#feysandriel

[polysjmweek]

Poly + ACOTAR Week Prompts 2025

Day 1 - 4/6: Whose court is it anyway?

This can go so many ways! What was your groups courtship like? Who courted who? Are they from different courts, and if so how does that affect their relationship? 

Day 2 - 4/7: Reveal

Who, or what is being revealed? Is it a flirtatious move or a serious conversation? You tell us!

Day 3 - 4/8: Will there be enough room?

Many of our favorite tropes are written with a pairing of two: grumpy/sunshine, golden retriever/black cat, enemies to lovers, the other male/female. How do they change when there’s more than two? How does your group of four or five fit in that inn’s only one bed? Take these tropes and flip them on their heads, or expand them for a larger group!

Day 4 - 4/9: Alternate Universe

Maybe it’s an alternate world, or a retelling of how canon would change if there were a larger romantic group. Perhaps your group is reminiscing on what could have been. What world will your group travel to? 

Day 5 - 4/10: Memories and History

What is your group remembering and why? Maybe it’s a memory of a favorite experience, or a painful one.  Is it a former partner, the day they chose to get together? 

Day 6 - 4/11: Courage

What does courage mean to you, or to your group? Courage to live freely, courage to go on an adventure, courage to try something new? The world is your oyster! 

Day 7 - 4/12: Why Choose?

Welcome to free day! Pick your favorite prompt ideas or tropes and mash them together, or take it literally and create a why choose scenario for your group.

We can't wait to celebrate with you this April! Please feel free to reach out with any questions.

[whisperingmidnights]

What Thrives in the Dark

Rhys/Feyre/Azriel

This is a life, told in pieces. The heir and his lover. The High Lord and his Spymaster. Secrets, swept under the rug. His mate, his High Lady. Theirs. Something sacred, split three ways.

Read on AO3

old habits die screaming

i look in people's windows

the devil you know

[theautumnfox]

Putting Feysandriel in a box and sitting on it like Cleopatra's box of bees

[acourtofladydeath]

Multi/Poly ACOTAR Poll

I'd love to see you comment and/or tag your favorites! I know I personally would struggle to pick just one myself. Let me know if you prefer the pairing as poly or multi as well (poly being they all love each other, multi being one person is the center of all the love). If your favorite option isn't there, please add it in the comments! There wasn't room for an "other" option, but I'm aware there's a lot more possibilities here!

Would be so grateful if you reblogged so this can reach as many people as possible! I've left the poll open for a week to see what results I get. LET ME KNOW ALL YOUR THOUGHTS!

Visit the X Reader sister post here to cast your vote there as well!

[throneofsapphics]

against the contract series masterlist

poly!feysandriel x reader

summary: If they were genuinely bad people, it would be so much easier to kill them. Signing a special contract to work with Azriel, Feyre, and Rhysand turns out nowhere near expected. You were a bit of fun that became their solace and escape, they were supposed to be an easy assignment that turned into your living nightmare.

series warnings: bondage, bdsm contract, d/s dynamics, non sexual submission, smut, piercing kink, blood, guided masturbation, nightmares

a/n: the warnings will be updated as we go! individual chapters will have warnings as well, or in case of major spoilers I'll put the warnings here <3 let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

teaser // visual teaser

one // two // three // four // five // six // seven // eight // nine // ten // eleven // twelve // thirteen

read on ao3 here

[potatoplace]

Feysandriel

https://www.tumblr.com/potatoplace/772892616744419328/sooooo-i-realized-i-have-not-written-a-fic?source=share

...I don't know what that ship would be called but there's my version

IDEA ACCEPTED I DONT KNOW HOW ITLL WORK YET luckily I've got a whooole day of work to think about it tho 🤭 I'm thinking possiblyyy mafia feysandriel (not the same as the feysand one I came up with) and then they abandon you (or maybe they kill you cause you're a liability 🥺)

[witchlingsandwyverns]

Oooh thanks for the tag @astra-aeterna and @foundress0fnothing <3

Here's what I got (for now lol):

1. HUNTRESS01 (feysandriel)

2. GWYNRIEL Abandoned Temple AU

3. Mirror (feysand)

4. Valkyries Band AU

5. Elucien Thought

6. "Roots" Elucien TATTOO AU

7. GWYNRIEL "Let Me Be Your Wings"

I'm terrible with tags, so if you want to join in, consider yourself tagged!

Thanks for the tag @clarafae

WIP FOLDER GAME:

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Y'all be so cool about this because it's a perpetual mess in this bitch hahahah here are mine in the order they appear in my Google Docs trash pile hahaha

Before and After

To Know That I'm With You

Pink Skies

This Bitch Again

Option 4

You and Me and the Silent Sounds

If You Say Don't Go

Heart on Your Sleeve Like You've Never Been Loved

Chaos//Revelry

Azris HL meeting

Azris dumb babies

Gwynriel - Just Please Stay

Blood of the Broadlands

Playlist for a Love Story

Secrets of the Shallow Sea

LMAOOOOOOOOO (but send help)

No pressure tags! @popjunkie42 @cauldronblssd @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade

[mmvalentine]

We Wake, We Misbehave | Feysand x Azriel

It's Sunday, it's raining, I'm back on my dirty little shit again. Also happy lunar new year bunnies!

Feyre wakes in stages. Always, she is slow to wake and the first stage is still a dream but not the same dream as it had been.

No, this dream has Rhys’s fingers in it. On her stomach and in her hair and over the soft skin between her breasts. And he is just as comfortable inhabiting the world of her slumber as he is their bedroom in the dawn.

In the second stage, Feyre’s dream sifts away but she won’t open her eyes yet. Not when the darkness is warmer than the daylight, not when this is a lesson this Court has taught her and the things she learns here are precious as the stars. Instead, she breathes in deeply so that the sun rays tickle her nose and Rhys’s shadows are right there, beneath her eyelids like sly black cats.

Of course there is one thing that pulls her into the third stage, one wonder against which the embrace of sleep cannot hope to compete, one constant that has her waking all the way up again and again as sure as the moon rise. And so Feyre opens her eyes, knowing that the first thing she’ll see is the High Lord’s face, and the violet velvet of her lover’s gaze.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, and she makes her reply directly against his lips without words.

