassian and Y/n, not alot of Everest either.

Note: I couldn't think of a way to integrate this naturally in the story so, Imma just say it here: Everest can increase and decrease in size. By how much? idk yet, we'll figure it out together.

Pronunciations: Eletheria-> El-leh-th-air-ree-ah, Remiel-> Reh-meal, Rajani-> Rah-jah-n-eye, Penitent-> Pen-ni-tint, Amari-> a-maar-ree

Warnings: swearing, mentions of utm, unedited

Word Count: 2.8k Chapter 2 Character Moodboards

Bold + Italics = Mind speak (colour will change depending on who is speaking)

Bold = Ancient language

---Y/n's Pov---

Cassian held me in his arms as he flew us across the forest of the middle. It had been about ten minutes since we'd first lifted off and we hadn't covered much ground. "So, you are from the Night Court, right? And that's where we're going?" I asked looking at him, he looked to be in deep thought, but my question brought him out of his head. "Yes, is that a problem?" Cassian questioned, sincerely wanting to know if that would work for me. For being my almost would be capturer, he's really nice. "No, just, remind me where that is, and perhaps an estimate of how long it will take us to get there, my mission is kinda time sensitive"

He nodded in understanding, then looked up in thought. "Well, the Night Court is the northern most territory of Prythian, so... a while?" I turned the information over in my head for a bit, if memory serves me right, he was telling the truth, but wasn't there this teleportation thing fae people could do here? What was it called? Willowing? Maybe not everyone could do it, or maybe you can only do it for yourself, like you can't take other people with you. "So, what is this mission of yours anyway?"

Cassian quizzed, more to pass the time then for actual interrogation, if his casual tone was anything to judge by. "Just, tracking some fae who made questionable life choices" I sort of side-stepped the question, more so I wouldn't have to repeat myself when we got to our destination. He chuckled at my answer. "Were you sent on this mission alone or-" "Yep" I interrupted him, and I almost winced, I said that way too fast. There was a long stretch of awkward silence between us, only his wing beats and the air whipping around us filled the void.

It started to become downright unpleasant, I needed to say something. "What are you?" I blurted out, Cauldrons what is wrong with me? "I'm an Illyrian" Cassian responds a little confusedly "No, no I meant like, what's your occupation, what do you do for a living?" He stays quiet for a bit, probably thinking how much he should reveal, understandable. "I'm the night court's general" I laughed, man that's funny. He just stared at me, not saying anything "I- What? ...Oh, you're serious? damn" He then laughs as well "Why is that so surprising?" he says with a smile "I think I'm quite intimidating"

"Well...." I trailed off in a high-pitched tone, he gasped in mock offence. "How dare you, I am very intimidating, and I embody the position of General, thank you very much" I stifled my laughter. "You've definitely got the build of a general, it's just, the authoritative tone that strikes fear into the soldiers that hear it is lacking" He huffed and turned his head away with a slight pout. At least he could take a joke, I was starting to like him more and more.

He opened his mouth, about to say some sort of light-hearted retort when he suddenly stopped and looked ahead again. "What's wrong?" what had happened in the three seconds between playful banter and rigid shoulders? Cassian doesn't answer, I go on high alert, if he drops me, I know Everest will be there waiting, she won't let me fall, but then he'd know of her existence, and I don't trust him enough for that.

He glances at me, like I'm something that's going to get him in trouble, and quickly looks ahead again. What the hell? after a few more seconds of silence, he speaks, "That was Rhysand checking in, he says he'll send Mor to come pick us up, get us to the Night Court a lot faster." I do not know who either of those people are, but the name Rhysand sounds familiar, like I definitely should remember it. "How?"

"Mor can winnow" Huh? she's a widow? How is that supposed to help us? He must have read the confusion on my face because he then clarified: "She's going to teleport us there" Ohhhh, she can Willow, that makes much more sense than she's a widow.

He slowly descends into the forest, though we seem to be on the outskirts seeing as the trees had thinned out significantly. Once we landed, Cassian gently put me down. Shadows appeared in front of us for a split second, then they were gone, and in their place stood an absolutely gorgeous high fae in a maroon dress and red lipstick, gold jewellery adorned her wrists and pointed ears. This female is so beautiful, I might just change my sexuality. Gold hair ran over her shoulders in waves. I am certain her hair is what mating bonds are made of.