Feyre hears Rhys’s chuckle glittering darkly down the bond, but his mouth is too busy for mirth. Indeed his lips are all seriousness, remembering their way from her chin to her collar bone, whispering secret morning things to her skin.

“You’re glowing again,” he mumbles.

There is a part of Feyre’s mind that diverts attention to turning off the Day Court light; she isn’t ready to be anything but Night yet. But she supposes it is a very small part, because as the strap of her night gown slips down her shoulder and Rhys’s mouth takes advantage of her freed breast, the glow simply turns to fire. She’s burning up under Rhys’s touch anyway, and would not have noticed except that it singes the tip of Rhys’s tongue and he bites down on her nipple in retaliation.

“Sorry,” Feyre gasps, and as soon as she gets the heat under control she’s rewarded with a return to the luscious, luxurious movements of Rhys’s mouth.

All too soon, the kisses trace back up the way they came, and it’s one plush press against her mouth before Rhys is pulling away and standing up out of their bed.

It’s only now that Feyre realizes he’s already fully dressed.

“Leaving so early, my lord?” she asks, noting that he’s in his formal black jacket.

“Afraid so, my lady,” he replies, straightening a lapel and approving that Feyre has finally learned the subtle differences between his casual black jackets and his formal black jackets. It only took her the better part of a century.

“And you absolutely have to go right this second?” Feyre rolls from her side onto her back, stretching as she does so. Rhys’s eyes follow the lengthening of her bare legs and the slide of her nightgown’s hem up the silk of her thighs.

“Regrettably, yes,” he mutters, and it does not escape Feyre’s attention that his anatomy disagrees with this assessment as much as she does.

Her eyes follow the crisp seams of her husband’s suit, and settle on the hard shape below his belt buckle. Her lips feel suddenly dry, and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Behave,” Rhys croons, low and smooth.

Feyre shudders and her legs press together.

“Hurry back,” she tells him, and the husk of her voice nearly has him reconsidering. But Rhys is nothing if not professional.

Instead, he removes the silver and leather watch from his wrist and buckles it around Feyre’s wrist. It looks so much bigger around her bones, and even on its smallest notch, slips half way down her forearm.

“One hour,” he says. And then he leans in and murmurs at her ear. “And then you’re mine.”

The sound of Feyre’s teeth clicking together is audible in the dawn quiet, and Rhys laughs low in his chest.

“You can wait an hour,” he tells her. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Feyre whispers.

“Good girl,” he says, and before he leaves Rhys bends his head, pushes up her dress, and tongue kisses her pussy just long enough for her to gasp so hard she stops breathing.

And then he’s gone and the room is suddenly colder.

Feyre falls back against the pillows and tries to go back to sleep.

It’s early enough that she should be able to, but she’s so wet from Rhys’s kiss that she can still feel it between her legs and it’s hard to get comfortable. Feyre tosses back and forth, but her heart is still beating a little too fast. She grabs at the hem of her satin dress and tries to use it to wipe at the mess Rhys left, but she’s worked up and the friction only makes things worse.

Feyre groans and rolls onto her belly. There’s a buzzing feeling now, in her stomach. Lower. She slides a hand beneath her, presses her fingers against herself in the hopes of relieving the pressure, and it feels good. She shifts her hips back and forth and it feels better, and worse. She allows herself just a second, before she squeezes her eyes shut and rolls back over, flinging her hands away from herself.

She promised Rhys.

But gods an hour seems so long.

She stares at the ceiling and the hour feels even longer.

So long, in fact, that she feels quite sure that she could get herself off and be completely to go again with Rhys when he was back. How would he know?

Feyre sighs and slips her hand back between her legs. She moves her fingers and instantly feels the frustration start to melt away. In its place, a different kind of tension builds quickly, and she knows this won’t take long. Not with the memory of Rhys’s tongue so fresh in her mind. Not with the perfection of her recall of the last time they fucked, with Feyre’s face pressed against a wall and the guttural roll of Rhys’s moans in her ear. She pictures it now, can nearly feel the cold plaster on her cheek; the ache in her spine as she tries to arch more deeply; the relentless, delicious slide in and out of her… Feyre’s fingers move faster and it is so, so easy to reach for that edge, to tumble straight over into-

“What the fuck.”

Feyre’s eyes snap open, and she finds her husband standing at the foot of the bed, wearing an anger as black as his suit.

“Five minutes,” he grinds out. “I leave you for five fucking minutes and you can’t even-” He bites off the end of his sentence and pinches the bridge of his nose. Feyre lies there, frozen. Gone is the feather-down warmth of this morning, gone is her dawn lover. The High Lord of the Night Court glares at his wife.

“Feyre,” he purrs, and this time her name drips from his lips like poison. Darkness like smoke curls from behind him, and snakes up the bed while he speaks.

“Do I not care for you?”

Feyre’s wrists sting as they are wreathed in shadows cold as ice. 

“Do I not provide food, and shelter, and love undying?”

Harder than necessary, the shadows yank her hands above her head and pin them to the headboard. The glass face of his watch on her wrist cracks against the wood.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” Feyre breathes.

“Yes,” her lover repeats. “And what have I asked from you in return but one, small thing?”

Feyre shivers as the slithering shackles tighten. “Nothing,” she replies.

“Nothing at all,” Rhys says. “Nothing but for you to lie here in the most exquisite comfort, and keep one thing just for me.”

His eyes darken now, the violet shrinking back as if colour, too, fears the King.

“And here you are with your fingers on what’s mine.”

“I’m sorr-”

“Too late for apologies, Feyre darling,” Rhys says, and his voice is so low she can taste the black of his boots.

Suddenly, strange fingers spear through her hair and her head is pulled back sharply. Feyre cries out in pain and shock, while Rhys just stands and watches while the newcomer laughs darkly in her ear.

“You should know by now, High Lady, what we do with those who misbehave.”

The voice is all too familiar, and the cold trickle down Feyre’s spine is equal parts fear and excitement.

“Shadow singer,” she whispers, and the voice laughs again.

“Hold her fast for me now,” he murmurs, not to her, but to the midnight tendrils that are circling fast around her ribcage, her stomach, her thighs, her ankles. Soon she cannot move, despite how hard she tries to thrash against her bindings.

“You pricks,” Feyre spits. It’s the last thing she says; her mouth is covered next, and she huffs out flame and ice through her nose but the shadows, with no nerves of their own, pay her no heed. “She won’t be going anywhere,” Azriel says.

Feyre watches Rhys tilt his head to either side, cracking his neck.

“Good,” he says, and then he shoves out of his jacket and shirt.

The spymaster comes around to face Feyre and she can see that he, too, is without his shirt. He’s still clad in Illyrian fighting leathers that hug the muscles of his thighs, and his knives- more knives than usual?- are strapped to his hips. Truth-teller, as always, is in his hand, and the tip of it caresses a long line across Feyre’s jaw.

“Rhys called me to teach you a lesson,” he tells her. “So. Are you going to be a good girl for us now?” A stray lock of his hair tickles her cheek. “Stay nice and quiet?”

Feyre inhales through her nose, and then nods. The shadow slides from her mouth, but curls under her chin to tip her face up toward Rhys’s closest friend.

“They always come round in the end,” he says, and then the mattress dips and when she looks up, Rhys is settling his body over hers.

“You know,” he says, face half an inch from hers and angling as if he might kiss her, “when I met you, you were such a frightened little thing.”

Azriel slides in behind her, the shadows detaching from the headboard so that he can prop her back up against his chest. Her wrists are still bound together though, and he settles them behind his neck as he stretches his legs out to bracket hers. He’s like a furnace everywhere around her.

“From what I hear though, always found it difficult to follow orders,” he muses, and Rhys chuckles.

“Well now, that’s true,” the High Lord says. His breath fans against her face, and Feyre can never quite think straight when his lips are this close. Without even meaning to, she leans forward, but Rhys pulls back just enough to maintain the half inch between them. “Oh look Azriel, she still thinks she can get what she wants.”

When the spy laughs behind her, she can feel it rumble in her chest. He runs the backs of his fingers down her sides, barely covered in her slip of a nightgown, and she trembles under his not-enough touch.

“She’s quite adorable, your little pet,” he comments. “Hm. I like it when she shivers like that.”

Rhys is looking right into her eyes, but only talks to Azriel.

“Try the ears,” he says.

With no warning whatsoever, Azriel ducks his head and licks a line up the side of Feyre’s neck and up to her ear. Sucks her earlobe between his teeth and then nips hard before letting go. Feyre gasps and, even though she tries to brace against it, she shudders as goosebumps break out over her skin. Azriel laughs, and it’s such a cruel sound.

“It’s a neat trick, brother,” he says, and then captures her ear again. This time, his tongue slides into her ear before he’s got the lobe in his mouth again, and Feyre doesn’t know whether she’s repulsed or turned on. Rhys’s eyes dance before her face, and he folds his hands on her breastbone and rests his chin on them.

While Azriel focuses on her right ear, his fingertips keep trailing up and down her sides. Brush the sides of her breasts so that they peak painfully and the satin of her dress feels suddenly rough on her skin. She tries to writhe, needs more pressure and not this infuriating lightness, not this teasing touch, near but never where she needs it- but the weight of Rhys is holding her down. She’s overstimulated, tries to close her eyes to calm her body. Takes deep breathes and wants to need it less, but when she’s not looking, Rhys puts his mouth on her nipple. Through the nightgown, hot on the too-sensitive tip of her, and her back arches up off Azriel’s chest. She can’t go too far though, because her arms are still caught around the shadow singer’s neck.

“Stay down, pretty girl,” Azriel murmurs, and he brings a hand to slide around Feyre’s throat. Pulls her gently but firmly back down against him, and resumes his ministrations under her ear, at the corner of her jaw, and the down the side of her neck.

Meanwhile, Rhys has tugged the front of her dress down and has her right nipple between his lips and the left one under his palm.

Feyre is panting now, and Rhys’s intensity rises with the rate of her heartbeat. When she bites back a moan, he tears the front of the nightgown open with an easy swipe of his shadow claw-tipped fingers.

“Ohh no,” he says. “You’re not still holding back from us. Now when you’ve already tried to steal from me once today.”

Rhys lifts himself up and finally, finally kisses her. Tongue in her mouth, teeth in her lips kisses her, pressing her back into the spymaster with the force of it and eating up her breath as he moves. Azriel hums as he does it, squeezes lightly with the hand on her throat and slides the other one down into the gap that Rhys has left. Fingers tripping over her stomach and grazing her clit over her underwear. The moan rips from Feyre’s throat and Rhys smiles on her mouth.

“That’s better,” he praises. Kisses her once more on the lips, then her chin, all the way down her sternum, the curve of her belly. Azriel’s fingers start to circle between her legs and the kisses burn like a brand. Rhys’s hands land on her thighs, grip tight as he moves down the bed. Her underwear tears as easily as her nightgown had, expensive faerie lace discarded on the floor just the latest casualty of Feyre’s ruined lingerie collection.

“So you see,” Rhys says, biting into the soft part of her inner thigh, “you can be good.” He repeats the action on the other side. “But that doesn’t mean we aren’t still going to torture you a little.”

Rhys’s tongue hits her pussy then, and Feyre cries out again. He licks into her, head moving back and forth while Azriel’s fingers find her clit again. Feyre tries to move onto him, but the shadows stay tight in place around her abdomen. The hard line of Azriel’s cock is now digging into her back and she’s aware that her restricted movements rub up against him with every pass.

“Does that feel good, kitten?” Azriel asks. His hips shift behind her. “Nod your head ‘yes’ if it feels good.”

Feyre nods, but the shadowsinger is still gripping her throat and her head doesn’t move. Rhys’s head abruptly lifts, Azriel’s fingers disappear from her clit, and Feyre mewls in protest.

“She didn’t say yes,” Rhys says to Azriel. “Maybe we should stop.”

“No,” Feyre gasps, and spasms in Azriel’s arms.

“No it doesn’t feel good?” the spy asks her.

“No I-” but she’s cut off when his hand suddenly tightens around her throat, strangling the words.

“No again,” Rhys muses. He places deep, sucking kisses in the creases of her thighs. Azriel lets her breathe again, and Feyre gasps.

“I don’t think he likes that word,” he murmurs in her ear. His hand still rests over her neck, and Feyre stays quiet. The fingers between her legs dance about the pale skin under her navel, low but not where she wants them. Rhys sighs and his exhale is all over the heat of her.

“Shall we try again?” he asks.