"Rhysand told me we'd have a guest" she says, directed to Cassian, I knew I was staring, and it's rude, and I should definitely stop but holy shit, I wish I could pull that kind of dress off, the kind that hugs your curves with a slit up to your thigh. She then turns to me "Hi, I'm Morrigan, but just call me Mor, everyone does." I realise that now is the perfect time to break out of my staring "I'm Y/n" She smiles at me. "Well, Y/n, are you ready to see the Night Court" her eyes shone with pride at the mention of her home "Not in the slightest, lead the way!" I respond which earns a small giggle from her. "Cassian, c'mon, or we're leaving you" He makes his way toward us. "Fair warning, there's going to be a long drop" Cassian says to me. "I can handle it" They both look at each other with raised eyebrows but don't comment. "If you're sure"

---Cassian's Pov---Before landing---

"You've definitely got the build of a general, it's just, the authoritative tone that strikes fear into the soldiers that hear it is lacking" I incredulously huffed and turned my head away from her with a fake pout. I'm about to inform her that my voice most definitely does strike fear into any disrespectful soldiers when Rhysand's mental claws scraped down my shields.

It has been more than half an hour since you last checked in Cassian His voice invades my head, sounding a little peeved.

Aww, did you miss me? I could feel the mental eyeroll he sent to me, clearly annoyed by my lack of guilt for not updating him.

Have you found anything? I heard Y/n ask me something, but I didn't catch what, focusing on making sure Rhysand didn't get too frustrated with the results.

You could say that I replied, glancing at the female in my arms because yes, I had found something, it just was not what he was expecting.

Cassian, I don't like the sound of that, what are you trying to say? I could feel her body tense as I continued to ignore her questioning.

I'm saying you should expect some extra company. He sighed deeply.

I'm sending Mor to winnow you, and our new guest here, then I expect an explanation. His voice left my mind, and I turned towards Y/n, her jaw tense, eyes scanning my expression. "That was Rhysand checking in" I explained "He says he'll send Mor to come pick us up, get us to the Night Court a lot faster" I searched for a place to land, which was much easier to find now that we weren't in the heart of a forest. "How?" She inquired, her body relaxing slightly. "Mor can winnow" Y/n looked confused by that. "She's going to teleport us there" She nodded in understanding.

When I landed, Mor was already waiting for us, Y/n was gawking at her, quite obviously, and it took all my self-control to resist laughing. Mor's eyes fixed on me, a hint of amusement shone in them. "Rhysand told me we'd have a guest" I smiled at her a little guiltily and shrugged. They exchanged introductions, then prepared to winnow to the house of wind. "Cassian, c'mon, or we're leaving you" Mor waves me over, just as I get to them, I remember something. "Fair warning, there's going to be a long drop"

She shrugs one shoulder, casually responding "I can handle it". Mor and I regard each other sceptically before facing her again, eventually, Mor relents. "If you're sure"

She places a hand on both of our shoulders, then the world warped, and the stomach-turning sensation of winnowing overcame us. Quick flashes of the territories zoomed by as we went, reaching the house in a matter of seconds. I instinctively caught Mor before she fell, my wings flaring out to catch the wind and slow our descent. Y/n plummeted straight down, but she spread out her arms and legs, increasing her surface area, then transferred the gravitational energy to momentum once she hit the ground, seamlessly falling into a forward roll and standing up again like nothing happened. She turned on her heels toward us, a smile on her face, I had to say, I was impressed, not many could pull off something like that, especially not that smoothly, come to think of it, she also had no problems while we were flying despite how far she could have fallen, she must be used to hights.

Once Mor and I had joined her on the roof, we went inside. Everyone was right there waiting for us, Feyre sitting on the couch, Rhysand standing behind her, Nesta was on the other side, leg crossed over the other, her latest smut novel in hand, nose buried deep, and Azriel stood in the corner, shadows perched on his shoulders. Amren sat on the love seat, so short her head didn't even reach the top of the back rest

Feyre stood from her seat, Rhysand followed, only stopping once he was beside his mate. "Welcome to the Night Court, I am Rhysand, and this is my mate, Feyre" Feyre smiled kindly at Y/n. "That's Amren, my second in command, Azriel, my spymaster and Nesta, Cassian's mate" Rhysand introduced the rest of the inner circle, gesturing to each of them as he said their names. "Who are you?"

"I am Y/n, Y/n L/n"

"Well, Y/n, please follow me"

--- Time Skip ---

Rhysand brought us to the dining room, all of us took a seat, She sat at the edge of the table, I placed myself next to her while Mor sat opposite of her. There was some food placed on the table, light snacks to pick on, everyone else picked off of the plates occasionally, but after what happened I was starving, eating almost two entire platters by myself. Light conversation had been passed around the table, Y/n mostly stayed quite, just listening. Rhysand interlocked his fingers in front of him, leaning his fore arms on the table. The questioning was about to begin.

"Y/n, where are you from?" A nice easy question to start, nothing harsh, but will also tell us if she's from Hybern or one of their allies. "I'm from Eletheria" We all looked around at each other, none of us, not even Az or Amren, knew where that was. "It is a sub-territory of Rask" The atmosphere became tense, every one of us knew that well Rask hadn't joined Hybern in the war, they were inclined to do so. "Rumour of Hybern planning a war to gain humans as slaves again had been floating around for over a century, it created a divide within the population of Rask. Some believed that Hybern was right, and we should ally ourselves with him, others, including King Rajani's brother, disagreed. Decades of debates and small bouts of civil war resulted in the land being divided, Eletheria gained full independence just over six years ago, with his brother, Remiel, as King." she elaborated

The entire inner circle let out a discrete collective sigh of relief, they had not invited an enemy into their home. "If it gained independence over six years ago, why have we not heard of it?" Mor asked with nothing but curiosity, it seemed I'm not the only one who thinks we can trust her. "The King of Rask was not particularly pleased with having to give up some of his power and land, so he has kept quiet about it. More and more refugees are crossing the border, so King Remiel has been occupied with increasing good infrastructure for people to live in. He has not had time to concern himself with putting us on the official map, which is probably a good thing, as to not make Eletheria a target."

Rhysand nodded, agreeing with her statement. "Why are you here, in Prythian?" All eyes fixed upon Y/n, what he really wanted to ask was 'why were you under the mountain?' but this question was safer, in the event that she didn't know what had happened with Amarantha, we would have to explain the fifty years of chaos, and nobody wanted to do that. "I am on a mission for the King"

"What kind of mission?" Az asked, the first words he'd said since we'd arrived. "One of the most abundant gemstones in Eletheria is Opals, recently we have discovered a new vein of them, though these are no regular stones. They have properties, similar to that of the Illyrian siphons, they can store magic. Upon further research, two different types have been found, Amari, and Penitent. It has been revealed that Penitent opals become unstable once imbued, and after one took out half the research facility it was in, an order was sent out to collect them, so no more damage could be done. Most fae gave them over willingly, however an illegal group of weapon smugglers found out about the opals, about what they could do. They began hoarding and stealing any stock they could find. An informant told us that a shipment of opals was sent here. It's my job to find them and return all of the stolen opals back to the crown for safe keeping"

I guess that would explain why this was time sensitive. "Two days ago, in the south, between summer and autumn, there was a power surge, would you know anything about that?" Amren interrogated, piercing eyes locked on her like predator and prey. It sounded almost accusing, I almost wanted to wince at her tone.

Y/n, to her credit showed no signs of discomfort, she looked up thoughtfully, pondering the question. "When I first got here, I found one of the temporary camps I suspect they used, there was only one fae present left to cover their tracks. In his attempt to get rid of me, he set of one of the opals, that might have caused the short power surge you speak of" Amren did not look convinced but refrained from pushing the matter any further.

It was Feyre who spoke next "Mor will show you to your room for the night, feel free to make yourself at home, and don't be afraid to ask for anything" Mor and Y/n stood from the table "Thank you, High Lady" She dipped her head in respect. "Please, call me Feyre" She nodded, then followed Mor down the hall to the guest bedrooms. Once they were out of earshot, I asked "So, how are we gonna help?"

"I'm not sure we should" Azriel admitted, looking toward Cassian. "What do you mean? Of course we should help her!" My voice was filled with incredulity. It just makes sense to help her, so why wouldn't we? "I'm with Cassian on this this one, this could affect us to, dangerous weapons in the wrong hands is not something we need to deal with, we have enough on our plate, better to stop it now before it gets out of hand" Feyre added. She studied Rhysands face to see if he agreed with her statement.

Rhysand considered this for a moment. "Her story makes sense, and if she is telling the truth, then Feyre's right, but she could be lying, especially if she is from a place that's just gained independence, she might be here as a spy to find weaknesses should they ever need it."

I hated to admit that he had a point, but I just feel like we can trust her. I sighed "So what are we going to do?" My eyes fell on Rhysand's violet ones, but he didn't meet my gaze. "We keep an eye on her until we know for certain she is telling the truth, for now, be aware of what you say around her, try not to talk about anything that could be used against us." We dispersed to our respective places, Rhysand, Feyre and Amren returning to their homes, while Az and I went to our rooms, Nesta made her way from the table to the couch and continued reading.

A/n: So, this chapter was supposed to be twice as long as it is, but I need to post an update so, here you go.

Chapter 4

Tag List: @imma-too-many-fandoms , @rcarbo1

#eris vandaddy #acotar #a court of scales and fire #eris vanserra #cassian #eris x oc #acosaf #eris fanfiction #eris fanfic #autumn court #inner circle #night court #feysand #nessian #mor #acotar humour

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