Azriel’s thumb strokes her jaw.

“I think she should beg for it,” he says.

“So,” Rhys says. “Show him how good you beg, darling.” His hands squeeze bruisingly tight on her thighs.

“Please,” Feyre whispers.

“Louder,” Rhys tells her. But her voice is somewhere under Azriel’s grasp and all she can do is mouth the word.

“Please.”

Truth-teller flashes between the shadowsinger’s fingers.

“He said louder,” he growls, and her throat is freed but the cold tip of the dagger walks the line from her left ear to her right.

“Please,” Feyre tries again, louder this time but her voice cracks as she says it.

Rhys lifts up, rises smoothly to meet her face and the golden-brown of his muscled chest fills the entirety of her vision. He leans in, eyes smoking, and Feyre’s mouth nearly waters for want of his kiss. At the last minute, he lifts his chin and kisses the spymaster instead.

Feyre’s jaw drops in shock, and her indignation comes out in a squeak she hadn’t intended to let out. There’s a rumble of nasty laughter above her head, and she can see Rhys’s shoulders shake with it. He leans up to deepen the kiss, and jealousy is bright and hot in her chest. Feyre lifts up, her hands shackled all the while behind Azriel’s neck, and her head butts up against her husband’s chin. Azriel’s hands clamp down heavily on her shoulders and push her back down.

“What did I tell you, little girl?” he asks her. “Stay down.”

Rhys laughs again and comes back down to her level.

“The shadowsinger tastes different to you,” he tells her. Leans in to whisper in her ear. “Like smoke, and cedar.” He pulls back, and draws the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers. Feyre flinches back; she doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t like to share. “Do you want to taste?” His mouth ghosts over hers, and Feyre bites at his lip. Now it’s Azriel who laughs.

“Possessive little thing, isn’t she?” he asks the High Lord.

“What’s wrong honey?” Rhys croons. “Don’t like it when things that belong to you are taken?”

“No,” Feyre scowls. So fast, Rhys’s face darkens. His voice whips out and stings.

“Now you know how it feels.”

Suddenly, Azriel lifts her hands off his shoulders. She is yanked up onto her knees, and then thrown at Rhys like a ragdoll. The shadows release her wrists, and she reaches out to catch herself against the Night King’s chest, but at the last minute he moves back so she falls to her hands and knees on the bed.

“Stay there,” he snarls, and there’s the silvery clink of Rhys’s belt buckle for just a moment before the head of his cock touches her lips. “Open.”

Feyre frowns, and takes him in her mouth. Closes her lips over him, thinks she can make him remember who, in this room, is his mate-

“I said, open.”

Shocked, Feyre releases him. Holds her mouth open like she’s told, even as she stares up at her lover in confusion. He doesn’t meet her eyes though, just rubs his cock up and down her tongue. Lets his head fall back for a second in pleasure, then watches her mouth again.

“Look at you drool,” he says. “Like a hungry little mutt.”

It is not lost on her that that’s what they used to call him. The half-breed King.

And then he does look at her and the lust in his eyes undoes her. She hopes he will always look at her like that, like he’s going to devour her whole, like the gentleness of his hands when they come up to cradle her face belies the violence in his violet gaze.

She’s all but forgotten the spymaster, when the hot tip of him pushes against her entrance.

Feyre’s eyes widen and she has to remember to keep her mouth open.

“Ass up, darling,” Rhys tells her, and she never disobeys when he uses that black velvet voice. “Good girl,” he praises, and as she arches, Azriel slides just an inch inside her. Feyre tries to moan but can’t close her jaw.

“Oh that’s very good,” Rhys says, and keeps sliding against her tongue. “I’ll tell you when you can close.”

Azriel moves his hands over her ass, smooth first and then squeezing.

“You have such a nice ass, High Lady,” he murmurs, and the callouses on his palms scratch her skin. There’s a sharp cracking sound as Azriel slaps her without warning, and Feyre pitches forward in surprise so she chokes herself a little on Rhys’s cock. They both laugh.

“Told you we were going to torture you,” Azriel says. “But just a bit.”

And with that he rubs his hands over the sting, soothing her back down. While he pushes further inside her.

“Is your jaw getting sore yet?” Rhys asks. His thumb massages under her ear, and indeed it has started to ache. “Your poor bruised throat. Let me hurt it more.”

He shoves all the way into her mouth, at the same time as Azriel sinks down to his hilt. Feyre whimpers and her hands clench in the sheets.

“You can close now,” Rhys says, but it’s so hard now that he’s against the back of her throat. Azriel is moving slow but hitting hard, and Feyre focuses on breathing through her nose so she doesn’t gag, arches deeper so she isn’t tipped forward every time.

“Fuck, she’s so good isn’t she?” Rhys pulls back, gathers up her hair in his fist and uses it to ease her back onto him. “Spank her again.”

Azriel exhales while he strokes a circle into the cheek of her backside, and then lands another slap, clean as the first.

“That’s right,” the shadowsinger sighs. “Moan with your mouth full.”

He smacks her again, and this time it seems to excite him. His hips speed up behind her, and the low groan he makes gets her wetter. Feyre’s eyes slide closed and she moves with him, fucking him back and wanting him to make that sound again. Her eyes snap open when her hair is yanked.

“Did I say you could stop looking at me?” Rhys asks her. His mouth is twisted, and Feyre wonders if he doesn’t want her to enjoy herself too much while his brother is all the way inside her. It’s a small kind of victory, and she sucks hard and flicks her tongue over the head of him. To her delight, the glare slackens, and Rhys’s free hand cups the back of her head to pull her further down onto him.

Back and forth she goes. Pushing back onto Azriel’s cock and forward over Rhys’s, she finds a rhythm and rocks between the two of them. Matching their paces has meant she’s bobbing faster in Rhys’s lap than she was before, and his hands tighten in her hair but don’t slow her down. When she has them both moaning, it’s a deep-belly satisfaction that only spurs her on.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” Azriel pants. “I could come right now.”

“Not until she does,” Rhys growls, and Feyre thinks that might mean she’s forgiven.

There’s a frustrated groan from behind her, and then rough hands shove under her belly. Find her clit and, none too gently, push circles there. Over and over until her hips move erratically, involuntarily, knocked out of the meticulous timing she had curated. Too quickly, heat curls in her belly and she tries to shake her head ‘no’ but she’s caught on Rhys’s cock and all that comes out is a strangled cry.

“Oh were you enjoying yourself, darling?” Rhys asks her. “Did you think this was going to go on until you were satisfied?” His fingers grip harder around her jaw and won’t let her answer. His voice pitches low and his eyes burn into hers. “Did you forget you were being punished?”

And then he speaks directly into her mind and its her undoing.

Come for me. Right the fuck now.

Her body spasms hard, so eager to do as he says. Azriel swears loudly behind her as she clenches around him, and his fingers move on her almost painfully rough now. Rhys pulls out of her mouth, lifts her by the throat so he can slam his mouth on hers and her hands lean heavily on her forearms to keep herself up. His tongue against hers intensifies everything and even though she’s not ready, even though she wants to draw out the pleasure, even though she’s starting to hurt everywhere, she climaxes hard between the Illyrians. She gasps in one moment and snaps her jaw shut the next, drawing blood from Rhys’s lip between her teeth. He only bites her back, and then laughs as she shudders and sags in their arms.

Feyre has only a moment’s reprieve before she’s being lifted and rearranged, barely aware of what’s happening to her. The boys have got her on her back now. Rhys is settling between her legs, even though she’s too sensitive to go again and he’s thicker than Azriel. She moans softly as he moves inside her anyway, limbs still too limp to resist. When she opens her eyes, Azriel has his cock in his hand and is stroking it over her face while he watches her get fucked.

“What’re you doing?” she mumbles, and her husband laughs again.

“She’s adorable when she’s cock drunk, isn’t she?” he asks the spymaster. Azriel sucks in air through his teeth.

“Looks good from here, boss,” he says, and she can see a wet bead gleam at his tip.

“Paint her mouth,” Rhys tells him, husky as he moves steadily in and out of her. She thought she was exhausted but he’s a tide that draws her back in, slowly but surely, and the bitter, salt taste Azriel trails over her lips is obscene but seems fitting.

“Gods, I can’t do this much longer,” he says, and sure enough, when she looks up at him his pupils are blown watching her tongue slide out and collect what he’s given her.

“Come then,” Rhys says, and it’s seconds before he’s spilling, hot and wet down over Feyre’s chin and neck. It pools in the hollow of her throat and runs down onto the sheets, and the sounds he makes gives Feyre shivers. She’s distracted until Rhys pulls back and sits back against the headboard, and the sudden emptiness distresses her.

Feyre whines and kicks her feet out in protest, but Rhys just leans his head back and fixes his bottomless gaze on her.

“Come and get it, honey,” he whispers. And Feyre is drawn up like a rag doll, scrambles into his lap like a starving little kitten and can’t sit herself down on his cock fast enough. There’s a rumble from his chest and a flooding relief when she’s back where she belongs. Rhys chuckles, even as his hands find her hips and he bucks up into her. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Make me come and your sins will be forgotten.”

Feyre doesn’t need to be told twice.

She laces her fingers behind his neck, leans her forehead against his lips and rolls her hips into his. She doesn’t know where Azriel is and doesn’t care- the world begins and ends with her lover. She pulls herself into him, grinding in his lap and frowning when she can’t get him deep enough. Sits up on her knees to get more leverage and fucks him harder, chasing something she can’t see but surely must be just beyond her fingertips.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Rhys breathes. “Keep going just like that.”

She’s bouncing on him now, with someone else’s cum cooling on her skin and trailing down her chest. Can’t remember whose, only knows that she wants it inside as well as outside and maybe then she’d be sated.

“Kiss me,” Rhys commands, and she lifts her head to meet his lips and as soon as she does Rhys pours down the bond. His pleasure, dark and sharp, surges through her veins. Where she’s getting light-headed and struggling to anchor herself to the earth, Rhys is an underground tremor that thrums somewhere deep and unworldly. It’s enough to knock the breath out of her, but Rhys’s grip keeps dragging her back and forth, his tongue keeps chasing hers.

“Come on honey,” he says. “Make me come.”

The serrated edge of his voice brings her back, and Feyre snaps her eyes open onto his. She spears her thin fingers into the raven curls of his hair, and watches his eyes roll back a little. Her knees dig into the muscles at the sides of his thighs and she rides him faster, harder, watching his chest move as his breathing shallows.

“You like this?” Rhys asks her. “You like knowing what you do to me?”

And Feyre gives a small, sweat-slicked smile because she does, she loves watching the High Lord unravel beneath her hips.

“Give it to me,” she whispers. “I want it. I want it so so bad.” She watches Rhys’s eyes go black.

“Yeah?” he pants. “You need it? Need it to make you feel good?”

Feyre moans, and knows the sound drives him mad.

“Yes,” she tells him. “Pleasepleaseplease I want it…”

“Fuck Feyre you’re begging for it?”

Feyre just nods and kisses him, and the groans long and low in his throat while his hands clamp down on her ass and hold her in place while he comes. Feyre doesn’t think she’s close but the feeling of him driving hard up into her, of him shaking as he fills her pushes her right over the edge with him. Rhys’s arms go round her, one wrapping around her little waist and the other sliding up her back and into her hair, crushing her to his chest while they ride the aftershocks.

It’s long moments before Feyre comes back to earth, and she sighs as she slides herself off Rhys’s still-hard cock. She turns and settles with her back against Rhys’s chest, and his arms come back around her while his mouth follows the curve from her ear to her shoulder.

When she opens her eyes, she finds Azriel lying face down across the foot of the bed, watching her.

“What are you looking at?” she croaks, voice rough from moaning. She lifts a foot and pokes the shadowsinger in the cheek with her big toe.

Quick as lightning, Azriel grabs a hold of her ankle and sucks the toe into his mouth for a second before letting her go. Feyre shivers.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to tease, High Lady,” he says to her. “Not while my cum is still coating your tits.”

She grabs a book from the nightstand and throws it at the spy’s head, but he dodges it easily with a laugh.

“I think I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” he says, and rolls off the bed, scooping up his clothes as he goes.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Feyre says quietly. It wouldn’t be the first time Azriel has fallen asleep in their bed.

“I can’t stay today,” he says, leaning in to kiss Feyre on the cheek. “But maybe you’ll misbehave again soon.” He winks, and then is gone.

Feyre sighs and leans into Rhys. He’s quiet as he keeps pressing his lips to her hair, her temples, her cheekbones. She turns to look at him.

“Didn’t you have a meeting or something?” she asks him. He laughs.

“Where do you think Azriel is going to with such urgency?”

Feyre smiles. “Poor shadow singer,” she says.

“I think he’d disagree,” Rhys says, and pointedly cleans his brother off of her chest with the sheet.

***

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2@highladysith@stardelia@feysand-loml@tillyrubes10@ratabrasileira@live-the-fangirl-life@maybekindasortaace@annejulianneh111@thebonecarver@rowaelinismyotp@loosingdreams@pitrsattabhaadmeinjao@achernarlight@swankii-art-teacher@sjmships@courtofjurdan@teddytdr@positivewitch@thalia-2-rose@darling-archeron@rapunzel15233@fairchildjace@hopefulacademia@story-scribbler@fandomstalker27@realbookloverproblems@dealfea@s-tormwitch@cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl@whoever-you-choose-to-love@endlessdaydream@elentiya-whitethorn@rarephloxes @timesconvert @mis-lil-red@alerialumina

[highlady-fireheart]

When I find another user who has reblogged all of the same fandom and ship posts as me:

I see you are a person of culture as well

[polysjmweek]

We're Back! Poly+ Acotar Week Returns

Stay tuned for more information. In the meantime, feel free to check out last years masterlists!

Can't wait to see you next April!

[whisperingmidnights]

Huddled for warmth with feysandriel, please.🙏 ❤️

This was originally going to be sweet. I'm afraid it's anything but. CW for light voyeurism, I guess?

Their preparation might be impressive if it weren't all so juvenile.

That snowball fight was something else. Feyre swirls the dark, spiced wine in her glass as she leans against the window frame and stares out at the remnants of the early morning brawl. Two snowpacked barriers are still standing, though one is starting to sag in the corner facing the sun. They'll be gone by tonight, along with the last of the snowballs piled just behind them.

Males are the same across species and centuries, apparently.

Two cold hands slip beneath the hem of her sweater to rest against her ribs. Their texture gives the surprise away, scarred and rough as they trail over her skin. Feyre sighs as she leans into Azriel's embrace, fighting the impulse to purr when she realizes there's little more than a towel and her own clothing between them.

Shadows slide between her fingers like a caress before they slip beneath the cuffs of her sweater. They're wicked little things, swirling and sliding along her skin alongside their master's hands, teasing her in all of the ways they know drive her to distraction.

"Cassian's already gone?" Her voice is already more than a little breathless, heady desire nipping at her senses. She should vanish her glass before she drops it. Feyre takes another drink instead, craving the hot burn to counteract the cold slide of shadows and hands against her skin.

"Mmm. I've been sent to retrieve you," he says into her hair as he walks his fingers just beneath her breasts. Huffing a laugh, Feyre slowly sips her wine, tilting her head slightly in invitation. Azriel's windburned lips trace a line from the shell of her ear to the neckline of her sweater, humming with satisfaction at the taste of her skin. "But I don't know that I'm in the mood to share you yet."

She smells divine and feels twice as good as she looks. He's been a lucky male these last few years, there's no way it can last. He desperately wants it to last.

"Rhys is going to start complaining," Feyre whispers, her breath stuttering as those wicked hands brush against the underside of her breasts. She can feel his sharp grin against her neck as his shadows climb higher.

As if on cue, his voice filters into her mind, full of sharp amusement.

My spymaster is typically more efficient than this.

"My quarry is not typically so distracting." Azriel responds, pulling a laugh from her that quickly gives way to a moan as a hand slides beneath her leggings.

I'm getting cold.

Azriel laughs at that as his cruel ministrations have the half-empty wine glass slipping from Feyre's fingers. She never hears it hit the ground.

"In the birchin? Stoke the coals, High Lord...or you could always come inside. I warmed up in no time." Feyre's certain they'll both be in trouble for that one later, but their lover does so enjoy riling her mate. Moments later, her clothes vanish in a whisper of citrus and sea salt, leaving her cloaked in only those wicked wisps of shadow and Azriel's hands.

"Well, if you're putting on a show, you may as well turn towards your audience."

"Your teeth aren't chattering," Azriel says smoothly as he turns her to face the sofa, where she finds her mate stretched out with his hands behind his head. Stars twinkle in his violet eyes as they lazily drift over her body, taking in the view with an appreciative smirk. "Perhaps you don't need warming after all."

"You could always get a little closer, find out for yourselves."

They could, but Azriel's wandering hands seem to have other ideas. The High Lord might be waiting a little longer than he bargained for. Rhys's deepening smirk tells her he's more than aware of that and doesn't mind the wait. Not when he can watch.

[witchlingsandwyverns]

WIP WEDNESDAY (X)

Snippet below the cut!

[Pilot going dark, in 3...2...1]

Feyre’s mind falls into the practiced pattern.

Drip drip drop.

The sound of rain on the cottage windows.

[FaeMech Core coming online...]

Drip drip drop.

The night sky, cold and full of stars, beautiful.

[Suit systems syncing...]

Drip drip drop.

Warmth at her back, and on her face, like she's resting in a puddle of sunshine, but weightless.

[Neural link initiating...]

Drip drip drop.

Breathing steady, in. Breathing steady, out. Relaxed. Boneless. Weightless as thought. Pliant. Pilot.

Drip drip drop.

[All AZRHYS systems online, pilot-mech link stable, initializing compatibility and calibration protocols...]

Feyre is startled to find she isn't startled at all when an awareness brushes against hers, curiously curling around her thoughts as if eager to introduce itself.

Hello Feyre, darling. Welcome to the Huntress Project.

A second presence makes itself known, quieter, as if treading lightly through her thoughts:

Try not to die.

[throneofsapphics]

against the contract, chapter one

poly!Feysandriel x f!Reader

summary: If they were genuinely bad people, it would be so much easier to kill them. Signing a special contract to work with Azriel, Feyre, and Rhysand turns out nowhere near expected. You were a bit of fun that became their solace and escape, they were supposed to be an easy assignment that turned into your living nightmare

warnings: d/s dynamics seen, bondage, bdsm, piercing kink, needles, blood, toys

word count: 2022

a/n: here we go!! let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist, next chapter comes 10/1 :)

series masterlist | next chapter >>>

There's a type of power in entering a room and having everyone stop to look at you. Rhysand, the devil of Velaris, knew that all too well, and loved every second of it. A man like him was made for the dark and night, but that didn't mean he couldn't shine in it. Tonight, however, someone else was capturing everyone's attention, and he intended to figure out who and what made them so enticing. You’d slowly gained notoriety, and he made it his job to know all players in his city. 

A single question to the right person, someone who recognized him, got him directions to a back room, he entered with his right hand wrapped around Feyre's waist, keeping her flush against his side. Azriel kept pace beside him on the left, a hairsbreadth too close to be just friendly, his shoulder brushing against his every few steps. 

The room they found was bathed in red light, throwing a ... sexual energy over everything. Intentional, he was sure of it. A leather topped platform stood on top of another platform at the front of the room, elevated perhaps two feet or so off the ground. 

Right there, kneeling on the leather, that’s where he got his first glance at you. With your eyes cast downward, hair braided back, hands behind your back, you made the picture-perfect submissive. He couldn't see behind you, but he could imagine you had perfect positioning from that angle as well, either your fingers interlocked, or opposite forearms grasped. He imagined there wasn't much about you that wasn't perfect. 

A dark haired, tanned woman stood before you, circling. You kept perfectly still. He spotted the tray on a small stool to the left. Needles, jewelry, swabs, alcohol wipes, and everything else needed for a piercing. His interest rose more, especially as he noticed Feyre’s head tilt up, her body pushed lightly against his arm as she straightened for a better view. 

You’d never see the three of them, cloaked in darkness as they were but you shone under that spotlight. 

There was no announcement, no grand words as it began, but the quiet clink of a needle caught everyone’s attention. Each bit of this was intentional, he knew it, to wrap someone deep into a web and for once he found himself wanting to let go, to heed resistance, to be swarmed and brought into the fold. 

Rhysand thought he caught the briefest hint of nerves, but the woman’s hand cupped your cheek and you melted. The woman stood behind you, one hand tilting your chin up, leaning down to whisper something in your ear. 

“Yes,” you replied breathily, voice carrying across the room. No honorific, if this woman was your Dominant you would’ve used the title. Rhysand couldn’t help hoping you weren’t claimed. 

She pinched your nipple, her mouth caressing the side of your neck, and he wished it was his hands and mouth on you. Another female came on stage and he watched as the two worked you, twisting the platform to show the elegant double column ties down your arms, tied off to a metal ring on the floor. Your legs were tied individually, your calves flush against the backs of your thighs, tied off to the floor as well. Pinned in place. The separate ties made sense as you spread your legs, revealing a fucking beautiful cunt, folds already glistening. He didn’t bother shifting to hide his hardening cock, especially as Feyre squirmed next to him. He knew Azriel wouldn’t move an inch, just as well as he knew there was no way the male was entirely unaffected by you. 

As the second woman brought out a vibrator and crouched slightly off to the side not to block your view, before clicking a button and pressing it deep against your clit, your teeth dug into your bottom lip, fighting to stay still. The buzzing filled the room, along with your panted breaths. 

The first woman ripped open an alcohol swab, and Rhysand shoved his free hand into his pocket to hide how his fingers curled. Azriel shot him an amused yet still aloof look, and he fought the impulse to roll his eyes like a child might. 

“Stop distracting me,” Feyre hissed and elbowed him. He hadn’t realized he was gripping her so tightly, he loosened his fingers a tad, a brush of guilt creeping in. “Oh stop that,” Feyre placed her hand on top of his. His darling was a sight, as always, clad in a sheer gossamer dress, resting just at her mid-thighs with a plunging neckline. 

He hadn’t realized he’d been stuck staring at her until she spoke again. “You’re about to miss it.” 

Rhysand’s head snapped forward fast enough his vision blurred for a second, clearing just in time to see pure ecstasy crossing your face as the needle pierced your skin. 

“I want her,” Feyre breathed after the second piercing. What or in this case who his Feyre darling wanted, he did his best to be sure she got.

Needles still in both of your breasts, you came with your head thrown back, a silent scream leaving your lips, and his newest obsession was born. 

-

You changed into comfortable clothes, leaving the jewelry in for now. You liked having it in for a few hours after each performance. There was something to be said about solidifying the experience and memory in your mind. 

The door flew open, your lips parted to give a greeting to whoever it might be, but your words froze in your mouth. It was unusual for anyone to re-enter the locker rooms, especially at this time. Comically slowly, you turned around to face the intruder, hand reaching for the knife in your bag. You relaxed as the smell of expensive but not very tastefully applied perfume hit you. 

“Morrigan wants to work with you again next time,” Francine, the club owner, said brusquely, striding into the changing room. You pause. It was strange for her to be in here, stranger to come for something that could’ve been a text. 

“She told me,” you said slowly. The blonde hadn’t said that directly, but she’d said something close enough earlier. 

“One of these days,” Mor tapped your shoulder, “I’ll convince Emerie to scene with both of us.” 

“Poor me,” you groaned over-dramatically, but in reality that sounded quite nice. 

“Excuse me, more like lucky you,” ruby red lips smiled at you over the edge of a wine glass. A sensuous and promising smile. 

A promise you’d quickly take her up on another day, but right now. “I’m out tonight,” you waved a hand over your chest. “Open wounds and all.” 

“Pity,” something, perhaps someone - probably Emerie, distracted the blonde and she pressed a kiss to your cheek before darting off behind you. Figuring that was a good time as any to leave, you tipped the bartender and left. 

Francine rubbed at her nose, shoving her red framed glasses up. Her matching red lips pursed into a frown. “Well. Since you’re here, I told them –  all three of them,” she emphasized, “ that you don’t take contracts, but they insisted on offering to you.” You tried not to show your offense at her scoff. “And that it remained sealed,” she sighed as if it was a massive inconvenience, waving the letter in the air. That caught your attention. It wouldn’t be the first time someone offered you a contract, but it would be the first time it made it to you. Usually Francine refused on your behalf, per your instructions, of course. But ... the look on her face. There was a mixture of expectation, and perhaps a hint of fear. You’d never known anything or anyone to scare that overbearing woman before. She ran a sex club for Gods sake. 

Her look implied she expected you to open it there and share. You remembered her scoff, the mocking way she said ‘you.’ No way. The nosy bird didn’t need these particular details. You enjoyed your privacy, and suspected these clients did too. Maybe a contract was just what you needed to take your mind off things, but you knew that would be very different from the ‘performances,’ you usually did a few times a week for the club. Francine liked to call you her ‘greatest discovery.’ You had choicer words for the woman, and generally kept them to yourself. 

You took the sealed envelope from her hand and tucked it into your bag. “I’ll look it over tonight and get back to you tomorrow.” 

A mix of disappointment and relief followed by a tight lipped smile and short nod as she pivoted, stalking from the room. You gave an overly cheery wave behind her back. Better than flipping her off. Too many mirrors. 

You went through your entire getting-home routine first. The Domme or Dom from your scenes always provided excellent aftercare, but it never hurt to love on yourself a little. After a shower, removing the jewelry from earlier and cleaning out the small wounds, a meal, and a couple glasses of water you finally felt ready.

Flipping through it, it looked pretty standard - nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary. Not that you had much knowledge or experience with them, but nothing crazier than what you expected. 

L.1 The Submissive will live with the Dominants for the duration of the contract.

You frowned at the line. Vague. You'd expected perhaps a bit more detail on that, but maybe it would be discussed when you met them. Gods, you really were thinking about taking this contract. Your very first one. 

Your mind wandered as you gazed over the words. If they were ugly, would you back out? You didn't think Francine would offer you a contract with someone especially hideous, but she had hinted they were very much VIP clients. Three of them, too. 

Spine straightening as you made it to the “Rules” section, you bent your head a bit closer to the paper. 

The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominants immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominants excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). They will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

Reading through the paper, seeing the official language, sent heat to your stomach. Part of you was turned on by this, the idea of having a semi-legal contract entitling individuals to your submission and you to their dominance. You bounced one leg, there was so much to think about, but it seemed so simple. A voice, one who’d gotten you into both good and bad situations, whispered at you to ‘just take it.’ 

The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominants. The Submissive will conduct themself in a respectful manner at all times, unless otherwise requested.

Unless otherwise requested ... you frowned and highlighted that section. What the hell did that mean? Perhaps some kind of roleplay. You put a question mark next to it. 

There was a section for you to fill in your hard limits, easy enough considering you’d had those memorized for years, having been asked the question frequently enough. 

You flipped back up through, double checking for the section on safewords. Satisfied with “Green, Yellow, and Red,” you didn’t mark anything on that page. 

All of this was thrilling. Invigorating. Lighting an energy you hadn’t felt at this intensity in so, so long. Not since him. 

Ashamedly, what really caught your attention, in the end, was just how much they were willing to pay for your time. You could live comfortably for years off of that sum without having to work. Perhaps this is what would send you straight to hell, but in that moment you didn’t particularly care what they looked like, as long as they obeyed the rules set on paper, so could you. 

-

Azriel, crouched in the shadows on a neighboring roof, watched through your parted blinds as you highlighted and noted the contract. Good girl. 

series taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @lilah-asteria @nestaismommy @yeonalie @daycourtofficial @emidpsandia @thelov3lybookworm @justasillylittlegoofyguy @aactuaaltraash @hannzoaks @angelbunny222 @​​littlest-w01f @pandabiiissh

acotar taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124 @callsigns-haze

general taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16

[berd-nerd]

E | Please read the tags!

nsfw snippet under the cut :)

Feyre woke up to the feeling of her mate’s cock pushing inside her. Large hands ran over her body, their warmth helping to combat the chill of the morning air across her body. She stretched her back, arching her back gently and earning her a groan and a slightly harder thrust inside of her. Feyre could feel Rhys hitting the deepest parts of her and she sighed, waiting for the telltale bump of hips and gentle kiss he usually woke her with.

But they never came. Instead, his cock pushed deeper, much further than he should have been able to reach. In her half asleep state, Feyre didn’t immediately recognize anything wrong. Maybe Rhys had picked up a new toy to surprise her with? That must be it. Her head lolled to the side, and Rhys bent down and pressed nipping kisses to her collarbone. Feyre moaned, slowly building up the energy to open her eyes.

“Are you going to come kiss me good morning, or just keep tormenting me?”

Rhys chuckled in response, pulling back from Feyre’s neck just as she opened her eyes, excited to see her mate above her.

But it wasn’t Rhysand that was in bed with her. It was Azriel.

[polysjmweek]

WE HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT!

In the effort to be more inclusive of writers and readers, poly+ ACOTAR week is rebranding to poly+ SJM week! This means that content from all three series by SJM including all crossover and multiverse theories are welcome! Always wanted to write that Bryce/Azriel/Hunt fic? Or the death bringers: Nesta/Lorcan/Hunt? Now is your chance! The opportunities are endless as we welcome you to...

A few clarifications under the cut.

What else changes?

Nothing else about the event changes! This change is intended to increases the number of characters and worlds people can utilize to create for this event.

What about the prompts?

The prompts WILL NOT CHANGE. The 2025 prompts are still the 2025 prompts, and will be reposted under the rebrand. So if you've already started planning, do not fret!

What if I haven't read the other books? What if I only want to write for one series?

You do not need to have read all the books to participate, and you do not need to create multiverse content! If you planned for all ACOTAR content, stick with that! If you only want to write within series, go right ahead! This change is meant to open opportunities, not close doors.

We can't wait to see what you come up with this spring!

[polysjmweek]

If you're still trying to figure out which ACOTAR characters you'd like to write about for poly+ ACOTAR week, this poll might be helpful for you!

Consider if you want to write something common, or if you want to fill a niche that hasn't been explored as much. Can't wait to see what you all create!

Multi/Poly ACOTAR Poll

I'd love to see you comment and/or tag your favorites! I know I personally would struggle to pick just one myself. Let me know if you prefer the pairing as poly or multi as well (poly being they all love each other, multi being one person is the center of all the love). If your favorite option isn't there, please add it in the comments! There wasn't room for an "other" option, but I'm aware there's a lot more possibilities here!

Would be so grateful if you reblogged so this can reach as many people as possible! I've left the poll open for a week to see what results I get. LET ME KNOW ALL YOUR THOUGHTS!

Visit the X Reader sister post here to cast your vote there as well!